by Gill Jepson
They looked at the familiar symbols and drawings and recognised the writing style.
“I need to tell you what I do know of the treasure,” began Mason. “A monk was entrusted with a great treasure by the abbot, chosen for his honesty, devotion and bravery. He was warned of the dangers surrounding this great treasure, of people tempted to steal the treasure and use it for gain, for evil. He left clues to help those who would protect it and made hiding places to keep it safe. Look at this one copied from the great Coucher Book,” he leafed through the book until he found Latin verses which the children had not understood.
“Stella parens Solis John Stell rege munere Prolis.”
It means, O star, mother of the sun, direct the favour of your son to John Stell.”
“What does that mean?” asked Danny.
“It is drawing your attention to his name Stell; Stella is a play on words and means star. The rest is just asking for divine protection!”
He was entrusted with a companion, to watch the treasure and pass on his knowledge to future generations, to carry on this task. After John Stell died other monks were assigned to protect the treasure within the abbey walls. This worked well for many years, and the treasure was safe. Then the abbey itself was under threat, from the king. The last abbot hid the treasure in a place of special devising and left clues to guide those in the future. He became the vicar of Dalton and he was under great pressure to reveal its whereabouts.”
“The monk in the museum… is our monk… the one we saw today? John Stell?”
“Yes!”
“Well, who was the companion then?”
“Robert the Mason he was named,” answered Mr Mason.
“Robert the Mason… Robert… Mason… that’s the same name as…”
“He was my ancestor. He worked in the abbey, as a mason, and each generation passed on the task. Until mine, I’m afraid…” he tailed off sadly.
His sister patted him on the knee, shaking her head. He put his hand on hers and patted it in acknowledgement.
“My sister and I each waited for the blessing of children. It was not to be and unfortunately our line was doomed to end. Of course this was important; because the task has always been passed to the eldest of our family, so we faced a dilemma… we had to find someone to take on the responsibility. Our time was limited, but we had new hope when we found George… a boy of good and honest character, but then illness stopped his quest and we were trapped. Trapped in time, until he could complete the task or pass it on.”
“What do you mean? Trapped in time?” asked Danny.
“We are held here, between two worlds until the treasure is safe and its guardianship is assured. It is an object of great power. Those who possess it can move through time and in the wrong hands great evil can be wrought. Its discovery is imperative and because there is no guardian there is a rift in time itself… trapping us and allowing them to manipulate it and carry on different existences.”
“So, you’re like George… you’re from the past!”
“Yes. Our time is over, but we cannot leave or pass on until our job is finished.”
It became even more important to succeed now that they knew that Mr Mason’s future was also at stake.
“Isn’t it awful, being stuck?” asked Rebecca.
“No, dear,” reassured Mrs Rogers, “We just carry on our normal lives, but sometimes we are here and sometimes we are in our own place.”
“Where does Mr Steele fit in?” asked Danny
“He craves the treasure and has persuaded himself that it belongs to him.”
“Why? It can’t be his, if it belonged to the abbey.”
“He believes because his ancestor too, was entrusted to this task that he has more right to it than anyone else.”
“Who’s his ancestor then?” asked Megan perplexed.
“I know… it’s easy… think of his name… Steele…” Danny looked on eagerly, waiting for them to catch up.
“Steele… oh not… it can’t be… Stell? Can it?” said Rebecca in disbelief.
“John Stell’s family always had close connections with the abbey. By Henry VIII’s time, those outside the abbey were greedy and tried to take what they could for themselves. Steele was one who has been searching for many years. Your time brings out the worst in people and honour, truth and duty mean little. Selfishness and greed has helped him to become stronger and he came close to finding the treasure in George’s time.”
The children were surprised at this revelation, it made him seem even more sinister, knowing that he was related, however distantly, to the honest old monk. It was a bit scary too, knowing that he was able to travel in both times as easily as George.
“So what next?” asked Danny.
“You must continue to find your way. I can only guide, as can Brother John. He has no power in this time until the treasure is rediscovered.”
CHAPTER 18
TIMESLIP
Weeks passed slowly, with the same apprehension of awaiting an exam result. Danny returned to the castle often and Rebecca tried to visit Mrs Rogers, finding the cottage much changed. They assumed the cottage itself must be linked to the changes in time, just like the tunnel in the abbey – some sort of time portal.
Of George too, they had seen nothing, since he left them at the castle that day. The only indication that it had not all been a dream was the flurry of magpies which attended them whenever they moved around the countryside. Occasionally, wicked crows, rooks and ravens took the place of the magpies, silently observing their movements.
Christmas approached fast. A week before they broke up for the holidays, there was to be a Christmas festival at Dalton church. Bands and choirs joined together to celebrate and there was a special service to remember those who would not be there at Christmas. Rebecca and her family were going and she had made a tree decoration with Granddad’s name on it, to hang on the tree of remembrance.
