Buried Crown

by Ally Sherrick

  He recognized the turning as it came into view. Spud did too and gave a low whine.

  George threw the dog a nervous glance. It was enemy territory for the pair of them. But he could tell from the look on Kitty’s face that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  ‘It’ll be all right, Spud. I promise.’ He patted his head. ‘Here, I’ll take him.’ He took the lead from Kitty and set off up the road.

  Keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of Jarvis, he led them up the hill to the crossroads, then down the track where he’d seen the poacher head into the woods. As he reached the spot, a chill breeze ruffled his hair. He frowned and glanced about him.

  Kitty pulled up next to him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’ George shook his head and pointed to the bank. ‘He was up there when the bird attacked him. Then he disappeared off into the trees.’

  Kitty’s eyes widened. ‘Back to his camp.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe. Or maybe he was just trying to get away from the thing.’ His skin prickled. He knew what that felt like all right.

  She peered into the shadows. ‘Well, there is only one way to find out.’ She planted her right foot on the bank and began to climb.

  Heaving a sigh, George wrapped his hand round Spud’s lead and clambered after her.

  When she reached the top she gave a small cry. ‘There is a path. Look!’

  He scrambled up to join her. A thin trail snaked ahead of them into the gloom.

  Kitty made to leap forwards, but George pulled her back. ‘Me and Spud’ll go first. If anyone can sniff out danger, it’s him.’ He pushed past her and set off along the trail.

  The further in they went, the closer the trees grew and the darker and more stifling it became. They’d been going ten minutes, maybe more, when Spud pulled up short and sniffed the air.

  ‘What is it, boy?’ George squatted down next to him and followed his gaze. There was a break in the trees away to their left, and beyond it what looked like a small clearing. He turned and pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Wait here.’

  Kitty nodded.

  George grabbed Spud by the collar and set off, keeping low and threading his way in between the trees. When he reached the edge of the clearing, he dropped down behind a fallen log and peered cautiously over the top of it.

  A large swathe of mossy grass stretched in front of him, fringed on all sides by trees and prickle-leaved bushes. In the centre was a small mound of charred sticks and branches, the remains of a half-cooked rabbit suspended across them from a makeshift spit. But there was no one about, leastways not as far as he could see.

  He turned to give Kitty the all-clear, then started. ‘Gorr! What d’you mean creeping up on me like that?’

  ‘His camp! I told you so.’ Kitty shot him a triumphant look and slid past him.

  ‘Wait!’ He snatched at her skirts. ‘Where’re you going?’

  ‘To investigate.’

  ‘But what if someone comes?’

  ‘Spud will be our guard dog, won’t you, boy?’ She ruffled Spud’s ears, then stepped out into the open.

  Giving another quick check around him, George drew in a breath and darted after her. As they crept past the campfire, his foot struck an ash-covered lump. He turned it over with the toe of his boot. A half-cooked potato. And another.

  He looked up and frowned. Where had Kitty got to now? Then he spotted her. She was standing in front of a sagging green tent pitched in the shadow of an ancient-looking tree.

  Beckoning him over, she lifted the tent flap and disappeared inside.

  He held back for a moment, then followed. As he dipped in alongside her, his nose wrinkled at the smell of mouldy canvas and rotting leaves.

  ‘He has been sleeping here.’ Kitty pointed to the low camp bed lying against the back wall. An upturned crate stood next to it, a candle stub and a cut-throat razor on top of it.

  George was about to pick up the razor when Spud gave a sudden yip and pushed past him into the gap beneath the bed.

  ‘Come here, boy.’ George bent down and tried to drag him back out, but the dog wouldn’t budge.

  Kitty crouched down and peered into the shadows. ‘I think he has found something!’ She slid on to her stomach and crawled in after him. A few moments later she reappeared, dragging a dusty sack behind her. She scrambled to her feet and shook it up and down. ‘There is something inside.’ She fumbled at the knot. ‘Ach! I cannot undo it.’

  ‘Give it here.’ George snatched it from her and worked it loose.

  Kitty’s eyes shone back at him in the gloom. ‘We should take it outside.’

