‘Mirabelle Delafonte? De vrai? That was her real name?’
‘I’m afraid it was worse. Mirabelle Portia Svetlana Ida Delafonte. Her parents were involved in amateur dramatics, to put it mildly.’
Topaz giggled. ‘Did you say yes?’
‘As I was “thinking” about it, she glued her mouth to my face and my cheek got caught on her brace. We almost had to have it surgically removed.’
Topaz burst out laughing: for almost five minutes, the image of Mirabelle Delafonte’s cumbersome brace played over in her head, and she couldn’t stop laughing. Just as she got it under control, it would start up again. Eventually she took some deep breaths and confessed, ‘I’m terrible when I get started.’
Jake felt brave enough to ask her some questions. ‘So, bringing things down to earth, how long have you been … doing this kind of thing? In the History Keepers’ Secret Service, that is.’
Topaz gazed out across the river. ‘Well, I was born during the battle of Poitiers in the Hundred Years War. And when I say “during”, it was apparently in the ammunition tent in the middle of the battlefield. Thankfully I have no recollection of it. But I do remember my first Crusade, at the age of four. My mother took me to eleventh-century Jerusalem “to show me the ropes”, and things never really changed much from then on.’
Jake detected a certain brittleness in Topaz’s tone. He wasn’t sure if he should continue, but found himself asking one more question: ‘And would it be rude to ask – what happened to your parents?’
Any trace of a smile now vanished completely from Topaz’s face. The dark shadow of sorrow had taken over.
Jake felt terrible. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘It’s all right, I understand. You’re worried about your parents,’ Topaz replied bravely. ‘Alan and Miriam are wonderful people, Jake. I am sure they are safe somewhere. I can feel it here,’ she said, touching her heart. She looked deep into his eyes. ‘The story of my parents was very different.’
And that was all she would say on the matter. She gazed out at the river a little longer, then turned and took Jake’s hand. ‘Let’s go and find Charlie before his holiday romance gets out of control.’
Jake laughed and followed her into the crowd.
The sound of fiddles drifted across the valley and along the Rhine. It became fainter and fainter as a warm breeze carried it through the night clouds to the castle perching high on the nearby peak. Here, behind granite walls fifteen feet deep, two figures sat forlornly in a dungeon …
‘I wonder what his last meal was,’ pondered one.
Nathan Wylder and Paolo Cozzo were leaning against a damp stone wall in a prison cell lit only by a single ray of moonlight that came through a barred loophole window. One of the walls consisted of a partition of thick iron bars, through which the rest of the murky dungeons could be glimpsed. Nathan still had a steely glint in his eye, but Paolo was a picture of despair.
‘Whatever it was, his last meal, I am categorically not going to order it,’ Nathan declared. The object of his musings was a skeleton propped against the opposite wall of the cell.
Paolo rolled his eyes. His stomach made a strange rumbling sound. A minute passed before he muttered morosely, ‘How do you know it’s a man?’
‘Was that a question?’ Nathan gasped. ‘This is exciting! We’re having a conversation! You said we weren’t going to have any of those again. Hmmm – you’re right, maybe it is a young lady. That might change things.’ He rearranged his matted hair and torn jacket and winked seductively at the skeleton. ‘Doing anything tonight?’
Paolo sighed. The faint sound of music drifted up from the village below. As Nathan hummed the tune, suddenly an idea struck him and he clambered to his feet. ‘I know …’
‘What?’ Paolo asked excitedly.
‘Why don’t we dance?’
Paolo gritted his teeth. ‘You really are hysterically funny,’ he muttered, and slumped back down again.
‘Actually I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to my new friend here, Esmerelda.’ He held out his hand to the skeleton. ‘Esmerelda, do you fancy a waltz with me? Or a polka – or I can go more baroque if you like? I promise not to tread on your bones.’
‘Shut up, Nathan!’ Paolo finally exploded. ‘I’m sick, I’m tired, I haven’t eaten in three days – we’re going to starve to death, or be tortured or cut up into pieces, and all you can do is make stupid jokes!’
