History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins (31 page)

‘Though I probably wouldn’t wear the lipstick.’

‘All right!’ Jake winced, blushing. ‘Just do what you have to do.’

Miriam winked at her husband and sashayed through the wood towards the guards.

‘Doesn’t she look great?’ said Alan proudly, watching her go. ‘She’s like a fine wine – just gets better with age.’

They all looked on as Miriam rushed up to the guards and started yelling in German, gesturing at the water, at the same time making sure she appeared as attractive as she possibly could.

‘
It’s a tragedy
!’ Alan translated with relish. ‘
My little boy fell in the river and he can’t swim
!’

‘Are they really going to fall for that?’ asked Jake dubiously.

The guards leaned right over the bank to see where Miriam was pointing. She delivered two brutally efficient karate chops and dispatched them, one by one, into the torrent. They tried to swim back to the bank, shouting and clutching onto the reeds – but the current carried them rapidly downstream.

‘That’s our cue,’ said Alan, leading the others out of the undergrowth.

Unfortunately the commotion had brought two more guards out of the boathouse.

‘Miriam!’ Alan shouted as they came at her in a pincer movement. Her reactions were lightning fast: she cartwheeled out of their path, and the guards collided with a crack of skulls. By the time they had picked themselves up and drawn their swords, Alan had caught hold of an overhanging branch. He launched himself into the air and felled the first guard with an expert jab of the heel.

‘Here!’ shouted Miriam, tossing him a rapier. He caught it in one hand and fought off the second guard, parrying with a flamboyance that left his son slack-jawed with amazement. Finally he knocked
his
adversary off balance with the flat of his blade, caught hold of his ankle and pitched him into the river.

‘Mum, Dad …? Did you just …?’ Jake’s mouth was still open: could this really be his scatty shopkeeper parents?

‘We haven’t even got warmed up yet,’ said Alan, dusting down his doublet.

The four of them rushed into the boathouse. Inside, they saw three small vessels bobbing in the water. These looked like ordinary fishing boats, but they were evidently part of a special fleet: each had a funnel, cleverly disguised as a cooking pot on deck.

Miriam jumped aboard one of them, which she noticed was called the
Aal
. Jake and Paolo followed while Alan loosed the moorings. He pushed the vessel out into the river and leaped onto the deck as she took off downstream. The three guards, who had managed to grab onto an overhanging branch, swore at the Djones family as they sped past. Miriam gave them a cheery wave as Alan went below decks and fired up the engine.

Within ten minutes, steam was billowing from the funnel and the
Aal
was speeding up the Rhine into northern Germany.

Nathan and Charlie galloped side by side down the relentlessly straight road that led south to the Alps. They sped through Mannheim, Heilbronn and Metzingen. Mr Drake perched, shielded from the wind, behind Charlie’s back, clearly happy to be reunited with his master. Occasionally he would crane his neck round to inspect the open road in front of them and the blast would ruffle his many-coloured feathers.

In each town the two breathless agents drew up beside a group of locals and asked if they had seen a carriage pass by – windowless and blood-red in colour. Every time, the wide-eyed townsfolk pointed south towards the mountains, and Charlie and Nathan continued on their way.

The
Aal
powered up the river through the echoing shadows of the Rhine gorge, which rose up three hundred feet on either side. They sailed past castles of every shape and size – the turreted strongholds of Asterstein, Hammerstein and Stahlberg, and the towering bastions of Rolandseck, Linz and Godesburg.

Once they had passed the walled town of Bonn,
they
reached the wide northern stretch of the river, where traffic was heavier; soon they were weaving their way through ferry boats and trading vessels carrying goods to the booming medieval towns of northern Europe.

Much to the bemusement of the many traders and sailors, the Djoneses’ small craft overtook them all. As they passed a galleon, her decks piled high with great chunks of black and white marble, the crew whistled at the occupants of the swift fishing boat. Miriam Djones whistled back and blew kisses at the sailors, making her husband chuckle.

At intervals Alan took a small telescope from his jerkin and scanned the horizon. (The instrument, Jake noticed, bore the familiar image of the hourglass and planets.) Then he checked his timepiece, an intriguing pocket-sized cube that contained a compass and a sundial, and glanced up at the sky. Every time he looked, the moon, a faint, almost imperceptible disc high in the firmament, had drawn a little closer to the sun.

