The count called his nephew and repeated what Miss Rosemary had already said: that he would be going with her to the Herb Garden. “Miss Grysenstein can take better care of you,” he said, “even though I’ll still be your guardian.”
“Yes, Uncle Gradus,” said Geert-Jan. “And what about the treasure? Will it have to stay inside the glass case forever?”
“Until you’re eighteen,” replied the count. “The book is yours, but it’s far too valuable for a child.” He paused for a moment and then said, “You may take a look inside now and then, as long as you wash your hands first. And only on Sundays.” He turned to Miss Rosemary. “You may leave now,” he said.
“And when are you leaving?” asked Frans.
The count glowered at him. “I’d like to leave as soon as my bags are packed,” he said. “But I need to make sure that the house is locked up properly.”
“There should be a caretaker,” said Mr Thomtidom. “Someone to make sure no trespassers get in while it’s empty.”
“What would be the point?” said the count. “There’s no hidden treasure now.”
“But it has a story connected to it,” said Miss Rosemary.
“It’s always been a dangerous house,” said Aunt Wilhelmina. “I don’t think it should be left unguarded.”
“Ah, is that right?” said the count angrily. “Fine, then you can find a caretaker! I always have problems with my staff. I can’t even trust the tutors I hire.”
“I know a very good caretaker,” said Mr Thomtidom. “Jan Tooreloor is perfect for this job, and he just so happens to be out of work.”
“An excellent idea!” Roberto cried.
The count didn’t share his enthusiasm; he just scowled at the conspirators.
Jan Tooreloor grinned. “That’s fine by me,” he said. “As long as the pay’s good.”
“That goes without saying,” said Mr Thomtidom. “Well, hasn’t that worked out well? And Jan’s a good handyman too. He can get to work on repairing that hole in the floor.”
“I’ll do that for free,” said Tooreloor.
“Then I suppose I shall have to agree,” said the count grumpily. “But first you can do something else for me, Tooreloor. Manus hasn’t shown up, so I think it’s your responsibility to drive Miss Grysenstein and my nephew to the Herb Garden.”
Jan Tooreloor grinned again. “Right you are, sir,” he said. “If we go along the Seventh Way we’ll be there in no time.”
The count turned to Frans. “You, Mr Van der Steg, have been dismissed,” he said coldly. “You’ll understand that Geert-Jan no longer needs a tutor, as he’ll be going to school. Fine. Good day, everyone.”
“What about Ivan?” cried Geert-Jan. “What’s going to happen to Ivan?” He looked anxiously at the cat, who purred and gave his leg a bump.
“Ivan’s welcome to stay here,” said Tooreloor. “He loves the House of Stairs, and I’m sure we’ll get along just fine!”
A funny scene popped into Frans’s head: Jan Tooreloor waltzing around Gregorius’s Small Banqueting Hall, while the black tomcat watched him from the stairs.
“That’s true,” said Geert-Jan slowly. “All right, then.” He bent down, stroked the cat and whispered, “Bye, Ivan. See you soon! I’ll come and visit you every now and then, okay?”
The count gave Miss Rosemary a bow. “I shall, of course, have to come and pay you a visit from time to time,” he said, “to make sure my nephew’s doing well.”
“You’re welcome, Gradus,” said Miss Rosemary, “but only if Geert-Jan invites you himself.”
Count Grisenstein looked at his nephew, who was still saying goodbye to the cat. He remained silent.
Before long the coach was trundling through the open gate; Jan Tooreloor was sitting up front and his passengers were Miss Rosemary and Geert-Jan, Aunt Wilhelmina and Mr Thomtidom. Frans couldn’t fit inside, but Roberto said he’d take him home on his scooter. So Frans climbed up behind him again, with his bag of books under one arm and Roberto’s guitar under the other. They raced past the coach, tore onto the Seventh Way, and drove back to Frans’s village via Sevenways.
“Would you like to come in for a moment?” asked Frans, when he’d got off. “Aunt Wilhelmina isn’t here yet, but she always leaves the back door open.”
The boy shook his head. “I have to get home on time.”
“Where are you going?” asked Frans. “To your tent in the woods, or to your house in town?”
