The History Keepers Circus Maximus (9 page)

But he was wrong: the worst hadn’t even
begun
.

They were halfway towards the port of Messina, whose twinkling lights were now just visible, along with intermittent flashes from the lighthouse, when the wind suddenly dropped and the waves abated. Jupitus looked up hopefully, certain that his prophecy had come true. He was able to stand without support for the first time.

Charlie, at the stern, noticed everything going quiet; not a
still
quietness, but a taut, dense one that filled his ears. Mr Drake seemed to be experiencing the same sensation as he kept shaking his head to restore his hearing. Then Charlie saw an unusual shape rising up from the sea far behind them. He took out his telescope and examined it, squinting into the gloom.

‘Hell’s bells and Bathsheba!’ he cried. He had seen something similar two years previously, on a trip to old New Orleans with Nathan and Truman Wylder (most memorable for the number of earplugs he had got through, with both Americans booming at each other all day long). This was the same twisting tube, the same rotating column of water and debris. ‘Cyclone!’ he shouted to the others, but the word stuck in his throat. ‘Cyclone!’ he tried again. ‘Approaching due north.’

Nathan and Jupitus turned in unison to behold the spectre. It was gaining on them; its tight spout of water, like a giant luminous rope, advanced, retreated and advanced again.

‘It’s coming straight for us,’ Nathan gasped. He looked ahead again, applied full throttle and forged on.

The waves started to build up once more, rolling and breaking in all directions. The calm was replaced first by an eerie whistling, then a low hum, followed by a sound like galloping hooves, and finally an unearthly rumble as the monster suddenly accelerated towards them. Charlie and Jupitus held their hands over their ears, unable to bear the pressure. They looked up in terror and saw a colossal vortex of water shooting up from the raging sea and spinning at three hundred miles an hour.

‘Hold on, everyone!’ Nathan called, clinging to the helm, his hair now almost standing on end. As Charlie clutched the rail with all his might, Jupitus tottered across the deck and down the steps below.

‘I wouldn’t advise that, sir. If the ship sinks, you’ll go down with her,’ the American yelled.

‘The atomium is below, and the Meslith machine! We’re doomed without them,’ Jupitus
shouted back, tumbling down the stairs into the main cabin. He spotted the Meslith machine, took Nathan’s cloak from the back of a chair, and wrapped the machine in it. He looked around for the box that contained the atomium – it was nowhere to be seen. The ship tilted at a crazy angle and Jupitus flew across the room, his knees smashing against the door frame. As he picked himself up, the
Hippocampus
lurched again. He tried to make his way back, falling through another doorway into the second cabin and hitting his head on the far wall.

As the ship started to right herself once more, he saw the open box lying on the floor, a tiny bottle of atomium and the silver Horizon Cup visible in its velvet interior. Still clutching the Meslith machine, he grabbed the little box and stumbled up the steps onto the deck.

At this same moment the eye of the cyclone slid tipsily across the sea, finally focusing its might on the stricken
Hippocampus
. The suction started: a tarpaulin lying on the deck was whisked up into the funnel; a wooden bucket followed. Then the whole structure started to judder as it was lifted out of the water. Jupitus threw his arms around the mast.

Suddenly there was an ungodly creaking, a splintering of wood, and the mast broke in two. The top half took off, lurching up into the raging sky, yanking the mainsail with it. As it flapped away, the mass of ropes suddenly became entangled around Jupitus’s legs, pulling him upwards. He was flipped upside down as the top half of the mast fought to rise into the air, stretched in a tug-of-war between cyclone and sea.

Neither Nathan nor Charlie had ever seen such a sight: it was a battle of the elements, weather versus gravity, with Jupitus at the epicentre.

He screamed out loud – a long, defiant curse – as the box of atomium was plucked out of his hands and went spinning into the vortex. Then it was gone, eaten up by the storm. He clung onto the tangle of ropes, his cheeks juddering, his eyes bulging. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the cyclone was gone, and Jupitus was deposited on the deck. Charlie looked up in horror as the broken mast thundered down on top of him.

