History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins (20 page)

‘What are you two talking about?’ came a soft voice from the back of the cart. Jake turned to see Topaz, bleary-eyed, looking up from her bed of hay.

‘Nothing!’ Charlie declared flatly. ‘Just soufflés.’

Topaz smiled warmly at Jake, lay back down and drifted off to sleep again.

Jake looked around at the moonlit landscape, at the snow-peaked mountains on either side. He was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding as the
cart
flew on into the night towards Castle Schwarzheim.

18 T
HE
C
HEQUERED
R
OSE

BACK AT POINT
Zero, Oceane Noire stood at the entrance to the stateroom, greeting her party guests. Only once did she lose her composure. ‘
Mon Dieu
!’ she exclaimed as a figure stumbled into the room. ‘She’s carrying that
bag
.’ She was referring to Rose Djones, who looked quite beautiful in the Empire gown that Olympe de Gouges had bequeathed her – though the effect was spoiled by her jangling bangles and ubiquitous carpetbag. That and the fact that the dress was so constricting she could barely move in it.

At seven forty-five precisely, a gong sounded and the guests took their seats for dinner. There were place names set out so that Oceane could control exactly who sat where. The hostess put herself next to Jupitus Cole and sat Rose in a draughty corner at
the
far end by the kitchen door. Oceane had no idea that this suited Rose perfectly – at some point she planned to make a casual exit and set off on her secret mission.

During dessert, there was an excited commotion over the clementine and fig jelly that had been cast in the likeness of the hostess. As the occupants of Rose’s table (all of whom were black sheep in Oceane’s eyes) diverted themselves by wobbling their miniature Oceanes into a frenzy, Galliana surreptitiously nodded to her old ally. Rose nodded back, stood up and slipped unnoticed from the room.

As quickly as her dress would allow her, she hurried up stairways and along deserted corridors until she came to the entrance to Jupitus Cole’s suite. Here she put on her gloves, unlocked the door and slipped inside.

The rooms were just as formal and austere as Rose had imagined, with heavy pieces of furniture, dark portraits of glum-looking people and a faint but all-pervading odour of stale potpourri.

‘Dear me,’ she said, taking it all in, ‘it’s like a tomb.’

She started searching the bureau, carefully going
through
a pile of perfectly stacked papers. From the bottom she retrieved two sheets to give to Galliana to check for fingerprints. As she folded them and put them in her pocket, she saw something inside the bureau that made her heart stop. She reached out and carefully withdrew a small glass box, beautifully crafted, with fine gold joints. It was not the box that she recognized; it was what lay inside – a single dried rose which, though long dead, still retained its distinctive red and white chequered pattern. At the bottom of the box there was a tiny drawer. Rose opened it to discover a bundle of handwritten notes. She gasped in disbelief and sank back onto one of the chairs.

In the stateroom the party was in full swing. After dinner had finished, the tables had been cleared to create a dance floor, and the hitherto restrained orchestra had picked up their pace dramatically. The dancing had become more and more high-spirited as the band worked their way through the hits of the 1820s, from the Regency quadrille, to the exuberant
danse espagnole
and the positively racy waltz.

Into the melee strode Rose, ashen-faced. She manoeuvred herself past Norland (who was dancing
so
energetically with Lydia Wunderbar, the librarian, that they both threatened to do themselves an injury) and cut around the dance floor towards Galliana.

‘Here. You can check these for fingerprints,’ she said as she subtly passed the commander the two letters she had retrieved from Jupitus’s bureau.

‘Did you find anything else?’ asked Galliana, without looking at her accomplice.

‘I went through every single drawer in his apartment. Nothing suspicious at all.’

‘Rose? Are you all right? You look pale.’

‘Not really,’ Rose replied, her brows knotting. ‘I found something else that rather alarmed me. Do you remember, years ago, when I lived on the Mount, I took up gardening for a while? I tried to cultivate my own rose. I only managed to produce one rather lacklustre plant, which lasted all of three weeks and never bloomed again. The roses were red and white in a chequered pattern.’ Rose continued as if in a trance, ‘In Jupitus’s rooms, I have just discovered one of the flowers, preserved in a glass case.’

Galliana turned to her friend, arched her eyebrow, then looked back at the dancers again.

