Jake was still thinking about Topaz. ‘Adopted? What happened to her own family?’
Charlie leaned in closer and whispered in Jake’s ear, ‘That is a long and sad story, and no one ever talks about it.’ His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Jake. ‘Are you feeling the atomium now?’
Jake nodded. It had come upon him quite suddenly. His head had started to throb and he seemed to be floating in the air without actually leaving the ground. Within seconds the nauseous sensations had become ten times worse. He lurched forward; Charlie caught him and helped him over to a bench.
‘Sit down, the worst will pass soon.’
Jake gazed out at the sea. He knew it was the sea, but at the same time he didn’t recognize it. He didn’t feel cold any more, and all the sounds around him seemed to come from far away.
One by one, the other passengers came up on deck to prepare themselves. Oceane Noire looked out at the sea as if she owned it. She took a deep breath and clutched Jupitus’s shoulder, but he ignored her.
‘Five minutes to go!’ Captain Macintyre announced. Jake turned and saw the other Constantor next to the great wooden steering wheel; similar to the instrument in the cabin below, but larger, and forged from stronger metal. The three glinting axes had almost converged.
‘Four minutes!’ announced the captain.
Jake’s headache and nausea had now passed and he felt only the sharp thrill of excitement. Topaz turned to him, smiled – and suddenly Jake could see things, extraordinary things: armies, kingdoms, great half-built cathedrals, shimmering palaces, moonlight, candlelight, mountain passes, heroic adventurers. Something had been unlocked inside him and he was overcome with a sense of the glory of the world.
‘One minute …’ the captain told them.
Silence fell. Charlie moved closer to Jake, while on his other side Rose clutched his hand firmly. All eyes were fixed on a moonlit point ahead of them. They waited.
‘Ten, nine, eight, seven …’ continued Macintyre almost inaudibly.
Jake’s eyes opened wider. He held his breath. A whirlwind sprang up out of nowhere; a savage cyclone encircled each individual. Colours flashed. Rose and Charlie drew as close to Jake as they could. Then there was the sound of a slow-motion detonation – and suddenly he saw an explosion of diamond shapes shooting out in all directions, blasting from an epicentre within him. He seemed to be taking off like a rocket, above the ship, above the ocean. Jake had heard the term ‘out-of-body experience’, but, like most people, had never actually had one. He knew that he was actually still standing on the deck, but it was as if he were high above it and could see himself far down below. The diamond shapes flew to the far edges of Jake’s vision, the colours flashed insanely – and finally there came the sound of a sonic boom.
And suddenly everything returned to normal. Jake was once again on the deck, with Aunt Rose at his side. A victorious cheer went up and everyone started congratulating each other.
Charlie turned to Jake and shook him by the hand. ‘I hope you had a good trip. Welcome to 1820.’
6 HISTORY ALIVE
ALTHOUGH JAKE WAS exhausted beyond imagining after the events of the last twenty-four hours, he was determined to stay awake until he had seen some sign that he was indeed breathing the air of a different century. He clung to the ship’s rail, staring out to sea as his eyelids became heavier and heavier.
Everyone except the captain had gone below decks to get some rest. Rose had waited up with her nephew for a long while, but when she had started yawning uncontrollably Jake had kindly suggested that she lie down on one of the comfortable sofas by the fire. Rose had fetched a woolly blanket for him, kissed him on the forehead, then disappeared saying she ‘probably wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway’. A minute later, Jake had heard her loud snores from the cabin below.
With the blanket wrapped around him, he now looked out at the rolling sea and the faint light on the horizon, and thought again of his parents. A strange mixture of feelings churned around in his head. Of course, he was worried sick, but he was also haunted by a sense of betrayal. They had lied to him, pretending that they were going to a bathroom trade fair in Birmingham, when they had actually been heading not just across Europe, but across the centuries.
Jake shook his head to clear his mind. ‘There’s probably an explanation for everything,’ he said out loud, and returned to scanning the ocean. Since the disappearance of his brother, Jake had learned, through painful trial and error, the trick of blocking out any dark thoughts that threatened him.
