The Song of Seven

  Ah, but there’s no need for that, he thought a little later. I can always borrow that raincoat. And if Roberto objects, it serves the Biker Boy right.

  He pulled on the coat and, after a moment’s hesitation, put the hat on too. Dressed in his new outfit, he stepped outside. Now he saw that the path didn’t come to a dead end here – it wound deeper into the woods.

  Now that he was equipped to face the rain, he felt the urge to explore his surroundings. So he continued his walk along the winding path, emerging, fifteen minutes later, on a wide dirt track.

  He stopped and looked left and right, regretting that he hadn’t brought Aunt Wilhelmina’s map with him. If he remembered it correctly, this should be the road that led from Sevenways to the Herb Garden, and then onwards to somewhere near Langelaan. So, if he turned right, he’d get to Miss Rosemary’s. He decided to do exactly that; he’d be able to pick up his books and walk back to Sevenways, and then cycle home from there on his bike.

  As he walked along, he began to wonder what Miss Rosemary would say when he turned up in this old coat and ridiculous hat, with wet and muddy shoes.

  He told himself that it would be silly not to go on though, after he’d come so far. When the rain stopped, he didn’t take off the hat, as water was still dripping from the branches. Trees lined the path on both sides; to his left they leant over a barbed-wire fence. Before long, he spotted a path leading off on that side, but that was closed too, and there was another sign saying NO TRESPASSERS, with different words beneath it this time: Article 461, Criminal Code.

  Frans stopped again. He remembered Roberto’s words: He’s put barbed wire up all around it and signs saying “No trespassers”…

  This must be the Grisenstein estate!

  Frans walked on. He’d have liked to take a closer look, but the path was too well secured. A little later, though, he saw a hole in the fence, where the wire was twisted and broken. He looked around; there was no one in sight.

  It was starting to rain again but he realized this would be the perfect weather for getting into the estate without being noticed. He wanted to see the House of Stairs for himself!

  Frans looked around once more, and then slipped through the hole. Roberto’s raincoat snagged on the fence, but fortunately it was only a small tear. Then he found the path and started walking parallel to it; he knew the House of Stairs must be somewhere in that direction. His coat was getting more and more soaked by the drizzle and by the wet bushes as he battled his way through. There was no sign of any buildings and the wood seemed just like any other wood.

  This estate appears to be rather large, he thought, as he stopped and considered whether to go on. Frans the Red would probably climb a tree, so that he could at least take a peek at the chimneys of the House of Stairs. Frans the Red had climbed the slopes of the Himalayas and the towers of Torelore. But Frans van der Steg didn’t like heights. And poor Frans van der Steg was about to get a fright…

  He heard the sound of voices and a moment later he saw someone moving among the trees directly ahead. A big man was coming towards him – and another one! Most likely the gamekeepers who patrolled the estate with loaded guns…

  Frans turned around. The bushes rustled as he retraced his steps.

  Behind him he heard someone shout: “Hey, you!” He glanced over his shoulder. One of the men had seen him and was waving at him to stop.

  Frans took to his heels. Now he could hear both the men shouting.

  “A trespasser!”

  “I’ll get him!”

  “Stay where you are!”

  That only made Frans run all the faster. He raced through the wood, with the men following close behind.

  There was the barbed wire. Now he just had to find the hole he’d sneaked through. Should he go left – or right? He looked back again, but no one was coming. He hurried along the fence, searching for the opening… There it was!

  Panting, he dropped onto his knees and quickly crawled through. The coat he’d borrowed must be in a terrible state! But he was safely off the count’s property, and if the gamekeepers came after him, it’d be up to them to prove he’d ever been there. They appeared to have given up the chase, though, as he couldn’t see or hear anyone.

  Frans picked up the hat, which was lying on the ground beside him; it was a miracle he hadn’t lost it sooner. It’s just as well the children didn’t see that, he thought with a wry grin. Frans the Red running like a coward! Putting the hat back on, he resumed his walk.

  He’d only gone a short distance when he heard rapid footsteps behind him. And then a low voice said in his ear, “Stop right there, thief!”

