The History Keepers Circus Maximus (3 page)

Nathan led the way, heading in the opposite direction to Charlie. Jake followed, with Caspar wheezing behind. Footsteps approached from the other end of the passage and a figure appeared.

The three agents froze. Time seemed to stand still as Jake saw their adversary clearly for the first time. He was the same age as Nathan – sixteen or thereabouts – and in many ways a crueller, fair-haired version of him. He had striking features, a superior look in his eye and, judging by his tailored clothes, the same pride in his appearance. His hair, in
particular, was a work of art: long, blond and perfectly straight.

Jake could see that Nathan had gone pale.

‘Who in God’s name is that—’ the American started to say as the man raised his pistol – and fired.

2 T
HE
W
IDE-BRIMMED
H
AT

THE BULLET WHISTLED
over their heads and struck one of the crystal chandeliers. It came down on the floor behind them with a crash.

‘That was a warning shot,’ the boy announced silkily in a slight foreign accent. ‘You will give me the box,’ he said, holding out his hand as he advanced. ‘Resistance is pointless. Your sword is no match for my Chaumette flintlock,’ he added with a shake of his beautifully crafted gun.

There was a pause, then Nathan spoke calmly. ‘All right,’ he said, lifting his hands, with the box in clear view. ‘I’m not prepared to die over a couple of bottles of
the undrinkable
. You win.’

‘Nathan?’ Jake exclaimed in disbelief.

‘No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea . . .’ Caspar whimpered. He was peering over Jake’s
shoulder and mopping his brow with his handkerchief.

Nathan ignored them, keeping his attention on the stranger. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked politely. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’

The blond boy sniggered. ‘Impertinent question.’ But after a pause, he shrugged and replied, ‘You can call me the Leopard.’

‘Leopard? Great moniker.’

‘
The
Leopard,’ the boy snarled with a shake of his perfect fair hair. ‘I’m one of a kind.’

‘That I can see,’ Nathan concurred. ‘Your double-breasted waistcoat is
way
ahead of its time, and the Chinese button detailing on your breeches is, frankly, sublime.’

The smile on the Leopard’s face faded. ‘Just hand over the box.’ He levelled his pistol with one hand while holding out the other.

Nathan clenched his jaw, took a deep breath and gave it to him.

Just for a second as he opened the box, the boy took his eye off Nathan – and saw that it was empty. Then everything happened at once. Nathan snatched Caspar’s sodden handkerchief and threw it into the Leopard’s face, where it stuck, blinding him
completely. The gun went off, but the bullet went through the ceiling. Nathan kicked high and smashed his boot into his opponent’s jaw. The boy teetered backwards, lost his balance completely and landed in a tangle on the floor, his head giving a
crack
as it hit the wall.

‘I lied – those Chinese buttons are the height of vulgarity,’ Nathan said as he and the others escaped down the corridor. At the far end, he threw open the door to another box and quickly pushed Jake and Caspar inside. He bolted the entrance behind them and turned to face the occupants. It was the three pretty ladies he had spied earlier.

They stood in shock, clutching the jewels around their necks, but clearly relishing the intrusion. ‘Under different circumstances’ – Nathan tossed his auburn locks and showed his glinting teeth – ‘this might have been hello and not goodbye . . . Quickly, you two,’ he said, throwing his legs over the balcony and jumping down into the stalls, provoking murmurs of annoyance amongst the audience. As he hit the carpet, the bottles of atomium slipped out of his pocket. He quickly scooped them up.

Jake nodded politely at the girls, while Caspar
froze, turning crimson and clutching his bag of cakes to his chest. As Jake helped him to clamber over the balustrade, the unfortunate girls were treated to the sight of his bright turquoise trousers ripping – revealing a half-moon of large pink backside. They tore even more as Caspar awkwardly scrambled his way to the floor – giving the whole audience a glimpse of his derrière. Jake followed with a single athletic vault. As he landed, Nathan pressed the two bottles of atomium into Jake’s hand. ‘Holes in my pockets,’ he said, patting his jacket. ‘You hold onto them.’

Jake felt a sudden flutter of panic, of daunting responsibility, but he slipped them into the deep pouches inside his jacket.

