History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins (17 page)

‘I have a mission!’ Rose gasped excitedly. ‘After fifteen years, I have a mission!’ She popped the key into her carpetbag. Then her face darkened with anxiety. ‘What about Venice? Are we sending reinforcements?’

‘Not until we know exactly what the situation is. Which brings me to my other question. In your opinion … your nephew – is he capable?’

Rose thought about it for a minute, then she looked at her old friend very seriously. ‘Jake? He’s a hero. I have no doubt of that!’

The convoy of carriages trundled on throughout the hot July day, rolling across the Italian countryside.

The young ‘guards’ – the boys and girls with whom Jake shared the carriage – were all roughly his age. Physically, they were a broad mix – dark, blond, petite, broad-shouldered – but it was as if their personalities had somehow been erased. None of them were friendly to each other and nobody spoke. Of course, this suited Jake fine – it meant he didn’t
risk
saying the wrong thing – but he found it unnerving.

As the day cooled and the sun began to set, Mina shouted a command and the cavalcade drew to a halt. Jake watched her climb down from her black carriage and look around with her eagle eyes. They had stopped next to a small river in the centre of a broad valley. To one side a forest of dark fir trees stretched up and over the hill into the distance. Ahead and to the left, Jake could make out the silhouette of a town – Bassano, he assumed. Beyond that lay the dim outline of mountains, the Alps, their summits white with summer snow.

Satisfied that the place was safe, Mina issued an order to the waiting guards: ‘We set up camp.’

There was a flurry of activity. A great mound of equipment was unloaded from compartments under the benches, and the guards erected a line of field tents beside the river. When Jake had gone on that disastrous camping holiday in the New Forest, he had learned how
not
to put up a tent. So now he was at least able to appear professional.

The first structure to take shape was Mina Schlitz’s portable pavilion. It was jet-black, like her carriage, and double the size of the
others
. Once it was erected, she disappeared inside.

A fire was lit within a circle of rocks, and some guards set about cooking joints of salted meat. As they had travelled in silence, so they worked, speaking only when something was needed.

Suddenly Jake saw a falcon circling high overhead. It swooped down and snatched a fish from the river. The fish struggled in vain, flapping helplessly as the falcon carried it away to its lair at the top of the escarpment. Here, something else caught Jake’s attention: a horse-drawn gypsy caravan of a distinctive yellow colour was snaking its way down the hillside towards the camp. One of the guards, who’d also seen the vehicle, went to the entrance of Mina’s tent and announced, ‘Miss Schlitz, Doktor Kant is arriving.’

A moment later Mina emerged from her tent and observed the caravan with her black eyes. She took her snake out of its box and gently stroked its head. It curled itself around her forearm like a giant bracelet.

As the caravan drew closer, Jake noticed that it was covered in all sorts of paraphernalia that made it rattle and jangle: instruments, tools, pots and pans. Also hanging from it was a grisly collection of
dead
game: rabbits, hares and even a whole deer swaying from side to side. The vehicle pulled up and stopped in front of Mina Schlitz. The driver was a boy of no more than twelve; a sulky adolescent with a dirty face and squinting eyes.

Behind him, a curtain was pulled back; a tall man appeared and descended the caravan’s three wooden steps. He immediately made Jake feel uneasy. He had a thin sunburned face that glistened with sweat, and a long, untidy beard. Despite the heat he wore a fur hat and a thick robe fastened with a belt around his skinny frame. From this hung more instruments: spyglasses, measuring cups, daggers and pistols. On his bony fingers he wore a number of large jewelled rings.

Seeing Mina, his face crinkled into a sinister smile, revealing blackened teeth. ‘Miss Schlitz.’ He bowed his head.

‘Doktor Kant,’ she replied. ‘How was Genoa?’

‘Like every other city in the world – full of dirt, stench and idiocy.’ He grimaced. ‘But let’s leave the small talk for later. Business first. Hermat – the merchandise!’

Hermat, the driver, was distracted, observing a butterfly that was fluttering past. In a flash, he had
caught
it in his hand and held it firm as it struggled to escape. Carefully he pulled its wings off.

‘Hermat, you imbecile! Bring me the box,’ Kant snapped, then turned to Mina. ‘My son, you may remember, has the mental capacity of a fish. Were it not for the fact that he makes a perfect subject for my experiments, I would probably have put him out of my misery by now.’