  Before Frans could decide whether to do as he was told, someone leapt onto his back. He turned around and tried to shake off his attacker. But the man seemed to be mad with rage.

  He gave Frans a whack on the jaw that made his teeth rattle and a thump on his head that made him see stars. It wasn’t just his hat that went flying, but his glasses too, and the attacker got in another punch before Frans could even see who it was. Pulling himself out of the man’s iron grip, he blindly hit back. Then he stumbled, or was tripped, and he fell…

  He is wounded in combat

  THIS IS FOUR

  When Frans came round, he was sprawled on the ground, gasping for air, and he could still see stars. He heard voices above his head; at first they seemed to be coming from a long way off. Then he made out two pairs of legs, planted in two pairs of boots. The voices were growing louder and angrier…

  Carefully he tried to stand up. One pair of legs knelt down beside him… and he saw it was Roberto… Roberto who took hold of him and asked in a worried voice, “Frans, are you all right?”

  Frans sat down, rubbed his throbbing head and said weakly, “I’m still in one piece, I think.”

  Roberto turned to the other man. Frans could still see no more than his legs. “You idiot!” he said furiously. “You’re going to regret this!”

  Frans looked up. “Where are my glasses?” he asked, not sure if he could trust his eyes.

  A weather-beaten hand held out Frans’s glasses; the lenses were still intact, but one of the arms was broken. When Frans put them on, all he could see was splashes of mud, so he took them off and began to clean them. He could hear Roberto yelling at his attacker.

  “If you did that by accident, you’re an amazingly, stupendously, incredibly idiotic imbecile! And if you did it on purpose, you’re a snivelling sneak, a treacherous traitor, a slimy…”

  Roberto’s insults grew more and more colourful and creative. Frans meanwhile put his glasses back on and looked at his attacker, who was listening to the torrent of words with a guilty look on his face. And when Frans recognized that face, he was speechless. It was Jan Tooreloor, Count Grisenstein’s coachman!

  The man was confused and dishevelled. “I’m sorry, Roberto. I really am,” he said, when Roberto finally fell silent. “I saw him walking along in your hat and coat, and I knew right away that it wasn’t you. I thought he’d stolen your things, so I sneaked after him and I…”

  “Attacked me without any warning,” Frans said with clenched teeth.

  “I didn’t know it was you!” cried Jan Tooreloor. “Not until your hat came off and I recognized your red hair.”

  “You could have looked first before you started hitting him,” said Roberto, placing his hand on Frans’s shoulder.

  “But I did it for you, lad!” said Jan Tooreloor. “And it’s not as if I hurt you, even though you came at me like a madman. I didn’t even hit him that hard…”

  Roberto leapt up and it looked like he was going to attack the coachman again, even though the man was twice his size. “You’re asking for such a beating!” he began furiously.

  “Wait!” said Frans. “If anyone should do that, it’s me.”

  He tried to stand up, but a stab of pain made him wince. So he sat back down, clutching his ankle.

  Both Roberto and the coachman were staring at him.

  ?
??But I’m afraid,” Frans continued, with a grimace, “that it’s going to have to wait a little while.”

  Roberto knelt down beside him, but Jan Tooreloor said, uneasy, but still defiant, “No one ever died from a bump on the head and a scratch on the cheek.”

  Frans took a deep breath and said, “And I hope I get the chance to repay you for both of those injuries! But it’s actually my leg that’s the problem.”

  “Well, that’s not my fault,” growled Tooreloor. Then he sank down onto his knees and looked at Frans’s leg with a gloomy face. “Twisted or sprained,” he said. He untied his red scarf and started to wrap it around the injured ankle.

  “Hands off!” said Frans. He went to pull his leg away, but the pain removed any desire to protest.

  Then he made another attempt to stand up, this time with Roberto’s help. He managed, but he could only stand on one foot. The other foot, now shoeless and tightly bandaged with the red scarf, was useless.

  “He can’t walk,” said Roberto. “Jan, you’re going to have to carry him on your back. We’ll take him to Aunt Rosemary’s. It’s not far.”