‘Not only that,’ Rose continued. ‘But I also
discovered
a drawer containing old notes of mine – shopping lists, memos, irrelevant scribblings that must surely have been taken from my waste-paper basket.’ Her voice strayed into a high, slightly hysterical register.

‘Good God, he’s clearly in love with you.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rose announced. ‘We hate each other!’

Half an hour later, Rose received her second shock of the night. As she went to the bar to get another calming glass of rum punch, a low voice announced behind her, ‘It is not I, the spy.’

She turned, to be confronted by a very serious-looking Jupitus. ‘Excuse me?’ she replied innocently.

‘I know you were in my rooms. I have just been there and I smelled your perfume. Believe me or don’t believe me, it makes no matter, but if you are looking for a double agent, your time would be better spent elsewhere.’

‘I don’t understand …’ Rose mumbled.

‘Don’t be obtuse,’ said Jupitus, fixing her with his most piercing stare. ‘If you wish to find out what I know on the subject, follow me.’ He turned, strode across to the door and left the room.

Rose stood there for a second, dumbfounded.
Her
eyes darted from side to side as she decided what to do. Then she drank down the entire glass of punch in one and followed Jupitus out.

He was waiting for her nonchalantly at the foot of the grand staircase, holding a lit candlestick. ‘This way,’ he said coolly, heading up the steps. He led her silently up two flights and along the corridor until they came to the doorway of the Library of Faces. They could still hear the distant sound of the party.

‘I couldn’t sleep last night,’ Jupitus explained. ‘I came this way to the kitchens. I find a hot chocolate usually takes the edge off my worries. As I rounded the corner there, I saw a figure in a navy-blue cloak emerge from the Library of Faces. I couldn’t see his face, but he had the bearing of a man. ‘He closed the door and quickly disappeared along the corridor in a manner that I found suspicious.’

‘Did you follow him?’

‘I chose rather to investigate the library.’

Jupitus opened the door and led Rose inside. The candles illuminated the room only dimly. It was fifteen years since Rose had set foot inside and she had forgotten how eerie it was: the long high wall composed of nothing but portraits. The faces of the
History
Keepers’ many friends and foes, dating back centuries, stared down at her. After a minute, a bell rang and the machinery clicked into motion, turning every painting on its axis to reveal another wall of faces.

‘I found this door ajar,’ Jupitus continued in a whisper, making for a concealed entrance in the far corner of the room. He pushed it open and ushered Rose into the pitch-black area that lay behind the portraits.

‘Take my hand,’ he whispered. ‘It’s easy to trip over the machinery.’

Rose stopped. Her eyes flickered with apprehension before she tentatively held out her hand. It was clasped by Jupitus’s. Rose was surprised at how warm it was; somehow she’d expected him to be cold-blooded.

Jupitus led her deep into the dark space. The Library of Faces, indistinguishable in the gloom, still watched them. The light from Jupitus’s candlestick picked out the room’s secret mechanics, the hundreds of levers and pulleys that turned the faces.

In the blackest corner, Jupitus finally lighted upon a length of piping that ran down the wall and through the floor.

‘This tube,’ he explained, illuminating it with the candles, ‘comes from the communications room above us and runs down into the commander’s private suite below.’

Rose was beginning to grasp Jupitus’s meaning. ‘This is the way the Meslith messages are sent to Galliana?’

‘Affirmative. And yesterday I made an alarming discovery.’

He held the candlestick close to the tube, and Rose gasped. She could see that it had been cut and its path blocked with tape.

‘Messages are being intercepted,’ Jupitus explained, ‘before they continue on their way. We need to find out who is responsible.’

‘You mean the man in the navy-blue cloak?’

‘Exactly, Rosalind,’ Jupitus whispered. ‘Tomorrow we need to conceal ourselves in this place in the hope that our “interceptor” returns.’

‘W-we?
Together
?’ stammered Rose.

‘As I am evidently under suspicion, I would feel more comfortable. Or are you busy tomorrow?’

‘No, I … of course … if you think it would be helpful.’ Rose floundered, suddenly inexplicably nervous. ‘A stakeout, huh? It’ll be like old times.’