Slowly, the wind, which had been bracing and cool, started to die down. Within minutes it was replaced by a warm breeze from the tropics. Now an inescapable drowsiness took hold of Jake. First he knelt down on the wooden deck; a few moments later he lay on his side with his school bag under his head as a pillow, still staring out at the sea; then he fell fast asleep.
* * *
At the same moment, early that morning in 1820, near the Normandy village of Verre, a masked figure was making his way cautiously around the topiary hedges towards an imposing chateau set in grand, formal gardens. He stopped in the shadows and surveyed the building.
A guard with a lantern patrolled the grounds. The masked figure waited for him to disappear round the side of the chateau, before stealthily gliding across the lawn and scaling the wisteria until he was level with a first-floor window.
Inside the room, a girl was pacing anxiously to and fro. The intruder threw open the window, leaped inside and ripped off his mask.
‘Nathan! Thank God! I thought you’d never make it,’ the young girl exclaimed as she showered him in kisses. Nathan didn’t react: he was used to young ladies throwing themselves at him. He was sixteen, athletic, strikingly good-looking, with a delightfully self-assured glint in his eye. He was also dressed in the height of fashion. He looked around the opulent bedroom; it was decorated with a ton of gilt and great festoons of lilac silk.
‘Whoops – style overload,’ he commented in his light American drawl. ‘Isabella, your husband-to-be has clearly confused money with taste.’
‘He will never be my husband! He said if I did not walk up the aisle tomorrow, he would force me. At gunpoint. And this is the horrible dress he wants me to wear.’ She nodded disgustedly at an elaborate wedding gown hanging on a mannequin.
Nathan was appalled. ‘The man is a monster! Isn’t he aware that the Empire chemisette went out with the Ark? We need to get you out of here.’
He silently descended the wisteria, holding the breathless Isabella in his arms as if she were as light as air.
‘I want to marry a man like you, Nathan, strong and heroic,’ she sighed.
‘Isabella, my darling, haven’t we been through this? I’d be a terrible husband. I may be irresistible, but I’m unreliable, immature, infuriating. You’d be throwing yourself away on me.’ Nathan set her down on the ground. ‘Now, quickly – this place is swarming with guards.’
Minutes later, they were hurrying across a paddock towards Nathan’s horse, which was waiting at the edge of the forest. Suddenly a voice came from beneath the canopy of trees.
‘I had a premonition of your disobedience,’ it growled in a low French accent. Isabella trembled as a sour-looking aristocrat, obese and ruddy-cheeked, stepped out of the shadows; at his side was a brutish-looking guard, holding the reins of his master’s horse. ‘So I took precautions.’
‘Ah, Chevalier Boucicault …’ Nathan beamed, unfazed. ‘We’re glad we caught you. Premonition justified: Signorina Montefiore is having second thoughts about the wedding. She has issues with your manners – not to mention your trouser size.’
The chevalier held out his hand, and the guard deposited a pistol in his palm. ‘Très amusant,’ he sneered as he checked it was loaded.
‘And on that subject, as much as I admire your brave sartorial efforts,’ Nathan continued, indicating the chevalier’s waistcoat, ‘I have to point out that stripes are doing you no favours. They’re merciless with a frame s
uch as yours.’
Isabella’s eyes went wide as the chevalier cocked his pistol and levelled it at Nathan. The boy’s reaction was so quick it was almost invisible: suddenly his rapier was drawn, there was a flash of steel – then the pistol was whipped out of the chevalier’s grasp; it flew up into the air and landed firmly in Nathan’s hand.
‘Let’s go!’ he shouted as he leaped onto his handsome black mare. He grabbed Isabella’s hand and pulled her up behind him.
‘Arrêtez! Voleur!’ the chevalier bellowed as they tore off across the field. Within seconds he’d scrambled onto his own beast and was charging in pursuit.
‘Hold on tight!’ Nathan shouted back to his companion as he galloped along the narrow path that cut through the dense conifer wood.
A huge branch emerged out of the dawn mist right in front of them. ‘Nathan, watch out!’ Isabella yelled.
Nathan fired the pistol, and the offending branch was obliterated. They rode on at full speed. Nathan tossed away the gun, its cartridge spent.
