The Song of Seven

by Tonke Dragt

  Aunt Wilhelmina stood on the doorstep and waved them off. But Jan Tooreloor appeared in the window, clenching his fist at them.

  If Manus was surprised about the luggage Frans had with him, he didn’t let it show. When they arrived at the House of Stairs, he even helped him to take everything to the guestroom. He gave Frans a friendly smile and, as he left, he said he hoped the young gentleman would behave himself today.

  Frans slid Jan Tooreloor’s suitcase, which was surprisingly light, under the bed, along with his own present and Aunt Wilhelmina’s parcel. He kept three things in his pockets: the box with the precious key, the envelope from the children and the present from Mr Thomtidom. Then he headed to the library. But he got the wrong door and found himself in a different room. He stood there for a moment, trying to work out which way to go, and then he heard a couple of muted voices somewhere nearby…

  “…parcels?” he heard Count Grisenstein ask. “Well, well! And do you have my present?”

  The answer was an apologetic mumble.

  “You can’t possibly be so unbelievably stupid,” snapped the count. “Is it really that difficult to buy some kind of toy for an eleven-year-old boy? I can’t turn up empty-handed tomorrow. Surely you must understand that?”

  “I’ll go immediately, Count Grisenstein,” said the other man.

  It was Manus.

  “No, I’ll do it myself,” said Count Grisenstein haughtily. “You go and spy on the two of them in the library. And make sure you remember every word they say!”

  “What if…?” began Manus. Frans couldn’t hear the rest.

  “You know what your job is,” the count said, concluding the conversation.

  Footsteps moved away…

  Frans stayed where he was until he could no longer hear any sounds. Then he went looking for the way to the library.

  “What is Manus’s job?” he said to himself. “Is he Grisenstein’s Inspector of Education, or simply a spy? Well, I’m a secret agent and I’m about to do a little counterespionage!”

  Miraculously, Geert-Jan was where he was supposed to be; he was sitting neatly at the big table with an eager expression on his face. He wasn’t keen to learn more about grammar or sums though – the questions he whispered were about entirely different subjects. But Frans told him to be quiet and said firmly, “We’re going to study grammar. I want you to analyse these sentences. Pay attention, Geert-Jan.”

  “Oh, but you’ve already made me analyse hundreds of sentences!” Geert-Jan complained. “There’s absolutely no point, sir.”

  “There most certainly is,” said Frans, opening a book. “Now pay attention. Or perhaps I should say ‘Mind your step’… This is the first sentence. I hope you understand: Spies like to listen in on conversations.”

  Geert-Jan understood right away. He gave his teacher a cunning look and obediently said, “Like and listen are verbs, and spies and conversations are nouns and… Can I come up with a sentence too, sir? The secret agent knocked out the spy with a devastating punch… How do you spell ‘devastating’, sir?”

  And so Geert-Jan’s lessons began, and for the whole afternoon they did nothing but grammar and spelling, multiplication and division.

  So it turns out that spies are good for something, thought Mr Van der Steg the teacher. I’m finally getting to do the job I was hired for.

  But Frans the Red said to himself, “No, I was taken on to do a very different job indeed… I have to defeat the count, or beat the Dragon, as the prophecy has it. And to free Geert-Jan! But how am I going to do that?”

  He didn’t get the chance to talk to Geert-Jan privately, just the two of them, until after dinner, when he went to wish him goodnight. It wasn’t really just the two of them though, as Ivan was there too, sitting on the foot of Geert-Jan’s bed.

  The boy was already under the covers, but he was wide awake. He was rather excited, because, of course, it was his birthday the next day. And he was finally free to talk about all the things that were on his mind. He wanted to take another look at the golden key and reluctantly agreed that it was safer with Frans than with him. Then he asked if there was any news from the children.

  “They gave me this envelope,” said Frans. “But I think it’s for your birthday, so you can’t open it until tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Geert-Jan, sitting up in bed. “I know the message I was waiting for was going to arrive today. Give me the envelope now, sir. Go on! Please!”

  When Frans finally handed it over though, Geert-Jan didn’t open it immediately, but slid it under his pillow.