“Into town,” replied the boy a little sadly.
“Yes, the adventure’s over,” said Frans. “But it’s been fun, don’t you think?” He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Which one were you today? Roberto or the Biker Boy?”
“I don’t know,” said the boy, shrugging his shoulders. “Just call me Rob.” He smiled briefly and added, “But Roberto works too…”
“Ah, it’s not really your name that matters,” said Frans. “Bye, then.” He watched him go – Biker Boy, Rob and Roberto – until he’d disappeared from sight. Then he thoughtfully weighed the heavy bag of books in his hand, and slowly headed inside.
The next morning, Mr Van der Steg the teacher stood at the front of his classroom as usual. Greenhair had disappeared for good, but the same couldn’t be said for Frans the Red. The teacher’s hair had gone back to the colour that Mr Thomtidom was so fond of… a proper dark red, not that carroty colour. But, Frans thought to himself, I don’t think I’ll ever tell another story with Frans the Red as the hero.
He looked at his students, his gaze resting on the boy in the front row – next to Kai, who had always sat alone… Geert-Jan Grisenstein! Maybe, he thought, there are other stories to be told – the treasure of the House of Stairs had given him the idea: stories about Gregorius the Mad, and about Sir Grimbold, who had been to the Land of Torelore…
But it was Monday morning now, and the timetable said there was work to do. Mr Van der Steg turned to the board; he didn’t write any sums on it though, but drew a flag, a fluttering flag with a long green pennant. And he said, “Yesterday someone in the class had a birthday. You all know who. Let’s sing a birthday song for Geert-Jan Grisenstein.”
When the song was finished, Marian put her hand up. “Sir,” she asked, “could we sing another song? The Song of Seven?”
Frans smiled. “Fine,” he said. “Just once and that’s all.”
A little worried, he added, “And please sing it quietly, very quietly indeed!”
Their eyes gleaming, the children began their song. They did as they were told and chanted the words quietly, almost mysteriously:
Do you know the Seven, the Seven,
Do you know the Seven Ways?
People say that I can’t dance,
But I can dance like the King of France.
THIS IS ONE
THIS IS TWO
THIS IS THREE
THIS IS FOUR
THIS IS FIVE
THIS IS SIX…
But then they couldn’t hold it back any longer, and they ended with a resounding note, a triumphant yell and a thunderous stamping of feet – so that the walls shuddered, the windows rattled and a cry shook the whole school:
THIS IS SEVEN!
Yes, that was seven, and now the story’s done.
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About the Author
br /> TONKE DRAGT writes and illustrates books of adventure, fantasy and fairy tales. She was born in 1930 in Jakarta. When she was twelve, she was imprisoned in a Japanese camp, where she wrote her very first book, using begged and borrowed paper. After the war, she moved to the Netherlands with her family, and eventually became an art teacher. She published her first book in 1961, and a year later this was followed by her most famous story, The Letter for the King, which won the Children’s Book of the Year Award and has been translated into sixteen languages. She was awarded the State Prize for Youth Literature in 1976 and was knighted in 2001. Pushkin also publishes The Letter for the King and the sequel, The Secrets of the Wild Wood.
LAURA WATKINSON studied medieval and modern languages at Oxford, and taught English around the world before returning to the UK to take a Master’s in English and Applied Linguistics and a postgraduate certificate in literary translation. She is now a full-time translator from Dutch, Italian and German, and has also translated Dragt’s The Letter for the King and The Secrets of the Wild Wood for Pushkin. She lives in Amsterdam.
Copyright
Pushkin Children’s Books
71–75 Shelton Street,
London WC2H 9JQ
The Song of Seven first published in Dutch as De Zevensprong
© 1967, De Zevensprong by Tonke Dragt, Uitgeverij Leopold, Amsterdam
© illustrations Tonke Dragt
English language translation © 2016 Laura Watkinson
First published by Pushkin Children’s Books in 2016
The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Dutch Foundation for Literature
ISBN 978 1 782691 33 4
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from Pushkin Press.
www.pushkinpress.com
Tonke Dragt, The Song of Seven
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