History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins

by Damian Dibben

  ‘I have money,’ said Jake helpfully, trying to ease the tension.

  Topaz checked through a spy-hole that the coast was clear, slid the door back and led the way out of the barn to the offending cart. Jake actually thought it looked quite good. Two sturdy-looking bay horses were drinking from a water trough – along with Topaz’s white mare.

  She ran her hand fondly through the horse’s mane, then led her away and clapped her firmly on the rump. ‘Go on! Home you go,’ she instructed, pointing towards a house on the hill in the distance. ‘I “borrowed” her for the night from a somnolent ostler,’ she explained to Jake. ‘I needed a very particular animal for your rescue.’

  The mare did not move, just blinked her big eyes at Topaz. ‘Go now!’ she shouted, and this time the horse took off, still tacked up, across the field. Charlie and Topaz busied themselves harnessing the remaining horses to the cart.

  Jake’s mind was whirling with a torrent of thoughts, but one question nagged him incessantly – not least because of the connection with his brother Philip.

  ‘Everyone has been talking about Prince Zeldt,’ he said, ‘but I still have no idea who he is. What exactly has he done?’

  Jake’s enquiry was met by silence. Topaz continued to fasten the straps of the harness.

  A good minute passed before Charlie finally answered, ‘We probably shouldn’t discuss it on an empty stomach.’

  A few moments later the three of them climbed aboard. Topaz took the reins, and the cart set off up the road towards the distant mountains.

  It was a bumpy, noisy ride, but Jake was surprised how quickly they sped along. Within half an hour they’d found a Roman road that cut straight across the countryside. Its tightly packed stones had been flattened from centuries of use, and their pace picked up still more. Topaz’s golden hair flew about in the breeze and Mr Drake’s feathers were ruffled as he gazed serenely at the passing landscape from Charlie’s shoulder.

  ‘How did you escape in Venice?’ Jake shouted over the noise of the wind, the wheels and the galloping hooves.

  ‘Mr Drake saved the day,’ Charlie announced proudly, feeding the bird a peanut. ‘We were being led away, when my feathered friend created the most spectacular diversion. A great flock of pigeons were sleeping on a rooftop – Venetian pigeons are famously fat and ill-tempered – when Mr Drake dived in and forced them to take flight. You’ve never seen so many angry feathers. We took advantage of the moment and leaped into the nearest canal. After some very unpleasant underwater navigation, we found our way onto a Chinese trade ship.’

  ‘That’s where the fireworks came from!’ Topaz shouted from the front as she flicked the reins.

  Jake looked at the rolling hills, now bathed in morning sunshine, and wondered what lay ahead; what dangers they would encounter when they reached their destination. Charlie had described the stronghold of Castle Schwarzheim as ‘the most diabolical of them all’. Jake thought about the castle’s fierce inhabitants, most particularly the infamous Prince Zeldt – ‘a thousand times more evil’ than the worst killer he could imagine. More than anything, Jake wondered if the castle would reveal the whereabouts of his parents.

  All day they swept along the Roman roads, stopping briefly at roadside inns to change horses, then carrying on. The sun travelled across the sky; the passengers in the back played cards or chatted – Charlie, to Mr Drake’s embarrassment, even sang some songs. Late in the afternoon Jake was entrusted with the reins. To begin with, he had some teething problems, and Topaz and Charlie had to give him a lesson. In a short while, however, he was handling the horses with confidence.

  As evening approached, they started to climb the slopes up to the Brenner Pass. The horses panted with exertion, but soon the road began to even out. They stopped at a tavern in a mountain village to change horses again, and ate delicious local sausage and sauerkraut.

  After dinner they returned to the cart. It was Charlie’s turn to drive. He lit the lanterns. ‘Why don’t you join me at the front?’ he asked Jake, who jumped up next to him, while Topaz climbed into the back. Charlie shook the reins and they set off again, the lanterns flickering as they trundled out of town.

  In the half-light, Topaz once again examined the guest list for the Superia Summit. She couldn’t stop yawning.

  ‘I know you’re officially in charge,’ Charlie told her, ‘but I really must insist you have a rest. You haven’t slept in two days.’