  ‘Wait.’ Thrusting the sack back at her, he lifted the tent flap and took a quick look about him. ‘All right. All clear.’ He ducked out into the daylight, Kitty and Spud following close behind.

  He gestured at the sack. ‘Open it then.’

  Kitty took a deep breath and slid her hand inside. As she pulled the object clear, George frowned. It was filthy dirty, covered in a crust of brown sand studded with stones. The shape of it reminded him of a pastry-cutter; the sort his mum used to make jam tarts with, except bigger. Much bigger, and with a sticky-out bit poking up from the rim.

  ‘It looks like a bit of old junk to me.’

  Kitty sighed. ‘That is because you have no imagination.’ She lifted it up and gasped.

  ‘What?’ He drew in closer to get a better look. And then, as she tilted it to the light, he saw it too: a flash of gold-coloured metal.

  ‘King Redwald’s crown. It must be!’ Kitty’s voice quavered. ‘That man is a treasure thief.’

  ‘Let me see.’ As George’s fingers closed round the object, something sharp spiked his skin. He cried out and let go, shoving his hand under his armpit.

  ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘The ruddy thing cut me!’

  ‘Show me.’ Kitty tugged his hand free and forced open his fingers.

  A crescent-shaped cut, about two inches long, arced across the centre of his palm. As they stared down at it, a line of fresh blood leaked out and spread across the surrounding skin.

  Kitty clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘It needs a bandage. Here.’ Reaching in her dress pocket, she pulled out a handkerchief and tied it across his palm. ‘This will do for now. We can clean it when—’ Her voice tailed away suddenly.

  George looked up, following her gaze. A large bird was circling above the clearing, its wing feathers splayed like two sets of great black blades. A cold worm of fear slid across his chest.

  Kitty frowned. ‘You said there was a bird before.’

  He was about to reply when a low growl sounded behind them. He whipped round. Spud had sunk into a crouch, hackles raised, eyes fixed on the trees behind them.

  Holding his breath, George scanned the shadows. And then he heard it too. A distant sound of feet crunching through leaves. ‘Someone’s coming.’ He snatched up Spud’s lead.

  ‘Wait!’ Kitty bundled the object back into the sack. ‘We must take this to Opa.’

  The crunching sound grew louder . . .

  George seized Kitty by the hand and dragged her across the clearing, Spud bringing up the rear. They were nearly at the trees, when a cry went up behind them.

  Kitty made to turn, but George shoved her forwards. ‘Don’t look! Run!’

  As they tore off into the gloom, he ignored his own advice and shot a quick glance back, hoping against hope the man wasn’t following. But he was, and gaining on them too. It was the poacher all right. He’d recognize that hollow-cheeked face anywhere.

  ‘Faster!’

  Kitty jumped and put on a fresh spurt of speed.

  The three of them zigzagged between the tree trunks doing their best to lose their pursuer, but he kept on coming, drawing closer all the while.

  It was when George looked back a second time, he saw he had a gun. A spurt of sick shot up his throat. Gulping it down, he ploughed on after Kitty, Spud panting at his side.

  At last the bank came int
o view. Racing towards it, they launched themselves down it and hared off along the track, arms and legs pumping.

  But still the poacher came.

  As they reached the crossroads and turned out on to the main road, a sharp stab of pain ripped along George’s ribs. He staggered on, clutching his stomach, but it was no use. The pain was tearing him in half. He had to stop. He groaned and slumped to his knees.

  Kitty skidded to a halt and called back to him. ‘George! Get up!’

  ‘I can’t. Go! ’

  She wavered. ‘But—’

  ‘I said go!’

  ‘No. I am not leaving you.’ She jutted out her chin and marched back up the road towards him.

  He gave another groan.

  The poacher’s boots came crunching closer. Any moment now he’d round the bend and find them and it would all be over. George sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.

  A sudden rumbling noise echoed in his ears. He lifted up his head and twisted round.

  An army truck was rattling up the hill towards them, sending up clouds of dust as it came. As it reached them it creaked to a halt. A man thrust his head out of the passenger window.

  ‘Hello again.’

  It was the soldier George had sat next to in the back of the truck yesterday.

  The man glanced at Kitty, then back at George and frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’

  George got to his feet and gulped in another breath. ‘There . . . there was a man. He was following us.’