‘This way,’ Nathan commanded, skirting round the auditorium to the exit at the back. He stopped dead when he saw the Leopard swing through the doors, then turned on his heel and cut straight along a row of seats. The others followed, apologizing as they pushed their way past the acres of fine silk and crinoline. Caspar yanked up his trousers, tripping over their priceless shoes and shedding chunks of Christmas knäck as he did so, provoking jeers of outrage; one ancient lady was so furious, she
bashed him over the head with her fan.

‘Quickly, quickly.’ Jake pushed him into the aisle. The Leopard was now bearing swiftly down on them and they had no choice but to run up the steps at the front of the auditorium. A great swathe of opera-goers half stood in astonishment as the three of them shuffled over the bridge spanning the orchestra pit and onto the stage itself. The Queen of the Night did not falter in her aria; rather she focused her falsetto fury on the invaders, hurling notes at them like barbed daggers.

The Leopard quickened his pace and was on the point of firing his pistol again when a number of guards – they’d evidently been alerted to an incident – quickly filed in through the side doors, muskets at the ready. The Leopard froze and slowly replaced his weapon in its holster. Realizing that it would be madness to try anything now, he reluctantly slunk back up the aisle.

Nathan watched him retreat before turning roguishly towards the Queen of the Night. ‘Love your work – simply spine-tingling . . .’ He saluted her with a theatrical air-kiss. ‘Mortified to be missing the denouement.’ The rest of the cast watched, slack-jawed, as the three agents steered their way
around the set – with Caspar bumping into a pyramid and toppling a palm tree – and exited into the wings.

They flew along the backstage passageways, weaving their way through clusters of performers, set-movers, candle men and wig-makers. They tore down stairs into a strange underworld of old props and painted backdrops; slithers of history piled up against each other. Jake noticed one in particular: a vast rendition of the Colosseum of ancient Rome – a gigantic crumbling arena beneath a bold blue sky. For a second he lost himself in it before Nathan pushed him on along the network of passages.

By the time the three of them reached a side exit – one of many leading out of the opera house – Caspar looked half dead, his chest heaving like a bellows. Nathan carefully edged open the door and checked that the coast was clear. There was a line of carriages parked along the side of the building and a huddle of drivers playing cards, rubbing their hands together to keep warm.

Nathan signalled to the others, and they crept out and ducked down in the shadows behind the coaches. From here they could see the main entrance. At length, the Leopard marched out –
darting his head this way and that in search of his prey. He quickly strode over to his accomplice, a man in a wide-brimmed hat, and spoke to him. The latter then mounted his horse and disappeared round the far side of the building.

Nathan motioned for Caspar and Jake to climb into one of the carriages. Jake carefully opened the gilt-framed door and let himself into the silky interior. When Caspar stepped up, the whole vehicle creaked under his weight, sinking down on one side. As the card players looked round to see what the noise was Nathan jumped up onto the driver’s seat and flicked the reins.

The horses didn’t move.

The drivers started shouting and ran towards him – immediately alerting the Leopard to what was going on – and he flicked the reins again. ‘Come on, come on!’ Nathan begged. When he finally stood up and delivered a sharp kick to each rump, they suddenly whinnied and took off, careering across the square.

In a flash the Leopard mounted his steed and whistled for his companion. The man in the wide-brimmed hat came charging back and they tore off in pursuit of the carriage. Two of the other carriage
drivers, outraged at the theft, leaped up onto their own vehicles and joined the chase. The convoy hurtled across the bridge, with Nathan at its head.

Jake and Caspar were shaken violently as the wheels juddered over the wooden planks. Then they were hurled to one side as the coach swerved round a corner, Jake crushed under Caspar’s huge belly. Once they had righted themselves again, the Swede, his hands trembling, fished some broken pieces of knäck out of his bag and starting shovelling them into his mouth.

‘What are you doing?’ Jake shook his head in disbelief.

‘Sugar calms me down in an emergency,’ Caspar spluttered, scooping up another handful.

Suddenly a gunshot rang out and a bullet smashed through the window behind them. Jake glanced back – a biting wind now blowing in his face – and saw the Leopard tearing up the hill, a smoking pistol in his hand, with his partner galloping swiftly behind.

Suddenly the carriage veered to one side again as Nathan swung round another bend, the wheels skidding on the ice. He shook the reins again, weaving skilfully through the narrow cobbled streets of
the old town – up, down, left and right – as their pursuers tried to catch them.