  ‘No need, I’m wide awake,’ Topaz insisted, but her heavy eyelids told a different story. ‘D’accord – ten minutes,’ she agreed. She put the list to one side and gathered up some hay for a bed. ‘I’ll just doze,’ she said as she lay down, falling instantly into a deep slumber. Mr Drake, who was also exhausted, fluttered off Charlie, perched next to Topaz, fluffed up his plummage, dropped his bill onto his chest and closed his eyes.

  It was a calm night. After travelling in silence for a while, Charlie cleared his throat and whispered, ‘We don’t usually talk about the Zeldt family in front of Topaz. We all have reasons to hate them, but Topaz more than most. It’s to do with her parents.’

  ‘Did they kill her parents?’ Jake asked bluntly.

  ‘Sssh …’ Charlie turned to check that Topaz was still asleep.

  ‘Sorry,’ whispered Jake.

  Charlie thought about how best to answer his question. ‘They didn’t actually kill them, but it was something along those lines.’

  Jake nodded seriously.

  ‘The Zeldt dynasty goes back to the very beginning of the History Keepers,’ Charlie continued, ‘before they were even called keepers. Rasmus Ambrosius Zeldt, born originally in the frozen wilds of northern Sweden, was a close contemporary of Sejanus Poppoloe, who discovered atomium and drew the first maps of the world’s horizon points. They were firm friends, visionary scientists and great adventurers. Their goal was to explore history, to understand it, but never to change it. However, Rasmus grew increasingly unstable.’

  ‘Unstable?’

  ‘Criminally unstable,’ Charlie reiterated solemnly. ‘Around that time he met his wife, Matilda, on a voyage to England during the civil war of the seventeenth century – and by the way, she was the reason why the Zeldt family still speak in English. Drunk with the power of time travel, Rasmus descended into madness and split from Sejanus and the other time observers who had joined the society. He proclaimed himself King. Not of Sweden or Europe or the world even, but of Time itself. Really it was more talk and bravado than anything else. Many generations passed. The self-declared “royal family” lurked around history like a bad smell. Then King Sigvard was born and nothing was ever the same again.’

  ‘Sigvard?’

  ‘The grandfather of all our troubles,’ Charlie said ominously.

  ‘What did he do?’ asked Jake.

  Charlie paused for effect. ‘He declared war on history.’ At these words, a shiver went down Jake’s spine. ‘He vowed to change the world, to ruin the world, to steep it in evil. In order to learn his diabolical craft he took a grand tour of history’s greatest atrocities. He observed, at first hand, the Spanish Inquisition, the witch hunts of Salem, the persecution of the Jews, of the Christians, of the Huguenots, the murderous rampages of the Thugees in India, the Islamic holy wars … King Sigvard watched it all from the shadows, influencing it where he could, learning his craft and planning his domination. He started a campaign of horror. The History Keepers’ Secret Service have been fighting the Zeldts ever since.’

  ‘Is he still alive?’

  ‘He died decades ago, in ancient Mesopotamia. Would you believe – a roof tile fell on his head! He suffered internal bleeding and died soon after. After his extraordinary reign, his malevolent career, his lifetime of evil, he dies in a household accident.’

  ‘I suppose that’s fate having the last word,’ Jake mused.

  ‘Not the last word at all, I’m afraid. He left three children. Xander was the oldest – the Dark Prince, as he is known, the one we’re on our way to s
ee. The second, Alric, disappeared when he was fourteen. He has never been seen since. The third was Agata, and she was the worst of the lot.’

  ‘Worse than her father?’

  ‘To give you some idea, when she was five she tried to drown Xander, her elder brother, in a freezing lake. That’s why, to this very day, he’s unable to feel warmth. Or anything else for that matter. On another occasion she discovered her lady-in-waiting trying on one of her gowns. She forced her to sit on a throne of red-hot iron, with a red-hot iron crown on her head and holding a ret-hot iron sceptre, until she was scorched to death. No, Agata Zeldt is categorically the most evil woman in history.’

  ‘What are you two talking about?’ came a soft voice from the back of the cart. Jake turned to see Topaz, bleary-eyed, looking up from her bed of hay.

  ‘Nothing!’ Charlie declared flatly. ‘Just soufflés.’

  Topaz smiled warmly at Jake, lay back down and drifted off to sleep again.

