by Ryder, H
“Field work,” he goes on to remind us, “Isn’t just digging holes in fields you know.” He takes off his spectacles and cleans them naturally. “You have to get good at navigating many different terrains with a trowel, not just holes in the ground. I’ve climbed a cave like this in Egypt.” He points at us reproachfully with his glasses. He sounds so matter of fact that we all laugh, and he fails to see why. And that my friends, my brain is concluding, is why we shouldn't take people at face value.
“Can I suggest?” Stan begins in military fashion, “we have a poke around here, take some family shots, camp for the night, have we got plenty of food and water Tharie?”
“To last another two days at least.” I answer emphatically, what was he thinking? I did the food packing.
“Peanut butter again?” From Liza with a wink.
“When we're home”, I shake my head, “you won’t ever have to eat it again, but it’s full of good stuff for itinerant explorers.” Nuts are, so Vogue tells me, a 'power-food'. I'm still not sure what that means but the tone was a positive one, so eat it copiously I do.
“Then, that's settled,” Stan continues, we are all more than happy someone is taking charge. “We sleep here under the stars, and make our way top-side first thing in the morning, and never have to eat a peanut butter sandwich ever again.” He looks at me playfully, I fake my best hurt look.
“Let’s get the kettle on, anyone got matches?” I ask.
Chapter twenty-nine, Saturday:2ndnovember2013, discovery (not the Landrover kind).
We set camp as before, but this time I’m not restless and prepared to claw my way through solid rock to escape. I can see the sky and taste the fresh cold air. The sun is angled so the final rays are creeping in our skylight, soon it will be dark, but I’ll still know the sky is there, I feel so happy. A signal? There must be a tower somewhere out there.
TC: “I can see Centaurus and Libra.” it’s quite beautiful.
EC: “Of course you can, this time of year, you’ll get a great view of the sky” she reads an awful lot about many things. And she beats everyone at scrabble and trivial pursuit.
TC: “Dad would have loved it here” I miss him.
EC: “I miss him too” I know you do Mum.
TC: “See you soon” I want to hug my Mum.
We're all incredibly tired and hungry and I begin preparing dinner. Whilst everyone is exploring the cavern and looking at the map and drawings again the Professor has spread on the floor, its corners kept flat with orange rocks at each end, I decide to break up the packing crate to make firewood. I have matches now, and I am determined to honour my Brownie survival badge, by cooking a lovely meal outdoors under the stars. A meal tasty enough to get a camp-fire meal badge from Brown Owl. I'm goal orientated, and need recognition for my successes.
The crate itself sits on a high dry ledge away from the direct spray of the water. It's been here for years and the consecutive atmosphere of direct heat through the opening in the roof combined with the dampness from the spray in the air has aged it further. The nails are contracted, fragile and rusty. It’s bowed and the joints are no longer aligned tightly, but dry nonetheless, a thin coating of lichen has grown on its surface and died, and the structure of the wood is now quite fragile. I begin breaking off the lid with just my fingers. It has metal straps holding the planks together but I can slide them away easily enough as the wood has contracted and the old planks are sitting loose now in their bindings. Just a hard knock with a nearby rock breaks the nails off finally, and I’m in. One by one I slide the wood out piling the individual planks beside me on the ground. Twelve planks in all I count, though I’m not sure why. I peer in hoping to find some useful equipment that could assist us in our morning climb out of here.
But what I see is something else entirely.
In the base of the crate, sits an object wrapped in a rough natural hessian cover and tied elegantly with intricately knotted and tied packing string. About the size of a car battery but deeper by a couple of inches. This hasn’t been done hastily, or carelessly, but meticulously, taking a great deal of time and with great care. The configuration of a complex series of knots in the string suggest to me this person responsible had lots time, and showed a great respect for its contents. I lean in and gently lift the item out placing it very gently on the floor, it’s quite heavy. I have made a raft of the planks as a base sitting on the hard rock, and reverently I sit it centrally, and carefully down.
