Free History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins by Damian Dibben Page A

parents – can continue on active duty if required.’
    ‘Interesting fact,’ Nathan butted in. ‘Jupitus Cole, who’s neither young nor a diamond, never lost his valour. He could still flip back to ancient Mesopotamia and not feel a damn thing.’
    ‘Anyway, it’s the Advancers,’ Topaz resumed, ‘who choose, by secret ballot, who is to be the commander of the History Keepers. Commander Goethe has held the post for three years.’
    ‘Having narrowly pipped Jupitus Cole to the post,’ Nathan confided. ‘He was none too happy about it.’
    The three of them left the armoury and climbed the stairs to the next floor.
    ‘Communications,’ announced Topaz, leading them through a door into another room. Along one wall, four people, two men and two women, all in nineteenth-century clothes, were working at antique desks. They nodded briefly at the youngsters. In front of each stood an instrument similar to the odd typewriter that Charlie Chieverley had been using in the London bureau, including the trademark crystalline rod that buzzed with miniature lightning flashes. Using quills and ink, they were noting down information on parchment.
    ‘They’re de-coding,’ Topaz explained. ‘Those devices are called Meslith machines, after Vladimir Meslith, the inventor. They’re used to send and receive messages through time. Any important message, sent directly to the commander, arrives in the “Meslith nucleus”, there.’
    She indicated a thick glass cabinet in the centre of the room that contained yet another distinctive machine. This one was much larger and more intricate than the others, its crystalline rod sturdier. Emanating from the back of the device was a complex arrangement of miniature cogs and levers that led eventually to two quills, each poised over blank rolls of parchment, ready to print out an incoming message.
    ‘When a message is received, two copies are transcribed. One is deposited in the box below the machine; the other is sent, by tube, directly to the commander’s quarters underneath us.’
    ‘By tube?’ asked Jake, trying to keep up.
    ‘That’s right. Forget all about any modern communications systems,’ Nathan added, inspecting his reflection in the glass cabinet. ‘Null and void in 1820. We’ve fifty plus years before even the advent of electricity.’
    ‘Though, personally,’ Topaz commented, ‘I find Meslith communication infinitely more magical. Look – there’s a message arriving now.’ She pointed to the machine. Its crystalline aerial was flickering with a light as brilliant as burning phosphorous. This, in turn, set off a chain reaction, which resulted in the two mechanical quills writing a short message on two separate sheets of parchment. One copy was deposited in a slot below the machine; the other was mechanically rolled into a tube and shot into a pipe that led down through the floor.
    ‘The commander will receive it any second now,’ said Topaz. She turned wearily to Nathan, who was still transfixed by his own image. ‘When you’ve got your bouffant under control, perhaps we can continue …?’
    ‘It’s that conditioner Father gave me,’ sighed Nathan. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about jojoba.’
    As Jake was led out of the room, he caught sight of a clock. There were just twenty minutes to go before the meeting in the stateroom and he felt a jolt of fear as he wondered what new revelations awaited him.
    Nathan and Topaz led him down a set of steps and into another unusual space.
    ‘The Library of Faces,’ Topaz announced.
    Jake gazed in awe down the length of the long gallery. On both the right-hand and far walls were shelves of vast leather-bound books. The entire long wall on the left was covered with portraits. Each one was a foot square and looked like an Old Master painting. Jake found the sight of a thousand faces staring out at him impressive enough, but the wall had another secret: after ten seconds a bell rang, there was a great creaking