The red-cheeked chevalier whipped his horse savagely until he was edging abreast of his prey. Nathan drew his sword again and checked his perfect white teeth in the glinting blade before turning to the chevalier. As both horses hurtled onwards, the two riders clashed swords, their blades flashing like lightning in the early morning sun. Isabella gasped, shielding herself from the whipping branches of the passing trees.
‘I should warn you,’ Nathan teased his adversary, ‘I haven’t lost a fencing bout since I was eight. And that was to the Chevalier d’Éon, considered by many to be the greatest swordsman in history. The odds are not on your side, my friend.’
With this, he delivered the decisive blow. Boucicault reeled, and there was an almighty clunk as his head collided with a thick branch. He flew through the air and landed with a thump on his derrière.
‘Adieu, mon ami,’ Nathan shouted, sheathing his sword. ‘And once more – it’s 1820, my friend: sleek is no longer a preference; it’s a requirement.’
Half an hour later they stopped on a rocky outcrop suspended above the sea, where a local man was waiting with a carriage. Nathan dismounted, helped Isabella down and went to speak to him. For a moment he chatted jovially in broken French, then handed over his horse and a number of gold coins and returned to Isabella.
‘Jacques here will take you back to your family in Milan. So this, as they say, is farewell.’
‘But, Nathan,’ Isabella pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes, ‘I don’t understand! Can’t I come with you?’
‘No can do, I’m afraid.’ The soft Charleston twang in Nathan’s voice was clearer now. ‘I start work in an hour.’
‘What is this silly job you do, anyway?’ Isabella pouted. ‘This big secret of yours …?’
Nathan took a deep breath, but chose not to reply. He kissed her on the forehead. ‘You’ll get over me sooner than you think,’ he said – and there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.
‘Nathan, I love you,’ Isabella told him.
‘And I love an adventure!’ he replied – then charged towards the cliff edge and dived, arms outstretched on either side, into the ocean.
Isabella watched in amazement, tears glistening on her cheeks, as he swam out into the mist.
The horizon was beginning to blush with dawn indigos and pinks when Jake awoke to the smell of freshly baked bread. A plate of croissants, still steaming, lay on the deck next to him.
‘No doubt you feel like death …?’ a voice commented.
It was Charlie. He was looking out to sea with a telescope. ‘Atomium leaves you groggy at the best of times, but the first experience is the worst. There’s orange juice,’ he said, indicating a china mug beside the croissants, ‘and please help yourself to a pastry. They’re almond and chocolate.’
Jake did indeed feel terrible: his throat was like sandpaper, his muscles ached and his head thumped. He reached for the cup and drank down the juice. It revived him enough to sit up.
‘An East Indiaman, if I’m not mistaken,’ Charlie muttered. ‘Dutch, I suppose. Probably on its way to Ceylon or Bombay.’
At first Jake failed to register what Charlie was saying. Then, through the ship’s rail, he saw a dim shape on the horizon. He leaped to his feet. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
Gliding majestically across the crimson horizon was a ship. Its long sturdy hull was punctuated by a succession of portholes; three enormous masts supported steeply raked sails, each one billowing in the strong wind. Although it was some distance away, Jake could see activity on the deck.
‘Could I please borrow your telescope for one second?’ he asked his companion.
Charlie passed the eyepiece over. Jake took it excitedly and pointed it towards the ship. He gasped in astonishment at what he saw: a group of sailors were standing in the stern, hauling up the last of the sails. All wore the same uniform of flowing white shirts, narrow trousers and boots up to their knees. Overseeing the operation was a distinguished-looking man in a blue tunic and a triangular hat that made him look like Lord Nelson.
This was the proof that Jake had sought, and it left him spellbound. He eagerly examined other parts of the ship. Framed in a porthole was a cabin boy throwing out a bowl of slops; on a raised deck at the bow stood three gentlemen in long coats, holding canes; next to them, a lookout leaned over the side, scanning the horizon with his own telescope. Jake instinctively edged back into the shadow, aware that he might be discovered in his school uniform.
‘You’re treading on my croissants,’ Charlie pointed out. Jake looked down to discover one of the pastries flattened under his heel.
