by Renee Duke
It was, and set off for Munich a short time later. During the ride back, Jack appeared very thoughtful. Finally, he leaned across the aisle and touched his mother’s arm.
“Mummy,” he said, “if, when I was born, there had been something wrong with me, something physical, or something mental, would you still have wanted me?”
Taken aback, she replied, “Oh, Jack! Of course we would have. You were emotionally ‘ours’ from the day Ashleigh and Kyle said we could have you. Ours, no matter what.”
“And there was something wrong with you,” said Uncle Gareth. “You were colicky. Screamed the house down, day and night. Almost went out of our minds until Great- Grandmother Emmy suggested we try massage and gripe water. Wonderful stuff, gripe water. We used to get three bottles at a time to make sure we never ran out.”
“She told us about it, too,” said Mrs. Marchand. “For Paige. She was so bad Alan even joked about asking the hospital if it did returns. Or trade-ins.”
“Who was joking?” Mr. Marchand called out from the front of the bus. “I meant it.”
“No, you didn’t. You adored your daughter. Screams and all.”
“And you got a documentary out of it,” said Paige. “It was the first one I was in. Cooing and smiling for the camera to show parents that howling banshees could eventually become bundles of joy. I think that was how you put it.”
“Yeah, it was,” Mr. Marchand affirmed. “Little did I know that, down the line, you’d balk at being in my films. You seem to have got over that now. You’ve been quite enthusiastic about the latest ones.”
They got back to Munich shortly after six o’clock. Once there, the bus deposited its passengers at various locations, the last being Gasthaus Volkmar.
“Go around the block,” Mr. Marchand told the driver as soon as they turned onto the street.
“Too late. They’ve seen us,” said Uncle Gareth.
Craning their necks to find out what had caught the two men’s attention, the children were dismayed to spot Cousin Bentley and Penelope approaching the gate.
“Here’s a bit of luck,” Cousin Bentley said as everyone disembarked. “Our arrival seems to have coincided with your return. I’ve rung this place at least four times. On each occasion the proprietor told me you’d gone out giving no indication of when you’d be back. At least, I think that’s what he said. Fool barely speaks English.”
Mr. Marchand forced a smile. “We’re busy people, Bentley. We’re only going to be here a couple more days and I’ve got a project to finish.”
“Yes, so your cousin gave me to understand, but with us all being here in Munich at the same time I deemed it mannerly to call upon you.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Marchand. “And we do appreciate it, but I’m afraid we’ve only come back long enough to change and have something to eat. We have tickets for a Christmas concert tonight.”
“How unfortunate. But now that we’ve met up, we should be able to find a mutually convenient time to get together. My only firm commitment is for the day after tomorrow. Beyond that, we can be flexible. But even if we can’t get together, we must try to manage something for the children. Penelope finds it a bit boring here with just me for company. She’d love to spend some time with her young cousins.”
“That didn’t work out too well the last time we tried it,” Mr. Marchand pointed out.
“Penelope is very sorry about that. As she stated in the letter of apology she wrote when it was made clear Jack was unwilling to meet with her in person.”
“It was a bit of a trying time,” said Uncle Gareth. “All that bother with my heart, you know.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. We quite understood. But that was some time ago, and children rarely hold grudges. I’m sure they’ll get on all right if we arrange for them to do something together. A visit to the zoo, perhaps. Or a trip to Neuschwanstein Castle.”
“That’s where we were today,” said Mr. Marchand. “Filming. Most of tomorrow will be taken up with filming, too. The only real free time the kids have is the day you’re tied up. And I think their mothers have made plans to take them to the Deutsches Museum.”
“The Deutsches Museum? Why, that would be perfect,” said Cousin Bentley. “Very educational, and much better for Penelope than sitting in an office listening to me and my business contact drone on about commerce. My meeting’s at ten. Shall I drop her off here just before that, or meet you there?”
“Uh, well—” Mr. Marchand began.
“Best to meet us there,” said Mrs. Marchand. “We’ll wait for you outside.”
