Felix Jones And The Book Of Words (A Felix Jones Adventure 1)

by Julian Roderick

  “Jolly wheeze! We could all die!” exclaimed Felix.

  “We’ve come back to 1944 to spend our last moments with a madman whose sole aim in life is to die protecting you with an old sabre.” Tom couldn’t believe their luck.

  “It’s my destiny,” Jack announced ironically.

  “How the hell is that sabre going to get us through the German lines around Paris? They have machine guns, tanks, planes and bombs - massive bombs!” Tom once again doubted Jack’s story.

  “It’s not the Germans we need to be worried about. As far as they know we’re three Frenchies out for a pootle on our motorbike,” Jack said with great confidence.

  “But…” said Felix.

  “No questions, you’re the one with the magic book. Get us through the checkpoint.” Tom reached over and got the Book out from under Felix’s jacket.

  Felix opened the Book. “How do I get past the German checkpoint?” The answer appeared.

  ‘You can speak German and French you fool!’

  He fell back laughing. “What’s so funny?” asked Jack.

  Felix showed Jack the page. “Why is a blank page so amusing?” their Guardian asked.

  “You had to ask,” laughed Tom.

  Only Felix could see the answers. He gave the Book to Jack.

  “Is this a joke, blank page after blank page,” exclaimed Jack.

  Tom smiled and turned to Jack, “He’s the only one that can see it. I thought he may be nuts until he found you using the invisible map.”

  Felix suddenly realised that if the Brethren needed the Book they may not be able to access its powers without the help of the Keeper.

  “Do you have papers Jack?” asked Felix.

  “Yes, of course, standard issue.” Jack took some tatty passes from his coat.

  “Can you speak French?” added Felix.

  “Yes, of course,” came the Guardian’s reply.

  “Just ride up as normal and leave the rest to me.” Felix was growing more confident in the power of the Book.

  “What about me?” Tom felt left out of the plans.

  “You just keep your mouth shut for a change and let me do the talking,” answered Felix. For the first time Tom needed Felix to get him out of a spot of bother.

  10

  The German guards lowered the yellow barrier across their path.

  “Papers please,” one spat.

  Jack handed his forged French passes to the soldier who returned them after a cursory glance.

  “And you?” he asked the boys.

  “I’ve lost mine. I’m from Colleville-sur-mer. The British are coming and all our houses are gone,” replied Felix in French.

  “Rubbish!” shouted the guard.

  Felix realised that mobile phones had to wait another 50 years to be invented and communication would be slow. “Radio your men there.”

  The guard disappeared into the hut. A frantic phone call later, he reappeared ashen faced.

  “How do you know this? The battle is still raging.”

  “I’ve come from there,” Felix nervously replied.

  “Lock them up, something is not right!” shouted the guard to his fellow soldier.

  Felix thought quickly, “Speak German for God’s sake!”

  Aloud he barked, “I am General Dietrich von Choltitz’s messenger.” It was a good job he paid attention in History lessons and could remember the name of the German leader in Paris. “My name is Captain Hans Thatdodishes. I have worked for three years unearthing the French Resistance and have been sent from the front to report to the General in Paris. This peasant and his son had the only working vehicle left in the village. If YOU want to be responsible for the fall of the Third Reich then lock us up.”

  The soldier saluted gingerly and opened the barrier.

  Once again they were on their way. “How did you get out of that? You can speak German?” Jack was amazed at Felix’s new found language skills.

  “The Book of Words, I’m beginning to like it,” giggled Felix, feeling content for the first time in two days

  The motorbike began to splutter. Jack shook it and announced that they were out of fuel. Dusk was closing in fast so they wheeled the bike into a roadside hut. Jack disappeared, promising to return with a meal fit for a king. He came back with a can of petrol, some ham, cheese and bread. The boys wondered if the French ate anything else!

  “Do you do fencing in school old bean?” Jack asked Felix.

