History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins (12 page)

Then a figure in a dark blue cloak, carrying a candle, emerged from the gloom of an archway and tiptoed along the passage to the door of the communications room. The form – impossible to tell whether it was a man or a woman – stopped, looked around and, slowly and carefully, opened the creaking door and slipped inside.

The deserted room was bathed in ghostly moonlight. At its centre stood the glass cabinet containing the Meslith nucleus. Four further machines could be seen on desks along one side of the space. The figure approached the first of these, sat down and started typing, making the electric rod fizz with a brilliant light that reflected like shooting stars around the room. The intruder whispered the words of the message as they appeared:

‘
Agents arriving July 15th, Quay Ognissanti, Venice …
’

Having completed the task, the figure stood, replaced the chair under the desk, dusted down the keys of the Meslith machine with a handkerchief and stealthily left the room.

As the person crept back along the passage and through the archway, the message started on its journey across space and time …

The flickering signal that had lit up the crystalline rod now jumped to the lightning conductor that jutted out from the steeple at the apex of the Mount. Here it flashed again, with greater intensity, lighting up the dark clouds, then launched itself into the time flux.

It made its journey through the dark matter of a trillion atoms, finding its route across the centuries.

The code, almost perfectly intact, arrived, still flickering, at a Meslith machine that sat on an old table in a high-ceilinged room. In front of the table a window opened out onto the rooftops of a dark and ancient Venice. A sleeping figure was woken by the glinting light, which picked out a great scar running down the side of his gleaming shaven head. He sat up, then dragged his bulky frame off his straw mattress and called out. Two guards, both clad in black breastplates and crimson cloaks, came into the
room
. The man with the scar pointed over to desk. The light from the Meslith machine lit up their faces.

They smiled.

11 T
HE
J
EWEL OF THE
A
DRIATIC

THE
CAMPANA
SAILED
through the hot night, gliding effortlessly across the flat ocean. Topaz was at the helm, guiding its progress.

Charlie came on deck and spotted Jake sitting in the shadows of the rigging. He grinned at him. ‘Feeling better now?’

Jake nodded sheepishly. ‘How long will it take to get to Venice?’

‘From Point Zero, usually four days, but we hurdled. That’s why the atomium was so strong.’

‘It certainly was,’ Jake muttered, ashamed. ‘What do you mean “hurdled”?’

‘We jumped horizon points. Saved ourselves nearly three days. I think his highness may be ready for your fitting.’

Jake accompanied Charlie down the stairs. He
tried
his best to look only at his feet, but he was unable to resist a furtive glance at Topaz. She stood at the wheel, scanning the horizon with her large indigo eyes, the great panorama of stars shimmering around her.

Ten minutes later, Nathan, Charlie and Jake were all squeezed into the boys’ cabin. Jake was trying on one of Nathan’s outfits. He’d already found a pair of breeches, some stockings and a voluminous white shirt gathered at the neck. Charlie helped him into a velvet doublet.

‘Please be gentle,’ Nathan begged. ‘That piece is priceless. The velvet is finest Sienese and the fleur-de-lys were hand-embroidered in Florence with real gold thread.’

‘The sleeves are meant to be like that, are they?’ asked Jake, referring to the gaping holes down their length.

‘They’re slashed. That’s the fashion,’ Nathan announced in a voice as dry as dust.

‘Shoes?’ asked Charlie.

‘These are a little outdated for 1506 – especially for Italy – but they’ll have to do. I’m short on shoes,’ Nathan lied as he presented Jake with a pair of boots.

Jake put them on and the other two stood back to inspect him. Inside, Jake may have felt awkward, but he looked the part. He seemed to stand up straighter.

‘Do I get a sword?’ he asked hopefully. He had noticed Nathan’s extravagant rapier of ornate dark silver; Charlie and Topaz were also armed.

‘I don’t really see the need,’ Nathan replied curtly. ‘You’ll be seeing no active duty.’

‘But still, he’ll need one,’ announced Charlie as he tucked into his third bowl of framboise torte. ‘In case of emergencies.’

Nathan grunted in irritation. ‘I’ll be left with nothing at this rate.’

He threw open one of his trunks. There were at least twelve swords carefully arranged in the velvet casing. Jake’s eyes lit up at the sight of them. His hand instinctively reached out for the most impressive: a double-bladed duelling sword, the hilt crafted in the shape of a dragon.