‘Haven’t eaten? Your memory is playing tricks: we had those delicious cockroaches this morning. I thought the texture was revelatory. And as for making jokes, we have to, don’t we? Humour is what sets us apart from the animals.’
‘SHUT UP!’ Paolo yelled. ‘OR I WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY ACTIONS!’ In frustration, he scooped up a pile of hay from the ground and threw it at Nathan.
Nathan crouched down beside the skeleton, sharing a guilty look with it. ‘Sorry about my friend,’ he whispered confidentially. ‘Italian – very dramatic.’
His eye caught something on the ground: a tiny piece of material that he’d uncovered with his foot. Nathan reached forward and picked it up. An inscription was sewn onto it. He read it quietly to himself: ‘Marks and Spencer?’ He rubbed the material with his fingers. ‘Synthetic, obviously twentieth century.’ Then a terrible thought struck him. ‘Miriam and Alan Djones.’
‘What’s that?’ Paolo looked up.
‘Nothing,’ replied Nathan breezily, slipping the tag into his pocket. He covertly scanned the floor for any other signs of previous occupants.
Suddenly they heard the distant sounds of keys jangling and a door being unlocked. Paolo gasped and sat up, not knowing whether to feel delight or terror. Heavy footsteps approached. Candlelight flickered on the vaulted roof beyond the bars of the cell, and finally the elegant figure of Mina Schlitz glided into view, accompanied by a single guard carrying a lantern.
Mina stopped and stared down at the two prisoners. In her hand she held a great domed pewter charger. She lifted the lid to reveal a magnificent array of food: cuts of cold meat, fresh bread and a mountain of fruit.
‘Food? You’ve brought us food?’ Paolo stammered in disbelief, pulling himself to his feet.
Mina replaced the lid, put the platter on the ground and, pointedly, pushed it away from them with her heel. She withdrew her red-backed snake from the box at her waist and wound it around her wrist. ‘The prince would like to know if you are hungry enough yet to strike a deal.’
‘A deal – of course,’ Paolo exclaimed. ‘We’ll do a deal. What does it involve?’ He clung to the bars excitedly.
‘My friend is dehydrated and not thinking properly,’ interjected Nathan. ‘We don’t negotiate with the enemy.’
‘Really?’ purred Mina. ‘That’s very odd. You’re given two alternatives: a slow, lingering death or a purposeful and glorious career with the very creators of history.’
‘Purposeful career! I’d go for that every time,’ enthused Paolo. ‘Where do we sign?’
Nathan removed him from the bars and steered him to the back of the cell. ‘I’m warning you – no more.’
He turned to face Mina. His expression was no longer playful: his face was grave and his eyes alert.
‘History has already been created, Miss Schlitz,’ he said in a deep, forceful tone. ‘It’s had enough problems already. We don’t wish to make things worse.’ His expression hardened another notch. ‘There are no deals to be made.’
A smile played across Mina’s face. ‘The last people who were locked in this cell said the same thing.’ Her voice dropped to a teasing whisper. ‘I’ve heard that their demise was wonderfully un pleasant.’ Again, she kicked the pewter platter yet further from the prisoners’ grasp. ‘There’s still time for second thoughts.’ She nodded to the guard, and they both turned to go.
‘But if I may make so bold, Miss Schlitz …?’
Mina stopped and looked round hopefully.
‘Red isn’t your colour at all,’
Nathan teased. ‘I dare say you think it goes with that friendly viper of yours, but actually, they’re different tones: your dress is magenta, the markings on your serpent are vermilion. Subtle clashes can be a sign of confidence, but in your case, I think it’s verging on the vulgar.’
Mina’s face darkened angrily. She turned and strode away, the guard and the light vanishing with her. There came the sound of a door slamming shut and keys turning.
‘Don’t you feel better for that? More alive?’ asked Nathan, turning to his companion.
But Paolo merely shuddered with misery.
20 THE RUSSIAN VISITORS
‘SOMEONE’S HERE, ‘WHISPERED Jake as he patted Topaz on the shoulder.
It took her a moment to surface from her deep sleep, but suddenly her eyes flashed open; she pulled back the covers and leaped out of bed, already fully dressed. Charlie also surfaced and sat up quickly.