Nathan stared, ashen-faced. One of Jupitus’s legs was bent right back and his eyes were closed. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

* * *

Jake was forcing down an almond croissant when the shocking news came from
AD
27. He was sitting in the corner of Galliana’s living room, dressed in his school uniform. It was horrible to be wearing those itchy trousers again – he had got used to the luxurious feel of the breeches he’d been wearing at Point Zero. He was almost beginning to understand Nathan’s passion for clothes.

They were due to set sail for London in thirty minutes’ time, and Rose had hurriedly organized a ‘sending-off breakfast’ in the commander’s quarters. It was a genteel affair, with everyone making polite conversation and handing round plates of pastries. Rose, Alan and Miriam – the three of them squeezed together on an ottoman – were now dressed in their modern clothes, Jake’s father in his trademark corduroy trousers and his mother in an old woolly jumper. Sitting beside them was a familiar item: their red suitcase, which Jake had discovered when he first arrived here. Truman and Betty Wylder, Nathan’s parents, had also joined the party, along with Signor Gondolfino and a smattering of others. Oceane Noire had declined to attend, pleading a phantom migraine, but this gave everyone an opportunity to gossip about her and her
ridiculous lioness
. Jake hadn’t told anyone of his encounter with the pair two nights previously, and now that he was leaving the Mont St Michel, there didn’t seem any point.

He glanced around the room. He had been here once before, for tea with Rose, shortly after returning from Cologne. He had been entranced by its glass cabinets crammed with objects from different corners of history – everything from old clocks to jade figures to dinosaur bones. On that occasion, at Rose’s insistence, Galliana had taken a violin from a case – an ancient, gleaming Stradivarius – and played a suite by Bach. Although she was an exceptional violinist, the sound had filled Jake with sadness: Philip had also played the violin – it was just one of his many skills, learned, it seemed, without really trying.

Jake saw the violin lying on Galliana’s dining table. He turned away and looked out of the window. Down below on the pier, the
Escape
was being prepared for the journey.

Miriam had told Jake that they would be getting home exactly two weeks after he had first left London, in late February, just after half term. The thought of school horrified him. He couldn’t help
remembering Jupitus Cole’s opinion on the subject:
Perhaps you would like to stay at that dull, insipid school of yours?
he had sneered.
Day after day of tedious study. Dates and equations . . . For what? To pass some pointless exams? To be rewarded with a tiresome, bland employment followed by a slow, meaningless death
.

Jake had never forgotten those words, and now they haunted him more than ever. As he was wondering if he would dare tell any of his classmates of his adventures, the double doors flew open and a decoder rushed in, sought out Galliana, and breathlessly presented her with a scroll.

Galliana put on her spectacles and examined it.

‘What is it?’ Rose asked. Galliana passed her the message, and she read it out loud: ‘Hippocampus
down; atomium lost
 . . .’ There were worried glances. ‘Dear me, that doesn’t sound good . . .
Send reinforcements, port of Messina, urgent
!’ Her face fell again as she came to the last phrase. ‘
Jupitus critical
 . . . Critical?’

Alan took the message and put on his glasses to look at it. Miriam peered over his shoulder. ‘Messina?’ she asked. ‘What happened to Vulcano?’ There were puzzled faces.

Jake had nearly choked on his croissant.
Send reinforcements
– he had heard the phrase clearly. He wanted to put up his hand and volunteer straight away, but thought it would be better to keep quiet for the moment. Instead he sat up straight and looked attentively from one person to the next.

‘What would you like me to do, Commander?’ the decoder asked. ‘Shall I call all agents to the stateroom?’

Galliana’s brow furrowed as she thought through all the options. ‘The problem is the distance,’ she mused. ‘AD 27 would be a stretch for any of us, without a young diamond to carry us.’

Jake didn’t say it out loud, but thought:
I’m a young diamond! Send me – I’ll carry you
. But no one was even looking at him.

At length the commander turned back to the decoder. ‘Ask Dr Chatterju to set up the testing chamber and assemble all eligible agents there in half an hour. We’ll see whose valour reads the strongest.’

Valour
, Jake now knew, referred to an agent’s ability to travel through time, those with the strongest being able to voyage the furthest (as well as support – or
carry
– the weaker-valoured agents
with them). The general rule was that valour was stronger in the young, particularly when they were diamonds. (Each keeper could see a shape in the darkness when they closed their eyes. Jake, along with the rest of his family, saw diamonds, though many agents saw only squares or irregular shapes.)