Cross-legged I sit beside the object, I study the knots and ties and take lots of photos on my phone, Daniel notices the flash going off as he is nearest and comes over. “What have you got there?” He asks casually until he actually looks properly at the thing I’m staring at. He gasps, “Was that in the crate?”
“Yes, I was dismantling it to make a fire, but dinner will have to wait. This was in the bottom, I was just about to unwrap it.”
Daniel just nods and sits beside me. “My Dad used to wrap packages like that,” he crosses his legs on the hard ground. “He always said unwrapping the mystery should be as entertaining as having solved it.”
I look at him, so beautiful in the dimming light. “I love you.” I say without thinking, but I couldn't stop myself in time, bloody brain.
“I know.” is all he says, still staring at the 'thing'.
“Open it,” we hear from behind us, “this is what we came for isn't it?” Says Stan, he has Kurt at his side, and he pats his back like a member of the family.
“Do it.” Says Kurt in anticipation, “Dad's knots eh Danny?” Shaking his head, he does that a lot I notice.
“Another message?” I have been planning how I open this since I saw it, and to preserve the knots and keep it intact for sentimentalities sake, I decide a sharp knife is the way to go. Just to be clear at this point, I am not sentimental, but others may be. I pull my trusty hoof-knife from the concealed pocket in my boot, my riding bookmaker had stitched in for me. “Tharie?” This from Daniel, “a knife?” He asks, but doesn’t stay surprised for long, he’s getting the hang of it, I’m proud of him.
“Perfectly good for pruning, and cutting baling string, but what you need is a real knife.” And we all turn as we hear a metal object being unsheathed from a holster, and a glint of blade in the perfect parody of Crocodile Dundee. “Here.” Stan passes me a 12inch long knife, I smile sweetly, a very sharp steel blade, with a fine serrated edge along one gently curved edge.
“A hero.” I say
“Be prepared, I say.” answered Stan
“That's the Brownie motto.” I scold jokingly. “Do the special forces steal mantras and mottos from little girls now?” I respond laughing.
“What do you think happens to some of those little girls?” He giggles. “They join the special forces!” His smile is uncommon that’s why I notice it. It's dark and all six spectators join torch forces to illuminate my project on the ground. I want to warn them not to cross the beams but decide now's not the time for an 80's film pastiche, it’s hard though, so obvious... Liza and the Professor have joined us too. Interested in the elaborate contrivance that is the wrapping process.
I begin cutting away the string, its tension is still tight and easy to cut, and it is quick work. I peel the strands carefully from around the jute and hand the string to Daniel and he looks at it lovingly, memories of his Dad must be flooding his brain. The Professor pushes his spectacles back on his nose in interest and reaches for the string, “may I?” Released from the spell Daniel hands the net of knotted twine back to Nigel, and Nigel skulks away with his torch like a cat that's caught a shrew, and wants to give it his full attention.
I slowly unfold the hessian, its rough still in my hands and has been wrapped with masterful hospital corners, and folded back on itself to keep sections in place which would make the wrapper at Tiffany’s seem sloppy in comparison. A sharp inhalation of air from everyone as the object is revealed.
“Your Dad Daniel, he found the box.” My hands are in my lap, I am
transfixed by the intricate craftsmanship of the carvings made into the black wood with delicately carved metal inlays. Creatures real and mythical of the sea, carved waves and birds and a sailing ship. The box is really quite beautiful. Atop the mast sits an eagle, resting with its wings by its side, a fish in its talon. It’s a quite astounding object, I’m enjoying looking at it, it would not look out of place in Daniels own personal collection, in fact there are some shapes and forms about it that link in my mind, and belong alongside those collected objects in his home.
“Open it.” Daniel whispers to me, kissing me sweetly on my face, and aware he sounded too bossy adds, “please.” He changes tone to one more suitably tender and less dominant, “open it.”