  “Absolutely not!” said Frans. “I can’t let her see me like this. Besides… I’m sure it’ll be better soon.” Those last words didn’t sound very convincing, although he didn’t mention that his head had started thumping so badly that he felt dizzy. The others seemed to have realized anyway, as they ignored his protests. Before he could object any more, Jan had hoisted him onto his broad back.

  “Now put your arms tightly around his neck,” ordered Roberto. “And forward march!”

  “Don’t forget your hat,” mumbled Frans. “I’m sorry I borrowed your things.”

  “And for more than one reason, I bet,” said Roberto.

  “I’m sorry too,” growled Jan Tooreloor, as he lumbered slowly into motion. “He’s blasted heavy.”

  “You deserve for him to be ten times heavier,” Roberto rebuked him. “You should feel weighed down by guilt.” But then he added with a smile, “If it weren’t so sad, it’d actually be really funny!”

  That’s true, thought Frans, sitting on Tooreloor’s back – he must look quite a sight. Luckily it was Roberto and not the Biker Boy who was walking along beside him.

  The short distance seemed endless, but eventually they reached the Herb Garden. In the garden Frans saw the sight he’d found so hard to imagine before: Miss Rosemary in boots and with a shovel in her hand. She dropped the shovel and was soon busy taking care of Frans’s injuries with her “potions, plasters and poultices”, as Roberto put it.

  Miss Rosemary worked quickly and capably, and still managed to tell all of them off as she did so – Jan Tooreloor, Roberto and Frans himself. Her nephew was the only one who said anything in reply; he launched into an animated account of the events, but Miss Rosemary interrupted him. “Just go and put the kettle on!” she snapped. “And fetch some pillows from upstairs. No, Jan, you’re not leaving until I’ve spoken to you. There you go,” she said as she finished, giving Frans a long, hard look.

  Frans was sitting in an armchair with his leg up on a stool. He felt as if he were seeing her face through a haze of pungent and heady spices.

  “Do you have a headache?” she asked.

  “It’s not too bad,” he answered, making a failed attempt to smile. “I’m so sorry to have caused you all this bother…”

  “If you sit there quietly, you won’t be any bother at all,” she said. “Now just close your eyes and lean back.”

  Frans did as he was told. He felt something cool on his forehead and a little later someone slipped a pillow under his ankle. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Roberto, who gave him a nod. Miss Rosemary and the coachman had left, but he could hear their voices in the hallway.

  “I never wanted to bring in some outsider!” barked the coachman. “And certainly not some lily-livered city-boy, who doesn’t know anything about anything, some gutless bookworm…”

  Frans shot up, the damp cloth sliding from his forehead. Was that what Jan Tooreloor thought of him?

  “Calm down,” said Roberto, pushing him back into the chair. “Wait and see what Aunt Rosemary has to say!” He carefully laid the cloth back on Frans’s bump.

  Frans couldn’t hear what Miss Rosemary said, though, and Jan just went on grumbling, “What’s he supposed to be doing in the House of Stairs anyway, him with that red hair of his? If it was me, or Roberto…”

  Miss Rosemary interrupted him, and her tone was very stern. But then the two of them must have walked off, because their voices faded away.

  “Now she’s giving him what for!” whispered Roberto.

  “I don’t understand,” Frans said flatly, “why that untrustworthy man was ever allowed to join the conspiracy.”

  “We can’t exclude him,” said Roberto. “The Conspiracy of Seven, the Secret of the Seven Ways and Jan Tooreloor – they’re all wrapped up together.”

  “Secret?” repeated Frans. “A secret…? Yet another one?”

  “But you’re right; he is untrustworthy,” Roberto continued. “And he seems to have something against you. You should keep an eye on him!”

  “Thanks for the warning,” said Frans, catching the wet cloth as it slipped from his forehead again. “But why is Jan Tooreloor wrapped up with Sevenways and what’s his secret?”

  “You’d better not mention the name Tooreloor from now on,” Roberto advised him. “He’s hidden it and buried it away. I mean, he has a different name now…”

  “I already suspected that name wasn’t real,” muttered Frans.

