History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins (21 page)

They passed through a small, neat group of thatched houses. A cluster of old villagers watched them, their attention drawn to the multi-coloured Mr Drake (one of the old men dropped his walking stick). Then, a mile out of the village, Charlie spied a grey shape amongst the trees in the distance.

‘I think we might be approaching a gatehouse of some description. Reconnaissance required.’

He veered off the road and pulled up in a small clearing. The three of them got down and crept through the undergrowth into the shadow of a sturdy oak, from which they could examine the scene.

‘If I’m not mistaken,’ whispered Charlie, ‘that’s the entrance to Castle Schwarzheim.’

Jake frowned. ‘How are we supposed to get in there?’

It was a forbidding structure of two granite towers enclosing an archway sealed with a mighty iron portcullis. On either side, high walls curved into the distance, enclosing the vast estate. To add to
the
sense of impenetrability, a group of bearded sentries – crimson-cloaked like all Zeldt’s staff – stood guard.

‘Actually that’s probably just the first hurdle,’ said Charlie, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘At the top of the mountain, the entrances will doubtless become even more impassable.’

‘So do we have a plan?’ Jake was trying to contain his sense of urgency. On the one hand he knew they could be tantalizingly close to uncovering the mystery of his parents’ whereabouts; on the other, the task seemed more impossible than ever.

As the three of them pondered in silence, they heard a rattling sound, and a farm cart emerged through the trees from the direction of the village. The driver pulled up in front of the gatehouse and stopped. Jake could see that the vehicle was laden with an unwieldy tower of produce: crates of vegetables, huge sides of meat, and basket upon basket of squawking fowl. A guard sullenly inspected the goods, ignoring the driver’s nervous chatter. At length he gave a signal to a figure inside the building and, with a grinding of metal, the portcullis slowly rose. The truck entered the grounds and the barrier inched back down again.

‘We need to return to the village,’ said Topaz decisively, ‘and find out what other vehicles are heading this way.’

They crept back to their cart and retraced their steps. As they rattled along the high street, Charlie spotted a young girl seated on a stool in front of the village inn, cheerfully plucking a chicken. Her frizzy curls were almost identical to Charlie’s, but for the bright red colour.

‘She looks the helpful type,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and enquire.’ He leaped down and addressed her in perfect German.

The girl looked up, saw Mr Drake, let out a yell, threw down her half-plucked bird and leaped to her feet in alarm. The parrot replied by squawking loudly, fluffing out his feathers and flapping his wings. There was a duel of shrieking between both parties – until eventually, when she realized that the strange bird was harmless, the girl’s screams turned into whoops of uncontrollable laughter.

Charlie picked up the chicken, dusted it down, laid it on the stool and started questioning the girl. At first she seemed wary, but Charlie was so charming and persuasive that within moments she was revealing a torrent of information, giggling
coquettishly
at his jokes. When she started winding her hair around her finger, Jake and Topaz shared a look.

‘He’s certainly on form today,’ Topaz commented. ‘There’s no one like Charlie Chieverley for getting you to reveal your deepest secrets.’

With the interview complete, Charlie ran back to the others. ‘Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news.’ He was brimming with excitement. ‘The young lady there – Heidi is her name – was extremely helpful.’

‘So we noticed,’ said Jake, raising his eyebrows.

‘Hairstyle-wise, Heidi and you are a match made in heaven,’ added Topaz playfully.

Charlie went bright red and stammered on, ‘Well, yes – anyway … the bad news is: that was the last delivery of food to the castle. Apparently they put in an order of astronomical proportions – a hundred brace of pheasant, thirty boxes of truffles, fifty crates of mead, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘Quite a summer barbecue,’ Topaz mused. ‘And the good news?’

‘From dawn tomorrow morning,’ Charlie continued, ‘they have been told to expect up to thirty groups of foreign dignitaries, from Portugal, France,
Flanders
, Greece – even as far as Asia Minor …’

‘Our guests at the Superia Conference,’ Topaz noted.

‘And they’ll all need refreshments before the ride up the mountain, which apparently is gruelling.’

‘Well, that’s our way in,’ said Topaz conclusively. ‘We catch a ride with one of them. We have until dawn to think how.’

