The Spanish Helmet

by Greg Scowen

  We sailed another twenty-two leagues after seeing the long beach, and found ourselves still skirting beaches and cliffs. The coast slowly turned in a more southerly direction, so I decided to steer due south, expecting that the land would remain in our sight. My presumption was not wrong. Directly in front of us a mountain rises out of the sea. We will sail on toward this landmark and again look for a harbour or anchorage where we can replenish our supplies. The men are eating well and in are superb health, such is the bountiful ocean of this land.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Hemi didn’t know what had gone wrong with Leigh’s transmitter, but it didn’t seem to work anymore. As he drove out of Picton, the signal from Dr. Cameron and Aimee had been lost. It started with a crackle and then the signal got weaker and weaker, until it almost completely disappeared about five hundred metres up the road from the ferry terminal. He turned the car, drove back towards the ferry, and it reappeared again. The blinking icon on his receiver showed that his targets were still at the terminal. Hemi knew that if he got signal at this range but not further away, the relay transmitter he installed under the car was either broken or out of the GPS bug’s range. The second possibility didn’t bear thinking about. Now he was just picking up the GPS bug transmission itself. The five hundred metre range limitation meant that he would have to stay a lot closer to his prey. No problem at all. He waited for them to drive past.

  * * *

  Matt pulled up the car outside his father’s old house. It had taken twenty minutes to get there from the hotel in Nelson, because it turned out to be in a small town nearby. A pleasant-looking spot called Richmond. The GPS had taken them on a scenic route along a harbour and past a beach, before they drove through a short stretch of farmland being eaten by urban sprawl which ended at a roundabout where the main road of the township crossed the road they were on. They had turned left, and not more than a couple of hundred metres further, they had arrived.

  ‘Prime spot he had here,’ Aimee said. ‘Richmond appears to be quite the up-and-coming place to live and this close to the centre, on the main street, with this big a section... it must be worth a bit.’

  ‘Generous man, to give it to his neighbour.’

  ‘Seems like your dad must be a good sort after all?’ Aimee’s words reassured him.

  ‘I hope he’s OK. It worries me that I can’t reach Nadine.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll track her down and that your dad’s all honky-dory. Maybe her phone’s flat or something completely normal like that.

  ‘I guess.’ Mat continued to worry though. He hated not being able to reach someone, despite them having a phone in their pocket. That always made him nervous. But Aimee was right. He often went days without charging his own mobile.

  They left the car on the roadside and walked up the driveway that ran along the right-hand side of the house. Front doors were for special invited guests, Matt had always felt. They would go to the back. It was just as well they did, because as they walked past the hydrangeas that lined the drive, a lady hanging clothes on a rotary clothesline came into view. She looked up without surprise at the footsteps, but had a look of non-recognition on her face.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her voice very friendly.

  ‘My name is Matthew Cameron. My father, Andy Robertson, has sent me here.’

  ‘Oh my Lord!’ She dropped her bucket of pegs. ‘You best come in for a coffee.’

  Matt liked her immediately. As she served them fresh coffee, she raved on about how wonderful a man Matt’s father is and how nice it is to meet his son. Muriel, as she introduced herself, had always wondered if anyone would ever arrive with a key for the shed out the back.

  ‘I admit, I painted the shed two years back. It was just getting so old and I felt like it needed a bit of sprucing up.’

  ‘I’m sure my father will be pleased to hear you’re looking after things.’

  ‘You’ve got no idea how many times I wanted to break down that door. I’m just so curious about what mysteries he’s hiding in there.’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure myself. Notes, I guess. The research my father worked on. Nothing valuable to anyone but himself or anyone who wants to continue his work.’

  ‘And you’ll continue his work?’ She looked expectant. Aimee carried the same questioning look.

  ‘I have to see what he has first. If it’s good, then yes.’

  Matt realised for the first time just how immersed he had become in his father’s mystery. He hoped it wouldn’t affect his relationship with Warren. Best go look at the spy base and the bullaun bowls to keep Warren on side, he decided.