Hermat paid no attention; he went round to the back of the caravan and returned with a small silver box. Jake, sensing that this was important, edged a little closer. Hermat placed the box in his father’s gaunt, bejewelled hand. The latter thanked him with a swift cuff around the head.

Kant in turn passed the case to Mina, handling it as if it were a priceless
objet d’art
. ‘The fruits of fourteen months’ hard work—’ He froze when he saw the snake on Mina’s wrist undulate and flick out its tiny tongue.

‘He won’t bite,’ Mina reassured him; ‘unless I ask him to …’ The serpent hissed at Kant then curled back around her forearm. She opened the case and inspected its contents. A smile played across her face.

Jake edged forward, trying to see what lay inside; but Mina snapped the box shut.

‘You and you,’ she said suddenly, pointing to Jake and another guard. ‘Retrieve the coffer from the back compartment of my carriage for Doktor Kant.’

Jake, his heart pounding, headed across to Mina’s jet-black carriage; he and the other guard opened a wooden compartment and lifted down the coffer. Jake gasped when he felt the weight of it and almost dropped his end. Using all their strength, they heaved it over to where Mina was standing and put it down. She flipped open the lid with her foot, and Kant’s face lit up: it was filled, almost to the brim, with gold coins. He leaned closer, quivering with delight as he dug his hand deep in amongst the treasure.

‘There’s nothing more reassuring than the cold touch of money,’ he said, laughing. ‘As always, such a pleasure trading with you, Miss Schlitz … I have venison’ – he pointed to the dead deer hanging from the back of his cart – ‘well matured. Let’s celebrate with dinner. Hermat! Load the coffer and unfasten the animal.’

Hermat did as he was told: he replaced the lid and effortlessly lifted the coffer up onto his father’s caravan. Then he untied the ropes from the deer’s hooves and let it drop, with a thump, to the ground.

Jake watched Mina lead her guest into the black pavilion, the silver case clutched firmly in her hand. He thought to himself … Mina had travelled a whole day with a platoon of guards to meet this man, and then paid a fortune for a single silver box. Jake knew that his first job was to find out what that box contained.

15 E
NTER THE
D
ARK
P
RINCE

NIGHT WAS FALLING
as a carriage wound its way up a narrow rocky road towards a castle perched high up on a mountaintop, an ominous silhouette of soaring turrets. In the back seat sat Friedrich Von Bliecke, with Felson asleep at his feet. The captain grimly contemplated his fate. His mission had been to intercept and capture four enemy agents in Venice. He had only half succeeded: he was painfully aware that an incomplete mission would be viewed as a failure.

Attached to the rear of the carriage was a sturdy wooden container on wheels. It was chained and locked, and contained two cramped and hungry human beings – Nathan Wylder and Paolo Cozzo.

Nathan was barely conscious. His head rolled around as the carriage negotiated the rocky path.
Paolo
, who for twelve hours had worn a look of horror on his young face, was gazing through a crack in the wood.

‘We’re arriving somewhere!’ he announced breathlessly. ‘I think it’s a castle. A
horrible
-looking castle. This is it, isn’t it? This is where they’re going to kill us.’

‘If they were going to kill us,’ Nathan managed in a broken whisper, ‘I think it might have happened already. What’s in store for us could be worse than death.’

‘Worse than death? What could possibly be worse than death?’ It took Paolo only a moment to answer his own question. ‘
Torture
? You mean
torture
?’ he asked in despairing tones.

‘Fingers crossed for the rack.’ Nathan attempted a grin. ‘I’m in desperate need of a stretch.’

Paolo shook his head. ‘This is no time for jokes, Nathan.’

‘Who’s joking?’

The carriage rattled on towards the castle.

On the first floor of the castle was a library – a long, dark room filled with shelves of ancient tomes. In every shadowy recess – and there were many in this
ghostly
space – stood statues on pedestals: warriors, rulers and tyrants, their powerful faces frozen in time, captured in marble. Down the length of the room was a succession of chimneypieces with crackling fires. A colossal table occupied the centre. In a throne at one end sat a figure.

He was pale-faced and perfectly still. Over his shoulders hung a long cloak of lustrous dark fur, from which stared out the occasional pair of dead eyes. Underneath this lay more layers of black: a tight-fitting doublet of velvet and brocade, encrusted with ebony jewels, surmounted at the neck by a white ruff.