‘Down there,’ Jake whispered. He pointed through a gap in the curtain. In the street below, like an apparition emerging from a blanket of morning mist, stood a carriage.
The three of them had discussed their plans just before going to bed, and now they snapped into action.
‘You’re clear about what you’re doing?’ Charlie asked.
Jake nodded confidently. ‘At school I went down a storm in Oliver!’ he lied.
‘Here are your props …’ said Charlie, handing Jake a bowl of bloody offal. ‘Entrails, compliments of the chef.’ Then he added dryly, ‘And you two wonder why I’m a vegetarian.’
‘Let’s take our positions, everyone,’ instructed Topaz.
They all crept down the stairs.
In the street, a young couple descended from the carriage and took a disdainful look around the village. The gentleman was tall and chinless; his companion was sour-faced and haughty. Both were dressed in the fashions of the period and, even though it was July, draped with a veritable menagerie of fur: dead minks, ocelots and martens. The lady withdrew a whip from her belt and cracked it at the ancient driver, barking an order at him. As the poor man was feeling his way down from his seat, coughing and wheezing, Charlie came out of the inn and rushed over to the pair with an expression of panic on his face.
‘Castle Schwarzheim?’ he asked them.
Their faces were momentarily blank.
‘English? Deutsch? Français?’ asked Charlie.
‘Russki,’ the lady replied indignantly.
From then on Charlie and the couple spoke in fluent Russian. ‘I believe you may be on your way to Castle Schwarzheim …’ he said.
‘Castle Schwarzheim, yes,’ answered the man.
‘Your names, please?’ Charlie asked. He was holding the guest list that Jake had found in Mina’s Schlitz’s tent.
‘Mikhail and Irina Volsky,’ the lady answered with a sigh of irritation.
‘From Odessa,’ her husband added.
Charlie scanned the parchment and found their names near the bottom of the list. ‘Yes, of course. Thank God I found you in time – thank God!’ He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You must take cover immediately. It’s dangerous!’ he said, sweeping his hand around the entire valley. ‘Highwaymen! An army of them.’
Irina gasped as she gazed around. The driver, who was still standing there, looked terrified.
‘Where?’ the husband asked.
‘On the road ahead – on the road behind. Everywhere. A gang of fifty of them! All savages! This very morning four people were killed and dismembered.’ Charlie did an impression of throats being cut that made Irina clutch the pearls around her neck in alarm.
Red-headed Heidi emerged from the inn, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She had come out to see to the new arrivals, but Charlie intercepted her.
‘Friends of mine – I’ll deal with them. You go back to bed,’ he whispered, switching to German. He ushered her back into the inn, closed the door behind her and returned to the Volskys.
‘If you follow me, I will show you to your room.’
‘Room?’ Irina asked.
‘You’ll need to stay here until the danger passes. You will be safe.’
Charlie tried to usher them towards the inn, but the Volskys were evidently appalled by the idea.
‘At a common tavern? Impossible!’ Irina exclaimed, shaking herself free.
Just then, the expression on the old driver’s face changed. He saw a figure approaching along the street. It was Topaz, running towards them at full tilt. ‘Help! Help!’ she wailed.
Irina’s jaw gradually dropped as Topaz drew closer. Her dress and hands were covered in blood.
‘They’re coming! There’s so many of them! They killed my husband! They’re coming!’ Topaz gasped as she flew past the astonished Russians and into the inn.
But the show was not over yet: another figure was limping towards them. Jake took the role of the dying husband, and he made sure that it was the performance of his life.
He was drenched in blood. He held one hand dramatically aloft; the other clutched a gory fistful of entrails to his stomach. If Topaz’s act had been all about the voice, Jake’s was pure mime. He staggered towards them, his head shaking as if in shock. Irina recoiled in disgust as he held out a bloody hand towards her face. He tried to speak, but could not form words, instead moaning piteously. Then his body stiffened and he crumpled to the ground. His body shook a little and then was still.
As Charlie caught a glimpse of Topaz in the doorway of the inn, he shook his head, worried that Jake’s performance had blown their cover. But the Russians were now convinced of the danger. Irina immediately headed for the inn door, her husband following close behind. Charlie took them upstairs and showed them into the suite they had just vacated. Irina Volsky had never been so pleased to see a low-ceilinged room full of rustic furniture. She dashed over to the window, threw the flowerpot out and closed the shutters.
