The Treasure Hunt Club

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The Treasure Hunt Club Page 9

by Michael Scott Clifton


  “All this money … the currency, the coins, it’s … it’s all old. I mean really old! It’s hard to make out much detail on a lot of the coins, but on the ones I can make the date out on, they’re all … they’re all dated before the Civil War! Where … where did you find them?”

  “I found them buried in a strongbox in the middle of a hay meadow in D’Lo, Mississippi. I was led there by a map that appeared in this book!” Nick replied as he picked up The Book of Lost Treasures and pushed it across the table. Dumbfounded, Mark picked up the book and began to examine it.

  After leafing through the book, a confused look appeared on Mark’s face. “I don’t see any map in this book. In fact, except from some writing on the first page, all the pages are blank. Where’s the map you said was in the book?”

  The moment of truth had arrived. Taking a deep breath, Nick related to Mark everything that had happened to him since he had bought the painting at Harper’s Antiques and had found the mysterious book inside it. He told him how he had discovered the book’s mystical ability to find lost objects or treasures while at the Poolside Motel in D’Lo and how a map had appeared within the book that had led him to the lost strongbox of Colonel Efurd Buckley. He left nothing out, and when he had finished, Mark ran a nervous hand through his hair.

  “You … believe this … book led you to … to this money, which you claim was found in a buried strongbox?” Mark asked in a tone of voice that one would use when talking to a child that just claimed to have an invisible friend over to play.

  “I don’t ‘claim’ anything, Mark! I know!” Nick replied heatedly. “It all happened; it’s all fact! Look! Look at this!” Nick exclaimed as he held the TV remote aloft. “I lost this remote months ago! I asked the book to find it for me and it did! It had fallen into a kitchen drawer, and a map in the book led me straight to it!”

  “Nick, this is crazy! Do you hear yourself? Do you know what you’re saying? This is me, Mark, your best friend you’re talking to! If it was anybody else, they would already have you committed! C’mon man, what really happened? Where did you get this money?”

  “Crazy, am I?” Nick shouted at Mark, his face growing red. Turning The Book of Lost Treasures to the first page, he gestured to the glowing writing that listed the rules of the book’s usage. “Then how do you explain this! Look at the writing! It’s glowing, Mark, glowing as if it had its own inner light! How do you explain that?”

  Gesturing helplessly, Mark said, “It could be written in some sort of phosphorescent substance like they put on watch faces, or it could be like one of those Hallmark cards that lights up and sings to you when you open it, or—”

  “No, I’ve already thought of that, and I have examined every inch of the book, every inch, I tell you!” Nick said, his voice steadily rising in anger. “There is nothing on or in the book that can cause the writing! Besides, I already told you that once I wrote the lost treasure I was searching for in the book, a map to the treasure appeared on the next page! The proof is right in front of you! Where do you think that old money and coins came from? If you were any kind of friend like you claim to be, you would believe me!” Seeing Mark’s stricken face, Nick, with great effort, managed to get his emotions under control.

  “Look,” he finally said softly, “I know it sounds like crazy loony tunes stuff. But it’s true, and I have no one else I can talk to, no one else I can trust! It all happened exactly the way I told you, Mark, I swear! I mean, maybe there is another explanation for how a treasure map appears inexplicably on request in this book, but I have racked my brain, and I can’t come up with a reasonable explanation! If you can, please be my guest!”

  For several moments, they both sat in silence. Finally, Mark sighed and said, “All right. Just for the sake of argument, let’s say this book does have some sort of … of mystical power to locate lost objects or treasure. What is it you want me to do, Nick?”

  Eagerly, Nick hunched forward. “I want you to help me plan on how to use The Book of Lost Treasures! Don’t you see? We could all become rich beyond our wildest dreams! Think about it, Mark! Think! How many valuable things, how many priceless objects have been lost down through the years? Jewelry, money, works of art, buried treasure, the list is endless! But where to start, and how do we prioritize the list of things we ask the book to reveal the location of? It boggles the mind!”