  ‘Let me take you out to the shed,’ Muriel said with an air of importance as she cleared the empty coffee cups. ‘We don’t want your Dad being let down by me after all he’s done for me and mine.’

  Muriel stood and led them out of the house and down a path to a small clump of ferns at the back. Tucked in amongst the miniature forest was a freshly painted red and white shed. It had a certain Scandinavian barn feel about it in this colour combination. Matt liked it.

  ‘I’m gonna leave you to it son,’ Muriel said, before turning and walking away. There was no disguising the curiosity on her face though. He knew she wanted to see inside.

  ‘OK,’ Matt said, pulling the keys from his pocket. ‘Let’s have a look in here and see what all this fuss is about.’

  He placed the key into the lock and tried to turn it. It didn’t work. The other key was too small. He placed the first key back in the lock and tried again. Still nothing, it wouldn’t turn at all. He was about to scream with frustration when Aimee reached over and took the key, pulling it slightly from the lock and turning it without trouble.

  ‘Used to happen on my bike lock all the time.’ She mused.

  ‘You ride a lot?’

  ‘Back in school, yeah. One of the pleasures of growing up in a small town out here.’

  The door swung open and the two of them stared into the shed’s interior.

  ‘Awesome,’ Aimee said.

  ‘This could take a while.’ Matt laughed.

  Aimee replied with her laughter. The shed was small, perhaps ten square metre. But three of the walls were crammed with floor to ceiling shelving, all of it piled with papers and books. The other wall had the door, a small window, and a large framed photograph of a small boy in front of a lighthouse. A piece of paper stuck in the corner of the frame said it was Penninis Head on St Mary’s Island in Scilly. Matt didn’t need to be told it was him in the photo. Apart from that, only the desk and a chair broke the pattern of papers. The desk too was covered in piles of notes.

  They gave each other an understanding look, and waded in. Papers got shuffled, read and sorted into piles as rapidly as their eyes and heads could process it all. There was at least two days work ahead of them.

  * * *

  Hemi was in a bind. On the one hand he didn’t want to tell Warren that Matt was fishing around in his father’s old shed, most likely looking for something to do with the Spanish. On the other, however, Hemi wanted to draw Warren in. To get justice for his ruined life, he needed Warren to throw the first punch. Thinking about it like this, it made sense to try and piss him off a little so that Warren would show his hand. He dialled the number.

  ‘It’s about time you called.’

  This will be easy. Warren already sounded angry.

  ‘Sorry. It’s been a busy day.’

  ‘I take it you’re in Nelson then?’

  ‘Yeah. I couldn’t stop them. I tried to give them another scare on the ferry, but they seem to be made of harder stuff than you expect.’

  ‘What are they doing in Nelson then?’

  ‘It turns out that Dr. Cameron’s father still has property here. They’re searching through a shed on the back of his property.’

  ‘Do you think he’s got anything in there, or is this just going to blow over?’

  ‘I couldn’t say for sure.’ Hemi prepared his bait. ‘B
ut Dr. Cameron appears determined, like he knows to expect something big.’

  ‘Shit Hemi! That’s all I need. I’ve worked too hard on this for it to be bloody ruined by some lunatic’s Spanish dreams. This needs to stop now.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing. You’ve been a fat lot of good up until now. Just keep an eye on them. I’ll take care of this mess for you.’

  The phone slammed down with enough force that Hemi had to hold his mobile away from his ear. Shit. Warren was really pissed, maybe he had overdone it. He had hardly even pushed, yet Warren was hooked. It worried Hemi a little. Someone who can so easily go to the edge must be somewhat unhinged. Still, Warren surely wouldn’t do anything too rash. Now Hemi had to wait. Again.

  CHAPTER

  32

  It was the second day of sorting through the papers in the shed. It was also the second day without successfully contacting Nadine.