Danny and Megan were singing in the choir and Rebecca was playing the trumpet for the school band. The night was bitterly cold, the sky cloudless and scattered with a million pinprick stars. The church windows glowed invitingly with warm, twinkling candlelight and flickering tree lights. It was enchanting and the stained glass shimmered like a myriad of jewels, filling the children’s hearts with warmth.
Inside the atmosphere was friendly, people jostling each other and greeting old friends, unmet since last Christmas. The congregation settled down and the church was dimmed, illuminated only by glittering Christmas trees of all kinds and descriptions. They ranged from traditional and bizarre to positively strange. Each tree had been dressed by different groups or societies in the community, bringing their own flavour and particular brand of Christmas.
The carols began. Even the most Scrooge like audience would not be able to resist the spirit of Christmas pervading the church. At the interval, there were mince pies, mulled wine and orange. The children waved to each other and pushed their way through the long queue to the refreshments. Eventually, they met up in the vestry. When they reached the front of the queue they stopped dead in amazement when they saw who was serving at the stall.
Mrs Rogers was there, large as life, her hazel eyes shining with amusement when she saw their surprise.
“Hello, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost!” she joked.
“We tried to come and see you, you know?” explained Rebecca.
“Oh I know that, dear. The time wasn’t right, that’s all.”
“Is it right now?” asked Danny.
“You bet it is, mate!” piped up a familiar voice. George sprang from nowhere.
“Now, don’t waste time, now you’ve got it… use it well, my dear!” instructed Mrs Rogers.
Within minutes the gang moved from the vestry into the church body again. The people were oblivious as they passed and Rebecca jumped as she almost bumped into Grandma. She was about to speak, but noticed that Grandma stared right past her.
“It’s like she’s lookin
g through me!”
“She is! You’re not there!” explained George, pausing to put a grubby hand gently on Grandma’s shoulder and squeezing it, almost affectionately. Grandma looked around quickly, as if she had heard a distant voice or seen a familiar face.
“What d’ya mean?” interrupted Danny, “Course we’re ’ere.”
“Yes! But they can’t see us… we’re between times… Mrs Rogers is here and so am I… and you’re with us… we’re in a fracture in time.”
“I don’t like the sound of that!” said Megan, her voice trembling.
“Don’t worry; it will give us the time we need. They can’t see us; it’s safer for us – like hiding between the centuries. Steele won’t know ’til it’s too late.”
“Cool!” said Danny, in admiration.
Megan still didn’t look too sure.
The church door was open, beckoning them. As they walked past the people they could not help test to see if they really were invisible. Danny pulled grotesque faces, trying to get a response.
“This must be what being a ghost is like!” mused Rebecca.
“Yes, it’s a bit odd isn’t it? You must feel quite lonely not being able to speak and be heard,” sighed Megan.
The children stopped in their tracks. Ahead of them the candle flickered and a small plume of grey smoke spiralled and hung, suspended in the air. The church fell silent and darkness enveloped them like a thick blanket. A heavy smell of incense filtered into their noses. The only illumination came from thick, yellow candles. The grey smoke grew denser and at its heart was a small orb of silver light. The light grew in intensity and the smoke took on a more solid form. A figure they had often seen in the distance materialised clearly before their eyes. They quaked despite themselves.
John Stell stood before them, as solid as any other person in the church. He was of medium height, and slightly built. His hair was shaved into a tonsure; face clean shaven and he smiled benignly at them. He was about fifty, but his face was weary and tired. His habit, more grey than white, was hooded, with a black scapular over the top. On his feet he wore soft leather boots. He smiled, “Welcome, my children. Ye must watch closely and ye will learn of our most precious treasure. Be sure that ye protect it well and take it where it will be safe again. Ye have done well to help thus far and ye will give Robert the Mason back his time and stop the evil ones gaining a powerful tool.”
The children were too shocked to speak. He stepped back into the shadow, his outline still visible. A distant rumble came from the doorway. Commotion ensued and daylight flooded into the church. They gasped in amazement. The church was empty, not only of the people, but the trees and the furnishings were gone too. It was bare. The walls were illustrated with colourful pictures of demons and angels and scenes from the scriptures. A carved rood screen stretched across the aisle, obscuring the high altar. The church had shrunk. This was the older, medieval church and not the Victorian one they all knew. Candles in wall sconces lit the church and the windows revealed medieval stained glass. The heavy wooden doors flung open.
Men strangely dressed pushed a huge stone font balanced on what looked like a large wooden sledge, with log rollers beneath. The men struggled to move the rollers forward, edging the heavy structure nearer to them. They jumped back instinctively, but were unseen. The men wore leather jerkins and hose, with leather boots. Their hair was long to the shoulder. A man dressed in a grey tunic, shorter than the monk’s, with trousers and boots below, was directing the men. They pushed and manoeuvred the heavy font into its place, beneath the big stained glass window at the back of the church.
“At least this will be safe from Holcroft and his despoilers. It will be here in this church long after old Henry is gone!” said one of the men.
The man in grey, an abbey lay brother, nodded in agreement.
“What wilt thou do Thomas Snell? Where wilt thou find work now that the abbey is gone?” asked an old man.