‘Dawn?’ Jake was surprised. ‘That’s twelve hours away!’

‘Eight, to be precise,’ Charlie corrected him.

‘But isn’t it less than a day and a half until the apocalypse?’ Jake persisted doggedly. ‘Shouldn’t we be trying to find a way
now
?’

‘We’re all concerned’ – Topaz’s voice was calm yet firm – ‘but we have only one opportunity to get this right and this is our best chance. We cannot fail.’

Jake held his tongue and nodded.

‘On a lighter note,’ Charlie announced, ‘the travelling players are in town. Tonight, there is to be a candlelit performance of
Oedipus
on the village green.’

‘Greek tragedy – that’ll raise our spirits …’ said Topaz with a smile.

They took a room at the inn. A rosy-cheeked landlord escorted them up a winding staircase to an oak-beamed set of rooms; there was a good deal of lopsided furniture and a pot of wild flowers in the sitting-room window.

The three of them washed and had something to eat. After the sun had gone down, a throng of locals emerged from their houses carrying candles and headed for a clearing on the banks of the Rhine, where the travelling players were due to perform. The three young agents were eager to enjoy a little local entertainment and, keeping to the shadows, followed the villagers to the edge of the fast-f lowing river. Here a rough stage had been erected, lit on either side by flickering torches. At the back was a tapestry screen, behind which the players changed their costumes. To the right, three musicians sat on a bench, fiddles and drums at the ready.

Charlie was entranced by the romance of the setting. ‘This is how it all began, show business!’ he exclaimed with a flourish of his hand across the heavens. ‘Just the bare stage, the words and the sky.’

Topaz saw two figures waving as they approached through the throng of people. It was Heidi, the helpful redhead, and her friend, a girl with buck
teeth
whose face was fixed in a permanent grin. Heidi flirted outrageously with Charlie, tickling him under the chin, before heading off into the crowd.

‘Charlie Chieverley,
je suis impressionnée
– you have them falling at your feet,’ noted Topaz.

‘They were asking about Mr Drake, that’s all,’ Charlie mumbled, going bright red. ‘I told them he was taking a nap.’

There was a drum roll, and the players, all dressed as ancient Greeks, came out from behind the screen and took their positions on the stage. A blanket of hushed excitement descended across the audience and the play began.

Jake was transfixed. Of course, the play was in German, and he didn’t really understand the details of the story (Charlie explained the bare bones: a man ends up marrying his mother by mistake and killing his father), but the actors spoke with such gravity, their movements were so graceful and expressive, their torch-lit faces etched with such passion, that he could not help but be mesmerized.

An hour seemed to pass in an instant. The audience hung on every word, sometimes in silence, sometimes exclaiming out loud at the action. All the
while
, the musicians accompanied the unfolding drama. Jake glanced at Topaz, her eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. Without looking away from the stage, she reached for his hand and clutched it tightly. Jake felt his heart soar. This balmy summer evening was full of magic: the players in their Greek costumes, the moon over the Rhine, the mission that lay ahead of them.

When the play was finished and the actors had taken their bows, the musicians jumped up onto the stage. The fiddle player stamped his feet three times and the band started to play. There was a cheer from the crowd. Some of them stood up and started dancing in circles and clapping their hands.

Charlie’s two admirers reappeared, then dragged him to his feet and into the dancing circle.

‘No, it’s out of the question – can’t dance for toffee – two left feet,’ he protested as he was twirled from one to the other. But he threw himself into it all the same.

Jake and Topaz watched the festivities, smiling broadly. Nearly all the villagers had now got to their feet. The young and the old danced together, whooping with joy. One couple in particular drew Jake’s attention: a young boy was dancing with an
older
lady. The former was shoeless – he looked as if he had been working in the fields all day, while his partner was elegantly dressed. But they danced together expertly, laughing and taking it in turns to show off their dazzling footwork.

Jake turned to Topaz, raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak. He meant to invite her to dance, but found himself asking something altogether different: ‘The tune’s surprisingly catchy, isn’t it?’