Still Jake could think of nothing but Topaz. His eyes were fixed on the river ahead, in the hope that he might spy the red sails of Zeldt’s ship. Of course, he knew that, even if he saw the galleon, he
would
be powerless to act. This did not stop him looking. No doubt Topaz would have passed this same stretch of river no more than an hour earlier, a prisoner. He was tormented by the notion that she was already suffering some unimaginable cruelty at Zeldt’s hands. The knowledge that she would face such horrors with composure did not lessen Jake’s distress; it made it worse.

Charlie and Nathan finally spied the red carriage as they came over the brow of a rise. It was cresting the summit of the next hill, just half a mile away. They had ascended nearly two thousand feet of winding mountain roads and were now crossing a gently undulating plateau. A breeze had risen and brought with it a white mist.

As the carriage – no more than a flash of scarlet – disappeared over the hill, the two boys looked at each other and urged their horses on.

When it came into sight again, it was a good deal closer. It had started to climb steeply. Nathan and Charlie spurred on their horses, faster and faster. At last they were almost upon the red vehicle, with its four snorting horses, as it hurtled along the narrow road, its wheels flicking up stones like rounds of
ammunition
.

As Nathan and Charlie came round a corner, the whole mountain range suddenly opened up before them. Beside the road was a sheer drop into the cloudy abyss.

Suddenly they were within touching distance of their goal. The heads of two brutish-looking guards could just be made out at the front of the carriage.

‘We need to get the driver to stop,’ Nathan shouted.

‘Understood … How?’ Charlie shouted back. ‘They don’t look like the types to respond to polite requests.’

‘Physical persuasion!’

As they spoke, a windswept and nervous Mr Drake was looking from one to the other.

‘You’ve finally lost your mind!’ Charlie yelled back. Nathan smiled again. ‘The things we do for history …’

Charlie sighed as he took Mr Drake from inside his jacket and passed him to Nathan.

Mr Drake averted his eyes as Charlie set off on a death-defying stunt: spurring his horse on, he carefully stood up and balanced precariously on his saddle. He crouched down, and as he drew level
with
the red carriage, sprang into the air and landed on top of it. The roof was wet with condensation and he lost his footing, sliding down over the side, but managed to claw his way back to safety.

Nathan was gesticulating wildly, and Mr Drake flapped his wings in frenzy.

Charlie turned to see one of the red-cloaked guards climbing up onto the roof – a fearless mountain of a man. The carriage hurtled on, its wheels just inches from the precipice. The monster lunged for Charlie, closed his huge fingers around the boy’s neck and lifted him into the air.

Mr Drake had seen enough. He took off and flew into the bully’s face. The guard lost his balance and slipped on the wet roof. As he flew off, he grabbed hold of Charlie’s breeches, threatening to take the poor boy with him. Just as Charlie managed to cling onto the roof, the breeches ripped. His attacker carried on over the edge, a piece of Charlie’s trousers still in his hand, and down into the abyss.

Charlie hung on, his feet trailing almost to the ground. Nathan shook his head at the sight of his companion’s exposed underwear: a pair of bizarre shorts – pantaloons embroidered with birds of paradise. ‘A little unnecessary, aren’t they?’ he
commented
with a mischievous smile.

‘They were in honour of Mr Drake!’ Charlie yelled back. ‘Besides, I didn’t realize I would be doing a striptease when I last got dressed!’

As the carriage bounced its way along the twisting mountain road, Nathan could see that his companion had no chance of clawing himself back up. So he urged on his horse and, favouring his good leg, stood on his saddle and sprang onto the roof.

He screamed in agony as his bad leg thumped against the metal. Suddenly a whip cracked down on his fingers. The lone driver, holding the reins in one hand, was attacking Nathan with the other.

But Nathan had unfurled his scarf from around his neck; he lassoed the driver and tightened it about the man’s throat until he’d pulled him up out of his seat. The huge guard snarled like an animal. He flicked his whip at Nathan’s head, the wet leather slicing into his cheek. Electrified by anger, Nathan swung his fist, thumped his opponent in the solar plexus and upended him. His back came down with a crack on top of the carriage.

