The Emerald Key

by Christopher Dinsdale

  “The best at what?” one of the men snorted, and they all burst into raucous laughter.

  Jamie nodded solemnly to the men, grabbed the children’s hands, and led them out of the pub. As Jamie reached for the door handle, Captain Chamberlain’s voice could be heard booming across the room.

  “Men, I tell ya, nannies don’t come any homelier than that.”

  The pub exploded into guffaws as the door slammed shut.

  From his vantage point at the bar, Jonathon Wilkes watched Jamie Galway and the children leave the raucous pub. Wilkes took a sip from his ale and wondered how Galway had managed to get that little boy out of quarantine in such quick order. He congratulated himself on not taking any chances. A less detailed man might have waited for the end of the three-week quarantine before beginning the surveillance of the Carpathia crew. His attention to detail, as always, was going to pay off in spades.

  He knew if Galway was going to track down his brother, he was eventually going to have to come here and talk to the captain of the Carpathia. Wilkes had already checked the Montreal quarantine station for the Galway lad and while playing the part of a distressed uncle, had discovered the news of Ryan Galway’s death. Without his brother, Jamie Galway would need to talk to the crew in order to track down the book. Sure enough, Galway showed up, just as planned. He didn’t know who that ginger-headed girl was with him, but it didn’t matter. By moving further down the bar and listening in, he managed to hear just enough conversation over the boisterous crowd. The boy was unknowingly going to lead him to the book and his next fortune. Since he didn’t know what the book looked like, he would need the help of the young Irish priest to find it. He threw some coins on the bar and pushed away his half-empty mug.

  “Leaving early tonight, Mr. Wilkes?” asked the bartender.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said, smiling. “I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

  Beth led them once again to St. James Street. The crowds were thin as the shops had already closed for the night. Jamie threw Colin up on his shoulders as they hurried to the address of a bookseller given to him by a passerby. Four streets later, they arrived at a tiny establishment with a store window displaying everything from popular author Charles Dickens to a new children’s story titled “The Little Mermaid” by Hans Christian Andersen. The name “Kessler Books” was written in big letters on the awning above the doorway. Jamie was surprised the door was unlocked. As they stepped through the doorway, the distinct smell of musty old books brought Jamie right back to the old Irish church libraries where he’d completed his years of study. He glanced at shelves of reading material, recognizing many of the books as classics.

  “Hello?” a deep, friendly voice called out from the backroom. “I’m sorry, we are presently closed for the night.”

  A man with wire-rimmed glasses and a thick, greying goatee shuffled out the door. His eyes were kind and curious as he inspected the young shoppers.

  “It’s a bit of an emergency,” explained Jamie. “I was hoping I could ask you a question before you close your shop.”

  “All right then,” the shopkeeper replied in a friendly voice. “Does it have to do with a book?”

  “Yes, it does, and I must say, sir, you have an impressive selection of reading material.”

  “Do you read quite a bit?” asked the old man.

  “Whenever I can. The last story I read, Wuthering Heights, I found to be quite a passionate tale. It was so different from anything else I have ever read.”

  The old man looked at the boy over the steel rims of his glasses, surprised. “Wuthering Heights by Ellis Bell? An excellent read, but the first addition just arrived in my store a few weeks ago! Only stores in Britain would have had copies before me. Have you just arrived from overseas?”

  Jamie managed a smile. “Very recently. In fact, that is why I’m here. Someone illegally removed property from my deceased brother during a recent crossing, and I’m desperate to reclaim the item. It is an old family heirloom. I was told it might have been brought to you recently for purchase.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your brother. I’ll certainly try to help. Could you describe the book for me?”

  “It’s a very old book, centuries old, and one that would be extremely rare for anyone, especially in North America, to ever see outside of a museum. The scriptures within were written in a combination of Celtic and Latin. Most of it would probably seem like nonsense scribbling as the text was often written in code but the penmanship and artwork throughout the pages were outstanding. Have you seen it?”

  The old man’s eyes widened. “That was your book?”

  Jamie felt a surge of relief. “Yes! You do have it, then!”

  Mr. Kessler sat down on his stool in amazement. “I had never seen a book like yours in my entire life! It had the most exquisite penmanship I had ever seen, as if angels themselves had written the passages. It was an indescribable honour to hold such treasure in my unworthy hands. In fact, the term ‘book’ does not do it justice. It was a masterpiece made during the Irish Golden Years of the fifth or sixth century, if I’m not mistaken. Extremely rare; in fact, priceless would be a better word to describe it! I’d seen pictures of the Book of Kells that resides under lock and key in Dublin, Ireland. That might be the only text in the world that comes close to the workmanship I saw in your book.”

  Jamie anxiously stepped forward. “May I please see it?”

  Mr. Kessler removed his glasses and gave his temples a rub. “Ah, yes. Now there we have a problem. After I bought the masterpiece for a ridiculously low price of a pound from that ignorant and foul-mouthed captain of the Carpathia, I took it to Angus McCall, the head librarian of the Canadian National Library at the parliament building. Together, we sat for hours and gazed in wonder at each and every beautiful page. McCall didn’t hesitate in purchasing it for the National Library. He gave me a hundred pounds for the text, saying it was an absolute steal for the price, and said it would soon become the jewel of the Canadian collection! So that is where your book is residing right now I’m afraid — in the parliament building library.”