Galliana turned to Miriam, Alan and Rose. ‘I hate to do this, but I may have to ask you to postpone your journey.’ Immediately Jake felt a surge of excitement at the possibilities that had opened up. ‘I hesitate to send you on any dangerous mission,’ Galliana continued, ‘but I may ask you to consider a routine assignment to deliver atomium. Would you mind testing along with everyone else?’

Alan and Miriam looked at each other uncertainly and shrugged. ‘Well, we can’t leave them stranded, can we?’ Miriam said without a great deal of conviction, casting a worried glance in Jake’s direction.

‘If I’m up to it,’ Rose stated with much more enthusiasm, ‘you can count me in!’

‘Good,’ said Galliana, taking off her glasses and making to leave. ‘I shall see you all presently. I must go down to the communications room.’

Jake stood up in the hope that she might realize that
he
was their best bet. But she didn’t even notice him. She left, along with the decoder, under a cloud of worry.

‘
Che dramma!
’ Signor Gondolfino shook his head as he struggled up with the aid of his cane. He bestowed a crinkling smile on Rose. ‘Your delicious breakfast is ruined.’

‘Mum? Dad?’ Jake felt compelled to speak. ‘Shouldn’t I be testing? I’m the only young diamond here.’

Miriam’s face darkened immediately. ‘No, Jake, absolutely not!’ she said firmly. ‘Tell him, Alan.’

Alan agreed sheepishly. ‘Your mother’s right – not a good idea.’

Although there was clearly no chance of Jake being considered for the mission, his parents finally agreed to let him accompany them to the testing chamber to witness the procedure. He persuaded them by making them feel guilty about possibly leaving him alone again, as they had in London. Jake needn’t have bothered: Miriam and Alan were quietly hoping that someone else would be picked over them.

When they arrived, several people were already waiting, dressed in the clothes of the period of history from which they came. Jake recognized one – a dandyish man in a wide-brimmed hat and lacy cuffs who looked like one of the Three Musketeers – as the man he had sat next to at his first ever meeting in the stateroom. All of them were at least a decade older than Jake. Some, such as Truman Wylder, who came
to try his ancient hand
, were four times his age. They all looked very serious, and a handful were stretching as if preparing for a race.

The chamber – Jake had only seen it once, and then in semi-darkness – was a high-ceilinged, square room decorated with large tapestry panels depicting moments in history: battles, voyages and processions. The centre was dominated by a large machine that looked a little like a giant Constantor: at its core was a solid, semi-spherical compartment with a red-cushioned seat – large enough to accommodate one person. In orbit around it were three metallic rings, each of a different thickness and circumference. Beside this were a number of levers and control panels, and a shelf full of bottles of coloured liquid and measuring devices. Here, Dr Chatterju, wearing a white laboratory coat over his
kaftan, was carefully mixing a solution in a glass vial. His assistant – his young nephew Amrit – was checking the metal rings.

At length Galliana swept in, along with Olive, her greyhound. ‘Pay attention, everyone. I have selected an extremely distant destination for the test, even more so than
AD
27. It will be the same for everyone. Dr Chatterju, is the atomium replica blended and ready?’

Chatterju nodded. ‘The participants will need to brace themselves.’ He held up the vial and inspected it. Jake could see that it contained a quantity of luminous purple liquid that emitted violet steam. The scientist cast his twinkling eyes around the room. ‘Who is to volunteer first?’

The dandyish musketeer stepped forward and doffed his wide-brimmed hat.

Galliana nodded. ‘Thank you, Monsieur Belverre. When you’re ready . . .’

Jake watched carefully as Belverre drank his dose of liquid. Amrit helped him up into the seat of the spherical compartment, carefully secured his arms and legs with velvet straps and placed a pair of large, dark, horn-rimmed glasses in front of his eyes.

‘Enjoy the journey.’ Dr Chatterju smiled as he
pulled a golden lever next to the machine.

The three rings started to rotate, each at a different angle, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed. Within seconds they were travelling so fast they were merely a blurry haze around the central core. Within this, Jake could see Belverre, his hands twitching and his head gently nodding as if he were dreaming.