With the reins flapping uselessly, the horses galloped uncontrollably along the sheer twists
and
turns of the mountain pass.

Meanwhile Charlie was still hanging on for dear life, his pale legs sticking out of his brightly coloured undershorts.

As Nathan tightened his scarf around the driver’s neck, the man in turn took hold of Nathan’s head, digging his black nails into his skull.

Nathan’s eyes suddenly widened in alarm. They were approaching a sharp bend at a speed that could only spell disaster. Charlie stopped breathing. The driver turned. With a last desperate cry, Nathan pushed him towards the edge of the roof. As he fell, the scarf tightened around his fat neck.

‘That neck tie is woven from Indian spider-silk from the Jiangxi province!’ shouted Nathan over the furious wind. ‘One of the rarest materials on earth. It was given to my father by Shi Huang the Great, Emperor of the Qin Dynasty. Frankly, it cost more than you’ve earned in your lifetime.’ The driver’s face was now going blue as he dangled from the priceless scarf. ‘I’m just telling you this so you know … It hurts me much more than it hurts you.’

With reluctance Nathan let go of the scarf – and the driver, who tumbled down two hundred feet of sheer rock.

Nathan picked himself up, leaped into the driver’s seat and yanked on the reins until he had brought the horses to a standstill. He looked down: the whole of southern Europe seemed to lie before him.

‘Italy,’ he sighed. ‘You’ll never know how close you came …’

‘It’s not over yet, Nathan,’ said Charlie, jumping down. ‘If they don’t get to the cathedral in time, we’re all history.’

28 T
HE
I
NESCAPABLE
E
CLIPSE

THE
AAL
TORE
round a bend in the river. Jake stood up slowly as the medieval city came into sight: an endless panorama of timber houses, their roofs like witches’ hats. At its heart, dominating the entire valley, was a gargantuan structure, so high it cast a shadow over a quarter of the city.

‘Cologne Cathedral,’ Alan said, gazing in wonder. ‘At this moment in time, the highest building in the world.’

‘Really?’ said Jake, impressed.

‘Oh yes – round about now Cologne is possibly the richest place in Europe. It’s a “free city”, its own sovereign state. That, along with its location on the Rhine, slap-bang in the centre of Europe, is the key to its success.’

‘Your father, he’s not just a pretty face,’ Miriam teased. ‘He’s a mine of information.’

The harbour was bustling with activity.

‘It’s like boat soup,’ Miriam gasped as Alan tried to manoeuvre his way to the shore through the myriad vessels and shouting traders. Jake winced as the boat narrowly missed a load of anxious-looking donkeys. Two small craft were not so lucky and thumped together. A heated argument ensued between an unshaven grain trader and a grand lady in a velvet headdress and cloak.

As they approached the quay, Jake stared up at the huge cathedral. It was a fantastical construction of soaring steeples and flying buttresses. He could see now that the building, vast as it was, was in-complete. High on its roof were the bases of two half-built spires. Between them, a colossal timber crane reached up into the sky. Jake was awestruck. He had seen a few cathedrals in his short life, but had always taken them for granted. Seeing this building in the throes of construction made him wonder at the sheer scale of human endeavour.

‘The unfinished spires …’ he said. ‘That’s where Zeldt is planning to leave the bomb.’

Alan looked at his timepiece. ‘Five past one. We
have
an hour to spare before the eclipse. Almost time for a coffee,’ he joked.

‘If it’s five past one, why does that clock say five to two?’ asked Paolo, pointing to a clock tower beside the harbour.

Alan looked at it, and then at his timepiece, which he jiggled vigorously and checked again. The blood drained from his face.

‘I told you not to buy Italian.’ Miriam shook her head. ‘Everything in that country runs late.’

The eclipse of 20 July 1506 had already started.

Gradually at first, the frantic cacophony around them started to subside. Above their heads there was a confusion of squawking birds, then complete silence. In the shadows under a nearby pier a flock of lapwings huddled together, cooing nervously. Jake saw a little girl point up into the heavens. Then, from all around, came gasps of disbelief. All along the quayside, people began to stop in their tracks, bumping into each other. One by one, every face turned skywards.

Jake looked up and saw that the brilliant disc of the afternoon sun was being consumed by a sliver of black shadow. The eclipse was beginning.