‘That is your ship?’ Lucius asked, pulling a face. ‘Exigua est. It’s small.’
‘What does he want?’ Nathan shook his head at the others. ‘An Atlantic clipper? A Norse longship? Who is this strange person and what is his problem? All aboard – I’ll cast off.’
Jake and Charlie climbed the gangplank, while Lucius, in a ridiculous manoeuvre, crouched and vaulted up, twisting in a salto and landing with a flourish on the prow.
Their pursuers emerged from the cave, firing another volley of missiles. Then, to make matters worse, they saw three more vessels, each with its own complement of soldiers, rounding the headland.
‘I hate to make the bad news’ – Lucius nodded towards the soldiers – ‘but we now surrounded.’
Nathan jumped aboard, drew up the gangplank and took the helm. ‘You might look the part – the tough physique, the dimple in the chin and the teeth that I can see my reflection in – but we’ve been doing this for years. And this ship may be small, but it’s certainly not exigua!’ To prove his point, Nathan fired up the engine, set the gear and took off, sending Lucius tottering along the deck. A group of locals, mending nets, watched in amazement. The Conqueror smashed into the three boatloads of muscle and careered off across the bay.
As the ship sped on, Lucius clung to the rail, amazed and terrified in equal measure, muttering about magicus.
‘What’s he saying?’ Jake asked.
‘He is wondering if this is magic,’ Charlie translated.
‘Or if it is Neptune’s craft,’ Nathan added with a roll of his eyes, before turning to the soldier with a shrug. ‘Neptune, that’s right – friends in low places.’
Once the ship had reached the open sea and Vulcano was just a hazy shape on the horizon behind them, Nathan throttled back and – in his most serious voice – called a meeting.
‘So Topaz has gone to Herculaneum?’ he asked. ‘You’re absolutely sure of that?’
Lucius nodded. ‘Two days ago, with the magistra and Leopardo.’
‘And who is Leopardo exactly?’ Nathan enquired. ‘Apart from someone who needs a good hiding.’
Jake braced himself for the answer.
‘Brother of Topaz.’ Lucius uttered the unthinkable, but then corrected himself slightly: ‘Half-brother. They hate each other.’
‘They’ve gone to Herculaneum for what reason?’
‘The magistra—’
‘Could we just call her Agata?’ Nathan interjected testily. ‘That name is starting to grate. And seeing as you’re not working for her any more . . .’
Lucius eyeballed him defiantly, before continuing, ‘The magistra was picking up a – quid dico? – sarcina . . . a package.’
‘A package?’ Nathan jumped in. ‘What package?’ Lucius shrugged, so he turned to Charlie. ‘Do you think it’s atomium?’ It was Charlie’s turn to shrug. Nathan continued the cross-examination: ‘Where exactly was she picking up this package?’
‘From the theatrum. The theatre.’
‘The theatre?’ Nathan snorted. ‘This is all getting a little far-fetched.’
‘Believe me. Don’t believe me.’ Lucius held up his hands. ‘No difference.’
‘Actually there is a theatre in Herculaneum,’ Charlie chipped in. ‘It’s as famous as the library.’ He turned to Lucius. ‘I have to ask – why are you helping us?’
‘I help you – you help Topaz.’
At this admission, Jake felt another twinge of uncertainty, a premonition of something. He found himself asking the question but didn’t really want to know the answer. ‘And why do you want to help Topaz?’
Lucius showed his gleaming teeth. ‘Because I love her.’
This was bad enough for Jake, but his second declaration was worse:
‘And she loves me.’
Nathan was also appalled at the notion. ‘Now hold on a minute,’ he said, pulling himself up to his full height and pushing his chin out. ‘That’s my sister you’re talking about. I don’t know the first thing about you. How old are you?’
‘Seventeen,’ Lucius replied proudly. He was older than all of them.
Nathan didn’t like that at all. ‘Well, that’s too old for her,’ he retorted.
Lucius squared up to him: they were of equal height, each as striking as the other, though Lucius was the bulkier of the two. ‘I not care you do not like,’ he smouldered. ‘I risk my life on Vulcano,’ he said, jerking his thumb back at the island behind them. ‘Everything I had, gone. Now, I am reus . . . a criminal . . . me quaerent – I will be hunted down.’ With a scowl, he put his face close up to Nathan’s.
