History Keepers: Nightship to China Read online

  ‘What about this big secret?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Let’s talk about it in the morning,’ Alan said, slipping the book with the picture of the pyramids back under his arm. ‘You sleep well, son.’

  Jake hid under his duvet until he heard them leave. Suddenly he wanted to run after them, to apologize for being rude, to tell them that he loved them really. But something prevented him. He waited until their footsteps had disappeared down the stairs; then he got up and went over to his chest of drawers to find something to wear for the dance.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jake was creeping across the lawn and down the steps to the pier.

  He’d gone for what Nathan called ‘the rakish look’: buccaneer boots, shirt half hanging out of his breeches, a belt with his favourite sword, a scarf with a skull-and-crossbones pattern and a ruby earring. The earring in particular – on loan from Nathan – made him feel very grown up. In modern-day London, he wouldn’t have had the courage to wear a big jewel on his ear, but in these romantic times it was the ultimate symbol of daring; although in truth the clip hurt his earlobe.

  There was a rowing boat moored on the far side of the quay; obviously the one that Yoyo had prepared earlier. Jake jumped down into it and waited, heart thumping. A warm breeze carried across the water and a giant moon inched up over the Mount.

  The bells from the clock tower chimed eleven. Jake looked impatiently towards the main doors, checked that his earring was still in place and teased his scarf into a carefully casual knot. No one appeared. After ten minutes more, Jake’s spirits started to deflate.

  As he lingered, he noticed something he had never seen before: the stone piers to which ships were moored were each engraved with the History Keepers’ symbol of two planets whizzing around an hourglass. He gazed at them, and remembered his earlier conversation with his parents. He was suddenly desperate to know what it was that they’d been about to tell him. Well, that wasn’t the first time you went back in history, his father had said. When had he been before? What was the significance of that old book? He would have to wait until the morning to find out.

  Finally Yoyo pattered excitedly down onto the pier. ‘Sorry – my mother was patrolling.’ She was breathless with excitement. She jumped into the boat and planted a kiss on Jake’s forehead. ‘Let’s go,’ she said as they took an oar each and set off towards the mainland.

  Behind them, the castle slept. All the windows were dark – except for one, high up in a turret. Here a candle flickered and someone looked down with a telescope, watching the craft make its way across the bay.

  Smiling at each other, Jake and Yoyo glided towards the mainland, while the giant silhouette of the Mont St Michel diminished behind them. Gradually the music grew louder, clear as crystal across the placid sea.

  As they neared the little port, Jake saw that it was hectic with activity; even the pier was heaving with revellers who had come down to take a break from the dance and enjoy the night air.

  They moored and stepped ashore, Yoyo leading the way. A cluster of merrymakers watched her as she sliced through them with the assurance of an empress. (Even dressed in the style of the day, Yoyo couldn’t help standing out.) One woman, rouge plastered over her worn face, put her nose in the air in imitation of the new arrival. Yoyo paid no attention, but Jake smiled timidly at the woman and gave a little bow.

  ‘Trop jeune, hélas, chéri,’ the woman said, pinching his cheek and making the whole company fall about laughing. A little too young for me, my dear.

  Jake reddened and hurried on, fiddling nervously with his earring. Yoyo was waiting on the edge of the square, where the dance was in full swing: at least twenty couples whizzed around, shrieking with delight, as the fiddlers played at the far end.

  ‘That’s the waltz?’ Jake asked, wondering where he had ever got the idea that it was boring.

  ‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ said Yoyo, stepping back as a particularly swift couple spun past.

  Jake remembered the last village dance he had been to: his first mission with the History Keepers had taken him to the banks of the Rhine in Germany. That dance had been entrancing; this was far more riotous, with a midsummer madness in the air. Around the edge of the square, innkeepers served cider, brandy and absinthe from makeshift bars, while cooks spit-roasted whole pigs over hot braziers. Swelling the numbers of locals, there were dozens of raucous young soldiers from the local garrison in navy and white uniforms, merry on wine and singing army ditties.

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Yoyo, taking Jake’s hand and pulling him onto the dance floor.