  Tom spat out his cheese, “Most schools in the twenty first century don’t do fencing,” he said. “Felix and sports are relative strangers,” he quipped.

  “What do young people do for fun then?” asked an exasperated Jack.

  “We play games on our laptops and game stations with people all over the world and watch films on Netflix and the telly.” replied Felix.

  “What language are you speaking?” chortled Jack.

  The boys spent the next hour astonishing Jack with tales of technological advances over the coming 70 years. Felix feared that Jack would not witness any of them. “Where are you from?” asked Felix. “London, Kensington. If I die promise me you will get the sword to my son.”

  “I think the Book will sort it out, but if it doesn’t I will,” promised Felix.

  “Enough of this, plenty of fun to be had yet. Time for a fencing lesson.” Jack insisted the boys both joined in. He handed Felix a lump of wood that he could hardly lift, let alone swing around. “Your sword is heavy, get used to fighting with this.”

  “I’ve had lessons for years,” sniggered Tom. “I go with my dad every week.” He grabbed a stick and went off fighting imaginary foes. Felix raised his eyebrows towards Jack and began his first ever fencing lesson.

  Within minutes Felix was a sweaty mess as he tried to fend off Jack’s attacks. Felix wished he had an instructor like Mr Miyagi. Wax on, wax off was much easier than this!

  “You must learn to use less energy. Let the sword swing naturally, don’t force it,” advised a watching Tom. “Go with it, don’t stop it and come back.”

  “If you know so much you have a go,” cried Felix.

  “I’m not likely to have to use a sword in anger, am I?” Tom was coming to terms with the fact that he probably would.

  “You never know.” Jack threw him a branch. “Your turn.”

  Tom showed his skill and gave Jack a good run for his money. A tired Jack waved for Felix to replace him and the two friends practised together. Then Jack, after catching his breath, replaced Tom. Blows came from every direction raining on Felix. He fended them off with a determination he did not know he possessed; mind you it was a real sabre coming at him at speed. Jack relented and patted Felix on the back, “Well done old man, we’ll make a fighter out of you yet.”

  “A right little Zorro,” said Tom, “you’ll get better and better.”

  “You reckon.” Felix stifled a yawn.

  “Time for sleep, tomorrow could be a long day.” Jack pulled some blankets out of his pack.

  Felix was feeling guilty, he had dragged a man from the verge of a homecoming into an adventure, which although enjoyable, that would lead to possible oblivion. He was exhausted but he spent the night putting together what he had gleaned about the book. One question still burned brightly. “How in the name of all that is good did we end up in 1944?” Felix asked Tom.

  “In the words of The Sheriff, we’ll figure it out,” he replied with a smile. “Our parents will be frantic. We’ll be all over the news. London schoolboys kidnapped by strange creatures. ‘Nationwide search brings no results’ say confused police.”

  “They’ll never believe the truth,” giggled Felix. The pair drifted off to sleep slowly, hoping more answers would be forthcoming tomorrow.

  11

  “Wakey, wakey young fellows. Time for another lesson,” shouted Jack as he banged two iron bars together as an alarm. Surprisingly, it began with a talk on tactics whilst bathing in the nearby stream. The water was clean and refreshing, but freez
ing. It was so cold that the boys didn’t listen to half of the lecture. Felix did remember to never fight angry and defend until the opening comes. Handy advice but could he really kill someone? Then he realised he would probably only be using it against the monks. No problem he was sure he could slice them into pieces.

  “How far to Paris?” asked Felix

  “Not far now, but we need to hole up and put a plan together before we enter the city. First take this!” Jack’s sabre flew towards Felix’s head. He rolled on the floor and grabbed his stump of wood. Lesson part two was in session. A few days of practice and they were packing for the ride south to Paris. Holding a large boulder in each arm, Felix felt like an idiot. Apparently this would increase his arm strength and improve his thrust and parry. Tom thought he looked like a prat and laughed as they rode on along the country roads.