‘Let’s not be overdramatic!’ Nathan grimaced, refusing to back away. ‘You made choices – nothing to do with Topaz.’
‘All right, you two,’ said Charlie, prising them apart. ‘Let’s cool down a little.’ He whispered in Nathan’s ear, ‘He’s obviously just an ordinary chap that Topaz roped in to help. Go a little easier on him.’ Charlie turned back to Lucius. ‘It was very kind of you to assist us, whatever the reason. Is there anything else you can tell us about Topaz?’
Lucius reluctantly took a step back, loosened his breastplate, reached his hand inside and produced a small package from a secret pocket. ‘This is from her,’ he announced, placing it in Charlie’s hand.
All three History Keepers looked at each other in disbelief. ‘You’ve had that all this time?’ Nathan grunted with irritation. ‘Why didn’t you give it to us sooner?’
‘I give it to you now!’ Lucius retreated, shaking his head and muttering to himself.
As the other two crowded round, Charlie quickly unwrapped the package. It contained a small wax tablet inscribed with two lines that had obviously been written in a hurry.
Charlie read it aloud: ‘Meet me nine a.m., the ides of May, Pons Fabricius . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘Code purple.’
The three agents exchanged glances. Nathan reached over and took the tablet. ‘It’s her writing, all right,’ he commented. ‘The ides of May – that’s the fifteenth, two days away. Is the Pons Fabricius in Herculaneum?’
‘Negative,’ said Charlie, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘The Pons Fabricius is one of the oldest and most famous bridges in the world: it crosses over to the Tiber Island. It’s in Rome.’
‘Rome?’ Nathan threw up his hands and turned on Lucius accusingly. ‘You said she’d gone to Herculaneum?’
‘She tell me that!’ Lucius replied, and once again they squared up to each other like a couple of stags.
‘Just calm down, you two,’ Charlie interceded a second time. ‘It’s quite possible that she has gone to Herculaneum and then to Rome. It’s on the way there, halfway up the coast. Nathan, I suggest we continue north in any case. We can discuss our destination at dinner. I’ll go down and rustle something up. All that excitement has made me famished.’
At length, everyone nodded in agreement. Charlie disappeared below deck, whistling happily. Mr Drake followed quickly, not wishing to be left with the warring factions. Nathan returned to the helm, and Jake and Lucius went to opposite ends of the ship to stew over their various misfortunes. After staring out at the sun setting over the Tyrrhenian Sea for a while, Jake glanced back at his rival.
Lucius was tall, impossibly good-looking, a soldier and, most crucially, nearly three years older than him. For all Jake knew, he was probably kindhearted too (Jake couldn’t imagine why Topaz would be interested in him if he wasn’t). In Jake’s eyes, this man – it pained him deeply to admit it – was the whole package.
*
Charlie returned from the galley fifteen minutes later, carrying a tray of delicious food. ‘Simple Mediterranean fare.’ He sighed blissfully as he set it down on the table. ‘It’s the best!’ He indicated each bowl in turn: ‘Olive tapenade, yoghurt and fresh figs, sorrel and chicory salad, home-made chickpea falafels and this delicious rye bread I bought this morning in Messina.’
In truth, Jake had lost his appetite a little; but Charlie’s meal was, as
always, incredibly tasty, and soon every last morsel was being fought over by the four of them.
When the plates were empty, Charlie fetched the pudding. ‘I may have surpassed myself here – date soufflé with poppy seeds,’ he announced proudly as he set down the dish. Out of earshot of Lucius he whispered, ‘It’s basically cheesecake.’
They tucked in – Lucius was particularly impressed – and hostilities began to thaw, though not for long.
‘Which one of you is’ – Lucius spat out a seed as he tried to recall the name – ‘Yake?’
‘Jake – that’s me. Did Topaz have a message for me?’ Jake asked excitedly.
