History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins

A
BOUT THE
B
OOK

Imagine if you lost your parents – not just in place, but in time …

Jake Djones’ folks have gone missing and they could be anywhere in the world – at any time in history. For the Djones family have an astonishing secret. They belong to the HISTORY KEEPERS: a secret society which travels through the centuries to prevent evil enemies from meddling with History itself.

In the quest to find his parents, Jake is whisked from twenty-first-century London to nineteenth-century France, and taken to Point Zero, the headquarters of the society. There he meets an extraordinary group of agents and learns of the evil Zeldt family and their plans to destroy the world as we know it …

THE PAST IS IN DANGER – ONLY JAKE DJONES CAN SAVE IT!

• About the Book
  
• Title Page
  
• Dedication
  
• 1 The Monument Staircase
  
• 2 The London Bureau
  
• 3 Ships and Diamonds
  
• 4 The Escape
  
• 5 Dinner and Atomium
  
• 6 History Alive
  
• 7 The Castle in the Sea
  
• 8 Point Zero
  
• 9 Code Purple
  
• 10 Destination: 1506
  
• 11 The Jewel of the Adriatic
  
• 12 Alone in History
  
• 13 The Shadow of Evil
  
• 14 Unwelcome News
  
• 15 Enter the Dark Prince
  
• 16 Forest Encounter
  
• 17 The Diabolical Tribe
  
• 18 The Chequered Rose
  
• 19 Village Life
  
• 20 The Russian Visitors
  
• 21 Into the Lion’s Den
  
• 22 The Veiled Empire
  
• 23 Unmasked
  
• 24 Castle Surprises
  
• 25 Books, Rats, Cataclysm
  
• 26 Snakes and Ladders
  
• 27 The Deadly Books
  
• 28 The Inescapable Eclipse
  
• 29 The Terrible Truth
  
• 30 Promises and Proposals
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• About the Author
  
• Copyright
  

1 T
HE
M
ONUMENT
S
TAIRCASE

THE NIGHT JAKE
Djones found out that his parents were lost somewhere in history was one of the stormiest on record. Not since a long-forgotten hurricane in 1703 had London seen a night of such extraordinary weather, such torrents of rain and howling winds.

On Tower Bridge, at the raging centre of the tempest, an old Bentley, dark blue in colour, made its way unsteadily across the swelling Thames to the north bank. The front lights were on full beam and the wipers worked at double speed in the blinding downpour.

In the back of the car, sitting nervously on the great leather seat, was a boy – fourteen years old, with olive skin, curly dark hair and brave, intelligent eyes. He was wearing his school uniform: a blazer,
black
trousers and well-worn leather shoes. Next to him lay his old school bag, bulging with books and papers. Within the frayed tag, emblazoned in bold letters, was the name
Jake Djones
.

Jake’s big brown eyes examined the two figures behind the glass partition in the front. On the left was a tall, haughty gentleman dressed in a sombre black suit and top hat. Beside him sat the driver in a chauffeur’s uniform. The two of them were talking in hushed tones, but Jake could not hear what they were saying behind the glass anyway.

He had been kidnapped by these strangers just thirty minutes ago.

He’d been hurrying home from school across Greenwich Park when they had stepped out of the shadows just in front of the Royal Observatory. They’d explained he needed to accompany them on a matter of extreme urgency. When Jake had showed understandable reluctance, they’d told him his aunt would meet them at their destination. Jake had questioned this suspiciously, and then the rain had started to fall – first a few drops but quickly a deluge – and the men had taken action. The driver had lifted a handkerchief to Jake’s face; Jake had inhaled something that smelled sharp and stinging
and
had felt himself falling. He’d woken shortly after and found himself locked in the back of this grand car.

Jake felt a surge of panic, just as a sudden clap of thunder seemed to shake the very foundations of Tower Bridge. He scanned the inside of the car. It was lined with dark silk and had obviously once been luxurious, though it was now past its best. The doors (he had tried to open them, to no avail, shortly after he had come round) had ornate golden handles. He leaned forward and looked more closely at one of these. In its centre was an intricate design: a symbol of an hourglass with two planets whizzing around it.

The top-hatted man, his face in shadow, looked round in disapproval. Jake stared resolutely back until the imperious head turned to the road ahead once more.

The old Bentley came off the bridge. It headed through the maze of city streets until finally it ascended Fish Hill and pulled into a small cobbled square, in the shadow of a great stone column. Jake looked up at the structure: from a solid, square base, a giant pillar, luminous in white limestone, soared into the stormy sky. Its apex, which seemed to Jake
almost
half a mile away, was topped by a flaming golden urn.

Jake remembered immediately that he had seen this curious memorial once before: he and his parents, returning from a disastrous trip to the London Dungeon (a clumsy ghoul had slipped on a pool of fake blood, and Health and Safety had to turn on the lights), had come across it by accident. Jake’s father had suddenly become excited, telling his son the history of the building – how it was called the
Monument
and had been built by Sir Christopher Wren to commemorate the Great Fire of London; and how its gilded summit could be reached by a spiralling staircase inside. Jake had been entranced and longed to climb the staircase, and his father had agreed enthusiastically. But Jake’s mother, usually so full of fun, had inexplicably become panicky and insisted they all go home before the rush hour started. Jake had been pulled away, still gazing back at the column.