  He had no time to protest. He knew he wasn’t much of a dancer, but he threw himself into it, holding onto Yoyo as they swirled round. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he kept saying as he thumped into other couples. But they were all too carried away to even notice him. Yoyo seemed to pick up the waltz immediately, and she helped guide him. After a bit of practice – and half an eye on people’s feet – Jake started to find his rhythm. As he spun, he noticed the distant outline of the Mont St Michel across the water and felt a pang of guilt.

  Meanwhile, another small vessel had docked next to Jake and Yoyo’s boat. It carried a single passenger: a man in a high-collared trench coat, and a stovepipe hat worn so low that it all but hid his mane of auburn hair and cast his face into shadow. He stepped ashore and darted to the edge of the square, watching Jake and Yoyo closely.

  ‘Thirsty work,’ Yoyo panted as the dance came to an end. ‘Something to drink?’ Without waiting for a reply, she headed for one of the bars.

  As Jake followed, the band struck up a new tune. It was evidently a favourite, and a great shout went out as everyone rushed onto the dance floor. A young girl bumped into Jake and his earring pinged off, a shot of red flashing across the ground. He went to pick it up, but it was kicked away by another dancer. He had to get down on his hands and knees, making a nuisance of himself, before finally retrieving it.

  He found Yoyo being served by a man with an immense belly, long lank hair and a deeply unwelcoming look in his eye. He sloshed some of the contents of an open vat of murky liquid into two wooden beakers and shoved them across the table. Yoyo paid with a single silver coin, claimed her drinks and held one out for Jake.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked apprehensively.

  ‘It’s cider,’ she announced with a sparkle in her eye.

  Jake knew that cider was alcoholic. He had only tried alcohol a couple of times. On the second occasion, at a dinner party thrown by his parents, he’d secretly drunk two glasses of red wine and had been sick on the family sofa, ruining the evening for everyone. ‘I don’t think my mum and dad would really—’ he began.

  ‘You mustn’t worry about them so much,’ Yoyo insisted testily.

  Jake found his gaze flicking again towards the island in the distance. He didn’t want to disappoint Yoyo, but on this point he was clear: his parents were leaving early in the morning and he needed to say goodbye to them properly (not to mention discovering this secret of theirs). ‘Thank you, not for me,’ he said decisively.

  ‘A man of conviction.’ Yoyo smiled. ‘I like it.’ Then her eyes flashed as she recognized someone on the other side of the square. ‘That’s Nathan, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’ said Jake.

  ‘Nathan Wylder. There . . . with the top hat.’

  Jake tried to peer through the crowd to where Yoyo was pointing. He spotted someone in a coat and hat, but couldn’t see his face. Then the man, perhaps sensing that he had been rumbled, turned sharply and collided with someone. As his hat went flying, Jake saw that it was indeed his friend.

  ‘Nathan!’ he called overexcitedly. The American was retreating up a side street, away from the square. ‘Nathan!’ – again to no avail. ‘He obviously hasn’t seen us,’ he said to Yoyo. ‘Wait here a minute . . .’

  Jake flew after him. ‘Nathan, it’s me,’ he panted, on finally catching up with him.

  His cover blown, Nathan turned and gave a dazzling smile. ‘Jake, you old rogu
e, how nice to see you,’ he said innocently. ‘What brings you to these shores?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ replied Jake, a little sheepishly. ‘Yoyo and I thought it might be fun to come to the dance. Obviously we’re breaking every rule in the book—’

  ‘Yoyo?’ Nathan interrupted.

  ‘Miss Yuting – she’s just over there.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen her,’ Nathan said impatiently. ‘She lets you call her Yoyo?’

  Jake was a little confused by his friend’s strange, abrupt manner. ‘It’s her nickname, I think,’ he replied carefully, wary of falling into a trap. ‘So what are you up to?’ he asked – then suddenly remembered what Charlie had said on the night of the wedding: that Nathan had fallen for someone from the mainland. This was clearly why he was behaving so oddly.

  ‘I know you don’t really get on with Y—Miss Yuting, but would you like to come and say hello?’ Jake asked.

  ‘I suppose it wouldn’t kill me . . .’ Nathan shrugged. ‘As long as she doesn’t say anything rude about my outfit. I may be a perfect specimen of manhood, but I do have feelings too, you know.’