‘No can do,’ said Nathan, removing Jake’s hand. ‘Reserved for special occasions only.’ Instead, he selected the most basic, least interesting of the weapons. ‘Ever handled a sword before?’ he asked, passing it over carefully.

‘Of course. Fencing club at school. I was commended,’ Jake told him, lying shamelessly. He tried to show off with a few flamboyant thrusts, but the sword flew out of his hand and landed with a clatter on top of Charlie’s framboise torte.

Charlie did not flinch, just carefully removed it from his pudding, passed it to Nathan and carried on eating. Nathan, unimpressed by the display, put the sword in its scabbard and fastened it around Jake’s waist.

‘That’s where it stays. It’s purely decoration, do you understand?’

‘What are these?’ asked Jake excitedly. Beside Nathan’s trunk lay a large leather wallet containing a collection of fake beards and moustaches.

It was Charlie’s turn to remove Jake’s hand.

‘
Ne touche pas
!’ Nathan warned in a terrible French accent. ‘Those rats’ tails are Charlie’s pride and joy. Personally I go
au naturel
– disguise myself purely with my facial expression.’ Nathan demonstrated by narrowing his eye and furrowing his brow.

Charlie tutted and snatched up his prized collection. ‘You know as well as I do, Nathan, that they’ve saved your skin on more than one occasion.’
He
closed the wallet and fastened it to his belt.

Jake couldn’t help but smile. He loved the way Charlie, though only fourteen, behaved like a mad old professor.

‘Well, you’d better have a look at yourself.’ Charlie held up the mirror.

Jake did a double-take. There was a bold adventurer staring back at him.

The
Campana
sailed on through the morning, across the endless calm of the Mediterranean. The hot sun rose high in sky, reaching its zenith before starting its slow summer descent.

Jake took in deep breaths of fresh sea air as he surveyed the horizon. He looked down at his sword and, checking that he couldn’t be seen, surreptitiously unsheathed it.

‘Stand back, villain!’ he exclaimed, holding up the weapon to an invisible foe. ‘It is I, Jake Djones of Greenwich—’ He stopped – it didn’t have quite the right ring to it. ‘It is I, Jake Djones, special agent of the History Keepers’ Secret Service, defender of good, nemesis of all evil. You have breathed your last—’

Jake stopped again, aware that eyes were upon
him
. Charlie and Mr Drake were peering round the mast, watching the spectacle. He reddened in embarrassment and quickly sheathed his sword again.

At three in the afternoon, Topaz sighted their destination. Far in the distance, shimmering like gold in the afternoon heat, they could see the distinctive silhouette of Venice.

As they drew closer, the air started to fill with a cacophony of sounds. The quay was teeming with activity, with vessels of all sizes and types arriving or setting sail, unloading or stocking up. Jake had never seen so many ships in one place – a shimmering forest of rigging, masts, banners and flags, with sailors, merchants and traders all shouting for attention.

‘The city of Venice, the Jewel of the Adriatic,’ said Charlie, as if giving a guided tour. ‘Originally founded in the sixth century, Venice inhabits a crucial position between Europe and Asia. And although recent Spanish discoveries in the New World have gone some way to diminish Venetian power, its merchants and bankers still dominate world trade. The candy-coloured building there,’
he
said, pointing at a glittering pink edifice, ‘is the palace of the doge. The watch tower next to it is the Campanile, though of course it is yet to reach its full splendour.’

As their ship was moored between a small fishing boat and a vast Persian galleon, Jake gazed in wonder at the extraordinary sights that greeted him. He knew that he would never forget that moment: the sight of all those people teeming on the shore, all belonging to a different era from his own. It was as if one of the old paintings he loved so much had actually come to life.

There were rich merchants in doublet and hose, soldiers in armour, there were men in turbans and long robes and poor women in rags. There were dogs everywhere. An elegant lurcher belonging to an aristocratic lady was playing with the rough-haired terrier of a street seller. There were cats watching from wall tops or circling the people in search of fish heads. There were goats and horses and parrots in cages. (Mr Drake studied these with great interest and a hint of sympathy.) Jake was bombarded with smells – spices, crates of fresh herbs, fish and fried meats.

As he watched the scene, his heart thumped with
excitement
inside his new adventurer’s clothes. Suddenly he caught sight of a tall figure wearing a black breastplate and a crimson cloak and hood. The man stood perfectly still as the crowd surged around him. Although his face was not visible, Jake had an uncomfortable sense that he was staring directly at the
Campana
.

