‘Excuse me. You’re blocking my light,’ he told Jake without taking his eyes off the job. ‘If this isn’t sent within the next five minutes, I’ll be done for.’
As Jake moved round to the other side of the desk, the boy looked up and scrutinized him; then he pushed his spectacles up his nose and returned to his work.
On the table next to the typewriter there was a plate of delicious-looking tarts. The boy reached out his hand, took one and popped it into his mouth. Jake’s stomach was rumbling: he hadn’t eaten since lunch time.
‘Have one if you must.’ The curly-haired boy could obviously sense Jake’s hunger. ‘They’re pear and cinnamon. The pastry is as light as air.’
Jake looked at him quizzically; he had a correct, old-fashioned voice, like the people who read the news on serious radio stations. Jake took one of the tarts, and the multi-coloured bird watched him carefully as he bit into it.
‘Is he friendly?’ Jake asked, reaching out his hand to allow the bird to sniff it.
The parrot squawked like a banshee, puffed up his feathers and flapped his wings. Jake jumped back in alarm.
‘Mr Drake doesn’t take kindly to strangers!’ his owner pointed out. ‘He was a rescue parrot, from Mustique. If I were you, I would follow Mr Cole’s advice and take a seat.’
The boy carried on typing and muttering to himself as Jake retreated to the chair by the door. Mr Drake, the parrot, watched him very carefully as he did so.
Jake’s thoughts turned to the events of the week. Up until an hour ago they had seemed in no way out of the ordinary …
Jake Djones lived in a small semi-detached house in an ordinary street in an unassuming part of South London. The house had three small bedrooms, one bathroom and an unfinished conservatory. There was a study that Jake’s father amusingly called ‘the communications room’; it was a dumping ground for old computers and a jungle of knotted cables. Jake’s parents, Alan and Miriam, ran a bathroom shop on the high street. At the weekends Miriam would invent inedible dishes and Alan would attempt DIY. All would invariably end in disaster: lopsided soufflés, burned sauces, burst pipes and unfinished conservatories.
Jake’s school was a fifteen-minute walk across Greenwich Park. It was neither a particularly bad nor a particularly good school. There was a handful of interesting teachers and a smattering of vindictive ones. Jake was awful at maths, good at geography and excellent at basketball. He enthusiastically auditioned for every school play, but rarely made it beyond the chorus. He was intrigued by history; by the type of powerful, mysterious people in the murals he had just seen – rulers and emperors – but sadly his history teacher was not one of the interesting ones.
Jake had last seen his parents four days earlier. They had left him a message to pass by the shop on his way home from school. When Jake had got there, it had been deserted. He’d waited.
The bathroom shop was not a success. Jake often wondered how the business continued at all. His parents had started it up just after he was born and had struggled ever since. As one of the many unsatisfied customers had pointed out, ‘They just have no instinct for ceramic!’
Jake tended to agree. Miriam manned the store in a whirl of confusion, always losing papers and receipts, and sometimes entire bathroom suites. Alan worked mostly on site, overseeing the inevitable chaos of an installation. He was a big man, well-built and over six feet tall, and Jake always felt he just didn’t fit into neat suburban bathrooms. Not just on account of his size, but also of his larger-than-life personality.
As he’d sat, waiting, two figures had rushed into the showroom.
‘There you are, darling,’ Miriam had puffed, trying to organize her cascades of dishevelled dark hair. She was an attractive woman with an air of voluptuous warmth and an olive complexion like Jake’s. She had big eyes, long, curling lashes and a honey-coloured beauty spot just above the corner of her mouth. Alan was rugged and fair-skinned, with thick blond hair and the shadow of a beard. He looked as if he might give a mischievous grin at any moment.
‘Disaster with Dolores Devises. Her overflow pipes weren’t fitted properly,’ Miriam had sighed with a glance towards Alan. ‘I had to give her her money back.’
‘I could spend all year fitting them,’ Alan had replied, ‘but Dolores Devises will never be happy with her overflow pipes!’
There’d been a pause, as there always was – then Alan and Miriam had started giggling. They both had an infectious sense of humour. Anything could set them off, but usually it was a certain type of person: a supercilious bank manager or a pompous customer like Dolores Devises. They would rather laugh at things than let events get them down.