  Checkpoint after checkpoint were passed with little bother. Columns of German troops flowed north towards Normandy. Waving politely and smiling through gritted teeth they rode without disturbance throughout the morning. They stopped atop a gentle hill for lunch: ham, cheese and bread again. The view was fantastic; the churches and buildings of Paris spread out in the distance, and of course the Eiffel Tower took centre stage. Felix had never seen it; pictures, films yes; but Paris was one place he had not visited. His father had waxed lyrical about rugby tours in his youth and romantic weekends with Felix’s mother, and had spent hours showing him photos of drunken escapades with old mates and his mother posing in front of the landmarks. It was a pity his first visit was under such circumstances.

  “Where are all the tower blocks?” Tom remembered them from his last visit to Disneyland Paris. His family took great holidays every year whilst Felix enjoyed his camping trips with his parents in the Lake District and Snowdonia.

  “Really? Really?” snorted Felix. “They haven’t been built yet you muppet!” he laughed out loud. “Where now?” he asked Jack.

  “I have a friend in the service living near here,” declared Jack, “We can’t tell him about the book. He isn’t a Guardian. You are now a young tail gunner shot down over northern France, and Tom you are the radio operator of the same Lancaster Bomber. I rescued you last month and your return to Blighty hasn’t been organised yet.”

  “OK, as long as you’re sure we’ll be safe,” said Felix.

  “Positive, come on. We’re on foot from here.” Jack placed his rucksack on his back, his sabre under his long trench coat, and set off down the hill.

  An hour later in a suburb of Paris, Jack approached a rickety old black door. A moustached man named Trevor answered and greeted Jack like a long lost son. Introductions were made, food was eaten, and for the first time in a few days Felix and Tom would sleep in their own room on a comfortable bed.

  The light was flooding through the closed shutters when Felix awoke. He slowly made his way down the wooden staircase to the dining room. Piled on the table were telephone books and maps. Jack and Tom were ready to make a plan of action. After a breakfast of you can guess what, they began.

  It was hopeless, Dupont was one of the most common surnames in France, and there were thousands of Duponts in the Paris books. They had to find another way. ‘Of course!’ thought Felix, ‘The Book!’ He opened the Book to the map. It had changed; there was still the map of France, but there was also a street map of Paris. There were three red swords on the map: one on the opposite side of the city, one in the centre near the Montmartre and the last about five streets away. The route to each was marked by a yellow line. Realising nobody else could see the map Felix transferred the locations onto the map laid out on the table. He scoured the book’s map for any other clues but there was nothing. If he had the internet he could surf for Duponts in those areas as he supposed one of the Guardians was close to the Keeper. Mr Buckley had been with Mr Law and Jack was his companion, Emile Dupont must have one too.

  “Where will we go first?” asked Tom.

  “Nearest first sounds good to me.” Jack studied the map closely.

  The three excited adventurers packed their rucksacks with food, water and weapons. Felix and Tom had a whistle stop tour of a pistol and were told to use it only when really needed. Jack hid his sabre under his trench coat and they set off on their quest for Monsieur Emile Dupont.

  12

  Felix’s father had been right. Paris was a beautiful old city. The sun beat down as they walked through the narrow, cobbled streets. The streets were coming to life; shops were opening and people were scurrying to work. The smell of freshly baked bread filled their nostrils. The only sign that France was at war was the odd pair of German soldiers walking together chatting peacefully about life back home. They would also catch sight of the German Nazi flag fluttering in the light summer breeze; its red background showing off what they knew was the most hated swastika symbol. The buildings were tall and made of old stone bricks; they were adorned with light coloured shutters that were bursting open as the inhabitants stirred. The street got wider and lighter as they approached its end. They found themselves opposite Notre Dame Cathedral on the banks of the River Seine. The river was teeming with boats taking goods and people back and forth. It was a hive of activity. Felix looked at the beautiful scene for a moment then took out his phone to take a photograph.