‘No.’ Lucius shook his head and took another mouthful. The other three had to wait for him to chew and swallow before he carried on, ‘You enemy number one, they say. I am surprised . . . I expect someone more’ – he turned to examine Jake and even went so far as to feel his biceps, which were by no means bulging – ‘more infigo, more athletico.’
Jake ignored the slur, focusing instead on the bombshell. For the second time that day he felt as if someone had delivered him a body blow. ‘Enemy number one?’ he stammered. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You make the magistra’s brother, Prince Xander Zeldt, blind. There is money on your head. Now is money on my head too. Maybe I enemy number one now,’ he declared with a laugh. No one joined in.
‘Zeldt was blinded?’ Jake found himself asking, as if in a dream.
‘They say he never sees again.’ Lucius shrugged as he helped himself to the last spoonful of pudding. ‘Though he gone to see a special doctor.’
Jake took in the news. He had last seen Prince Zeldt, Topaz’s infinitely evil uncle and scourge of the History Keepers’ Secret Service, on board the Lindwurm, during his mission to try and save her. It was because of his calamitously misguided intervention that Topaz had had no choice but to set fire to Zeldt’s cabinet of embalmed heads – which had exploded in his face. Jake did not know he had been blinded – and though he certainly deserved to be punished (after all, he did try and destroy Renaissance Europe with deadly bubonic plague), Jake was appalled to discover that he himself was now a wanted man.
‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Jake,’ Charlie jumped in quickly. ‘We’ve all had prices on our head. They’re two a penny these days. If anything, it’s a compliment.’ He turned to Lucius. ‘Any idea where Zeldt went to see this doctor?’
‘A place called . . .’ He had trouble recalling the name. ‘Vindobona?’
Charlie whispered to the others, ‘That’s the old name for Vienna. No doubt he’s gone to the nineteenth century, when ocular surgery took off. At least he is out of the way.’
‘And did he have that she-devil Mina Schlitz with him?’ Nathan butted in.
At the mention of her name, Jake felt another jolt of anxiety. She was Zeldt’s right-hand woman, an ice-blooded assassin. Her one concession to humanity was her love for her pet snake – though that had perished in the fire on the Lindwurm. Lucius knew immediately who they were talking about and told them that she had gone with her master. ‘She and the magistra did not like each other . . .’
‘Can you imagine those two together?’ Nathan drawled. ‘Conviviality soup.’
As evening fell, the three agents discussed where they should head first: Herculaneum or Rome. Jake wanted to go straight to the latter and start looking for Topaz, but Charlie reasoned – successfully – that as their proposed rendezvous with her wasn’t for another day and a half, and as they would sail by Herculaneum anyway, they might as well go there first and try and find out more about this mysterious package that Agata Zeldt was picking up at the theatre.
When their course was agreed, Charlie took the helm (he loved being at the wheel at night). Mr Drake tried to stay awake on his shoulder, while Nathan and Jake sat down to enjoy the balmy evening and the celestial lightshow. Jake never tired of the magic of the star-rise.
Lucius had fallen asleep on deck. His bulky frame and handsome face were twitching as he took on some invisible foe in his dreams. Jake and Nathan examined him in silence.
‘I don’t believe Topaz is in love with him,’ Nathan said finally. ‘She doesn’t fall in love – it’s not her style.’ Another few minutes passed before he spoke again. He turned to Jake very seriously and announced, ‘I love my sister, but she’s as complicated as a box of frogs, you know.’
Jake nodded and half smiled. He was in no doubt that Nathan meant this as a warning. He didn’t reply.
The Conqueror sailed on into the night.
12 THE FLAME-HAIRED SIBYL
A CONVOY OF three dark carriages rattled across the countryside. Each was pulled by a team of four black stallions – savage beasts with wild eyes and flaring nostrils, their coats shining in the moonlight. At the gates of a farm a night watchman stared – first bleary-eyed, then with growing alarm – as they charged towards him. The earth rumbled; he heard the vicious cries of the drivers, the crack of whips, and the vehicles thundered past, spattering him with gravel and leaving a cloud of choking dust in their wake. They tore over the brow of the hill and rattled down towards the flickering lights of a sprawling city.
