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Authors: Dibben Damian
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against the trunk. ‘All done.’ Chatterju grinned, trying to make as little of it as possible. Isaksen panted, teeth clenched, until the pain receded.
Soon, the distinct conical shape of the Mont St Michel came into sight. Nathan, Yoyo, Rose and a few others, mostly still in their dressing gowns, were waiting on the pier. They got to their feet as the
Tulip
drew near, squinting up at the deck to see who was aboard. Rose recognized the newcomer first.
‘Good grief,’ she said. ‘Fredrik Isaksen. What on earth is he doing here?’
They watched as the group disembarked.
‘Thank you all for waiting,’ Galliana announced brusquely as she came ashore. ‘It’s late, and our new arrival needs attention. So quickly to bed now, everyone, please. In the morning I will make an announcement. All History Keepers are to convene in the stateroom at eight o’clock sharp.’ With that, she swept into the castle, the leather satchel still in her hand.
Jake was exhausted, and soon dropped off to sleep.
He woke just after dawn and dressed quickly, desperate to know why Isaksen had been in such a hurry to get to the Mont St Michel. With time to spare before the meeting, he took Felson for a brisk walk, popping into the stables to give Dora her breakfast of cabbage and apples.
On his way back, he found himself drawn to the History Keepers’ memorial stone, where agents who had perished in the course of duty were remembered. Set upon a plinth in the shadow of a willow tree, it was a statue of an hourglass, carved out of silvery black marble. Dozens of names were engraved on it, some of them quite recently. Jake sat there for a long time, lost in thought. All those lives . . . Thinking of his recent behaviour, he wondered if he was worthy of them. Rescuing the satchel had made him feel better about himself, but would he ever become as great as these History Keepers?
When he reached the stateroom at a quarter to eight, it was already buzzing with activity. Nearly every seat around the long conference table had been taken, and groups of History Keepers were standing chatting. ‘Make way – convalescent coming through,’ a voice called from behind. Jake turned and smiled at the sight of Nathan pushing Charlie into the room in an ancient bath chair. A holdall attached to the side of the chair contained Mr Drake, perched on a velvet cushion, evidently enjoying all the attention.
‘It’s good to see you up and about,’ said Jake. ‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked, nodding towards the breakfast counter.
Charlie was sniffing the air. ‘I can smell something intriguing. What is that . . .?’ Then it came to him: ‘Macaroons! Yes, please. A much-maligned but nonetheless magnificent pastry.’
Jake went to get him some, and returned with a plate piled high. Charlie took one immediately.
‘So’ – he spoke with his mouth full – ‘do we know any more? Fancy Fredrik Isaksen turning up. It’s like being visited by royalty. Galliana Goethe might be the commander, but Isaksen holds the
real
power.’
Just then, Topaz appeared at Jake’s side. She leaned forward and gave Charlie a kiss on each cheek. ‘How’s the invalid this morning?
Tu te sens beaucoup mieux aujourd-hui?
And you too . . .’ She gave Mr Drake a tickle under his chin, then turned her warm smile on Jake and Nathan. ‘And I trust you two have recovered from your night on the town?’
Jake nodded sheepishly, while Nathan added glumly, ‘The less said about it the better.’
Suddenly the chit-chat subsided and Jake looked round to see Jupitus in the doorway – with Fredrik Isaksen at his side. The Swede’s arm was in a sling and he was gazing around the room in admiration. Charlie was right: it was as if royalty had arrived. The women were particularly fascinated. Fredrik was handsome, in a rugged way – especially next to the pale and imperious Jupitus. Last night, Jake hadn’t really noticed the distinct twinkle in his eye.
‘How wonderful to
Soon, the distinct conical shape of the Mont St Michel came into sight. Nathan, Yoyo, Rose and a few others, mostly still in their dressing gowns, were waiting on the pier. They got to their feet as the
Tulip
drew near, squinting up at the deck to see who was aboard. Rose recognized the newcomer first.
‘Good grief,’ she said. ‘Fredrik Isaksen. What on earth is he doing here?’
They watched as the group disembarked.
‘Thank you all for waiting,’ Galliana announced brusquely as she came ashore. ‘It’s late, and our new arrival needs attention. So quickly to bed now, everyone, please. In the morning I will make an announcement. All History Keepers are to convene in the stateroom at eight o’clock sharp.’ With that, she swept into the castle, the leather satchel still in her hand.
Jake was exhausted, and soon dropped off to sleep.
He woke just after dawn and dressed quickly, desperate to know why Isaksen had been in such a hurry to get to the Mont St Michel. With time to spare before the meeting, he took Felson for a brisk walk, popping into the stables to give Dora her breakfast of cabbage and apples.
On his way back, he found himself drawn to the History Keepers’ memorial stone, where agents who had perished in the course of duty were remembered. Set upon a plinth in the shadow of a willow tree, it was a statue of an hourglass, carved out of silvery black marble. Dozens of names were engraved on it, some of them quite recently. Jake sat there for a long time, lost in thought. All those lives . . . Thinking of his recent behaviour, he wondered if he was worthy of them. Rescuing the satchel had made him feel better about himself, but would he ever become as great as these History Keepers?
When he reached the stateroom at a quarter to eight, it was already buzzing with activity. Nearly every seat around the long conference table had been taken, and groups of History Keepers were standing chatting. ‘Make way – convalescent coming through,’ a voice called from behind. Jake turned and smiled at the sight of Nathan pushing Charlie into the room in an ancient bath chair. A holdall attached to the side of the chair contained Mr Drake, perched on a velvet cushion, evidently enjoying all the attention.
‘It’s good to see you up and about,’ said Jake. ‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked, nodding towards the breakfast counter.
Charlie was sniffing the air. ‘I can smell something intriguing. What is that . . .?’ Then it came to him: ‘Macaroons! Yes, please. A much-maligned but nonetheless magnificent pastry.’
Jake went to get him some, and returned with a plate piled high. Charlie took one immediately.
‘So’ – he spoke with his mouth full – ‘do we know any more? Fancy Fredrik Isaksen turning up. It’s like being visited by royalty. Galliana Goethe might be the commander, but Isaksen holds the
real
power.’
Just then, Topaz appeared at Jake’s side. She leaned forward and gave Charlie a kiss on each cheek. ‘How’s the invalid this morning?
Tu te sens beaucoup mieux aujourd-hui?
And you too . . .’ She gave Mr Drake a tickle under his chin, then turned her warm smile on Jake and Nathan. ‘And I trust you two have recovered from your night on the town?’
Jake nodded sheepishly, while Nathan added glumly, ‘The less said about it the better.’
Suddenly the chit-chat subsided and Jake looked round to see Jupitus in the doorway – with Fredrik Isaksen at his side. The Swede’s arm was in a sling and he was gazing around the room in admiration. Charlie was right: it was as if royalty had arrived. The women were particularly fascinated. Fredrik was handsome, in a rugged way – especially next to the pale and imperious Jupitus. Last night, Jake hadn’t really noticed the distinct twinkle in his eye.
‘How wonderful to
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