  “I also have a present from Mr Thomtidom for you,” said Frans, “the magician, as you know. It seems like a most mysterious package. As soon as I’ve gone, you may open it – but then you have to promise me you’ll blow out your candle right away and go to sleep.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the boy, looking longingly at the parcel.

  “Goodnight, then,” said Frans. He patted Geert-Jan on the head and then Ivan too, and he left the room.

  He spent the rest of the evening in the library, playing backgammon with Count Grisenstein.

  A few hours later, he went to bed. As always, it seemed as if invisible creatures were scuttling and scurrying all around the house. He popped round to Geert-Jan’s room, quietly opened the door and slipped inside.

  The boy was asleep, but he hadn’t blown out the candle on his bedside table. It had burned almost all the way down; an empty envelope and the crumpled wrapping paper from Mr Thomtidom’s present lay beside it.

  As Frans tucked his student in, he spotted something poking out from under his pillow. It looked like a letter. Suddenly a worrying thought occurred to him. The children in his class hadn’t promised Geert-Jan they’d come to wish him happy birthday in person, had they? They were all in for such a disappointment; he was certain that the count wouldn’t let anyone in… He didn’t touch the letter though, but blew out the candle and left the room as quietly as he’d come.

  Soon after that, he climbed into his bed. He realized that he was exhausted. Which was strange, because he’d thought he’d be wide awake and alert. It was raining outside – a friendly pattering – and he could smell a faint scent that seemed familiar. A scent of pine trees and freshly mown grass, with a hint of something else: pepper and peppermint. For a moment, he was back in the magician’s strange, crowded house, staring again at the wooden bird clock. Then he fell asleep and dreamt of phoenixes and garudas, of the roc and the griffin, and other mythical winged creatures.

  He is astonished by Greenhair

  THIS IS FIVE

  Frans was woken by a heavy weight jumping on top of him; he knew it was Ivan even before he’d opened his eyes.

  “It’s still the middle of the night,” he grumbled grumpily. “Well, I suppose it’s getting light already… but it’s certainly not time to get up yet. Why do you only purr first thing in the morning?”

  Ivan purred even more loudly and snuggled around Frans’s neck like a giant fur collar.

  “Early birds catch the worm,” said Frans, grudgingly giving him a little stroke. “But what do early cats catch, eh? Soft-hearted schoolteachers.”

  Then he pushed the cat away, who did a little stamping dance on his pillow, before finally settling right next to his head.

  Frans sat up with a sigh, put on his glasses and looked at his watch. It was only ten past seven. But, he thought, Geert-Jan won’t stay in bed for too long on his birthday. So Frans knew he might as well get out of bed now and get dressed.

  He walked barefoot across the room, shivering in the morning cold. It looked like a dreary, drizzly day. Frans peered into the mirror. He froze for a second, thinking he was looking at someone else. But no, it was him.

  And his hair was green.

  *

  Frans’s hair was as green as grass, as green as emeralds, as green as Ivan’s eyes. It stood on end around his shocked face, running riot all over his head like some strange, wild plant… but it was
hair, his own hair, as he could feel when he gave it a tug.

  Frans plunged his head in the washbasin a few times, grabbed his towel and scrubbed his head dry – it wouldn’t even rub off! He was wide awake – and his hair was green.

  In the mirror, he saw the door open behind him; Geert-Jan stood there gaping at him. Frans turned to look at him. “Shut the door!” he whispered.

  Geert-Jan did as he was told. As he came closer, he said just one word: “Greenhair!” His eyes were sparkling, but not with surprise… or at least that’s how it seemed to Frans.

  “So,” he said with a frown, “you’ve come to see how well your accomplices’ spells have worked, have you? Stop staring at me! Never seen someone with green hair before?”

  “N… no,” stammered Geert-Jan. “I came… I’ve come to… Um, it’s my…”

  “It’s your birthday!” Frans suddenly remembered. “Happy birthday, Geert-Jan,” he said. “Many happy returns!” He took Geert-Jan’s hand and shook it. “I really do mean that,” he added. “I’m so sorry I didn’t give you my best wishes as soon as I had a chance. This… change in my appearance briefly threw me off balance.”