The carriages flew down dark and narrow city streets, careless of both people and animals that got in their way; two wheels lifted off the ground as they veered round corners. They ascended a steep hill and at last clattered through an archway into the large courtyard of a huge villa and came to a halt. Two colossal gates, each decorated with the motif of a giant bird, were closed behind them with a resounding clang.
For just a second there was no sound but the panting and snorting of horses; then, with lightning efficiency, a platoon of guards filed out into the courtyard, standing to attention. The driver of the first carriage and his companion, both with the distinctive grey breastplates and feathered shoulders of the Hydra, jumped out, opened the carriage door and set down the step, before bowing and stepping back respectfully.
First to emerge from the silky blackness of the vehicle’s interior was a tall youth, long-limbed and athletic. He too wore the uniform of the Hydra, but each element – breastplate, shoulder pads, boots and helmet – had been finely wrought in gold and ebony. He had a mane of perfectly straight blond hair and a cruel smile. A cloak hung down his back – a luxurious fur with the spots of a leopard.
He descended in one lithe movement, took off his gloves, then inclined his head as another figure appeared, ghost-like. It was a lady, tall and imperious, in a dress of shimmering darkness and a black veil that covered her head and shoulders. Through this, only the faintest glimpse of a pale face could be seen, framed by flame-coloured hair. Her whole being instilled a feeling of dread. It even chilled the blood of her loyal soldiers. As she stepped down, their backs seemed to stiffen in unison and their faces set in expressions of terror.
She placed a languid hand on her companion’s shoulder – Leopardo was both her son and her lieutenant – and whispered something to him, then turned and swept towards the villa.
Leopardo strode over to the second carriage, opened the door and spoke to its occupant, who now descended – a portly middle-aged man swaddled in a cloak. He cast his tired, puffy eyes around the courtyard as Leopardo went on to the third carriage. This one was locked with chains. With a sadistic smile he peered through its latticed sides and snarled something to the figure inside.
Like a bride of darkness, Agata Zeldt glided down a wide, torch-lit passageway into the heart of the villa, her heels clicking on the marble floor. As she passed, slaves froze, trembling, their heads bowed low. Ahead of her, huge double doors of ivory and gold swung open.
Beyond them, a vast ballroom was lit by low braziers of flickering flames. It housed a giant cage – an indoor aviary divided into two compartments. The left-hand section was inhabited by a solitary prisoner chained to a post, dressed in the uniform of the Hydra. He was stocky and muscular but now bruised and unkempt after days of incarceration. He lifted his head as Agata entered, but she did not r
eturn his gaze; instead she strode over to the right-hand compartment, where three massive birds – the finest and deadliest of all her flock – were squawking excitedly.
A smile lit up her face behind her silken shroud, and she put her pale hands between the bars and waited for the birds to come to her. They swooped down, flapping their wings in delight, nipping her with their beaks and fighting for her attention. Entranced by their devotion, Agata sighed, making her veil billow out in front of her.
She withdrew her hands and clapped to summon the birdkeeper. A moment later, a paunchy man wearing a blood-splattered leather apron lumbered out of the darkness. In his chubby hands he carried a basket, which he held up to his mistress.
Agata examined the contents: it was crawling with living things – rats, mice, thin snakes and monster-sized beetles – all slithering, scratching and scrambling on top of each other in a diabolical soup. Undaunted, she reached in and took hold of a fat rodent with a thick, hairless tail and passed it through the bars. The birds pounced immediately, squawking with pleasure, one snapping off its head, another tearing at its body, pulling it to pieces, their necks bobbing as the lumps of flesh went down.
‘You poor things are starving,’ she said. ‘But not to worry – dinner’s coming.’ Now she went over to the other compartment. She stopped in front of the prisoner and removed her veil. As it slipped off, it made a soft hiss. Seeing her face, the unfortunate soldier did a double-take, as if he were looking at the Gorgon herself.
At first glance, Agata’s face was handsome – proud, with a high forehead. But further scrutiny revealed something more unsettling: the features – nose, eyes, mouth, chin – all striking individually, did not quite fit together. It appeared as if they had been taken apart and carefully reassembled like Frankenstein’s bride, leaving the faintest reminders of surgery.
History Keepers: Circus Maximus Page 13