  Jake looked around at the moonlit landscape, at the snow-peaked mountains on either side. He was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding as the cart flew on into the night towards Castle Schwarzheim.

  18 THE CHEQUERED ROSE

  BACK AT POINT Zero, Oceane Noire stood at the entrance to the stateroom, greeting her party guests. Only once did she lose her composure. ‘Mon Dieu!’ she exclaimed as a figure stumbled into the room. ‘She’s carrying that bag.’ She was referring to Rose Djones, who looked quite beautiful in the Empire gown that Olympe de Gouges had bequeathed her – though the effect was spoiled by her jangling bangles and ubiquitous carpetbag. That and the fact that the dress was so constricting she could barely move in it.

  At seven forty-five precisely, a gong sounded and the guests took their seats for dinner. There were place names set out so that Oceane could control exactly who sat where. The hostess put herself next to Jupitus Cole and sat Rose in a draughty corner at the far end by the kitchen door. Oceane had no idea that this suited Rose perfectly – at some point she planned to make a casual exit and set off on her secret mission.

  During dessert, there was an excited commotion over the clementine and fig jelly that had been cast in the likeness of the hostess. As the occupants of Rose’s table (all of whom were black sheep in Oceane’s eyes) diverted themselves by wobbling their miniature Oceanes into a frenzy, Galliana surreptitiously nodded to her old ally. Rose nodded back, stood up and slipped unnoticed from the room.

  As quickly as her dress would allow her, she hurried up stairways and along deserted corridors until she came to the entrance to Jupitus Cole’s suite. Here she put on her gloves, unlocked the door and slipped inside.

  The rooms were just as formal and austere as Rose had imagined, with heavy pieces of furniture, dark portraits of glum-looking people and a faint but all-pervading odour of stale potpourri.

  ‘Dear me,’ she said, taking it all in, ‘it’s like a tomb.’

  She started searching the bureau, carefully going through a pile of perfectly stacked papers. From the bottom she retrieved two sheets to give to Galliana to check for fingerprints. As she folded them and put them in her pocket, she saw something inside the bureau that made her heart stop. She reached out and carefully withdrew a small glass box, beautifully crafted, with fine gold joints. It was not the box that she recognized; it was what lay inside – a single dried rose which, though long dead, still retained its distinctive red and white chequered pattern. At the bottom of the box there was a tiny drawer. Rose opened it to discover a bundle of handwritten notes. She gasped in disbelief and sank back onto one of the chairs.

  In the stateroom the party was in full swing. After dinner had finished, the tables had been cleared to create a dance floor, and the hitherto restrained orchestra had picked up their pace dramatically. The dancing had become more and more high-spirited as the band worked their way through the hits of the 1820s, from the Regency quadrille, to the exuberant danse espagnole and the positively racy waltz.

  Into the melee strode Rose, ashen-faced. She manoeuvred herself past Norland (who was dancing so energetically with Lydia Wunderbar, the librarian, that they both threatened to do themselves an injury) and cut around the dance floor towards Galliana.

  ‘Here. You can check these for fingerprints,’ she said as she subtly passed the commander the two letters she had retrieved from Jupitus’s bureau.

  ‘Did you find anything else?’ asked Galliana, without looking at her accomplice.

  ‘I went through every single drawer in his apartment. Nothing suspicious at all.’

  ‘Rose? Are you all right? You look pale.’

  ‘Not really,’ Rose replied, her brows knotting. ‘I found something else that rather alarmed me. Do you remember, years ago, when I lived on the Mount, I took up gardening for a while? I tried to cultivate my own rose. I only managed to produce one rather lacklustre plant, which lasted all of three weeks and never bloomed again. The roses were red and white in a chequered pattern.’ Rose continued as if in a trance, ‘In Jupitus’s rooms, I have just discovered one of the flowers, preserved in a glass case.’

  Galliana turned to her friend, arched her eyebrow, then looked back at the dancers again.

  ‘Not only that,’ Rose continued. ‘But I also discovered a drawer containing old notes of mine – shopping lists, memos, irrelevant scribblings that must surely have been taken from my waste-paper basket.’ Her voice strayed into a high, slightly hysterical register.