  Yesterday, Matt and Aimee had spent over eight hours there to no avail. Sure, they had read a lot of information about the Spanish Helmet and about other aspects of Spanish theory, but they hadn’t come across anything that helped them progress further. Matt needed something new. Something that hadn’t been pursued by other enthusiasts and turned out to be nothing, or even worse, destroyed or hidden by the government. Matt needed...

  ‘What’s this?’ Aimee interrupted his thoughts.

  Matt took the paper Aimee held out to him and studied it.

  ‘It looks like a scan of three old tickets. Can you make out what that says there?’ He pointed to the large print on the least faded of the images.

  ‘Scillon something,’ Aimee said. ‘Means nothing to me.’

  Matt squinted at the paper and ran over possibilities in his head.

  ‘Scillonian.’ Matt slapped his thigh. ‘That says Scillonian III, that’s the ferry to Scilly.’

  ‘Wow, you’re good. I could never have figured that out.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been on it a few times. I wonder when these were for.’ Matt located the date and with some more effort, deciphered it. ‘Oh my God, these tickets are for my 3rd birthday.’

  ‘How cool is that? Your Dad kept them all these years.’

  Matt wasn’t sure of the tickets importance to what they searched for, but he liked the connection to his father and placed the paper to the side, in the ‘possibly important pile’, which was very small. Three documents now.

  ‘What we really need to find is a folder of notes specifically related to my father’s progress.’ Matt pondered aloud. ‘A diary or journal would be great.’

  ‘Something like this?’ Aimee asked, turning to face him with a huge smile on her face.

  Matt grabbed the red, A4-sized, hard-cover volume she was holding. He opened it and flicked through the pages to get an idea of what it contained.

  ‘Something exactly like this!’ He leaned over and surprised himself by kissing her firmly on the lips in his excitement.

  The two of them pulled uncomfortably apart. Aimee looked thoroughly embarrassed. Matt felt it.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he blurted. ‘I got carried away in the moment.’

  ‘It’s OK, Matt. I understand. What’s in the book?’

  Matt opened the book again and summarised what he read as he flicked from page to page. Much of the content was notes about documents his father had sourced, or theories and what he made of them. But there was one section that was thoroughly interesting. Matt read it out to Aimee.

  ‘I have finally identified the operator of the dredge that found the Spanish Helmet in the Wellington Harbour in 1879. He is long since dead; however I have been able to trace his family to his Granddaughter who still lives in the suburbs of Wellington. I have contacted her and she has invited me to come and visit her as soon as I have the opportunity. She says she may have interesting information for me.’

  ‘Wow!’ Aimee said. ‘Did he visit? What did she tell him?’

  ‘Wait a moment, I need to flick forward here,’ Matt said, flipping over pages until he found what he was looking for.

  ‘Here we go... have visited Miss Ruth Borlase in Wellington. Amazing news, her grandfather didn’t just find the Spanish Helmet; he also found a sword and some other armour. He provided half of his find to the Museum of New Zealand, but he kept the sword and some of the artefacts for himself. I saw the sword! Definitely Spanish!’

  ‘This is incredible,’ Aimee said.

  ‘It goes on... Mr. Borlase was furious when the museum claimed they didn’t know the exact details of the helmet, since he had been present when it was catalogued into their collections. He claimed cover-up and swore to keep his relics hidden, only to reveal them when the time was right, when people would listen. His granddaughter hopes that the time is now.’

  ‘Does this get us any closer to finding out where the helmet came from? Where is the sword now? Is there anything else written there?’ Aimee rolled out a series of rapid-fire questions.

  ‘The information about the visit with Miss Borlase ends there,’ Matt answered, flicking further through the notebook. It was only on the last page that he saw the information that would lead them to the next step.

  ‘Matt.’ Matt read aloud from the diary. ‘If you are reading this you will know how important the information I have is. You will also know that it needs to be hidden until the time is right. The time is now right. You hold the key to my favourite place. Find it.’