“Splendid. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
As soon as they had gone, Paige rounded on Mr. Marchand.
“D-ad, what did you do that for?” she demanded.
“Do what? I didn’t do anything. I was trying to convince him you were too busy for social engagements. It was your mother who agreed to let Penelope join what might hitherto have been a pleasant little outing.”
“I pretty well had to,” Mrs. Marchand defended herself. “We couldn’t be so boorish as to not allow the child to try to make amends if she wants to do so. Which I doubt,” she added under her breath.
“I agree,” said Aunt Augusta. “But we’ll keep a close eye on the little madam.”
“Not too close,” said Mr. Marchand. “It’s the biggest scientific museum in the world. Lots of exhibits. Lots of floors. Lots of opportunities to ditch the kid.”
“Appealing though that thought might be, it’s out of the question,” said Mrs. Marchand. “She’ll be our responsibility the entire time she’s with us. And I have no intention of letting her, or any of the children, wander off on their own.”
“We will perhaps not be there,” said Zach. “Onkel Klaus did say we would be welcome at the Christmas party his museum is putting on for the children of its staff, and Alina and I have been thinking about this.”
“We have,” Alina agreed. “And I think we should go.”
Paige glared at them. “Because you’ve been there lots of times before and a party’ll be more fun? Or because, now that Penelope’s coming along, anything will be more fun?”
They both had the grace to look sheepish.
“The last one,” Zach admitted.
“Cowards. But we’d get out of it, too, if we could.”
She looked hopefully at her father, who shrugged.
“Can’t think of a way at the moment. If I do, I’ll let you know.”
Chapter Eight
Inside Gasthaus Volkmar, they found another familiar face. But this one was welcome.
“Trevor!” said Aunt Augusta, embracing her cousin. “You didn’t say anything about being in Munich the same time we were.”
“Didn’t know I was going to be. I’ve come in response to an e-mail Dad got from an Armenian historian he knows. Ruben Azarian. The chap’s currently in Munich and has some old Armenian documents Dad asked him to find. He wanted Dad to meet him here so they could go over them, but it was bad timing. Professor Azarian’s only here for a couple of days, and Dad’s still on a lecture tour in the Midlands. He can’t get away until next week. Barring the marking of exams, I’m finished at the university until the new year, so he asked me to come in his stead.”
“Well, it’s lovely to have you. Where are you staying?”
“Here, I think.” He turned to Herr Volkmar, who was consulting a leather-bound book. Switching to German, which, having once studied in Germany, he spoke very well, he said, “Have you somewhere for me, Herr Volkmar? Any little nook will do.”
“Is perhaps possible,” Herr Volkmar said in English. “All rooms are occupied but the room of Herr Marchand’s friends has in it a bed not occupied. If they will agree…?”
He looked inquiringly at the two young directors, who both nodded assent.
“Ah! Sehr gut! Very good. Then this we do, ” Herr Volkmar said as the two young men headed upstairs to, as one put it, ‘clear junk off the spare bed’.
Aunt Emma and U
ncle Horst took Zach and Alina upstairs as well, but everyone else waited while Uncle Trevor signed in.
Once he had, Mr. Marchand said, “We’re going to a concert tonight, Trev, but we’re eating here first. Care to join us once you’re settled?”
“Love to. I’ve always found the food in these old Gasthäusen to be excellent.”
“Definitely is in this one,” said Mr. Marchand. “It’s not as old as some, but possibly old enough for me to work into my film. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Herr Volkmar. This place was around before the war, wasn’t it?”
“Ja,” said Herr Volkmar. “It was built in eighteen-eighty-five and my family buy it in nineteen thirty-eight. It was Gasthaus Altmeyer then. We have still the sign if you would be liking to put it up for your film.”
“That’d be great. Thanks. Do you think we might be able to film tomorrow morning? I had some studio work planned but can re-arrange my schedule.”
“Ja, most guests go out in the morning, and do not until the afternoon or evening return.”
“Tomorrow morning it is, then. I’ll play around with the script tonight and get Jeff to sort things out with the cast and crew.”
