History Keepers: Nightship to China by Dibben Damian

sip of coffee. ‘Thank God our wedding never took place – thank
God
!’ she thundered. ‘You’re a brute. Not to mention a parsimonious, petty-minded—’
    ‘Resort to shouting, Rosalind, to hurling insults, like you always do. So incredibly grown up.’
    ‘Don’t call me Rosalind. I hate that name. I’ve always hated it! You have no right to call me by that name.’
    ‘Stop!’ Jake yelled suddenly, thumping the table. ‘
What
facts, Mr Cole? Is my brother alive?’
    The room was silent. Rose fell back in her chair, embarrassed by her outburst. Even Jupitus looked guilty.
    ‘I’m sorry, Commander,’ Jake went on quietly.
    ‘That’s all right,’ she replied. ‘You are quite within your rights. This is harder for you than anyone.’ She turned and looked at Jupitus, adding sharply, ‘Some people around this table should remember that. I have seen more decorum in a circus!’ She waited a moment for her anger to subside. ‘Jake has quite rightly asked for facts. On this score, it seems that there may be one in particular. This sheet was the last in Caspar’s file.’
    Galliana now took a piece of paper from the very back of the portfolio – this one much newer and stiffer than the rest – and set it down on the table in front of Jake. ‘Is this in any way familiar to you?’
    His eyes went wide as he looked at it. There were two hand-drawn diagrams of guns – one small, one large, both shown from various angles – along with studies of how each mechanism worked. They were covered in detailed notes in tiny writing.
    Every eye in the room was on Jake as he reached out and touched the paper. Philip used to love sketching intriguing things: machines, ships, artillery . . . When he was just ten, he had come across a book of Leonardo da Vinci’s inventions. At first he had copied Leonardo – even writing his notes back to front – but soon he developed his own distinctive style. These two weapons, one a slim revolver, the other a sturdy bazooka (or
flame thrower
, as the writing under the lower diagram called it), were depicted in intricate detail, both taking the fantastical shape of a golden dragon, the head and mouth serving as the barrel.
    ‘Is the writing familiar?’ Galliana asked again. Jake nodded. ‘I recognized it too,’ she said softly, before turning to the other History Keepers. ‘We believe that these sketches –
blueprints
, as we assume they are – were drawn by Philip Djones. There is an embossed seal at the top of the page: the symbol of an octopus.’
    Topaz, Nathan, Charlie and Rose all sat, frozen, their eyes trained on Jake.
    Galliana carried on: ‘Dr Chatterju has spent the night examining the diagram, testing its age.’
    ‘It’s not an exact science,’ the doctor chimed in, half standing, ‘but ink, once exposed to air, changes its properties over time. It depletes. I use a chemical compound to see roughly how
dry
it has become.’
    There was silence for a moment, then Rose asked: ‘And how dry was it, Dr Chatterju?’
    He looked at Galliana, who nodded back at him. ‘I would guess that this drawing dates from just over a year ago.’
    There was a collective intake of breath. As this news sank in, Jake’s bottom lip started to tremble. He was on the brink of tears, but he did not cry. Galliana squeezed his shoulder even tighter.
    ‘Just over a year ago?’ he asked.
    ‘That is our guess.’
    Silence again.
    ‘But it was just over a year ago that Caspar claimed Philip was probably dead.’
    ‘This is a shock, I know,’ Galliana resumed, deadly serious, ‘but we need to get to the bottom of it. For the time being, let us not assume the worst. Let us, for now, be thankful that we have a lead at all.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So . . . to the operation at hand: I will be sending a team of the following agents to London, 1612: Topaz St Honoré, Nathan Wylder’ – she paused for a second before uttering the third name – ‘and Jake Djones. Topaz will be in