16
It was a short march. Felix squirmed to make the book fall into the backside of his trousers. He was slung roughly into a large, noisy wooden warehouse. The building was packed with people of all ages. Some were crying, some singing and a few praying, but most just stood in shock. A small group of children sat in a circle playing some sort of game. Felix slowly walked over. They invited him to join them in their game. He immediately turned to the girl next to him and asked, “Why are we all here?”
“Mother says we are being taken to a camp to work for the Germans,” she replied.
“No, my dad said we are going to see my uncle and his family who left last year. We haven’t seen them since.” chirped a happy looking teenager.
“My grandparents said we’re going on an adventure,” said a sick pasty looking boy.
The truth hit Felix like a brick in the face. He had been rounded up with a group of French Jews. Having studied this period of time in History with Mr Taylor he knew exactly what was happening. He, like them, would be shipped by train or boat to a death camp in the East of the German’s territory. The horror was too much to bear. He would never get out of this one. Felix began sobbing uncontrollably.
He had come all this way and was about to make his last journey. He retired to a dark and quiet corner of the room.
“What about Tom?” he muttered quietly to himself. Felix wondered if his best friend and true guardian would make it home in one piece. He looked at the unknowing crowd before him, then opened the Book and asked “How do I get out of this one clever clogs?”
‘I will see you right.’
‘A great reply,’ thought Felix. His lifesaver was now this tatty old book. If only he knew how he had got here then he could use the Book in the same way to get home.
A German voice made an announcement over a loud but crackly public announcement system. The crowd were told to make their way towards the open door at the far end of their prison. Felix was near the back of the tense throng. He could see some people being searched and their personal possessions and money being confiscated and placed in containers. Some managed to squeeze past with everything they could carry. The queue of people was ushered into the next warehouse for the next stage of their humiliation. The guards were sure to find the Book. Felix had no choice but to do as he was told; there was nowhere to run.
The end of a rifle pressed against his back as Felix was pushed towards a searching table. The waiting soldier looked quizzically at Felix’s watch and slipped it into his pocket. Felix had seen searches at football matches; he knew they would now pat him down, searching all over his body. It took them seconds to find The Book of Words. As the soldier was about to throw it in a wooden box a cane was thrust across his chest. A formidable blonde man looked Felix up and down. His uniform was black, different to the others. There were skull badges on his hat and shoulders, this was the Gestapo. The officer grabbed the Book and led Felix away with his other hand. He was taken to a small office area which was full of worried looking administrators taking phone calls and filing papers. They were obviously getting news of the invasion and the retreat of the German army. The Gestapo officer grabbed a phone and made an animated call. His smile told Felix all he needed to know. He was going somewhere he did not want to go.
Felix’s hands were tied and he was bundled into the back of a jeep. A soldier sat on each side of him, and the Gestapo officer jumped on to the passenger seat. The journey was short and it was only ten minutes before he was thrown from the back of the jeep. Felix was marched across a yard filled with crates and into a building. They smacked his head every time he tried to look up so he stared at the floor.
“Is the Book yours?” shouted his inquisitor.
Felix looked up defiantly into the Nazi’s icy blue eye [there was a patch over the other] and replied, “So what if it is?”
“Is it yours?” he was asked again, as the Gestapo officer twisted his bindings so they burnt his arms.
“What use is an old book to you?” asked Felix.
“Is it yours?” his captor asked again, as a pistol was cocked and placed against his head. Thinking quickly, Felix realised that the Book was useless without him. There was no way the Germans would shoot him if they knew about The Book of Words. It was a chance he could afford to take.
“Never seen it before.” Felix decided to deny everything.
“Your cheek will get you nowhere. Lock him up. We’ll continue this in Berlin.” The officer was visibly angry and he had lost all patience with Felix.
The Book had saved him. A million questions whizzed round his mind. He didn’t know why the Germans wanted the Book. He wondered how much they knew about The Book of Words. He’d been to Berlin on a school trip, he was sure it would be different this time. Felix was terrified, he knew what the Nazis were capable of. He was scared of what would greet him in the German capital. He had to get the Book back and keep it safe. The Book was his responsibility now. This was his first and only job and right now he was failing dismally. He was afraid he would be another nameless victim of Hitler’s regime. His prison was cold and damp; there was no furniture and it was dark. He banged on the walls but they were concrete - no way out through them. His guard gave him bread and water regularly but he did not say much. All Felix could do was await his fate.
17
Tom, exhausted, freezing cold and scared to death, stumbled into Trevor’s kitchen followed by Emile, his startled family and Patrick. Trevor, who had been waiting impatiently for their return, sprang to his feet and collected blankets from the large pirate chest near the stove. Tom helped Emile wrap up his mother and younger brother in front of the roaring fire in the living room.
“Where’s Jack?” asked Trevor.
“Following Felix, I hope!” replied a shivering Tom as he huddled by the stove for warmth.