“Should you require…” Herr Volkmar spoke hesitantly. “Should you require…what do you call them…? The people who are not the main people, but are still to the scene necessary? If you require such people, my wife and I could perhaps these be?”
“You mean extras? You’d like to be extras? Sure. Or maybe bit players. You and your wife could take on the roles of your pre-war counterparts.”
Herr Volkmar beamed. “And those who work for us?”
“I’ll find a way to use anyone who’s interested. Even guests if they happen to be here and want to take part.”
“I certainly do,” said Cousin Ophelia, who had come down into the entrance area in time to overhear much of their exchange. “I loved working on your medieval documentary.”
Startled, Mr. Marchand turned to face her. “Uh, but, well, that was different. You were sort of into medieval times. I got the impression Nazi Germany didn’t really appeal to you.”
“It doesn’t, but you’re covering it from a young perspective, and after giving that approach some thought, I believe it could make a valuable contribution to studies of that era. Unburdened by adult principles and preconceptions, children really do have a different way of looking at things. A way I find quite stimulating. I’d be very happy to help you out by serving as an extra again.”
“Even if I have your character carted off by the Gestapo?” Mr. Marchand’s face suddenly took on an inspired look. “Actually, I think I might like to capture that on film. Okay, Bev. You’re in.”
“Really? That’s wonderful. I’m going to spend the whole evening practicing looking terrified.”
With that, she swept back upstairs.
Mr. Marchand’s inspired look faded. “What have I let myself in for?” he wondered aloud, shaking his head.
Uncle Trevor laughed. “Consider it your Christmas present to her. Now, how would you kids like to show me to my room?”
They did so, and were relieved when his roommates left almost immediately to go ‘out on the town’, thus allowing them to speak freely.
“What are you really doing in Munich, Uncle Trevor?” Paige asked, closing the door. “It’s because Penelope’s here, isn’t it?”
Uncle Trevor nodded. “If it were just Bentley, well, that could be a coincidence. His company does a lot of business in Germany. But Bentley and Penelope? He’s never taken her on a business trip before, and for both of them to be here at the same time you are is probably not a coincidence. As soon as we heard he’d booked a flight for two, we decided to provide you with some adult back-up.”
“How did you hear? Did he tell you?”
“Hardly. We’re barely on speaking terms. But Great-Gran’s revelations concerning Percy’s attack on her decades ago, and concerns over the jewel heist Penelope pulled just last summer, have inspired my father to make a point of knowing where all the Wolverton-Hernes are at all times.”
“And just how does he manage to do that?”
“Spy in their midst.” He grinned. “People who work for insensitive, condescending, snobs are rarely treated well. Or paid well, which can make them amenable to bribery. I really am here for a meeting with Professor Azarian as well, though. Dad’s had him looking for anything that might pertain to Varteni and/or our nefarious sorcerer, and it seems he’s come up with the goods. Now that I’m here, I can arrange to meet him. Are you lot likely to be filming the whole of tomorrow?”
“Probably,” said Dane. “Even if it just takes the morning to film here, there’s likely to be some studio stuff in the afternoon. We should be free in the evening, though. If anyone suggests taking us anywhere, we’ll just say we’d rather go with you.”
Uncle Trevor took out his cell phone. “I’ll ring him now. Dad told me he speaks excellent English, which is good, because I speak next to no Armenian. Hello? Professor Azarian? This is Trevor Hollingsworth. Edmond Hollingsworth’s son. I’ve arrived in Munich and am staying at Gasthaus Volkmar. I believe you’re at a hotel near the Hauptbahnhof. Either should work as a meeting place. And after hearing my father talk about you for years, I am very pleased to finally be meeting you….You’re busy until about seven in the evening? That’s quite all right. It’s what works best for us as well. I’ll be bringing some young cousins with me…Yes, the ones Dad told you about. The ancient relic enthusiasts…Yes. …Your room at seven, then. Splendid…We shall be looking forward to it, too. Good-bye.”