He turned to Charlie. ‘Do you see that man there? I think he’s looking at us.’

Charlie followed his gaze, but the man was no longer to be seen. Jake scanned the crowd for the crimson cloak, but he could not find it.

His eyes lit instead upon a skinny boy coming along the quay, surreptitiously reading the names of the ships as he passed them. He was red-cheeked, gawky and kept bumping into people and apologizing. When he saw the
Campana
, the boy stopped and checked the name against some writing on the parchment he held in his hand. He then looked at Charlie and, half reading his notes, announced stiffly, ‘Welcome to Venice – what cargo do you carry?’

Jake guessed that this was some kind of code, as Charlie answered in the same deliberate way, ‘We carry tamarind from the east.’

At this, the boy relaxed, grinned and waved at everyone on the ship. ‘
Buon giorno
– Paolo Cozzo, Italian liaison, sixteenth century.’

Nathan sprang down onto the quayside beside him. He was a good foot taller than the Italian boy. ‘Why don’t you use a loudspeaker next time, so everyone can hear?’

It took Paolo a moment to register that Nathan was being sarcastic. He grinned and nodded, then wiped the sweat off his brow. Charlie jumped ashore, followed by Topaz.

‘
Bonjour
– Agent Topaz St Honoré,’ she introduced herself. ‘Agent Chieverley – and Jake Djones.’ She turned to Jake, who had remained on the ship.

‘He’s just observing,’ drawled Nathan.

Paolo blushed bright red at the sight of Topaz. ‘Actually, Miss St Honoré, I believe we have already m-m-met?’ he stuttered. ‘In Siena, the spring of 1708? I was with my parents? I made you some lemonade?’ He made every statement sound like a question.

‘I do remember,’ said Topaz, her face lighting up. ‘It was the best lemonade I’ve ever had. You were going to give me the recipe.’

Paolo giggled and turned redder still.

‘Where do Point Zero find these jokers?’ Nathan rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath before asking Paolo wearily, ‘So, are you based in Venice?’

‘In Rome, actually … home is … Rome,’ Paolo stammered. ‘Although my aunt lives here. I came to meet the last lot of agents, the ones who disappeared.’

Topaz gave Jake a sympathetic look, embarrassed by Paolo’s tactlessness.

‘My brief,’ Paolo went on, ‘is to take you to the Venetian bureau and help you generally with all matters Italian.’

‘The Venetian bureau then – let’s go!’ Nathan strode off along the quayside.

No one else moved.

‘Actually it’s this way,’ Paolo pointed out nervously.

Topaz couldn’t mask a sly grin as Nathan turned round sharply.

‘Do I stay here on my own, or can I …?’ asked Jake hopefully.

‘Come with us for now,’ Topaz said, relenting, ‘but when work starts, you return to the ship. Understood?’

In a flash, Jake had leaped ashore.

Paolo led them along the waterfront through the bustling afternoon crowd.

‘Crazy here during rush hour, isn’t it?’ said Nathan, as he lifted his hat to a pretty flower seller. ‘Do we have time for a hot chocolate? If memory serves, Florian’s in St Mark’s Square do the best hot chocolate in the Adriatic.’

‘You can try, but Florian’s won’t be open for another two hundred and fourteen years,’ Topaz pointed out.

‘The ship there’ – Paolo stopped and pointed at a small caravel – ‘is the one Mr and Mrs Djones arrived in.’

Jake’s stomach lurched. Eagerly he inspected the small wooden craft: her sails were furled neatly around the boom and her decks were completely bare. Curling letters bore her name: the
Mystère
. The
Mystery
, Jake thought; the name couldn’t have been more appropriate.

‘Should we have a look?’ he asked politely, wanting to jump aboard and examine it thoroughly for any signs of his parents.

But Nathan had already swung himself up onto the deck and jumped down into the cabin.
Moments
later he reappeared, shaking his head.

‘It’s like the
Mary Celeste
down there,’ he said, leaping back onto the quay. ‘This was the only sign of life.’ He opened his palm to reveal a handful of pips.

Jake was familiar with the sight – painfully so. ‘Tangerines,’ he murmured. ‘My mum’s obsessed with them.’ He was about to reach out and scoop them up when Nathan tossed them over his shoulder into the sea, where they sank without trace.