Miriam had turned to Jake. ‘Now, we have something to tell you.’ She’d attempted to keep things upbeat. ‘We have to pop off for a few days.’
Jake had felt a pang of disappointment. Miriam had tried to carry on cheerfully. ‘It’s my fault – got the dates mixed up. Trade event in Birmingham. Boring beyond belief, but we need to – what was it the accountant said? – broaden our range of merchandise.’
‘Granite and sandstone are very in at the moment,’ Alan had added sheepishly.
‘We’re leaving today – straight from here.’ Miriam had indicated a packed red suitcase behind the counter. ‘Rose is going to stay while we’re gone. Is that all right, darling?’ she’d asked softly.
Jake had tried to nod, but it came out more like a shrug. His parents had started going to these trade shows three years ago – just once annually to begin with, but this year they had already disappeared twice, on both occasions announcing their departure at the last minute.
‘We’ll be back by Friday afternoon!’ Miriam had smiled, running her hands through Jake’s thick curls. ‘And you’ll have our undivided attention then.’
‘We have surprises planned,’ Alan had chipped in. ‘Big ones!’
Miriam had thrown her arms around her son and squeezed him tight. ‘We do love you so much!’
Jake had let himself be squeezed for a short while before pulling away. He had just been straightening his school blazer when his father had also grabbed him in a bear hug.
‘Look after yourself, son,’ he’d told him, sounding like a father in a Hollywood film.
Jake had extricated himself. ‘Thanks. Have a good time anyway,’ he’d mumbled without looking at them. He’d then left the shop and headed into the windy street.
Jake had sulked all the way across Greenwich Park, and had sat on a bench until it started to get dark. He’d hated not saying goodbye to his parents properly, but he’d wanted to punish them.
It was not until an hour later that he’d had a change of heart. In an instant he’d forgiven them and felt a pressing need to get back before they left. He’d rushed up the high street, his heart pounding.
He’d arrived too late. The shop had been closed, the lights extinguished. The red suitcase had gone.
As promised, Alan’s sister, Rose, had arrived that evening. She was one of Jake’s favourite people – eccentric, outspoken and very entertaining. She always wore a mass of clanking bangles from her travels around the world. She was the type of person who happily talked to strangers, and she was always saying to Jake, ‘Life’s short, so have a blast!’
It had been fun with her looking after him, but this afternoon, straight after his last class, Jake had flown down the steps of his school. Friday had been the agreed time for his parents’ return and he’d wanted to get home as fast as he could. Once again he’d hurried across Greenwich Park. As the whole panorama of London had opened up before him, he had seen the great black clouds approaching, warlike, from the horizon.
That was when Jupitus Cole and Norland the chauffeur had stepped out of the shadows in front of the Royal Observatory.
Of course, Jake wouldn’t realize until days later the pertinence of this location: the Royal Observatory was the place where, in 1668, Mr Hooke of the newly founded Royal Society, among others, had worked on linking space and time.
That encounter with Jupitus and Norland had taken place just a short while ago, and Jake was now sitting in this extraordinary room with his life, as Jupitus had warned him, about to change ‘incontrovertibly’.
Jupitus’s office door opened suddenly. ‘You can come in now, Mr Djones,’ he said tersely.
Jake stood up and approached the doorway. For a moment he was rooted to the spot. He looked back and found everyone staring at him. Rumbled, they quickly carried on with their tasks, and Jake went in.
3 SHIPS AND DIAMONDS
‘SHUT THE DOOR,’ barked Jupitus. Jake closed it carefully.
Jupitus was already seated behind his desk, scribbling furiously with his fountain pen. He had changed into new clothes almost identical to the ones he had been wearing before: white collar, black tie, a dark, tailed jacket, and trousers with a faint stripe. His wet clothes lay in a heap on the floor.
Jake looked around the wood-panelled office. It was a veritable treasure-trove of extraordinary objects. There was the marble bust of a Roman emperor, a cabinet displaying swords and antique weaponry, a tiger silently roaring, ancient paintings of noblemen and royalty, and yet more globes and maps. Next to the crackling fireplace was a large stuffed bird with a distinctive curved beak.