“The Nazis have Felix. Jack’s gone to rescue him,” added Patrick as he washed the boot polish from his face.
“On his own?” shrieked Trevor, worried for his friend. “I’m going after him.”
“No!” ordered a stern Patrick, “This is a one man job.”
Tom added, “Felix will be OK. With the Book he can speak German. He’ll talk his way out of it like he always does!” He hoped that he was right and Felix would survive his ordeal. Trevor had prepared food and they all tucked into a steaming casserole.
Emile, recovered from his rescue, asked “Why is Felix so important?”
Tom walked angrily towards Emile shouting. “He’s my best mate to start with, and he is The Keeper.”
Emile calmly said, “He will be fine, the Book will see him safe.”
“I hope so,” said Tom, “the only problem is he doesn’t know how to use it!”
Emile’s expression changed, “What do you mean?” Tom told the tale of how they had got to Paris.
“Has he got the Keeper’s sword?” asked Emile.
“He didn’t have it when we left school,” replied Tom, “we don’t know how we got here.”
“He doesn’t know how to travel?” Emile looked worried.
“No, that’s why we need you to tell us how to get home,” shouted Tom, agitated by the French boy’s persistent questions.
A breathless Jack burst through the back door into the kitchen.
“Where the hell is Felix?” shouted Tom.
“He’s at the railway yard, there’s no way of getting him. There are Germans everywhere.” said a tearful Jack. “I’ve failed as a Guardian.”
“Not yet you haven’t.” Emile said with a big grin, “Where are they taking him?”
“Berlin.” Jack was beside himself with worry.
“The Guardians will find him. He’ll be fine.” Patrick stated without much confidence.
“At least he’s seeing the world,” laughed Tom hysterically.
“I’ll go to Berlin and get him in the morning,” winked Emile. “All I need is a photograph of Berlin from today. They obviously know about the Book or he
would be in the sheds with the others. They won’t touch him if they think he is The Keeper.”
“Just one question,” added Emile, “how long have you been in 1944?”
“Too long!” quipped an exhausted Tom.
“They’ve been here five days” said Jack helpfully, looking daggers at Tom. His humour was wearing thin.
“We only have two days to get him back,” Emile whispered, “More than 7 days and you will disappear from this time and yours, forgotten for ever.” He became thoughtful, “Any more questions?” he asked.
“What are you still doing here?” Tom chortled.
They all fell about laughing knowing nothing more could be done until the morning.
Tom was the first awake and ran down to the news stand to buy all the day’s papers. He got back and tore through each one. “Where are you?” he screamed at the messy pile of paper in front of him, “Give me just one picture of Berlin.”
Emile appeared yawning and smiling at Tom. He walked straight over and picked up a picture of Hitler saluting an expectant crowd.
“This will do,” he said pointing at the snap.
“How do you travel?” asked Tom.
“I just hold the Book and jump into the picture,” smiled Emile. “I’ll wake up somewhere in that square,” he added.
“Right!” said Tom, thinking hard until the penny dropped. “We fell against the wall - a poster of the D day invasion. So all we have to do is find a picture of where we came from and jump in.”
“Not quite, where is there a picture of the future in 1944?” shrugged Emile.
With that Emile picked up his sword, laid the paper on the floor and jumped. Tom rugby tackled him across the kitchen, crashing into the crockery cupboard.
“What did you do that for?” screamed Emile.
Tom smiled. “How will you get back here?”
Emile laughed and patted Tom on the back. “Good thinking, we’ll make a Guardian out of you yet,” he whispered to Tom.
Tom had a brainwave. He took out his phone, took a snap of the kitchen and then showed Emile how to get the picture back on the screen. Wide mouthed and shocked at his new toy, Emile smiled and jumped into the photograph of Berlin. He was gone.
18
Before his eyes could adjust to the bright sunlight that burst through his prison cell door, Felix was picked up and carried through the air. As he was dragged across the freight yard he saw lots of antiques being loaded into carriages. The blonde Gestapo officer pointed to a small wooden crate next to the large steam engine which Felix assumed was his seat for the journey to Berlin. The crate was brought to the officer. At first, Felix had the horrible thought that he would be squeezed inside the tiny crate for the long journey to Berlin, but sighed with relief as the crate was filled with hay and the book placed safely in the middle. The crate was loaded into the officer’s carriage at the back of the train. Felix was made to follow it. He was locked in a small bedroom; at least he would be comfortable on this trip. He lay back and wondered how he would get out of this one.
Felix prayed there would be a Guardian, or even better, an army of them in Berlin waiting to rescue him and The Book of Words. From his knowledge of Europe he knew the journey would take some time, so he lay back on his small bunk and relaxed. The room was comfortable; he had a bed, a sink and a window. At least he could watch the world fly by whilst he summoned all his wits to think about how he could get the book back. He had seen films where the hero had climbed onto the roof of a train, had a death defying fight rolling around on each carriage and then saved the world. He was no James Bond. He chuckled to himself as his ideas became more and more absurd. He would have to sit and wait until he got to Berlin.