  Jamie’s face fell. “Do you think Mr. McCall would return it to me?”

  “With the proper documentation, I’m sure he will. He is merely a humble librarian, not a private collector. He understands the rights of ownership. But if I were you, I would look after that manuscript a little bit better. I know of collectors who would pay thousands of pounds, if not more, to have a piece like that in their private collection.”

  Jamie nodded. “Thank you for your help. Would Mr. McCall still be in the library at this hour?”

  The old man chuckled. “Oh no, I think not. Haven’t you heard? There are protests in front of the parliament buildings as we speak. It’s been going on for hours. There’s quite a bit of anger in the crowd, and rumour has it the parliament building might remain closed for days until the matter is resolved.”

  Jamie shook his head at his growing dilemma. “Why are the crowds so angry that they would have to close a House of Parliament?”

  “You really aren’t from around here, are you? The English-speaking loyalist population in Montreal is furious with the government. Our government wants to compensate those who lost property during the rebellion several years ago.”

  “Why is that so controversial?” asked Jamie.

  “Because the law that just passed parliament states that those who were directly involved in the rebellion will also be compensated. Citizens loyal to the British crown are furious that their tax money will be spent compensating those who fought against British rule. Fearing violence from the mob, the government sent home all of its government workers, including those in the library.”

  Jamie frowned. “I can see why the crowd is angry.”

  “It’s certainly a crazy situation,” agreed the bookkeeper. “Being paid for trying to overthrow a government…. Who knows how it’s all going to end? There’s insanity all over Canada right now. If it’s
not the anger over new government laws, it’s the irrational resentment towards Irish immigrants.”

  “I’ve heard that some want to burn down the quarantine station,” added Jamie.

  Mr. Kessler shook his head. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Mr. Kessler stepped behind his counter. He bent over and picked up a copy of the morning paper. He held it up for his visitors to see while he read the headline out loud.

  “Irish Immigrants in Toronto Incarcerated on Quay. Can you believe it? A mob of angry citizens rounded up any and all the Irish they could find in Toronto, recent immigrants or already settled, sick or healthy. Then forced them at gunpoint to gather on the Toronto harbour quay! They then fenced them all in like a herd of cattle! They’ve told the penned-in Irish that they’re no longer welcome in Canada and to go home. Can you believe that? It isn’t the immigrants’ fault that they’ve arrived in such a disastrous state of health. And what insanity could push them to gather as well the Irish who have lived here for years?”

  Beth paled at the thought. “That’s a terrible thing to do to anyone!”

  Mr. Kessler went over and opened his till and returned to the small group. He gave Jamie a large sum of money.

  “It’s not fair that I’m the only one to profit from your beautiful book. This is my payment to you for giving me the honour to gaze upon its exquisite pages.”

  “Thank you,” Jamie replied, glancing down at the generous amount of cash. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I insist, lad. It looks like you three could use a helping hand anyway. Perhaps you could put some of the money towards some new clothing. Is there anything else that I can do for you?”

  “Actually, I could use some help with a map,” Jamie said. “With the parliament building shut down, I was wondering if you could show me the location of the library within the parliament building. I want to get inside as quickly as possible when the building does reopen.”

  “Certainly. I can show you a map of the building. It’s in the back of this book.”

  The bookkeeper pulled a book from the shelf and opened it up to a detailed diagram of a large building. He showed them the front entrance and the route through the corridors to get to the large rectangular-shaped library located just behind the House of Commons. After memorizing the map and thanking him once again for the money, Jamie led the children to the door.

  “Good luck,” called the bookseller as the door swung shut.

  “He’s a nice man,” said Colin, waving goodbye.

  “You’re right,” replied Beth. “He was very kind and helpful.”

  “Can you lead us to the parliament building?” Jamie asked her.

  “Of course,” replied Beth. “It’s one of the biggest buildings in town. It’s between Commissioners and Foundling Street, just three streets down and to the right.”

  Jamie looked down the street in the direction she was pointing. “Good. All right, here’s the plan. I need you to take Colin to your friend at the general store. Tell her we need her to look after Colin for a few hours. You can give them this money for their troubles. Then meet me in front of the parliament, but stay well behind the protesters. We don’t need to get mixed up in that mess. Understand?”

  She nodded. Colin squeezed Jamie’s hand. “But I don’t want to go!” he protested.

  Jamie got down on one knee. “I need you to be a big boy, Colin. Beth and I have to get my book back. You’ll have fun at the store. In fact.…” Jamie reached into his pocket, “here’s a coin for another peppermint stick. You can have it while you wait for us.”

  Colin nodded. The thought of another peppermint stick in his hands had brightened his mood considerably.

  Chapter 13

  The imposing parliament of the province of Canada was two storeys high and constructed of well-cut stone. It sprawled out symmetrically in either direction from a central multi-stepped entranceway, with rows of windows giving government workers an impressive view of Montreal and the St. Lawrence River. Stretching out over two city blocks, the massive building dominated the core of Montreal.