  ‘The other key your Dad gave you.’

  ‘Yeah, but what does it unlock.’

  ‘You hold the key to my favourite place...’ Aimee repeated the words.

  Matt didn’t hear her; he was in a trance, that same line echoed in his head. He glanced up at the photograph on the wall. Matthew, the little three-year-old boy, standing in front of the little lighthouse on St. Mary’s.

  ‘Oh my God. It’s there,’ Matt said, pointing to the photo.

  ‘What? On that island?’

  ‘No.’ Matt stood up and reached out to take the picture off the wall. It concealed a small wooden cupboard. Matt took the key from his pocket and placed it in the keyhole. It turned with a click and the door eased open. He looked at Aimee. She smiled at him.

  ‘Your father’s favourite place was his memory of you,’ she said.

  Matt held back the tears which he fought with his blinking eyes. Through the slight blurring, he could see another red notebook, identical to the one they already found. He took it from the cupboard.

  ‘I guess this is what we’re looking for,’ he said.

  They sat at the desk and read the contents of the notebook together. When they were finished, Matt closed it and looked at Aimee. A grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Are you up for a trip to this Otago place?’

  ‘Of course I am!’ Aimee answered. ‘I can’t think of anything more exciting. It sounds great, and I’ve got colleagues at the University of Otago.’

  ‘That might be a good place to start,’ Matt said. ‘If anyone should know about the local Maori, then it should be the local university history department. I knew I brought you for a reason.’ Matt paused. He didn’t want to look dumb, but he had to ask. ‘Where is Otago anyway?’

  They locked the shed and said their goodbyes to Muriel.

  ‘Found what you were looking for then?’ She asked.

  ‘Sure did,’ Matt answered. ‘Thanks.’

  His father’s notes had been very thorough. They explained how he had seen the sword that was found by Mr. Borlase along with the helmet in Wellington Harbour. He was intrigued by the Maori pattern that appeared to have been meticulously embossed into the blade of a distinctly Spanish weapon. Upon further investigation into the pattern, it was determined that this belonged to the style of a Maori in the Otago region. He had intended to continue on with his investigations by travelling to Otago and seeking out more information about the pattern and to research oral histories of white people visiting. He though some local elders might be able to h
elp. That was the last of his notes.

  CHAPTER

  33

  Matt took his phone off the charger and selected Nadine’s number from his phonebook. He couldn’t wait to tell her the great news. He was sure that his father would be excited for them.

  ‘God, I hope I can get through this time,’ he said, turning to Aimee, who sat at the table looking through page upon page of archived journal articles. She nodded, clearly absorbed by her reading.

  He smiled at her profile and pressed the call button. It rang for quite a while.

  ‘Hello?’ Came an unsure sounding voice.

  ‘Nadine, fantastic, I’ve been trying to reach you.’ It was great to hear her voice.

  Silence.

  ‘Nadine?’

  A sniff, then the heart-wrenching sounds of a woman bursting into tears. Matt knew instantly something was seriously wrong. He tipped his way down to the edge of the couch, took up residence next to a cushion and waited. He saw that Aimee had looked up from her papers to see why he had gone quiet. She didn’t look away.

  ‘I’m sorry Matt.’ Nadine finally managed to utter between her gasps for breath. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘What is it?’ Matt asked, fearing and expecting the worst.

  ‘You only just got to know him.’ Nadine sobbed again.

  ‘Dad?’Really expecting the worst now. Aimee got up from the table and came over next to Matt.

  ‘He’s gone, in his sleep the night before last.’

  ‘He’s... dead?’ The worst it is. He felt something touching his knee and realised that it was Aimee’s hand.

  ‘They said it was peaceful. He was given extra morphine for his pain. His body couldn’t cope with it. I’m sorry, I completely forgot you were here...’

  Matt felt the sensation of bile rising in his throat and heat rushed into his head.

  ‘I’ve been trying to call. I can’t believe it, even after... are you alright?’