‘Sorry,’ he said absent-mindedly, then immediately returned his attention to the East Indiaman, ‘but this is amazing!’
‘If you look in that direction,’ Charlie said, indicating the bows, ‘you’ll get another surprise …’
‘What surprise?’
‘You’ll see,’ Charlie replied with a mischievous wink, and disappeared below.
7 THE CASTLE IN THE SEA
AT THE PROW of the Escape, Jake waited patiently. Gradually he started to discern the faint outline of land, shrouded in early morning mist. Then, directly ahead, he spotted a faint triangular shape outlined against the rocky coast. At first it looked menacing, like a vast cloaked giant striding out from the shore. But as he looked more carefully, he realized that it was an island, cone-shaped, compact and granite-grey.
Jake remembered that he still had Charlie’s telescope. He held it up and examined the curious triangle in more detail. Its wide, solid base was of natural rock, but on top of it stood what seemed to be a series of ancient man-made edifices – buildings erected upon buildings like toy bricks, rising up to a single tower and a sharp, pointed steeple.
‘That’s her,’ said a soft voice behind him. ‘Mont St Michel.’ Topaz came to join Jake in the bows. ‘Point Zero, the headquarters of the History Keepers’ Secret Service.’ She was eating one of Charlie’s almond and chocolate croissants. French people always ate their pastries with such panache, Jake reflected, and Topaz was no exception. Even the simple action of catching crumbs and tipping them into her mouth he found inexplicably dazzling.
As the island continued to materialize out of the mist, Topaz told Jake all about it. ‘Its history as a fortress dates back to the year 808; that’s why the Secret Service chose it as their base. In over a thousand years its walls have never once been breached.’
She explained that the commanders of the History Keepers had not only chosen the safest geographical location for their headquarters; they also chose the safest historical location.
‘The 1820s is a time of peace,’ she told him. ‘The bloody turmoil of the last two hundred years has passed its worst. The English civil war, the war of the Austrian Succession and the unforgettable French Revolution have all been resolved. The legacy of Napoleon Bonaparte, whether he wanted it or not, has brought a spell of harmony to this region of Europe.’
The decade was al
so free of the perils of the modern world, she went on: the coming Industrial Revolution would give birth to many necessary evils, and the development of the steam engine would lead eventually to the ‘diabolical atomic bomb’.
‘The modern times are merveilleux, full of magic, but they are also full of danger. The 1820s are safe from all that.’
Once Topaz had completed her whirlwind tour of history, she gave a quick smile. ‘So now you understand the location of Point Zero.’ And she popped the last piece of croissant into her mouth.
Jake didn’t fully grasp it. ‘So the headquarters remains in 1820 – permanently?’
‘It stays for the decade – then, on New Year’s Eve 1829, everyone gets on a ship, takes a horizon point back to the first of January 1820, and returns to the island, and so on for another ten years. I know it all sounds mad, but somehow it works.’
Jake decided he would wait and see if everything became clearer in time.
The island had now come into focus. He craned his neck to examine its impressive array of towers and peaks; of flying buttresses, colonnades and giant arched windows. From everywhere came the squawking of seabirds as they flew in and out of the shadows of the citadel. Mr Drake didn’t care for them and kept a beady eye on them at all times.
On a promontory ahead of them stood a group of figures – a welcoming party. If the sailors of the East Indiaman had shown Jake that he was indeed in a different time, this collection of extraordinary-looking figures confirmed it. He had seen people dressed in old-fashioned clothes on television programmes or at fancy-dress parties, but somehow he had never felt convinced that they really belonged to a past era – they were always too neat and artificial. These were different; they looked right.
There were people dressed from every period in history, from the Victorian era back to the age of Elizabeth I and beyond. Amongst them was a middle-aged man in a flamboyant red velvet tailcoat with matching top hat. Clutching his arm was an elegant-looking lady, her skirts ballooning out with crinoline and ruffles. Another gentleman wore a black doublet, a white ruff framing his stern-looking face. However, for Jake the most eye-catching figure of all was a tall lady who stood at the front of the group.
History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins Page 5