  But dominating the attention of the entire city and a handful of overwhelmed soldiers was not the impressive building itself, but an angry, torch-wielding crowd that swarmed the building’s entrance like a colony of angry wasps protecting a hive. With a cheer, they stormed through the meagre line of soldiers and marched their way up the wide marble steps to the parliament building’s carved oak doors. A man with a tall black hat climbed up onto the wide stone railing, opening his arms to the crowd below.

  “Are we just going to sit back and let our elected representatives give our hard-earned tax dollars to those who fought against King and Country?”

  “No!” shouted the crowd.

  “What I have behind me is a mockery to the concept of democracy!” he continued. “We will not allow our government to reimburse those who fought against the crown with our tax money! Instead of paying the traitors compensation, send those conniving, treacherous criminals to jail and throw away the key!”

  “Or better yet,” someone else shouted, “line them up for their rightful punishment at the town stockade and shoot them!”

  “Give them what they deserve!” another yelled.

  The crowd went into a frenzied chant.

  “We Want Justice! We Want Justice! We Want Justice!”

  People started pelting the first-storey windows with sticks, rocks, and garbage. A window shattered under the hail of missiles, and the crowd cheered again.

  Beth couldn’t believe what she was seeing. In her young life, she had never seen so much anger in a crowd, and it scared her. She backed further away and nervously scanned the stores that faced the parliament building for a familiar face. As another shattering of glass echoed through the night air, Beth couldn’t stay still any longer and decided to jog along the road, looking anxiously down every darkened alleyway and hidden doorway. Finally, she saw a shadowy figure waving to her. The man was sitting on a rain barrel at the side of a grey stone townhouse. She ran towards him and was relieved to find it was Jamie.

  “Jamie, I’m scared! I’ve never seen a crowd like this before.”

  “This is getting uglier by the minute,” agreed Jamie, eyeing the angry mass in front of the parliament building.

  Beth noticed a large coil of rope, a sack, a big crowbar, some long sticks, and a large metal hook piled up beside the rain barrel.

  “What’s all that, Jamie?” she asked.

  “Just a few items to help make our task a little bit easier,” he said, glancing up at the dark sky while collecting the equipment. “Pick up the rope and follow me.”

  He led her away from the crowd and into the shadows of the alleys that paralleled the length of the parliament building. Eventually, they circled around to the side of the massive government building. Jamie then took her into a tight cul-de-sac between a work shed and a blacksmith’s shop. After dropping the equipment on the ground, Jamie reached into the burlap bag and removed a stick of charcoal. He rubbed the stick into his palm until it became black with soot.

  “Now don’t move,” he said to her.

  He rubbed his blackened hand across the bridge of her nose until her splash of freckles became as dark as the night sky. He then smudged the charcoal across her bright cheeks and neck. She stared at him, curiously.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Darkening your skin so you won’t be easily seen.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going on a bit of an adventure. Have you ever been to the mountains?”

  “I’m from Ireland, lived in Montreal, and worked on a farm. I’ve never seen more than a steep hill in my entire life, let alone the mountains … although I’ve always dreamed of the mountains. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live among beautiful peaks and valleys? I’ve always wanted to raise a herd of goats and a mountain would be—”

  “Then this will be a first for you,” interrupted Jamie. “And no more talking u
nless absolutely necessary. There. That’s better. All right, it’s your turn to do me. Just be careful that you don’t get any in my eyes.”

  She smiled as she took the charcoal. “This should be fun.”

  Soon the two of them looked as if they had just finished a shift in the coal mines. Night had draped its dark cloak over Montreal as the two quickly crossed the street and approached the back corner of the House of Parliament. Not a soul could be seen as the noisy demonstrations had attracted all the onlookers to the other side of the building. Moving behind a row of bushes to help conceal their location, Jamie inspected the rough texture of the stones and mortar with his fingertips. Satisfied, he threw the coil of rope over his shoulder and then turned to Beth, passing her the heavy bag, loaded with all of the other items.

  “When I get to the top, I’ll lower the rope down to you. Tie the bag to the rope and I’ll bring it up to the roof first, then you’ll be next. Just put your foot in the loop, hang on to the rope, and relax. I’ll do all the work.”

  She looked up to the roofline far above their heads. “I’m going up there? What do I look like, a pigeon? And how are you going to get up?”

  He smiled. “See you soon.”

  Jamie put his fingers into the crevices between the stones and started climbing. Beth was amazed to watch him move up the building so quickly. He had a natural rhythm to his climbing, like a spider feeling its way along its web. In only a few minutes, Jamie had disappeared from sight. All alone, she jumped in fright when a coil of rope suddenly thumped onto the ground next to her. She quickly tied the bag to the end of the rope, then gave the rope a tug. The bag jumped off the ground and raced skyward. It was only another minute before the rope fell to the ground a second time. She spied the loop that Jamie had put into the rope. Taking a deep breath, she put her boot into the loop, gave the rope another tug, and held on. The rope tightened and, before she knew it, she was rising off the ground.