The two vehicles at the back did not make it: the leading one tried to navigate a sharp bend but it met a patch of black ice and skidded across the road, smashing, in a shower of sparks, into the steps of a church, completely blocking the path of the second.

Nathan plunged down the hill towards the harbour. Between the narrow buildings, far below on the dockside, he could see the hulking silhouette of the warship, next to which the
Tulip
was berthed. Then disaster struck. A cart laden with coal came tottering over a crossroads ahead, blocking his way. The horses reared up, whinnying, their hooves slipping on the ice. Suddenly the whole carriage swung round and took charge of its own destiny. With an ear-splitting screech, it crashed into the window of a cake shop, plunging into an elaborate display of baked goods.

Nathan dismounted in a flash and pulled open the door for the others. ‘Quickly! Quickly!’ he yelled, helping them out.

‘Sundbergs Konditori!’ Caspar suddenly gasped on seeing the name of shop they had just crashed
into. He quivered at the sight of a thousand buns and cakes ready for the taking; but Nathan and Jake took an arm each and dragged him down a steep flight of steps to the port. Within seconds they were lost in a labyrinth of narrow passageways and winding steps which the others, on their horses, could not negotiate.

They came to a wide portico that led, through a series of arches, into the customs house – a great high-windowed chamber still full of activity and chattering people even though it was well into the evening. Throngs of richly dressed merchants haggled with dour, bespectacled officials as goods were weighed, and gold and silver coins counted and reluctantly handed over. Nathan, Jake and Caspar weaved their way through the busy crowd (amongst the exotic-looking people here – seafarers from all over the world – even Caspar in his ripped turquoise suit didn’t look out of place) to the main door on the other side, which led directly onto the harbour.

‘There – look.’ Jake pointed at the
Tulip
, further along the dock in the shadow of the warship. He remembered he still had the opera glasses in his trouser pocket. He took them out, surveyed the ship
and spotted a figure hoisting the mainsail. ‘It’s Charlie – he made it.’

But Nathan had seen something else: two riders coming onto the quayside, one fair-haired, the other in a wide-brimmed hat. ‘In here – quickly!’ he said, darting across the flagstones and up into the fish market.

They were hit immediately by the salty stench of fresh fish. Like the customs house, the market – lit by wax lanterns hanging from the rafters – was bustling with activity. Dock workers were delivering and taking away boxes of fish, while fishermen bartered noisily, their mouths firing gusts of vapour. The agents threaded their way through and hid in the shadows behind three vast stacks of boxes. Caspar pulled a face when he caught sight of their contents: live eels, thrashing and writhing about. Jake and Nathan peered out. Through the throng they saw the Leopard and his sidekick dismount and cautiously approach the other side of the market.

As they came into the light beside the building, the accomplice nudged up his hat to wipe his brow and his face became visible for the first time. Jake started. It was hard to see through the clouds of icy vapour, but he recognized something about him.
He squinted to get a better view and could see that he was young – seventeen or so – handsome, broad shouldered, with olive skin.

Then it dawned on him: his eyes widened and his heart stopped. His hands shook. His face went pale.

‘Philip . . .?’ he said softly to himself. The man, he was certain, was his lost brother.

Three years ago, tragedy had come to the Djones family when Philip, Jake’s older brother, disappeared, presumed dead. Jake had always been led to believe that the disaster happened on a school trip, and had learned only recently that Philip had actually been on a History Keepers’ mission at the time – an assignment to Vienna in 1689. They hadn’t heard from him since – but neither had a body been found, and Jake, who had loved his brother deeply, now clung to the belief that he was still alive somewhere.

The phantom said something to the Leopard and they both turned away from the market and headed back to remount their horses. They trotted off along the quay in the other direction, eyes searching for their prey.

‘Right, let’s go,’ Nathan whispered, stepping carefully out from their hiding place. Caspar followed,
but Jake paid no attention; he was spellbound, rooted to the spot, watching the two figures retreat. His heart was pumping at double speed, his breaths short and quick, his brain teeming with questions: was that really his brother? It was three years since he had seen him. He had only caught a fleeting glance – but is that what he would look like now? And if it
was
his brother, why was he here with the enemy? Jake wanted to cry out ‘
Philip
?’ at the top of his voice and see if he turned round.