That’s better. The top isn’t hinged, and its lid is thick and heavy, but it lifts off with some wiggling, and manoeuvring. It hasn't been touched by any damp, the crate protected it. Inside there is a roll of paper, still dry, with more string wrapped and knotted, and holding the string in place an off-white wax seal, with the eagle and ship logo embossed on the surface, it looks like a fancy graduation certificate. I slide the roll out into my hand and pass the string back as before.
“A note.” As I hold the fragile paper in my hand, “it's a note, one very old on a parchment written in ink, with some of Daniels symbols and graphics inked around the edges, it's English but old, 1593 it says at the bottom, I can read most of it.”
“Really?” This from Kurt
Nigel huffs, “remember we had Shakespeare by then Kurt.” He cleans his glasses again, mumbling under his breath not quite quiet enough, “...and here I am, suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...!”
...”or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them...” to myself. True story. Anyway...”and reads something like:
“To my last breath I will tell a tale, I alone survived with my second mate. All hands lost, all I have is my reputation and the will to hide the idol.”
I look up at the staring faces looking down on me, waiting for the story to unfold.
“I have fallen with sickness, and will not live long, but maps exist and those I leave to you here.”
“Only a worthy translator will be rewarded, with a strong will, a handful of the prize will be within your grasp”
“There's a part I can't read, then it goes on”:
“Word has been sent to a trusted old friend, a spice trader.”
“Be helped with good advice” much luck E. Pearse 1593.”
I look at Daniel, his breathing is shallow and face pale.
I continue. “The second note, is written on much newer paper, good quality,” and as I hold it up to the torchlight to see to read it, we all see it has an eagle and ship watermark.
“My Dad's handwriting, Tharie, tell me what it says please.”
Kurt lays a hand on Daniels shoulder, “can you believe this Danny?” All he gets for his question, rhetorical or no, is a head-shake in response, must be a family thing.
I return my focus to the words. “My beloved sons, I will journey into obscurity if I can escape from here. To avoid any link with my beloved family and this matter, the idol remains lost and it's too dangerous to return home for fear those who search for it might come to you. I have tried to find it, but suspect my directions are either a miscalculation or some important clue is missing. Sons, I have tried to protect you and your Mum, please don't get so absorbed in the search for treasure you forget what's important like I almost did. I am sick now, the water in this cave is poison, I will try again to get out.
Forgive me, your loving father, Dr GP.”
“Your Dad is Dr GP?” I’m cross for not realising it before.
Snapped out of his own train of thoughts Daniel nods, “yes, why do you ask?” He and Kurt look confused, and they've got a right to be haven't they?
“An email,” I look to the rock ceiling above hoping the exact wording is written there, sadly this is not the case and I must rely on my own memory to suffice. “I read your e-mail, I’m sorry Daniel, you had a message from Dr GP” the boys are at fully alert now, like Harry on a still morning, when a sound catches his interest.
“And?” From Stan
“It sounded like a threat Stan,” I look at Daniel, he's the one I’m most interested in, and the mail was meant for him.
“You were missing Daniel, and I would have read an invite to dinner as a promise to kill me, but it was a warning, a warning Daniel don’t you see?” Blank looks all round, deep breaths everyone.
He didn't see at all. My brain is frustrated, trying to recall the exact wording, it’ll come, I just need to reach the storage unit in my head where I keep it, now where is it? I look down at my lap.
“Let me see if I can remember exactly what it said, found it:
Dan,
Do as you promised and there won’t be a problem. I’m watching you and her, she’s not safe.
Dr.GP.
Sunday26thoctober2013”
“I promised Dad I wouldn't join his mania for finding this thing, he never knew exactly what it was he was looking for anyway, and so it was easy to convince him I wasn't interested.” Daniel says at last.
“Me too, from Kurt, so I did the next best thing and went out searching for other treasure.” Makes sense.
Looking up at Daniel, pleased I could remember everything that was written, I am good at remembering stuff.
“Shall we get the kettle on?” I ask to the universe, but the universe is busy still, and asks that I leave a message and it'll call back later.