  “What are you doing you fool?” whispered Jack.

  “Taking a photo!” Felix thought it was a stupid question.

  “That hasn’t been invented yet!” Tom exclaimed, grabbing Felix’s Mobile phone and throwing it in his pocket with his own.

  “If the Germans or the conspirators see that they’ll know we are spies and we’ll be taken away like the rest,” explained Jack.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” came Felix’s apologetic reply.

  They turned left and headed along the river towards the location of the nearest red sword on the map.

  Felix and Tom behaved like tourists and could not help but look around at the scenery. The pair forgot about everything they were going through as they became immersed in the Paris scenes. Jack brought them back to reality when he pulled them up a very narrow alleyway.

  “Not too far now. Be ready for anything.” Jack was wary of the dangers of the Parisian back streets.

  They weaved their way through the deserted back lanes. Tall buildings blocked out the sunlight, creating an eerie atmosphere. Felix was feeling scared as he didn’t know what they would find. Jack stopped next to a red stable door and knocked hard. After a few minutes a flustered red faced French man opened the top half of the door.

  “Oui!” he snarled angrily. Jack opened his coat to reveal his gleaming sabre. The door was opened and the trio were invited in. The door was slammed and locked tightly behind them.

  “What now?” asked Tom, “This guy is strange.”

  “He’s a Guardian, we’ll be fine,” reassured Felix.

  Introductions were made; the Guardians name was Jean-Claude. He spoke good English and appeared pleased to see them.

  “At last,” he smiled, “The Keeper is here.”

  “Yes and No,” replied Jack. “This is the Keeper but he has come from the future. We need to find the Keeper of 1944 to help this young man return home.”

  “I see.” Jean-Claude scratched his head. “There are already three of us looking for the Keeper. We are close but we cannot find him; we think he is in hiding.”

  “Where?” Felix was desperate to learn how to travel forward in time.

  “Somewhere here.” Jean Claude pointed his finger to an area on Jack’s map. “Somewhere between the three of us.”

  “Why haven’t you found him?” asked Jack.

  “That area is the centre of intensive German action at the moment,” replied Jean-Claude, “we can’t fight the Germans and the Brethren.”

  “Why are the Germans there?” asked Felix.

  “Nobody knows, but it’s too dangerous for us to go in there,” replied their new friend.

  “Well there’s six of us now!” Tom
piped up. “I really want to get home.”

  Jean-Claude looked pensive. He was silent for a few minutes, then smiled. “Let’s do it, I’ll get the others. Meet here at 9 tonight but be careful. It will be after the curfew.”

  During the German occupation there had been an 8pm curfew enforced on the Parisians to stop any undercover night time operations. The streets would be patrolled and if they were caught they would be sent to a prisoner of war camp or worse. They might be treated as spies and executed.

  They decided to enjoy the Paris sunshine whilst they could and found a riverside café. Felix asked for a coffee to wake him up. Tom, always wanting to be the big man, asked the friendly waitress for an espresso and Jack ordered a beer. The drinks came quickly. The espresso came in a cup the size of a thimble and was so thick you could stand your spoon up in it. Jack laughed as Tom downed his drink in one gulp. Tom felt a surge of energy and his eyes opened wide.

  “Next time ask for a coffee with milk,” giggled Felix “Espressos will keep you awake all night - and you don’t need extra energy!”

  They meandered round the Paris markets, sampling the fresh fruit and taking in the fragrances of the flowers, meats and cheeses. They enjoyed being tourists for a few hours without a care in the world. The boys took lots of photographs holding their phones under their jackets. They got back to the safe house where Jack’s friend was waiting. He looked sheepish.

  “What’s up Trev?” enquired Jack.

  “We’ve been raided by the Gestapo, they looked everywhere,” he replied angrily.

  “What were they looking for?” Felix hoped he wouldn’t answer, ‘you.’