He switched off the phone. “Right. We are now set to meet with him tomorrow night and find out what he can tell us about some of the characters in Rosalina Wolverton’s book, including, if we’re lucky, the wicked sorcerer who caused us so much trouble a few months back. According to Dad, Professor Azarian is a fact over fiction type of fellow, and doesn’t put much stock in sorcerers and the like, but does know quite a bit about them. And the Keeper Pieces definitely intrigue him. In addition to having long histories, they’re fine examples of ancient craftsmanship, and he loves that sort of thing. I doubt he’d give much credence to their more esoteric qualities though. Especially the medallion’s time travel feature.”
“We used that today,” said Dane.
Uncle Trevor frowned. “I don’t know if that was a good idea. Not if you wound up in the era your dad has you working on. Did you?”
“Yeah. Twice. Spring of nineteen-thirty-four, followed by summer of nineteen-thirty-four. But Hitler’s only just come to power, so things aren’t too bad yet.”
“They soon will be. Unlike many of our relatives, including my wife and parents, I’m not all that drawn to periods that are centuries back. I prefer to stick to the last hundred and fifty years or so. And I am especially knowledgeable about the stretch involving the two world wars.”
“Which would make you a really valuable travelling companion,” said Paige. “We’re sure to get another chance to go back to our current connection during filming tomorrow. Want to come with us?”
“‘Want’ is putting it a bit strong. But I think I’d probably better. I’ll tell your Dad I’d like to be an extra, too. But no Lederhosen. I refuse to be anything but British.”
“British will be fine. It’s not easy to come up with an explanation for kids like us to be wandering around a foreign country on our own. The presence of a doting uncle would definitely help. After the concert, we’ll fill you in on the people we met. Including Adolf Hitler. Which was a real treat for Jack. Being a ‘true Aryan boy’, he came in for special attention.”
The true Aryan boy scowled. “I’m not all that Aryan. Not Nazi Aryan. Blue-eyed, yes, but my blond hair’s not Nordic blond. In certain light, it’s got a touch of ginger. In fact, Daddy says I just missed being a redhead, like him. So there.”
The next morning the usually quiet guesthouse was a hive of activity as Mr. Marchand’s film crew made ready to shoot bot
h inside and out.
The first scenes were to be inside, but Paige and the boys were outside. Already in costume, they were on the railed lower guestroom walkway that ran along the side of the courtyard and overlooked the street. Except for Uncle Trevor, no one else was in that particular area.
“You ready for this?” Paige asked him, taking the medallion out from under the bodice of her dress and holding it aloft.
“As much as I’ll ever be. Are you sure we won’t want our coats?”
“Jack says not, and he seems to be getting feelings about things like that now, too.”
Jack nodded. “It will be summer. A summer, anyway. I don’t know if it’ll be the same one as before. From what Rosa said, the next jump in time was likely to be a substantial one. And it might be. We once went forward by almost a whole year during our Victorian adventure.”
When they materialized, it appeared to be early summer, and raised voices were coming from directly beneath them. Voices the children recognized.
“Du siehst verrueckt aus!” Marta shouted.
“Nein, tue ich nicht!” Hani shot back.
Leaning over the rail, they looked down and saw the younger of the two sisters step closer to Nicko, as if seeking sanctuary. The Keeper Bracelet adorned her right wrist and she was wearing a blue checked Dirndl dress that was a bit tight and much too short for her. Marta, on the other hand, was smartly clad in what they knew was a Jungmädel uniform. Nicko was looking quite snazzy as well. In addition to a brown felt Bavarian hat with a small feather, he had on well-polished boots, a gleaming white shirt, a navy vest, and long dark pants secured with a gold belt. The contrast between that ensemble and the mismatched outfits he usually wore was quite marked.
“You all spruced up for something special, Nicko?” Dane inquired.
The heads of the German children all turned upward.
“Meine englischen Freunde,” Hani cried. “Back you come. It has a long time been.”
“Very long,” said Marta. “After you told us how much your parents liked Germany, I did not think they would wait two years to return.”