  The soldier shaded his eyes. ‘I can’t see anyone.’

  George turned to look. He was right; the road behind them was empty.

  Kitty pushed in front of George, chest heaving. ‘He . . . he is telling the truth, sir, I swear it!’

  ‘And he had a gun too.’

  Kitty spun back to look at George, eyes wide with fear. ‘Did he? I did not see . . .’

  He nodded, his mouth drying again at the thought.

  ‘A gun, you say? So why was he after you?’

  Kitty shoved the sack behind her back. ‘He is a poacher. He has a camp back there in the woods.’

  ‘A poacher, eh? Well, I’m afraid we don’t have the time to go chasing off after the likes of him now. Not with Hitler and his Nazis on the warpath. You’d best get home both of you, before your parents start to worry.’

  ‘But you don’t understand, mister—’

  ‘Sorry, son. Like I said, we’ve got more important jobs to be doing.’ The soldier banged the door with the flat of his hand. ‘Let’s get going, Fred. Those sandbags aren’t going to shift themselves.’ The engine started up again and the truck jolted away up the road.

  ‘Why did they not listen to us?’

  George shrugged. ‘Too worried about sandbags from the sounds of it.’ He jerked his head at the sack. ‘Why didn’t you tell them about that? If it is old Redwald’s crown, then like you said, it makes the poacher a thief too.’

  Kitty hugged it against her. ‘I told you. It is better that we take it to Opa. He will know what to do.’

  ‘If you say so.’ George glanced at the sack and frowned. One thing was sure, whatever the thing inside it was, the poacher had been desperate to get it back. He threw another look over his shoulder. There was still no sign of the man, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there somewhere, watching them from a distance. He shivered. The soldier was right. The sooner they got back indoors, the better.

  As they reached the front door, George pulled up short. What if the man at the airbase had been wrong and news of Charlie had come in while they were out? He gazed up at the windows with a growing sense of dread.

  Kitty scooted past him up the steps. She pushed open the door and glanced back at him. ‘Are you coming?’

  Steeling himself, he followed her in. They were halfway up the stairs when a worried-sounding voice called down to them.

  ‘Is that you, Kitty?’ The familiar figure of Ernst Regenbogen limped into view.

  Kitty lifted the sack and beamed up at him. ‘Wait until you see what we have found, Opa.’ She darted up the last few stairs and dashed past him into the study, Spud skipping along at her side.

  George trudged after her, eyes fixed firmly on his boots.

  When he got to the top of the stairs, the old man reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Still no news about your brother, I am afraid.’

  George’s heart fluttered against his ribs. No news was better than bad news. That’s what Mum used to say. But when she and Dad never came back that day, it’d turned out no news was the worst sort of all.

  ‘What did you do to your hand?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He shoved it into his pocket. ‘It’s just a scratch.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, we must make sure and clean it. But first let us go inside and the pair of you can tell me what all the excitement is about.’

  George frowned. Kitty might be excited, but that wasn’t how he felt. Keeping his head down, he plodded into the study.

  Kitty stood at the desk, her hand resting on top of the sack. She looked up when they came in, her mouth curving into a mysterious smile. ‘Ready, Opa?’

  The old man gave a puzzled nod.

  She slid the object free. ‘Here.’ She drew in a breath and offered it up to him, hands trembling.

  Taking it from her, he shuffled to the window and held it out in front of him. As the patch of exposed metal caught the light, his eyes widened into two blue ‘O’s.

  ‘Ist es wirklich wahr?’

  Kitty flew to his side and clutched his arm with both hands. ‘Yes, Opa. It is true! It is the king’s crown, I am sure of it!’

  ‘Calm yourself, child. We must not go jumping to conclusions.’ He set the object down carefully on top of the desk. ‘Now, tell me.’ He fixed her with a sharp-eyed gaze. ‘Where did you find it?’

  She drew in another breath and told him everything. About their trip to the dig site and the fresh holes around the tree. Then about the poacher; how they’d gone in search of his camp and found the sack stashed away in his tent, though George noticed she stopped short of telling him about the gun.

  When she had finished, Ernst Regenbogen took a deep breath. ‘We will have to tell the police, of course.’