  As Jake led him back into the square, he reached into his pocket, took out his spectacles and hurriedly put them on. ‘I’ve grown used to them,’ he explained. ‘Find them rather reassuring on my nose.’ He unbuttoned his coat, revealing a smart tunic beneath. ‘Good evening, Miss Yuting,’ he said, coming face to face with Yoyo and bowing formally. ‘What a lovely coincidence bumping into you both. They’re very colourful, these local dances, aren’t they?’ He sounded more like an old professor every minute. ‘I heard the music across the water and couldn’t resist it.’

  ‘That was our thought entirely,’ Yoyo agreed, fondly pinching Jake’s cheek. Nathan flinched at the gesture.

  Just then, three young soldiers swaggered towards them. They were a little older than Nathan, and if not taller, certainly broader. The leader – a lieutenant – went up to Yoyo and, without even glancing at her companions, ordered with a Gallic shrug: ‘Dansez avec moi.’ It was not a question. Though no more than eighteen, the youth was dripping with medals, and the muscles rippled underneath his half-unbuttoned tunic. His features were those of a boxer – square chin, bold nose – finished off with a sneer, and his ear was pierced with a gold stud. Now that’s the rakish look, Jake couldn’t help thinking.

  Yoyo looked him up and down, before whispering to the others, ‘He’s so pompous, I have to do it.’ She presented her hand.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Nathan stopped the soldier with a delicate tap on his shoulder. ‘Just the one dance. Pas plus qu’une danse, d’accord? She’s with us, you see.’

  He and Jake watched Yoyo take the floor. Despite his appearance, the lieutenant was a surprisingly good dancer.

  ‘So, Jake,’ Nathan began nervously, ‘I’m going to come right out and ask it . . . Are you two an item?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You and “Yoyo” – as she has deigned to let you call her – are you . . . together?’

  ‘Together? No – no of course not,’ Jake stammered, the very word throwing him. ‘We’re just friends.’

  ‘I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I am.’ For the first time that night, Nathan gave a genuine smile.

  Jake’s voice was cold. ‘You’re being a little hard on her. Actually she’s – she’s lovely when you get to know her.’

  There was no reply. They both watched the dance for a minute before Nathan spoke again. ‘I’m not bragging, am I, when I say that I have a certain reputation with the young ladies? A particular je ne sais quoi? How could I not? Ravishing looks, a winning sense of style, bucketfuls of charm – not to mention my kindness to children and animals. You’d agree?’

  ‘Absolutely. Bucketfuls of everything,’ Jake concurred, his eye on Yoyo as she whizzed past.

  ‘So, getting the attention of the fairer sex has never been a problem. Ergo I have never felt the need to commit to any one person. Love has always struck me as an absurd waste of energy, the bringer of a great deal of angst. And it’s a well-known fact: angst adds lines. Who wants to get old before their time?’

  ‘Who indeed?’

  ‘Besides, why tie yourself down when you have the whole of history to choose from?’

  ‘Exactly,’ sighed Jake, wishing that Nathan would get to the point.

  ‘Then she arrives. Miss Yuting. The perfect specimen. Good at everything.’

  Jake turned to his friend, the truth of the situation suddenly dawning on him.

  ‘She pretends not to be dazzled . . .’ Nathan continued. ‘That’s fine. I work a little harder, dress a little sharper, smoulder a little bolder. Nothing. Rien. Nada.’

  ‘There is no girl in the village, is there . . .?’ Jake asked.

  ‘She won’t even laugh at my jokes. And she questions my intelligence – forcing me to wear spectacles.’

  ‘You don’t dislike her at all, do you? Quite the opposite.’

  ‘I mean, look at me! How could you turn this down?’

  ‘Did you follow us here? Is that why you came?’

  ‘And then she starts challenging me to duels – with sabres, pistols, crossbows. Beats me hands down every time. No one ever beats me – except Topaz on very rare occasions. And do you know how that makes me feel? It has only made me like her more, Goddammit – excuse my French. It’s insufferable.’ Nathan took off his glasses and looked Jake in the eye. ‘Do you have any idea how painful it is?’

  Jake decided it was time to make his own confession, if only to shut Nathan up. ‘Yes,’ he replied defiantly. ‘I know exactly how painful it is. Because I feel the same about her. And in answer to your question, we’re not together – as you put it – but I wish we were!’

  There was a moment of stunned silence. ‘Really?’ Nathan replied. ‘Well, that might be a problem, old boy.’ (Nathan was using phrases like old boy a lot these days; a half-English, half-Charleston affectation.)