“I know not, some have found work as clerks and tutors and the abbot is to be vicar of Dalton. I fear there will be little left for me. My family have always put one son to the abbey and I am to be the last. Even the boys in the Cloister school will have no means to learn in the abbey. I have nothing and nowhere to go”. He looked angry as he spoke and the men all shrugged in sympathy.
The scene changed seamlessly. It reminded Danny of watching news clips on television. The men were gone and the church quiet again. The light faded and dimmed, an ethereal blue light filtering through the darkened window. The door opened and an elderly man dressed in robes, stole in quietly. In his arms he carried a large package wrapped in leather. He closed the door behind him and staggered towards the font. He knelt and dropped the parcel to the stone floor. He was obscured from their view and there was a click, followed by the sound of stone grating on stone. He looked around anxiously and moved the package from sight. The sound of stones grating on stone was heard again and he stood up. He wiped his brow and walked slowly away from the font, past the children and into the body of the church, where he fell heavily to his knees in prayer.
The door opened and the man in grey came in. The priest spun round to see who was there. Tension hung in the air like an axe waiting to fall, but the priest relaxed when he recognised the other man.
“It’s you Thomas. I was concerned. I thought you may be the King’s men, from Thomas Holcroft.”
“Holcroft’s men are lodged in the castle and are taking food and ale. They will not bother us!” he replied, walking towards Roger Pele, the abbot of Furness.
Roger Pele rose to his feet and embraced Thomas Snell warmly.
“We must repair from here to avoid their suspicions.”
“Where is the treasure my Lord Abbot?”
“That, you need not know, my son. The fewer who know, the safer the treasure will be.”
“I MUST KNOW!” interjected Snell. “My kinsman, the scrivener, John Stell helped to keep this treasure safe and now it can be of no further use to the abbey, so I lay claim to it.”
“My son!” exclaimed the abbot in horror. “The treasure can belong to no man, not even the King. You know this. You know this is why ’tis hid’ and you can gain nought from it yourself.”
“You stupid, old fool! The church you served is dead and you will be too, if the King finds you have hidden a great treasure from him. Let me have it, so that I can bargain with his man Holcroft.”
The abbot looked at Snell in disappointment, shaking his head.
“Ye will ne’er find the treasure and ye will ne’er reach Holcroft to tell him of it. The people of Dalton are loyal and will prevent you, by any means they have. Ye may seek the treasure but your greed will prevent ye from finding it.”
The children were hardly breathing. It was like watching a rerun of history. The scene began to fade and John Stell moved forwards. He smiled and spoke.
His tones were calm and steady, but his accent sounded strange to their ears.
“As you see, my relative hath betrayed my purpose. He and his children after him turned to avarice and no longer cherished what I once protected. Ye must find where ’tis hid and ye must find the key to open the place… safe keeping. God bless… from danger.” His speech faltered and became crackly like a bad recording.
With that, the monk’s image withered and vanished. At that moment the children became aware of the people milling around them again. They felt slightly dizzy and strange, but before they could collect themselves an announcement came over the microphone for performers to return to their places. They looked around for George, but he had done his usual disappearing act. They were becoming used to his comings and goings and hardly commented upon it.
CHAPTER 19
THE KEY
“We’ve gotta go to the church, we need to look round that font,” said Rebecca.
“Well, no time like the present!” said Danny.
The sky hung heavy and overcast like a mantle, blocking the sun completely, the air brittle with the c
old. They walked briskly down the lanes and tried to keep warm, their breath making little white clouds in front of them.
George was waiting by the gate at Bow Bridge. He was trussed up in a bulky looking overcoat, with a grey balaclava helmet, a scarf and knitted gloves. He still wore his customary knee length trousers, grey socks and the clogs too.
“Well, that was spooky wasn’t it?” he remarked.
“You’re not kidding!” said Danny, “X-Files stuff or what?”
“X-Files?” he asked, puzzled.
“It’s a telly… oh, never mind!”
They trudged past the cemetery and down the steep hill into Dalton. The church tower was silhouetted above the houses, spurring them to move faster. Snow began to flutter softly, flakes floating like feathers; they jumped up, catching the flakes in their hands and on their tongues. By the time they reached the square outside the castle the snow was heavy and lay like a thick, white blanket, covering the ground and lacing the bare branches of the trees like icing.
Their track past the castle left telltale footprints in the new clean snow. The noises of the town were muffled and everything had a bright, brand new look. George tried the handle of the church door. It creaked as it moved and they pushed it open. Danny closed the door behind them, “We shouldn’t take any chances!” he whispered.
They circled the font, like hungry lions around their prey, examining it for buttons and levers, but there were no clues. George touched the carvings, the abbey crest and especially the swans, but there was no indication of an opening in the stone. Megan stamped her feet to keep warm, the church was cold and still.
“Well, we aren’t finding much here, are we? Let’s go!” she moaned. “And I’m scared… let’s go!”
“Don’t be daft!” snapped Danny, “We can’t give up, can we? You’re always bloody scared, you’re a real baby!”