  ‘Yes, Opa, but not until you have had a chance to study it properly.’

  The old man’s forehead furrowed. ‘You are right, Liebling. We must be sure of what we have here first. Will you fetch me my cleaning tools please?’ He pulled out the chair and sat down at the desk.

  George heaved a sigh of relief. That was a close shave. The last thing he needed was for the coppers to come calling and start asking a bunch of awkward questions.

  ‘Yes, Opa!’ Kitty scurried over to one of the bookshelves, opened a drawer beneath it and pulled out a worn leather bag. She darted back and set it down in front of him.

  ‘Thank you.’ Ernst Regenbogen undid the catch, reached inside and pulled out, in turn, an assortment of brushes, a thin-bladed knife and a small trowel. ‘Now.’ He glanced down at his watch and back up at them. ‘It is past four o’clock. You must be hungry. You should go and find something to eat. And make sure you clean that cut properly too, George. We do not want it getting infected.’

  Kitty pouted. ‘But—’

  Ernst shot her a stern look. ‘Do as I say. It is delicate work and I must go slowly, so you will not be missing much.’ He picked up the knife and fixed his gaze back on the object. ‘Where to start?’ He ran a finger across the piece of metal sticking up from the rim. ‘Here, I think.’

  Kitty’s shoulders drooped. She turned and stomped towards the door. George threw a final look at the object and trailed out after her, tugging Spud behind him.

  She marched into the kitchen, took a bowl from the cupboard and filled it with water. ‘For Spud.’ She shoved it at him.

  ‘Thanks.’ He set it on the ground and watched as the dog drank from it noisily.

  Kitty nodded at the handkerchief on his right hand. ‘You should do as Opa says.
’

  George pulled off the handkerchief and ran his palm under the tap, washing the dried blood and dirt away. He frowned. ‘That’s odd.’ He held his hand up to the light. The cut appeared to have healed, leaving nothing more than a faint, purplish scar.

  Kitty followed his gaze. ‘Perhaps it was not as bad as it looked.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’ He curled his fingers over it and glanced up at her. ‘Look, I know you want that thing we found to be the king’s crown. And your granddad does too, but what if it ain’t?’

  ‘It will be.’ Kitty pursed her lips. Reaching for a knife, she turned her back on him and busied herself with cutting and buttering the bread and making the tea.

  George puffed out a breath. ‘Come on, Spud. Looks like we’re not wanted here.’ He plodded out on to the landing and back into the study.

  Ernst Regenbogen sat hunched over the object on the desk. He was so busy brushing and scraping that he didn’t even hear the pair of them come in. George slunk over to the sofa, dropped down on it and closed his eyes. In spite of the old man’s scratchings and brushings, he was so tired it didn’t take long for him to drift into sleep.

  ‘George! Wake up!’ A hand gripped his wrist, shaking him awake.

  He blinked and sat up with a jolt. ‘Wh-what is it?’

  Kitty’s eyes gleamed back at him. ‘Come and see!’ Pulling him to his feet, she steered him past where Spud lay fast asleep on the rug, and over to the desk.

  Ernst Regenbogen looked up as they approached, his face lit up by a broad smile. ‘I have been busy while you have been napping.’ He drew back in his chair and held out his hands.

  The object rested on the desk in front of him, its surface now cleaned of the layers of mud and grit. It was a crown all right, its gold-coloured surface covered in the same twisting patterns George had seen on the photograph of the belt buckle, except even more beautiful. His jaw dropped.

  Kitty nudged him. ‘See! I told you! And look, there is a dragon too. Can you see it?’

  He frowned. ‘I dunno, I—’

  She pushed in alongside him. ‘Let me show you. It is here on the front of the crest.’ She snatched up the knife and hovered the blade over the piece of metal sticking up above the rim. ‘This is its body, look. And here are its head and jaws.’ As she spoke, she traced the tip of the knife along the snaking curve of metal up to what looked like a bird’s beak lined with sharp, triangle-shaped teeth. ‘And these are its eyes.’ She turned the crest towards the light. Two small ruby-red stones glinted back at George. ‘They are garnets, the same as the dragon on the king’s shield.’