The top-hatted man got out of the car and put up his umbrella. He had to hold on tight to prevent the wind from carrying it away. He opened the back door and looked Jake directly in the eye. ‘Follow me. Do not consider escape.’

Jake surveyed his captor with distrust. He was elegantly dressed: as well as his silky black top hat, he wore a white collar, black tie, a dark morning suit fitted perfectly to his slim figure, narrow trousers with a faint stripe and immaculately polished boots. His face was distinctive, with a proud aquiline nose, high cheekbones and black eyes, impenetrable with flinty arrogance.

There was a flash of lightning and another surge of rain-tossed wind.

‘Quickly,’ the man barked. ‘We are not the enemy, I promise you.’

Jake slung his school bag over his shoulder and guardedly climbed out of the car. The man held him tightly by the arm as he knocked on the glass to get the chauffeur’s attention. The electric window descended.

‘Go and pick up her majesty straight away.’

‘Right you are.’

‘And don’t forget Miss St Honoré. She’s at the British Museum; probably in Egyptian antiquities.’

‘Egyptian antiquities.’ The ruddy-cheeked chauffeur nodded.

‘And, Norland – we set sail in an hour. On the dot, do you understand? No excursions to
the
betting shop or any of your other low haunts.’

The chauffeur was irritated by the gibe, but he covered it with a smile. ‘Set sail in an hour, all clear,’ he said, raising the window.

Jake’s heart was beating at double speed. Suddenly he was overcome with a rush of adrenaline; he yanked his arm free and made a run for it, at full speed, across the square.

The tall man’s reactions were instant. ‘Stop him!’ he bellowed to a group of office workers who were heading down the street towards the Underground. So authoritative was his voice that they did not even consider the boy’s innocence. As they converged to intercept him, Jake turned on his heel, changed direction and smacked straight into his kidnapper. There was a loud crack as Jake’s forehead collided with the man’s jaw.

Jake managed to stay standing, but his pursuer was not so lucky: he tottered backwards, lost his balance, his umbrella took off, and his eyes went up, followed by his long skinny legs. He flew into the air before landing in a large muddy puddle. His top hat rolled down to the base of the Monument. Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw the umbrella sail heavenwards, heading for the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral.

Putting aside his own fears, he rushed across to the tangle of long limbs and spoiled clothes. The chauffeur had also left the car in panic; the office workers stood frozen in their tracks.

Jake looked down at the motionless figure. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, fearing the worst. Despite his youth, his voice had a rich, low tone.

Finally the head stirred. Careless now of the driving rain, the tall man slowly sat up and swept back the hair from his forehead with a long, languid hand.

Jake breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were behind me.
Are
you all right?’ he asked again softly, offering a hand to help the man to his feet.

The latter ignored the gesture and the question; instead he addressed the chauffeur. ‘What’s keeping you? I repeat, we set sail in one hour!’ he hissed, before turning his venom on the assembly of gawping office workers. ‘Never seen a man fall over before?’

His tone was unfriendly enough to send the group on their way. Meanwhile the chauffeur got back in the car and started the engine. It pulled away, turned a corner and disappeared, leaving Jake
and
his captor alone at the base of the giant column. For some reason Jake had lost his desire to run. He picked up the man’s top hat, straightened it and offered it to him with an uncertain smile.

The man muttered through gritted teeth, ‘I told you that
we
were not the enemy.’ He pulled himself to his feet, snatched his hat back and placed it on his head. ‘If you don’t believe me, your aunt will clarify matters when she arrives.’

‘My aunt …?’ Jake shook his head. ‘What has she got to do with it?’

‘Explanations later. Now follow me!’ The tall man went over to the base of the Monument, produced a large key from his waistcoat pocket and inserted it into a hole concealed in the stone. Jake was wondering what on earth he was doing. Then he saw the almost-invisible edge of a doorway – a
secret
doorway at the very foot of the giant column.

The man turned the key and the stone door opened with an echoey thud. Within, there was a soft, flickering light from a taper. Momentarily Jake’s anxiety was replaced by fascination. He craned his neck to see inside: there was a small chamber from which descended a wide spiral staircase of ancient stone.

‘Quickly! Quickly!’ the man barked. ‘Inside, you will get answers to everything. Including the whereabouts of your parents.’

The blood drained from Jake’s face. ‘My – my parents?’ he stammered. ‘What’s happened to my parents?’

‘Follow me and you will find out,’ was the only reply he got.

Jake shook his head and remained defiantly rooted to the spot. He took a deep breath and put on his deepest, most intimidating voice. ‘You kidnap me in Greenwich Park. You bundle me into a car – you could be arrested twenty times over. Now I would like some answers! Firstly, what is it that you know about my parents?’

The man rolled his eyes. ‘If you’ll come out of the rain and allow me to change out of my ruined suit’ – he indicated a great tear down the side of his jacket – ‘I will tell you.’

‘But who
are
you?’ Jake persisted stubbornly.

The man took a calming breath. ‘My name is Jupitus Cole. I have no intention of hurting you. Quite the opposite; I am trying to help. We were forced to kidnap you because it is safer for you to
come
with us. Now, would you please accompany me below?’