The doors at the end of the chamber creaked open, and Von Bliecke entered. He strode towards the man on the throne, Felson padding obediently at his side. He stopped in front of the table and clicked his heels.

‘Prince Zeldt,’ he murmured with a bow of the head. ‘I come from Venice.’

At first sight Zeldt looked like a boy – a slight, pale boy. His features were fine and colourless, his eyes a dim, watery blue, his neat hair silvery blond. But as the firelight played on his face, a different picture emerged. It was clear that he was far from
youthful
. The layers of translucent skin on his face hid an incalculable age: he could have been forty, fifty – or older still.

Zeldt scrutinized Von Bliecke with expressionless eyes. ‘The prisoners?’ He spoke in a clear, precise voice.

‘Outside.’

The prince signalled with his fingers and a guard brought in Nathan and Paolo, chained together. Paolo was almost hysterical, but Nathan took it all in his stride.

Zeldt gazed at them, his face blank. ‘Just two?’ he asked. ‘Where is Miss St Honoré? Didn’t I make it clear that she was our priority?’

Von Bliecke cleared his throat. ‘Miss St Honoré managed to evade capture, sir, along with Agent Chieverley. It couldn’t be helped.’

Zeldt pushed back his chair and stood up. He approached Nathan and Paolo and examined them from all angles. Paolo whimpered in terror, but Nathan gave him a cheeky smile.

‘Evening,’ he drawled. ‘Warm in here, isn’t it?’

Zeldt ignored him. He approached Von Bliecke like a dark shadow. ‘And what about the
fifth
agent?’ he whispered.

‘The fifth?’ The captain gulped. ‘No. Four agents. The mission was to intercept
four
.’

The prince held up his thin hand to silence him. ‘We received intelligence from our contact at Point Zero that a further agent had joined the mission. The Djones boy.’

Nathan and Paolo looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes. Von Bliecke was starting to sweat.

‘Of course, you were unaware of this development,’ Zeldt continued in sepulchral tones, ‘but if you had done your job properly, you would have intercepted
all
the agents.’

Von Bliecke nodded in agreement. ‘Your Highness is right. It was an oversight on my part.’

For a moment Zeldt’s rigid expression did not alter. But then he seemed to relax and a faint smile lit up his face. ‘You’re right, it couldn’t be helped.’

The captain let out a sigh of relief: his life might be saved after all.

Zeldt walked slowly to a door on one side of the room. It was made of metal, like a safe door, and on its front, as on a safe, was a wheel, and a single bronze handle fashioned in the shape of curling snakes. He turned the wheel and the door opened
with
a heavy clunk, revealing a small chamber beyond.

‘You have travelled all day. Dinner is served through there.’ The prince motioned for Von Bliecke to enter.

The captain nodded eagerly and crossed the room, his dog at his side. ‘Thank you, thank you. Next time, no mistakes, I promise.’

‘You can leave the dog.’

The blood drained from the captain’s face. ‘Sir?’

‘The dog. Leave him.’

‘Yes … of course.’ Von Bliecke wiped his brow and looked down at Felson in terror. He ran his scarred hand over the dog’s head and nodded at him. Felson whined, but his master continued through the door into the chamber. It appeared to be empty.

‘There’s an exit on the other side,’ said Zeldt with an enigmatic smile. He closed the door and turned the bronze snakes until it locked tight.

Von Bliecke gasped as he was engulfed in pitch darkness. His chest rose and fell. Then he heard the sound of grinding stone, and the back wall of the chamber started to move apart, revealing another dark space beyond. The walls stopped
moving
and the captain stepped over to investigate.

‘God save me …’ he whispered in horror as he looked down into the void.

He had heard about this diabolical place but had always assumed it was a myth to frighten Zeldt’s Black Army. The spot where he stood was roughly halfway up a wall overlooking a vast space that contained a Byzantine maze of old staircases and landings, juxtaposed in seemingly illogical configurations. Some staircases went up; others went off at right angles, while some looked as if they were upside down.

On the opposite wall the captain thought he could make out a faint rectangle of light. This, he calculated, was the ‘exit’ that Prince Zeldt had referred to. It was his only chance – though Von Bliecke was smart enough to know that this chance was close to zero.