He sat at the small desk under the window and leaned on his hands. The countryside flashed in front of his eyes: trees, flower filled fields, small picturesque villages, hordes of German troops heading north to support the failing defensive lines. This part of France had escaped the ravages of war and was beautiful. He reached into his pocket for his phone to take some photos. It was gone. He remembered Tom had taken it the day before. His mind’s internal camera was turned on. He must remember what the region looked like so he could visit it in the future to see if it was the same. Eventually, bored and tired, he lay on the bed and drifted off to sleep.
He dreamt of home and his normal life. He played football with his mates and walked home afterwards with his best friend Tom. He played merrily on his game console and went to school. Then the Brethren appeared and chased him round the school with their swords. Mr Buckley battled with them but could not keep them away. Just as the monks were about to bury their swords into Felix he woke up, wet through with sweat.
He splashed water on his face to wake himself up. Felix thought of Tom, wondering if he was safe with Jack. He laughed as he thought about Tom probably being a pain in the neck. A knock on the door brought food and water. ‘Even the Germans are at it!’ he laughed, as he scoffed down bread, ham and cheese. The train slowed and came to a halt. He could hear the hustle and bustle of a busy city outside. He lifted the blind and could not believe his eyes. They had stopped for water in a hellhole. Hardly a building stood without damage. People rushed about their normal business between piles of rubble. Older soldiers, too old for fighting at the front, guided operations around the station. The officer came into the room and pulled the blind down.
“You shouldn’t see this,” he said.
“Why not? You’re losing the war and Berlin will fall by the summer,” said Felix through a smirk.
He laughed. “Never! We are regrouping and mounting a counter offensive as we speak.”
“We’ll see,” murmured Felix. “How much further to Berlin?”
“A couple of hours. Keep the blind shut.” The officer ordered. “You’re going somewhere very special when we get there.”
Felix lay back on the bed and contemplated what he would encounter in Berlin.
19
Felix jumped up as the train juddered and began to slow down. Although he was scared to death, Felix pulled himself to his full height and told himself he was The Keeper. The Book was useless without him and he was not going to be intimidated. The train came to a full stop and he heard the officer’s boots stomp up the corridor to his room. The door opened and the officer greeted him with a smile.
“I am the luckiest officer in the Gestapo,” he said with a wink, “and you are the luckiest Jewish boy in Paris.”
“I’m not…” Felix stopped as he thought. “They think I’m Emile,” he whispered quietly.
That’s why they were searching there – the Jewish quarter. Somehow they all knew the Keeper was Jewish. He would play along for now, but he hated the thought of what would happen if they found out.
Felix smiled at the officer and followed him off the train. There waiting for them was a bright shiny car with flags on its bonnet, filled with people in uniforms covered in medals and stripes. They were obviously important. An empty car sat behind them and a car filled with soldiers came next. The wooden crate was placed in the first car, much to the delight of the big wigs within. Felix was bundled into the second car where the Gestapo officer joined him on the back seat. The convoy left the station and picked its way through the bombed out industrial sector of Berlin.
Lines of people cleared rubble from what used to be their homes. Small fires consumed what was left of buildings. The war was hitting Germany hard. Felix knew it was a matter of months before the British, Americans and Russians would divide the city up and life here would change forever. His wry smile brought a slap around the head.
“What do you find so funny about this?” asked the officer.
“Nothing, it’s sad, but I know what’s coming.”
“Silence!” screamed the officer.
They drove for thirty minutes into an area where the buildings were more ornate and the smell of the fires drifted on the air. Felix was marched up some steep stone steps towards a huge black metal door. The
building had been protected from the bombing so it must be important. Scared and trembling, Felix was led down a long corridor with old paintings and sculptures lining the walls. It smelled of polish - the dark wooden floor was gleaming. At the end of the corridor Felix was ushered into a small office where two soldiers pointed their rifles at him, ensuring that all thoughts of escape rapidly disappeared.
Two ladies appeared in nurses’ uniforms. They were smiling and made Felix feel at ease. One reminded him of his grandmother with her grey hair tied up in a bun. The other filled a bowl with warm water and began washing his face with a flannel. He hadn’t bathed for days and must have looked a sight. He was brought new clothes and shiny, black shoes. He wondered what he was being prepared for. He knew whoever he was about to meet was important to these people, but he knew that he was also important to them. Next came a hot meal, and this time it was served on a large white porcelain plate. The beef roast dinner was delicious. It was the first good meal Felix had eaten since getting to France. He did ask himself if this was the last meal of a condemned boy.
Following the meal he was asked to stand up and the nurses straightened his clothes. This was it. Felix was about to be reunited with The Book of Words. He left the office and found the Gestapo officer waiting outside an oak door.
20
“Ready?” the beaming officer enquired.
“As I’ll ever be,” replied Felix.
Felix Jones And The Book Of Words (A Felix Jones Adventure 1) Page 6