History Keepers 1: The Storm Begins by Damian Dibben

the rolling sea and the faint light on the horizon, and thought again of his parents. A strange mixture of feelings churned around in his head. Of course, he was worried sick, but he was also haunted by a sense of betrayal. They had lied to him, pretending that they were going to a bathroom trade fair in Birmingham, when they had actually been heading not just across Europe, but across the centuries.
    Jake shook his head to clear his mind. ‘There’s probably an explanation for everything,’ he said out loud, and returned to scanning the ocean. Since the disappearance of his brother, Jake had learned, through painful trial and error, the trick of blocking out any dark thoughts that threatened him.
    Slowly, the wind, which had been bracing and cool, started to die down. Within minutes it was replaced by a warm breeze from the tropics. Now an inescapable drowsiness took hold of Jake. First he knelt down on the wooden deck; a few moments later he lay on his side with his school bag under his head as a pillow, still staring out at the sea; then he fell fast asleep.
* * *
    At the same moment, early that morning in 1820, near the Normandy village of Verre, a masked figure was making his way cautiously around the topiary hedges towards an imposing chateau set in grand, formal gardens. He stopped in the shadows and surveyed the building.
    A guard with a lantern patrolled the grounds. The masked figure waited for him to disappear round the side of the chateau, before stealthily gliding across the lawn and scaling the wisteria until he was level with a first-floor window.
    Inside the room, a girl was pacing anxiously to and fro. The intruder threw open the window, leaped inside and ripped off his mask.
    ‘Nathan! Thank God! I thought you’d never make it,’ the young girl exclaimed as she showered him in kisses. Nathan didn’t react: he was used to young ladies throwing themselves at him. He was sixteen, athletic, strikingly good-looking, with a delightfully self-assured glint in his eye. He was also dressed in the height of fashion. He looked around the opulent bedroom; it was decorated with a ton of gilt and great festoons of lilac silk.
    ‘Whoops – style overload,’ he commented in his light American drawl. ‘Isabella, your husband -to-be has clearly confused money with taste.’
    ‘He will never be my husband! He said if I did not walk up the aisle tomorrow, he would force me. At gunpoint. And this is the horrible dress he wants me to wear.’ She nodded disgustedly at an elaborate wedding gown hanging on a mannequin.
    Nathan was appalled. ‘The man is a monster! Isn’t he aware that the Empire chemisette went out with the Ark? We need to get you out of here.’
    He silently descended the wisteria, holding the breathless Isabella in his arms as if she were as light as air.
    ‘I want to marry a man like you, Nathan, strong and heroic,’ she sighed.
    ‘Isabella, my darling, haven’t we been through this? I’d be a terrible husband. I may be irresistible, but I’m unreliable, immature, infuriating. You’d be throwing yourself away on me.’ Nathan set her down on the ground. ‘Now, quickly – this place is swarming with guards.’
    Minutes later, they were hurrying across a paddock towards Nathan’s horse, which was waiting at the edge of the forest. Suddenly a voice came from beneath the canopy of trees.
    ‘I had a premonition of your disobedience,’ it growled in a low French accent. Isabella trembled as a sour-looking aristocrat, obese and ruddy-cheeked, stepped out of the shadows; at his side was a brutish-looking guard, holding the reins of his master’s horse. ‘So I took precautions.’
    ‘Ah, Chevalier Boucicault …’ Nathan beamed, unfazed. ‘We’re glad we caught you. Premonition justified: Signorina Montefiore is having second thoughts about the wedding. She has issues with your manners – not to mention your trouser size.’
    The chevalier held out his hand, and the guard deposited a