‘Is that …?’
‘A dodo, yes,’ snapped Jupitus, without even looking up. ‘One of the last to walk this earth. Though obviously its walking days are now over. So, you’re wondering what you’re doing here? Who we all are?’
‘That would be an understatement. How do you know my family?’ Jake asked.
‘I need to check your eyes first,’ announced Jupitus, ignoring his question.
‘My eyes …?’
Jupitus opened a drawer in his desk and took out an instrument finely crafted in dark wood and silver. It was a loupe, an eyepiece such as jewellers wear to look at precious gemstones. Jupitus fitted it over his right eye and pulled the strap tight about his head. He came round the desk.
‘Sit on that chair,’ he ordered.
‘There’s nothing wrong with my eyes.’
Jupitus waited for Jake to do as he was told. Jake reluctantly sat.
‘Put your bag there.’ Jupitus waved his fingers at Jake’s school bag. Jake took it off and placed it on the desk. Jupitus turned a dial on the instrument to switch on a circular light, then lifted Jake’s chin. ‘Eyes wide open, please.’ He leaned in and examined the boy’s right pupil through his device.
‘What is this?’
‘Ssssh!’ Jupitus moved onto the left pupil, screwing up his face to focus on what he saw there. ‘Now close your eyes, quickly.’
Jake obliged. Jupitus shone the light onto each closed lid in turn.
‘Now tell me what shapes you see, in the darkness of your vision.’
‘Shapes? I … I don’t see any shapes.’
‘Of course you do! There are shapes. Shapes of different sizes, but all of the same configuration. Oblongs, squares, circles? Look carefully. Which do you see?’
Jake concentrated hard – and indeed did start to see something. ‘I suppose they look like … diamonds.’
‘Diamonds? Really? Not rectangles? Not squares?’ Jupitus demanded impatiently.
‘Absolutely. Diamond shapes. I can see them everywhere now.’
Jupitus looked angry, as if he had been insulted. ‘Are their shapes symmetrical, well-defined, or in-distinct?’ he persisted.
‘Well-defined, I think.’
Jupitus took a deep, quivering breath. ‘Lucky you,’ he said, almost inaudibly, then pulled the instrument off Jake’s head and threw it down on the desk. He returned to his seat.
‘I’ll get straight to the point. We are leaving for France. We are travelling by ship. We need you to accompany us.’
Jake chuckled in disbelief. ‘Excuse me? France? Tonight?’
‘I understand it is short notice. We will supply clothes, food, whatever you need. Do you suffer from seasickness? It will be stormy.’
‘No, I don’t. Sorry, this is … Who are you people?’
Jupitus glared at him. ‘Perhaps you would like to stay in London – at that dull, insipid school of yours. Day after day of tedious study. Dates and equations.’ With a leisurely hand, he opened Jake’s bag and took out one of the books. He flicked through its pages. ‘For what? To pass some pointless exams? To go on to “higher” education? To be rewarded with a tiresome, bland employment followed by a slow, meaningless death?’
Jake shook his head in utter bewilderment.
Jupitus snapped the book shut and threw it back into the bag. ‘If you want education, the world is the place to find it. It’s a richer, more complex place than you could ever imagine.’
Jake looked at the man in front of him. The phrase that he had just uttered somehow struck a chord within him. ‘Well, it’s not just school …’ he began. ‘Somehow I don’t think my parents would really appreciate my disappearing with a group of strange people to France. No offence – but you all seem completely mad, dressed like that, talking in that old-fashioned way.’ He tried to keep calm, but his hands were shaking.
‘Your parents, you say? It is on their account that I am asking you to accompany us. They are missing, you see.’
‘What?’ Jake gasped. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The chances are that they will be safe. They are survivors, both of them. And certainly they have faced many perils over the years. But the fact is, we have lost contact. For three days. And we are concerned.’
Jake’s head was swimming. ‘I’m sorry … I don’t understand. How do you know them?’
Jupitus Cole stared at Jake coolly before answering. ‘We work for the same organization.’ He swept his elegant hand around the room. ‘This organization,’ he added.