‘You’ll be safe here until further notice,’ offered Charlie.
Irina slammed the door in his face and bolted it.
Charlie came downstairs to find the poor driver shaking with anxiety in the hallway.
‘Come this way.’ Charlie showed him into the comfortable downstairs room and produced two gold coins. ‘Buy yourself a feast and the best room for the night.’ Then he added in a mischievous whisper, ‘No bandits.’
The driver was nonplussed. Charlie pointed out of the window. In the street, Jake stood up, wiped the mess from his clothes and took a bow for his own amusement. The driver’s face was transformed by a huge smile.
They wasted no time: they quickly drove the Volskys’ carriage away from the village and headed for the copse from which they had scouted out the gatehouse. On the back seat of its sumptious interior, Topaz found the couple’s invitation to the ‘summit’. The phrase It will be a pleasure to finally meet … provided the agents with an invaluable piece of information: namely that the Volskys had never actually met their host. The invitation was signed, in blood-crimson, by Prince Zeldt himself.
They quickly removed eight trunks from the carriage roof and started searching through their contents. The first six they opened were devoted solely to Irina. She was obviously a woman of quite astonishing vanity. Two trunks contained her dresses, another two her shoes. All of the above contained endless detailing of fur, and a disgusted Charlie guessed that the Russian couple had made their fortune in the trade of ‘poor dead animals’. Another trunk contained jewellery and fans, and a sixth was full of exquisite china pots of powders and bottles of perfume. Most girls would have been in seventh heaven at this discovery, but Topaz was unimpressed: clothes and make-up held little magic for her.
The seventh trunk contained the entire wardrobe of Irina’s husband. Certainly there were fewer items, but each was just as beautifully crafted.
‘Nathan would have an absolute field day with all this,’ exclaimed Topaz as she took out a velvet cap adorned with a green peacock feather and put it on her head. ‘Does this colour enhance my eyes?’ she said in a shameless impersonat
ion. ‘I rather think it makes them pop.’
Next Charlie retrieved a velvet doublet studded with emeralds. He held it up to his chest and pulled a face. ‘Too big for me. You’ll certainly have to be the husband,’ he said to Jake, ‘though I think you should anyway – you look more the part. I’ll have to be the driver.’
Charlie was right about Jake: although he was the same age as Charlie, he was a good two inches taller and had a certain confidence, a bearing that made him look the part. Charlie helped Jake into the doublet. It fitted him like a glove.
Topaz was impressed. ‘Merveilleux. You look like a prince.’
Jake bowed theatrically again.
‘Though try and keep it a bit more authentic this time,’ Charlie said wryly. ‘This is the real world, not musical theatre.’
Jake nodded seriously. Then a thought came to him: ‘Will I need to speak in Russian? That could be a problem.’
‘Fortunately the royal language is English – everyone is required to speak it. So just a Russian accent will suffice.’
‘What about Mina Schlitz and the others?’ Jake asked. ‘They’ll recognize me immediately.’
‘Don’t worry about that, either,’ said Charlie, producing the wallet that Jake had seen aboard the Campana. ‘Mr Volsky didn’t have a beard, but who knows that, apart from us?’ He opened the pouch, and his face lit up at the sight of his beloved beards and moustaches. He selected one of them and held it up to Jake’s face. ‘Ravishing,’ he said, shaking his head proudly.
Topaz was struggling with the catch on the final trunk. ‘This one’s locked for some reason.’
She took a pin from her hair, straightened it and introduced it into the lock. A moment later there was a click and Topaz lifted the lid; all three of them gasped at once.
It was full of treasure. On top was a velvet-lined tray with compartments like a specimen box, each one containing a large and beautifully cut jewel. Beneath this lay another tray of priceless diamonds, emeralds and rubies. Below that, a third, and a fourth. Finally, in a large compartment at the bottom, there were neatly stacked bundles of ancient banknotes and at least a dozen gold ingots.
History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins Page 17