Topaz merely nodded. Jake reeled in embarrassment, wondering how he could possibly be so banal. He attempted a second time: ‘I don’t suppose you would like to—’

Too late: a tall, handsome youth had approached Topaz and was holding out his hand. He had long blond hair and a cloak thrown dashingly over his shoulder. His ear was pierced with a diamond stud. Two fresh-faced friends (also wearing cloaks, though not quite as dashingly) were watching with keen interest to see if he would be successful.

Topaz looked up at the gallant and smiled. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Jake?’

‘Not at all,’ Jake lied, shaking his head a little too enthusiastically.

Topaz was led away from him. Her beau guided her into the centre of the throng and they started to dance. Topaz was not familiar with the steps, but she picked them up quickly and added flourishes of her own that set Jake’s heart racing once again. She and her partner, with their striking looks and long blond hair, were the golden couple. The young man’s two sidekicks watched their friend with envy and admiration.

‘
The tune’s surprisingly catchy
?’ Jake repeated to himself. ‘How could I be so stupid?’

He stood up and wandered over to the river. The immense expanse of water flowed silently by. It reminded Jake of the Dordogne in France, where he and his family had gone on holiday four summers ago. Jake was eleven at the time and Philip was fourteen. Older brothers often have little time for their younger siblings, but Philip was different: he always treated Jake as an equal.

One day, Philip was going canoeing and Jake begged to accompany him. Philip was a little uncertain about his younger brother’s skill on the water, but he agreed to take him. It was a still, hot morning and the river had been placid to begin with. But an hour into their journey, a black cloud
came
over the mountains. There were deep rumbles of thunder, torrential rain started to pelt down and the current quickened alarmingly.

‘I’m heading for the bank,’ Jake shouted.

‘No!’ Philip yelled. ‘Stay in the middle – it’s dangerous!’

Jake did not heed his brother’s advice; he turned his canoe against the current, and a surge of foaming water capsized it immediately, sending him into the river. The current dragged him under.

Philip did not hesitate. He dived in and fought the swirling eddies to reach his brother and pull him to safety. They both sat on the bank, getting their breath back. Jake was mortified that he had let his brother down.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.

Philip smiled and put his arm around him. ‘If the river goes crazy like that, always go with the flow. And if a wave comes at you, go straight into it, even if that seems like the maddest thing in the world. Understand?’

Jake nodded. He traced an imaginary shape on his soaking trousers. ‘I suppose that’s the last time you’re going to take me …’

‘Are you joking?’ Philip replied. ‘Next time,
you
’re leading the way. You’re my protégé, remember.’ He ruffled his brother’s hair affectionately.

The holiday to the Dordogne was the last trip the whole family had taken together: Philip had disappeared the following winter.

Suddenly Jake heard a cheer from the river.

‘Look at that,’ said Topaz, appearing at his side. She pointed to a large boat that was gliding downstream. Lanterns were twinkling on its decks and crewmen waved at the villagers on the bank.

‘Cargo ship by the looks of it,’ she told him. ‘Probably on its way to Cologne or Düsseldorf – maybe even to Holland. The Rhine is quite a river …’

Jake nodded, then glanced at Topaz before turning back to the water. ‘What happened to the hunk?’ he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

‘Put it this way,’ she replied. ‘The type of boy you meet at a summer dance in Germany rarely changes through the ages.’

‘The curse of the holiday romance,’ Jake agreed. ‘Actually, I’ve never had a holiday romance, but I thought the phrase might make me sound wise and worldly.’

Topaz turned and beamed at him.

‘That’s not quite true,’ Jake suddenly remembered. ‘I was forgetting Mirabelle Delafonte. She proposed to me on the Ghost Train at Alton Towers.’

‘Mirabelle Delafonte?
De vrai
? That was her real name?’

‘I’m afraid it was worse. Mirabelle Portia Svetlana
Ida
Delafonte. Her parents were involved in amateur dramatics, to put it mildly.’

Topaz giggled. ‘Did you say yes?’

‘As I was “thinking” about it, she glued her mouth to my face and my cheek got caught on her brace. We almost had to have it surgically removed.’

Topaz burst out laughing: for almost five minutes, the image of Mirabelle Delafonte’s cumbersome brace played over in her head, and she couldn’t stop laughing. Just as she got it under control, it would start up again. Eventually she took some deep breaths and confessed, ‘I’m terrible when I get started.’