  ‘Good God, he’s clearly in love with you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rose announced. ‘We hate each other!’

  Half an hour later, Rose received her second shock of the night. As she went to the bar to get another calming glass of rum punch, a low voice announced behind her, ‘It is not I, the spy.’

  She turned, to be confronted by a very serious-looking Jupitus. ‘Excuse me?’ she replied innocently.

  ‘I know you were in my rooms. I have just been there and I smelled your perfume. Believe me or don’t believe me, it makes no matter, but if you are looking for a double agent, your time would be better spent elsewhere.’

  ‘I don’t understand …’ Rose mumbled.

  ‘Don’t be obtuse,’ said Jupitus, fixing her with his most piercing stare. ‘If you wish to find out what I know on the subject, follow me.’ He turned, strode across to the door and left the room.

  Rose stood there for a second, dumbfounded. Her eyes darted from side to side as she decided what to do. Then she drank down the entire glass of punch in one and followed Jupitus out.

  He was waiting for her nonchalantly at the foot of the grand staircase, holding a lit candlestick. ‘This way,’ he said coolly, heading up the steps. He led her silently up two flights and along the corridor until they came to the doorway of the Library of Faces. They could still hear the distant sound of the party.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep last night,’ Jupitus explained. ‘I came this way to the kitchens. I find a hot chocolate usually takes the edge off my worries. As I rounded the corner there, I saw a figure in a navy-blue cloak emerge from the Library of Faces. I couldn’t see his face, but he had the bearing of a man. ‘He closed the door and quickly disappeared along the corridor in a manner that I found suspicious.’

  ‘Did you follow him?’

  ‘I chose rather to investigate the library.’

  Jupitus opened the door and led Rose inside. The candles illuminated the room only dimly. It was fifteen years since Rose had set foot inside and she had forgotten how eerie it was: the long high wall composed of nothing but portraits. The faces of the History Keepers’ many friends and foes, dating back centuries, stared down at her. After a minute, a bell rang and the machinery clicked into motion, turning every painting on its axis to reveal another wall of faces.

  ‘I found this door ajar,’ Jupitus continued in a whisper, making for a concealed entrance in the far corner of the room. He pushed it open and ushered Rose into the pitch-black area that lay behind the portraits.

  ‘Ta
ke my hand,’ he whispered. ‘It’s easy to trip over the machinery.’

  Rose stopped. Her eyes flickered with apprehension before she tentatively held out her hand. It was clasped by Jupitus’s. Rose was surprised at how warm it was; somehow she’d expected him to be cold-blooded.

  Jupitus led her deep into the dark space. The Library of Faces, indistinguishable in the gloom, still watched them. The light from Jupitus’s candlestick picked out the room’s secret mechanics, the hundreds of levers and pulleys that turned the faces.

  In the blackest corner, Jupitus finally lighted upon a length of piping that ran down the wall and through the floor.

  ‘This tube,’ he explained, illuminating it with the candles, ‘comes from the communications room above us and runs down into the commander’s private suite below.’

  Rose was beginning to grasp Jupitus’s meaning. ‘This is the way the Meslith messages are sent to Galliana?’

  ‘Affirmative. And yesterday I made an alarming discovery.’

  He held the candlestick close to the tube, and Rose gasped. She could see that it had been cut and its path blocked with tape.

  ‘Messages are being intercepted,’ Jupitus explained, ‘before they continue on their way. We need to find out who is responsible.’

  ‘You mean the man in the navy-blue cloak?’

  ‘Exactly, Rosalind,’ Jupitus whispered. ‘Tomorrow we need to conceal ourselves in this place in the hope that our “interceptor” returns.’

  ‘W-we? Together?’ stammered Rose.

  ‘As I am evidently under suspicion, I would feel more comfortable. Or are you busy tomorrow?’

  ‘No, I … of course … if you think it would be helpful.’ Rose floundered, suddenly inexplicably nervous. ‘A stakeout, huh? It’ll be like old times.’

  Jupitus stared at her. The candlelight flickered over his face. Rose looked into his eyes. For the briefest moment the person staring back at her was not the cold, irritable, unknowable Jupitus Cole, but another man altogether – a sensitive, almost fragile soul. Then his gaze hardened once again.