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” said Roberto. “Jan Tooreloor was the innkeeper at the Red Man. And now he’s the coachman of the Fiendish Foe and…”

  “I’m going to call Wilhelmina,” said Miss Rosemary, returning, “to tell her you’re staying here tonight, Frans.”

  “Oh, please, no, don’t do that,” Frans replied. “I’ll be able to go home soon.”

  “You most certainly will not!” said Miss Rosemary firmly. “You can’t use that leg of yours today. We’ll have to see how it looks tomorrow.”

  “But…” began Frans.

  “I have a guestroom,” she said cheerfully. “Roberto, come with me for a moment, would you?” and she left the room again, so Frans couldn’t protest. Her nephew followed her.

  So Frans was Miss Rosemary’s guest again, and he was sitting at her table, this time with Roberto as a dining companion. He wasn’t very hungry though, and Miss Rosemary said he should have an early night.

  Mr Thomtidom came round after dinner; he brought a pair of his pyjamas for Frans to borrow, and a pot of ointment that he said was the best medicine for sprained and twisted ankles. Frans had to admit that most of the conspirators seemed to mean him well, but they did treat him rather like a little boy. Miss Rosemary gave him a cup of steaming herb tea, with orders to drink it all up, while the magician spirited away his glasses to repair. And soon after that Roberto helped him up the stairs to the guestroom.

  “Can I tell you something in confidence?” said Frans, with a thick tongue. “I’m not a member of your conspiracy. I’ve just somehow become entangled in it!”

  There must have been some kind of strong sleeping drug in the herbal tea, because he couldn’t remember the rest of the evening.

  When Frans woke up, it took him some time to work out where he was. He’d never slept in a bedroom with pale-blue blobs on the walls before, wearing green silk pyjamas with sleeves that only just reached past his elbows.

  It was broad daylight, and the sun was shining in through the open window.

  Miss Rosemary appeared beside his bed and put down a fully laden tray. “Good morning,” she said brightly.

  “Good morning,” said Frans, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

  “I’ve brought your breakfast,” said Miss Rosemary, “and your glasses.”

  Frans thanked her and asked what time it was.

  “Ten thirty,” his hostess replied.


  “My goodness!” gasped Frans. “What about school? Morning break time is already over.”

  “Wilhelmina already called the headmaster,” said Miss Rosemary, “and told him you’re ill.”

  “But I’m not ill!” said Frans. He put his glasses back on and looked at her guiltily.

  “What was she supposed to say? That Mr Van der Steg trespassed on private property and then got into a fight?”

  Frans lowered his eyes; he didn’t know how to reply. The wallpaper, he saw now, was not covered with blobs at all, but with blue roses and forget-me-nots.

  “I’ll have a look at your ankle in a moment,” Miss Rosemary continued. “If you take it easy today, maybe you’ll be able to walk a little tomorrow. Finish your breakfast first; then you can come downstairs. I’ve ironed your suit. It’s in the wardrobe.”

  Frans wondered what his students would say if they could see him sitting in the Herb Garden in a comfortable chair as if it were the holidays. He was sheltered by the tall hedges, which were full of intricately woven cobwebs, with drops of water clinging to them and glistening in the sun. Summer seemed to be lingering in this spot, where lavender grew, and thyme, chives, fennel and celery, and of course the plant that shared its name with the lady of the house.

  “Roberto’s coming this afternoon after school,” Miss Rosemary told him. “He said he’ll take you home. Jan Tooreloor took your bike to the village yesterday, because you can’t use it anyway.”

  “So I’m going to have to ride on the back of the Biker Boy’s scooter again,” muttered Frans.

  “No, it’s Roberto who’s taking you home,” said Miss Rosemary. “But you never know, he could suddenly change… it really is most annoying. He hardly ever comes here on his scooter; he usually leaves it at Sevenways. This time he’ll need to ride it all the way here. We’ll just have to hope for the best…”

  The afternoon was cold, so Frans had to sit inside, still with one leg up on a stool. He saw Miss Rosemary occasionally; she was busy with her work in and around the house. He decided to make good use of the time and picked up his books and tried to study a little. But that just gave him another headache.