There was silence for a moment, then Jake laughed out loud. ‘You’ve made a mistake. My parents sell bathrooms. Sinks, bidets, toilets. As we speak, they are returning from a trade fair in Birmingham. But of course you might know that if you knew them—’
‘Alan and Miriam Djones,’ Jupitus interjected, ‘aged forty-five and forty-three respectively. Married on the island of Rhodes, in an orange grove by the sea. I was there. An unforgettable day,’ he added without a hint of passion. ‘The name “Djones” is, of course, unusual – the D being silent. One living son’ – Jupitus pointed languidly at Jake – ‘Jake Archie Djones, aged fourteen. Unaware of status. A further son, Philip Leandro Djones, died at the age of fifteen, three years ago.’
‘Stop this!’ Jake leaped to his feet, furious. Jupitus had touched, with sickening nonchalance, on the one subject that was sacred to Jake – his older brother, Philip. ‘I’ll leave the way I came in! Ships to France and staring into my eyes … You’re all lunatics.’ He glared at Jupitus as he grabbed his bag, then turned and stormed towards the door. As he crossed the room, his emotions got the better of him, and his lip trembled, but he regained control of himself.
‘If you leave now, you may never see your parents again!’ Jupitus announced – so forcefully that it made Jake stop dead in his tracks. Terror gripped him.
‘As you were told, your aunt will meet us here,’ Jupitus continued in a calmer tone. ‘She will be joining us on our journey. She will reassure you. That’s providing she arrives in time. Punctuality was never her strong point.’
Jake turned. He was now so confused, he was unable to process anything.
‘If you want to find your parents, if you want to stay alive, you really have no choice but to come with us,’ Jupitus concluded sombrely.
Jake spoke in a daze. ‘Exactly where in France are you going?’
For the first time, Jupitus looked at him with just the faintest glimmer of respect. ‘To a place you have certainly never been.’
There was a firm knock on the door and a business-like voice announced, ‘Captain Macintyre.’
‘Come in,’ instructed Jupitus.
The door opened and revealed a sturdy, energetic-looking man weari
ng a sea captain’s tunic. He nodded at Jake and then addressed Jupitus.
‘Mr Cole. If you have a moment, we need to clarify co-ordinates.’ Macintyre set down a map on Jupitus’s desk. It was an old chart that showed the coast of Britain, the North Sea and the English Channel. ‘I’m concerned, sir, that if we take our usual eastern horizon point’ – Macintyre indicated a star-like symbol in the North Sea – ‘we may be intercepted by anything heading this way. So I suggest we take this horizon point, south by south-east.’
There was another knock at the open doorway. One of the uniformed men was standing to attention with an empty crate in his hands.
‘Sorry to disturb, Mr Cole, sir. What would you like me to pack from your office?’ the man asked politely.
Jupitus went over to a glass cabinet containing large old books, opened it and pointed to specific volumes in turn: ‘The Galileo, of course, the Newton … the Shakespeare.’ He stopped and took an ancient manuscript down from the shelf. Jake craned his neck to see what it was. On the front he could just make out handwriting in faded purple ink: Macbeth, a new play for the Globe. Jake felt a shiver go down his spine when he realized that the author had signed his name in the same hand-writing: William Shakespeare.
Jupitus handed the book to the uniformed man. ‘Just take them all. God knows when we’ll be back.’
He removed a painting from the wall and unlocked a safe. Reaching into the cavity, he took out a bundle of ancient banknotes and threw them into a suitcase. Then he removed a bulging leather purse and emptied the contents into his hand: glittering diamonds, emeralds and tourmalines. He replaced them in the pouch and flung it into the case.
Jupitus retrieved the last object – a small veneered box. This he handled very carefully. Snug within its velvet casing were three objects. In the middle was a device in gleaming silver, about the size of an egg cup, with many intricate dials and gauges. On either side of this were two miniature glass bottles. One bottle was plain and contained a grey liquid; the other was beautifully carved in crystal and contained a golden fluid. With the utmost care, Jupitus took out this second bottle and held it up to the light. It was a quarter full and glimmered with a faint spectral aura.
The History Keepers: The Storm Begins Page 2