  “If that’s all you need, Nick, why do you need my help? I mean, you listed some pretty good things already you could ask the book to locate for you. Your imagination is as good as mine!”

  Nodding, Nick said, “You’re right, Mark. But I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve decided it isn’t that simple! For one, there are the rules the book lists that must be followed. I misspelled one letter in Efurd Buckley’s first name, and no map appeared until I realized I had misspelled his name and changed it. That drove home to me that the rules must be followed precisely and that any request of the book must be carefully and painstakingly considered. For example, one rule states that before you can request the location of the next lost treasure, you must have found the previous lost treasure requested from the book. What happens if the lost treasure you request happens to be in a location where it is impossible to recover? Like maybe a shipwreck full of gold located in depths so great, no one can get to it, or maybe a lost gold mine buried under tons of rocks from a landslide! If a mistake is made in the request, you could be stopped before ever beginning!”

  Although he still didn’t believe the book possessed any “unusual” powers, Mark found himself beginning to be infected by Nick’s enthusiasm, and he began to warm to the task presented by the book. “What would happen if you asked for the location of a lost object or treasure that didn’t exist?” he asked Nick.

  “Exactly!” Nick blurted exuberantly. “I mean, I’ve thought of that, and it isn’t really covered by the rules of the book, so I assume nothing would happen, just like when I misspelled Efurd Buckley’s name, but its stuff like that where two heads are better than one, you know? That’s why I need your help!”

  Mark nodded thoughtfully. Checking his watch, he saw it was after five o’clock. “I need to get home, Nick. Patti’s probably already there and is bursting at the seams with questions about you.”

  “Just don’t tell her about the book or anything,” Nick pleaded. “At least for now. I don’t want her thinking I’m crazy too.”

  Laughing, Mark said, “It’s too late for that, Nick. She already knows you’re crazy! But I’ll keep this our little secret for the time being.” Hesitating, Mark picked up one of the Ziplock bags of coins, a thoughtful look on his face.

  “Daddy is an amateur coin collector. He bought a metal detector a couple of years ago, and now he goes all over the place searching for old coins. There’s a coin dealer in Texarkana he has bought coins from and sold coins to. Why don’t you let me take these coins you found and a bundle of this paper money and see what that coin dealer thinks of them? Maybe he can give an appraisal of their worth. I have to drive to Texarkana tomorrow to see a client, and I would be glad to take them by his shop.”

  “Thanks! That would be great!” Nick gushed.

  “In the meantime, let me think about what you told me about the book. I’ll try to come up with some ideas of my own, and then I’ll run them by you.”

  Both men got up, and Nick saw Mark to his car. After Mark’s car disappeared down the dirt road, Nick returned to the trailer and sat down again at the table, reflecting on his conversation with Mark. It hadn’t gone as well as he would have liked, but then again, what did he expect? Were he in Mark’s shoes, he probably would have reacted in the same way, not to mention that Nick’s checkered past when it came to wild schemes practically begged for healthy skepticism toward any ideas of his.

  Sighing, Nick picked up the strange book. Looking at it, he turned it over and over in his hands. This was his ticket, his ticket to finally making something of himself! With Mark on board, albeit reluctantly, he just knew the
sky was the limit! Brighter days are definitely ahead, he thought as, whistling, he put the book down and got up to make himself a sandwich.

  Brighter days indeed!

  Chapter 13

  The next day dawned sunny and glorious as Nick, yawning, got up. He had slept like a baby, and for the first time in years, he looked forward to the coming day and, indeed, the coming week eagerly. Eating a hasty breakfast of cereal, he quickly went to the car awning, where an old Sears Craftsman riding lawn mower was located next to his car. Usually a job he dreaded, he tackled mowing the high grass cheerfully without a second thought. With over an acre of grass to mow in and around the trailer and workshop, it took Nick the better part of two hours to finish. After weed eating the hard-to-mow areas, it was almost noon and time for lunch. Stowing the weed eater back into the work- shop, Nick headed for the trailer, intent on shedding his sweaty, grass-stained clothes and taking a shower before eating lunch.