  “I understand,” said Geert-Jan graciously. “I think I’d have forgotten about birthdays too.” He studied his tutor with a look of both awe and approval. “It really is green,” he whispered. “You know, it’s quite splendid, sir!”

  “Splendid?” repeated Frans. “It’s dreadful, ridiculous and… dangerous. I have to get rid of it as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh no, sir!” said Geert-Jan. “That won’t work.”

  “You knew about this!” said Frans. “I think my green hair was one of your birthday presents. That gift from the magician…”

  Geert-Jan nodded. “There was a letter with it,” he said quietly. “It was just a piece of blank paper at first, but after I’d looked at it for a while letters appeared, just like you told me that time.” He rummaged in the pocket of his pyjama jacket. “Here, sir. Why don’t you see for yourself?”

  So Frans read Mr Thomtidom’s letter.

  Dear Geert-Jan,

  My hearty congratulations on the eleventh anniversary of the day of your birth. I know what your dearest wish is and, although I do not have the power to grant wishes, I can perhaps help yours to come true. In this bag is a very fine powder. Secretly sprinkle this magical medicine on your tutor’s pillow before he goes to sleep. The powder is almost invisible, but it holds great power. And tomorrow Frans the Red will reveal exactly what those powers are.

  GREENSLEEVES

  “Well, I can hardly call myself Frans the Red anymore, can I?” said Frans, handing the note back to Geert-Jan. “But it’ll take a lot more than this before I’ll allow anyone to call me Greenhair!”

  “But red hair and green hair are basically the same thing,” said Geert-Jan. He sat down on Frans’s bed, gave Ivan a stroke and went on, “That’s what Roberto told me. Do you know what he said? The redder the hair, the stronger the green. He heard about it from the magician, from Greensleeves. ‘It’s just like traffic lights,’ he said. Do you understand?”

  Finally, Frans understood a great deal. The conspirators had been planning this all along. That’s why Mr Thomtidom had sent him to sleep on that first visit: so that he could take samples of his hair! The magical medicine was practically invisible, but yesterday evening he’d smelt it for the second time… that scent of pine trees and freshly mown grass, with a hint of something else: pepper and peppermint…

  “Just like traffic lights!” he murmured. “So now I’m supposed to continue on my way? But how? I have no way to beat the Dragon. I don’t have a sword to fight him with… I haven’t even brought a pistol with me.” He looked in the mirror again and gave himself a worried frown; his knitted brows were green too.

  Green means safety, he thought. But it’s the opposite for me. I feel anything but safe…

  Then he briskly turned to Geert-Jan. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. “But now it’s time for you. You’ve already had the present from Greensleeves, and the one from Greeneyes too – the key that I’m looking after. Greenhair, I mean Frans the Red, doesn’t want to be left out.” He knelt down and took his present from under the bed. “Here you are,” he said.

  “Thank you,” whispered Geert-Jan. “Thank you!” he said again, when he’d unwrapped it. “It’s just like Roberto’s. Great!” And he put the hat on straightaway.

  “Does it fit?” asked Frans. “Isn’t it a bit too big?”

  “Not at all,” said Geert-Jan. He really did look very happy indeed, even though Frans didn’t think the hat particularly suited him. Then Geert-Jan opened the parcel from Aunt Wilhelmina, which turned out to be a box of chocolates.

  “And finally, this,” said Frans, putting down the suitcase next to the bed. “From Jan Tooreloor. I’m curious to see what he’s given you. I don’t think it’ll be a magical medicine, but it could be something that’s equally dangerous. That’s just the kind of thing he’d do.”

  Geert-Jan knelt down beside him. It took him a while to open the suitcase. What was inside didn’t look dangerous, but bright and happy: the case was filled with colourful paper chains and streamers and shiny party blowers and funny little paper hats.