Bloody hell.
Chapter thirty, Sunday:3rdnovember2013, discovery, the 'found' type
“But that's impossible, it can't be from Dad!” Says Kurt. “But he always signs Dr GP, Dr Graham Pearse”
“Signs?” Present tense, I thought they assume he is dead, that's interesting.
“Signed,” Kurt corrects himself, “I always do that.”
“What does it mean Daniel?” I ask quietly, looking over at him whilst I get the kettle on the fire.
“I…we all promised not to pursue this legendary treasure, many of our family have died trying, as you know.” He tells us with a disinterested far-away expression. Speaking like an automaton, bland and singularly toned. “But our ancestor had help, it seems possible that this spice trader could be related to the man who inked my body?”
“And he was trying to lead us to the treasure?” From Kurt.
“...and?” I ask impatiently, “what about the ‘she’ part, is someone watching over us Daniel.”
There’s a great heave of breath behind us, amplified by the space, but it sounds like a deflation leading to an admission, “me!” Stan finally speaks. “It is me.” We all turn to look at him in surprise, “I promised your Father I would watch you Daniel.” He looks from face to face looking for any gesture, “and you've been under surveillance for a few weeks.”
“A few weeks!” Daniel exclaims, “How?” He shakes his head as if clearing the disbelief from his ears, “since when?”
“Since Tharie.” Looking at Daniel, not me. “And I’ve been watching them watching you, to keep you both safe.” He appears frustrated but it’s likely because he couldn’t tell us anything. I forgive him.
“Why,” asks Daniel, “why now?”
Stan looks proud. Proud of doing the job he was given, and succeeded, we are all fine aren’t we? After all, we have survived. “Then something changed?” I conclude, “Anything happen recently Daniel?”
“My tattoo?” He's right, it is that reason alone we are all here now, isn't it? Now, I’m not sure.
“No Daniel” I tell him shaking my head slowly, trying to work it out, “your tattoo was a consequence of the something happening.” I am certain I’m right, my instincts tell me. Stan is shaking his head, he knows something, my instincts turn out to be right about that too.
He looks at Daniel. “You met someone that changed everything.” Stan looks taller than I remember, imposing
even, a real protector, I can see it now.
“And how has this someone changed everything?” Daniel asks looking directly at me, into my eyes and not leaving my stare. Staring back at him, I know don't I? Yes. It's me. We know, but we say nothing, stand perfectly still, like a theatre piece, waiting for the curtain to fall. And someone to appear with a lighted little tray full of ice creams.
I'd prefer tea please.
“It’s Tharie, Daniel.” He breaths a long breath, “she is the new person in your life.” Stan tells us. He’s been watching after us all along, and somehow I am not at all surprised, somehow I knew. Liza has her hand over her mouth, nodding, somehow all this makes sense to her too.
“Me? What has this to do with me, I’m a denim designer!” I cry, but something in my neural network tells me I am the missing link. It’s my abilities, my odd brain, its mechanisms are unique and my talents well documented by Dr Shrink. I don’t know how it works, it just does.
“Because,” Stan continues patiently and soothingly, “Tharie has a very rare gift, maybe even unique, her brain makes connections nobody else can.” I stand suddenly wishing I wasn't hearing this all over again. “Her mind can visualise complexities and map ideas like no one alive today.” My temples begin to throb, something's happening up there. “She sees a pattern, where we just see chaos, it's a gift.”
“And a curse!” I say rubbing my forehead as another headache blossoms inside my skull, beginning to throb to a drumbeat, its Nitzer Ebb, this is going to hurt. “Will someone pass me my flask please?” That'll help.
“Hip or tea?” Kurt asks gently.
“Tea.”
“Tharie is the person who threads strings of random thoughts together to form a tangible idea, she will find the key to all this, I’m certain of it.” He look at our faces one after the other,“ and the dangers we have all been feeling, in the background, watching us from a distance, breathing down our necks, means other parties believe she will too.”