  As Nick opened the door, he heard his cell phone ringing. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve, he picked his phone up where it was lying on the table and answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “Nick!” A cheerful voice sounded over the phone. “I managed to dig up some information on that book you found.”

  It took a moment or two before Nick’s brain registered that the voice on the phone was Hank’s.

  “Hank! What did you find out?” Nick asked eagerly. Briefly, he puzzled over how Hank had managed to uncover information about the mysterious book so quickly, especially since he had only spoken to him about it the day before. Then, Hank interrupted his musings.

  “Your book, it seems, has quite a history! I have a buddy on the East Coast whose bookstore deals exclusively with rare and, er, what you would call, ‘unusual’ books. I called and described the book to him. He called me back less than an hour later with the legend of The Book of Lost Treasures.”

  “Legend? You mean this book is … is like famous?” Nick asked incredulously.

  “Well, I don’t know if you would describe it as famous,” Hank said chuckling. “It’s not like there are many people who even know of its existence. I was lucky that one of the first people I asked about the book actually had some knowledge of it.”

  “Oh,” Nick said, crestfallen.

  “Anywho, as I said, the book has quite a history; one, in fact, that dates back to the mid 1700s. You want to hear it?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course!” Nick blurted. Hearing Hank’s laughter over the cell, Nick realized the diminutive antique dealer was baiting him again.

  He could almost hear him saying, “Gotcha,” and pointing at Nick as he had done at his store. All of this Nick quickly forgot as Hank launched into his story.

  “In the mid 1700s, Spain, France, and England were involved in a struggle for supremacy in Europe, as well as on the high seas. Although alliances could and did change continuously, at this point in history, England and France were allied against Spain. Enter Captain Augustus McGregor. McGregor was the fifth son of a minor Scottish noble and, with no inheritance or future to look forward to in Scotland, took service in the British Navy.

  A man of unquestioned valor and courage, his leadership skills led to his rapid rise in the ranks until he captained his own ship. Officially commissioned as a ‘privateer’ in the British Navy, McGregor’s ship was given letters of marque to prey upon the Spanish galleons that plied between Spain and the Spanish possessions in the New World.

  Much of the gold and silver that Spain was using to finance their intrigues in Europe were transported on these treasure ships, and the British hoped to choke this off through the use of privateers.

  “Over the next few years, McGregor’s ship and crew had minor successes but nothing spectacular, as the few Spanish ships they managed to capture and board contained little gold or silver. One morning, however, they came across a huge galleon escorted by two smaller Spanish warships. In a sea battle that lasted most of the day, McGregor displayed the fearlessness and cunning that had led to his rapid promotion, and he managed to sink both Spanish warships.

  With his own ship severely damaged, McGregor was still able to catch up with the much slower galleon that was attempting to flee. Avoiding the galleon’s cannons, McGregor and his crew approached the aft side of the galleon and, in an unheard-of maneuver, managed to get close enough to throw grappling hooks over the aft side of the galleon and board her. Fierce hand-to-hand fighting ensued until finally, the remaining crew and officers of the galleon surrendered.

  “Tying his ship alongside the galleon, the victorious Captain McGregor began an immediate inspection of the contents of the galleon. What he saw staggered him: the ship’s holds were literally bursting with gold, silver, and precious gems mined or stolen from the initiatives of Spain’s New World possessions! McGregor had gone from the penniless younger son of a minor noble to being wealthy beyond his wildest dreams! So caught up was he over the enormous wealth before him that he almost missed a small door covered by a thick curtain at the back of the hold. Locked and bolted shut, McGregor had to retrieve the key from the body of the slain captain of the galleon in order to open the door. As he unlocked and opened the door, the sight his eyes beheld rivaled even that of the king’s ransom of treasure in the hold! A naked, young woman lay partially submerged in a large wooden tub of seawater!