  “This is exactly what I need!” said Geert-Jan, rummaging around in the case. With a flush of excitement, he looked at Frans. “To decorate Gregorius’s Small Banqueting Hall,” he whispered. “And… oh, it’s going to be a great party…”

  “Party?” Frans repeated slowly. “Hmmm, yes, of course, a party…” He paused for a moment before asking, “And what did you get from the children?”

  “From the children?” said Geert-Jan. “Um, I don’t know… Oh, err, a letter…” He lowered his eyes and wound a streamer around his fingers.

  “A letter to say they’re coming to see you today!” guessed Frans. “Did you invite them, Geert-Jan? Look at me!”

  Geert-Jan did as he was told. “Yes, sir,” he admitted. “All of them, your whole class.”

  “But… but you can’t just do that!” said Frans, rather shocked. “Your uncle…”

  “Uncle Gradus doesn’t know anything about it,” said Geert-Jan. “And I’m not afraid of him anymore. I’m ready to do whatever it takes!” He gave one of the party blowers a little toot. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it,” he continued, looking defiantly at his teacher. “It’s a conspiracy. Jan Tooreloor and Roberto are helping us. All of them are coming, today at twelve.” He laughed. “Uncle Gradus doesn’t know that Jan still has a key for one of the gates. He’s going to have such a surprise! But,” he concluded, “the biggest surprise is going to be you.”

  “I don’t like this at all!” said Frans, as he got to his feet. “All these conspiracies and plots are going to end up backfiring on us! What on earth is your uncle going to say when I turn up with hair as green as grass?”

  “He’ll have a fit!” said Geert-Jan gleefully.

  Ivan jumped down from the bed and into the suitcase, where he found himself a spot among the hats and the streamers.

  “No, he’ll just fire me,” said Frans. “If he sees me like this, the Conspiracy of Seven will be exposed and betrayed.”

  He plunged his head into the washbasin again. He was really worried about the situation, and he meant what he’d said. Why didn’t the magician warn me? he thought. By taking matters into his own hands, he’s just made things all the more difficult for me. I can’t put all my faith in prophecies… What am I supposed to do about the count? I don’t trust him, but I don’t have any evidence against him that anyone with any sense, like the police for instance, would believe… He vigorously rubbed his head dry and then gave a sigh. His hair was green – and it was staying green.

  “Sir…” said Geert-Jan. He was sitting on the bed again, still wearing the straw hat, which really was a little too big for him. Now he had a worried expression on his face too. “You’re right, sir,” he whispered. “Uncle G
radus is going to be furious!”

  “You don’t think I’m scared of him, do you?” said Frans. No matter how Frans really felt, he didn’t want Geert-Jan to be worried. As cheerfully as possible, he continued, “I just need to make sure he doesn’t see my hair until I think the right time has come.” He smiled at the boy. “The present I gave you is going to come in handy,” he said. “Can I borrow your hat?”

  Some time later, they got ready to head to the dining room for breakfast. Frans put Geert-Jan’s hat on and pulled it down as far as he could. “If I stretch it or damage it,” he said, “I’ll get you a new one.”

  “No, sir,” said Geert-Jan. “This is a special hat now, and I want to keep it, even if it is far too big.”

  The last time I wore a hat like this, thought Frans, I ended up with a bump on the head and a sprained ankle. And he said, “A crash helmet might be a better choice.”

  “That’s what Roberto wears when he’s on his scooter, isn’t it, sir?” said Geert-Jan. “I hope he comes to the party as the Biker Boy.”

  “The Biker Boy?” said Frans. “You can’t be serious! Things are already complicated enough. I’m afraid this is going to be the most peculiar birthday ever…”

  Geert-Jan studied him closely. “But honestly, you really don’t look all that peculiar,” he said. “You can barely see your eyebrows and eyelashes because of your glasses. Uncle Gradus won’t notice a thing.”

  But he’s going to wonder why I’m wearing a hat indoors, thought Frans.

  Geert-Jan appeared to be thinking the same thing, because he said, “I’m going to wear one of these paper hats, and then it’ll look like we did it on purpose. You know what? I’m going to order everyone to wear a hat on my birthday. I’ll take some along for Uncle Gradus, Berend and Selina, and the silliest one of all is for Manus.”