Jupitus stared at her. The candlelight flickered over his face. Rose looked into his eyes. For the briefest moment the person staring back at her was not the cold, irritable, unknowable Jupitus Cole, but another man altogether – a sensitive, almost fragile soul. Then his gaze hardened once again.

‘Why couldn’t you sleep last night? What – what were you worried about?’ Rose found herself asking.

Jupitus took a while to respond. ‘Dull matters of work, nothing more.’ He shrugged and offered Rose the curtest of smiles. ‘We should return to the party before we are missed.’

He headed back towards the door at the far end of the room. Rose, feeling totally discombobulated, followed.

19 V
ILLAGE
L
IFE

JAKE WEAVED THROUGH
the crowds of commuters and holidaymakers hurrying across the forecourt of Euston Station. He navigated his way to platform five just as the Birmingham train was arriving. It slowly snaked into the building and pulled up with a whine of brakes.

Jake’s face lit up at the thought of seeing his parents again. They had only been gone four days, but it seemed much longer. He had never missed them so much as he had this week: their cheerful banter; their mischievous sense of humour; the displays of affection that Jake had taken so much for granted.

For a while there was no movement on the train; no passengers disembarked. Then, at the near end, a door creaked open. Jake’s heart soared with
excitement
as an unseen hand passed out a red suitcase and deposited it on the platform. He waited for his parents to follow.

But no one stepped down from the train. The red suitcase stood alone on the empty platform.

Gradually Jake’s excitement drained away, replaced by a creeping sense of foreboding. He walked down the ramp towards the suitcase, expecting a sudden rush of travellers; but still no one emerged. Jake stopped and looked at the red case suspiciously, then glanced at the single open door and cautiously stepped aboard the train. The glass door into the compartment opened automatically and Jake went in.

There was no one there. Jake moved up the aisle looking at the rows of empty seats. There were signs of occupation: luggage bundled onto racks, newspapers open on tables, even a steaming cup of coffee, but there were no people. Then Jake caught a glimpse of crimson and he froze. At the far end of the carriage, sitting perfectly still, his back to Jake, was a figure in a hooded cloak. Against his will, Jake found himself drawn towards the motionless silhouette, whose face was shrouded in shadow. The figure did not turn to look at him, but gazed ahead.
And
now, as Jake swivelled round again, he realized that there were crimson-cloaked figures everywhere, all rigidly still. Through the glass doors he could see the same chilling spectacle in the next compartment.

Jake was finding it difficult to breathe; he had to leave the train immediately. Focusing only on the exit, he retraced his steps. This time, the glass door did not open for him. He pulled at its handle, but it was locked.

The cloaked figures now slowly turned and fixed their gaze on him.

Through the train window Jake saw a guard pick up the red suitcase and drop it into the back of a rubbish cart. The man gave a signal and the cart pulled away.

‘Wait! Stop!’ Jake cried out in vain. ‘That belongs to my parents!’

He tugged hard at the door handle, but still it did not shift. He heard movement behind him and saw one of the cloaked figures advancing slowly up the aisle. Then another rose to his feet, and another and another. The ghost-like crimson forms swept towards him, enveloping him in shadow. Jake shielded his eyes as he fell to the floor …

‘Jake, wake up!’ a familiar voice called out.

Jake opened his eyes and found himself in the back of the hay-strewn cart, with Topaz leaning over him.

‘You were having a bad dream,’ she said softly.

The cart was travelling along a country road under a canopy of trees. Charlie was at the reins, with Mr Drake perched on his shoulder.

‘How long have I been asleep?’ asked Jake, his mind full of fog.

‘Nearly five hours,’ Topaz replied. ‘We’ve crossed southern Germany – we’re almost there.’

‘We’re almost there! Really?’ Jake exclaimed breathlessly, sitting up and eagerly scanning his surroundings.

The road emerged from amongst the trees and curved round to reveal an immense valley bordered by mountains on either side. A wide, placid river wound its way through the centre.

‘The Rhine,’ said Charlie in his tour operator’s voice. ‘The old frontier of the Roman Empire; one of the longest rivers in Europe – after the Volga and the Danube, of course.’

Jake could see the great waterway twist its path
far
, far into the warm, hazy mist of the distance. Then the cart rattled back under the trees and the view was gone.