  “The woman was stunningly beautiful. Her eyes were the aquamarine blue of the sea, waist-long hair as white as sea foam, and skin as pale as milk. As McGregor moved closer, he was shocked to see that the ‘normal’ body of the woman ended at the waist. Instead of legs, a fish tail grew from the woman, complete with scales that glinted in the dim light of the room with an iridescent sheen! The young woman was a mermaid! However, as McGregor peered closer in incredulous fascination, he saw that some of the scales had begun to fall off the mermaid’s tail, and there were patches here and there totally devoid of scales. These areas barren of scales were raw-looking and covered with a ragged, mucous-like tissue. Abruptly, McGregor realized the mermaid was dying. Although a battle-hardened ship’s captain, McGregor’s heart went out immediately to the beautiful young mermaid. Angrily, he returned to the deck of the galleon and questioned the prisoners there about the captive mermaid.

  “Most of the galleon’s officers had been killed in the fierce fighting that led to its capture by McGregor, and none of the remaining crew seemed to know what McGregor was talking about. Finally, the first mate, who had survived the battle, came forward and told McGregor the tale he had been told by the captain concerning the mermaid. The captain had said that the mermaid had been washed up on shore in Hispaniola after a particularly fierce storm. Unconscious, she had been captured by natives, who presented her to the Spanish authorities on the island. Carried onto the galleon in the dead of night so that none of the superstitious crew could see her, the mermaid was to be transported back to Spain, where she was to be presented to the Spanish king and queen. Amazingly, the ship’s captain had been able to talk and converse with the mermaid, who, he claimed, could speak fluent Spanish. The first mate had overheard the captain refer to the mermaid on several occasions as La Princesa de las Sirenas, or ‘Princess of the Mermaids.’ Whatever she was called, the first mate had spat, the mermaid had brought them nothing but bad luck since coming aboard the galleon.

  Sudden storms, mysterious illnesses, freak accidents—the galleon had suffered them all—and he begged McGregor to kill the mermaid for all their sakes.

  “McGregor considered what the first mate had said, and although he was no believer in curses or ill luck, he had seen fear in the first mate’s eyes. Mariners as a whole, he knew, were a superstitious lot, and he feared his own crew would react as the first mate had if they knew a mermaid was aboard the ship. He decided no one would see or interact with the mermaid but himself. Returning to the mermaid’s room, he locked the door with the dead captain’s key and went about the business of completing the securing of the ship. When all of the Spani
sh prisoners were finally chained and manacled, McGregor ordered a celebration, and rum flowed freely. Around midnight, with most of his crew snoring in a drunken stupor, McGregor took the dead captain’s key and, once more, unlocked the door to the mermaid’s room. Covering the mermaid’s tail with canvas sacking, he picked her up and carried her out onto the galleon’s deck. Pausing only long enough to make sure he was unobserved, McGregor gently placed the mermaid in a dinghy, secured by a block and tackle to the side of the ship. Climbing into the dingy with the mermaid, he grabbed a rope and lowered the boat to the water’s edge. Once in the water, McGregor rowed a short distance from where the huge galleon wallowed in the sea, and then stopped.

  “It was a clear, moonless night, and a million stars cast their dim light as McGregor removed the canvas from the mermaid’s tail and then helped her into the water, telling her she was free as he did so. Expecting her to immediately flee, he was surprised when, instead, the mermaid remained in the water next to the dingy. Then, in perfect English, she told him that he had saved her life and that she owed him a life debt that must be rewarded. Surging abruptly out of the water, the mermaid grasped the side of the dingy and kissed McGregor on the lips before returning to the sea. With a final flip of her tail, the mermaid disappeared from sight. The kiss tasted of salt, wind, and sea, and its memory would remain with McGregor the rest of his life.

  “Returning to England, McGregor was hailed as a hero, and when he retired from the British Navy less than ten years later at the relatively young age of thirty-two, he was fabulously wealthy. McGregor spent the next several years acquiring estates in the Northern Highlands of Scotland, as well as near his beloved sea in southern Scotland by the Firth of Lorne.

 

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