  Just then, the dance ended. Jake and Nathan watched keenly as Yoyo thanked her partner and turned to leave the dance floor. But the soldier grabbed her hand and pulled her back. She shook herself free and spoke sharply to him.

  ‘That’s it!’ Nathan declared. ‘I’ve seen enough.’ He barged his way into the square, followed swiftly by Jake, and they positioned themselves between Yoyo and the lieutenant.

  ‘That’s all for tonight,’ the American drawled. ‘Run along now.’

  As the three History Keepers retreated, the lieutenant gave Nathan a kick in the pants, so that he lost his balance and fell to his knees. Rage flashed across his face.

  ‘Kicking a man from behind?’ Nathan hissed as the others helped him up. ‘You really are as dumb as a bucket of rocks, and not much prettier.’ He was about to draw his sword when Jake interceded, firmly placing his hand on the hilt.

  ‘Better not,’ he warned; ‘not in the village.’ It was one of the golden rules of Point Zero: the inhabitants of the island should avoid drawing attention to themselves. It was, after all, a secret organization.

  But the soldier, whose sidekicks had now closed ranks with their leader, had not finished: ‘Vos cheveux sont ridicules,’ he said, unsheathing his own weapon and flicking Nathan’s curls. ‘Vous ressemblez à une fille.’

  ‘I look like a girl?’ replied Nathan, his hand going to his sword again.

  ‘That’s right,’ the soldier sneered, before nodding at Yoyo. ‘And she dances like a man.’

  In unison, Jake and Nathan drew their swords.

  The soldiers followed suit. Nathan attacked first, lunging at his foe, as Jake set upon the two sidekicks, slicing expertly, relishing the opportunity to show off his new-found skills in front of Yoyo. In the last year he had become almost as gifted a swordsman as Nathan.

  Gasps went up amongst the villagers, many retreating in alarm, as the two young agents, with just a handful of strokes, disarmed their three opponents without even breaking sweat.

  ‘If you spent a little less time pranc
ing around on the dance floor,’ Nathan gloated as he scooped up the Frenchmen’s swords, ‘you could make something of yourselves.’

  ‘Behind you!’ Jake shouted, as an entire platoon of soldiers surged across the square towards them.

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ his friend sighed. ‘It’s got nothing to do with them. Hold this a moment,’ he said, chucking his sword to Jake before turning to one of the spit-braziers and grabbing hold of the giant spit. ‘My apologies,’ he offered to the cook as he launched an entire roast pig into the air. It thumped to the ground, rolling towards the oncoming guards and knocking them down like skittles. As they landed one on top of the other, a stray helmet flew out. It struck Jake full in the chest, whereupon he tottered backwards and fell into a vat of cider; it collapsed, the contents spilling out across the dance floor.

  Furious, the hulking innkeeper grabbed him by his scarf, pulled him up out of the wreckage and drew his fist back to sock him. Jake dodged the blow, and as the innkeeper lunged forward again, helped him on his way with a firm kick on the backside. There was a chorus of discordant fiddles as he crashed into the band.

  Now the entire village had got caught up in the fight, locals and soldiers with one common enemy: the two young upstarts who had arrived by boat (Yoyo had sensibly retreated into an alleyway at the start of the brawl). Madness raged until two pistol shots rang out. Everyone came to a standstill as a stout man with a tricorn hat and enormous red sideburns stepped into the square, a look of thunder on his face.

  The two boys edged closer to each other. ‘Just our luck.’ Nathan rolled his eyes. ‘That’s Poing de Fer, the local sheriff.’

  Poing de Fer subjected them to a tirade of abuse – in the most colourful French that Jake had ever heard – before giving orders for their immediate arrest.

  Yoyo watched with a sinking heart as they were handcuffed and led away.

  They were locked in a tiny stone cell with a single barred window looking out onto the dark sea. They were a sorry sight: Jake’s clothes were torn, he stank of cider and he had the beginnings of a black eye. The jail was next to the army garrison, one of a cluster of old stone houses on a headland half a mile from the village. The boys had begged the sheriff to show mercy for their moment de folie, but their pleas had fallen on deaf ears. When Nathan persisted, Poing de Fer told them that the pressgang would be round in the morning to assess them for military service.