‘Yes, sir,’ I nodded. ‘It is.’
‘I know, Henry. I know exactly what it’s like because I, too, was once the victim of a terrible theft.’
‘Really, sir?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘When I was your age, at this very school, my friends and I used to pretend that we were pirates. Can you imagine that, Henry? Pirates! Hard to believe, isn’t it?’
Sitting there surrounded by model ships, flags and antique pistols, it wasn’t too hard to believe at all, but I nodded anyway. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘We spent our lunchtimes sailing around the yard in an imaginary pirate ship,’ said Principal Greenbeard. ‘We even had our own chest of treasure, which we buried on Skull Island.’
‘Buried treasure?’ I said. He had my interest now.
‘Yes,’ said Principal Greenbeard. ‘We filled that chest with the most valuable things that we could beg, buy, borrow and—I’m ashamed to admit it—steal. It was a treasure beyond compare, Henry, my boy. Beyond compare! We buried it on Skull Island . . . and then never saw it again.’
‘What happened?’ I said. ‘Did you lose the map?’
‘No,’ said Principal Greenbeard, his eyes growing misty. ‘We didn’t lose the map. We dug up the treasure chest a week later and the chest was there all right, exactly where we buried it, but it was completely empty—except for a note . . .’
‘What did the note say?’
Principal Greenbeard drew a deep breath. He reached across his desk, opened the lid of an old wooden box and removed a piece of notepaper. He unfolded it and began to read.
‘Search the Northwest Southeast Central seas
Search upon bended and bloodied knees
But your treasure again you will never see
Your pirate gang is no match for me.
Dig for one thousand nights and a night
Dig for your treasure as much as you like
But of your riches you will only dream—
Greenbeard’s pirates are no match for me.’
Principal Greenbeard put the paper down on the desk in front of me.
‘So what did you do?’ I asked.
‘We searched, of course. It was clearly a challenge to us. We searched and dug up every square inch of the school.’
‘But you didn’t find it?’
‘No,’ said Principal Greenbeard. ‘We never saw our treasure again.’
‘Who do you think stole it?’ I said.
Principal Greenbeard shrugged. ‘It was obviously a rival pirate,’ he said, ‘but we never found out who. Our pirate treasure was stolen: by a pirate! We didn’t play pirates anymore after that. It took all the fun out of it. As far as I’m concerned, Henry, piracy is just another word for theft.’
‘Wow!’ I said, trying to take it all in. ‘Where is Skull Island exactly?’
‘That’s what we called the hill next to the sports field,’ he said. ‘But that’s not the point . . .’
‘And the treasure is still buried somewhere in the school?’ I said.
‘As far as I know,’ said Principal Greenbeard sadly. ‘But the details aren’t important. All I know is that I never saw the treasure again. Upon my oath, Henry, how I hate pirates! I vowed that day that when I grew up I would be the principal of the school and I would use my powers to outlaw piracy and make sure no student ever had to suffer that sort of loss or disappointment again.’
‘And you’re sure they reburied it?’ I said.
‘As sure as any man can be about anything on this watery globe,’ he said. ‘But it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we put childish things behind us and all work together to make sure piracy never rears its ugly head at Northwest Southeast Central School ever again . . .’
Principal Greenbeard rambled on for some time about responsibility, maturity and scurvy dogs but, to tell you the truth, I couldn’t really concentrate. I was too busy memorising that note and thinking about that long-lost treasure.
And about how I, Henry McThrottle, was going to find it.
18
Treasure!
As I left Principal Greenbeard’s office, it seemed like I was stepping back into a different world from the one I’d left. The floor seemed shinier than before. The awards and sporting shields on the reception walls were sparkling as if they’d been freshly polished. And Mrs Rosethorn seemed softer and, well, almost pleasant.
‘Make sure you shut the door on your way out, you little troublemaker!’ she barked.
Well, I did say almost pleasant.
I closed the door and walked down the front steps. I still felt sad about the loss of my lollipop, but at the same time I couldn’t help feeling excited about the possibility of finding buried treasure.
Jenny, Gretel and Newton were sitting under the trees on the far side of the basketball court. Jack was using a piece of chalk to redraw the court lines and mess up the basketball players—one of his favourite pastimes.
‘Are you okay, Henry?’ said Jenny. ‘We heard you got sent to Principal Greenbeard’s office.’
Newton whispered, ‘What did you do?’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ I said. ‘Clive and Fred started a fight and Mrs Cross caught us and blamed me.’
‘Typical!’ said Gretel, smacking her fist into her palm. ‘I ought to go sock that Fred Durkin in the mouth!’
‘Me too!’ said Jack, who had finished annoying the basketball players. ‘And I’d come and help you . . . except that my hand is a little sore from all that drawing, and . . .’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t want anybody socking anybody in the mouth. You see, Fred and Clive don’t know it, but they did me a favour.’
Gretel frowned. ‘Huh?’
‘While I was in Principal Greenbeard’s office I found out the most amazing thing!’
‘That Principal Greenbeard’s beard is fake?’ said Gretel. ‘I knew it!’
‘No, not that,’ I said. ‘Something better!’
‘That he wears a wig?’ said Jenny.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Even better!’
‘I know!’ said Jack. ‘You saw top-secret plans for knocking the school down and replacing it with an amusement park.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘even better than that!’
‘Impossible!’ said Jack. ‘What could possibly be better than a plan to knock down the school and build an amusement park?’
‘Buried treasure!’ I said.
‘Buried treasure?’ Newton gasped. ‘Where?’
‘Skull Island,’ I said.
‘Skull Island?’ said Jack. ‘Isn’t that where King Kong lives? In the South Pacific?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s just in the movie.’ I pointed at the small rounded hill in the middle of the yard. ‘Our Skull Island is over there.’
‘That’s not an island,’ said Jack. ‘It’s just a dumb old hill.’
‘Maybe to you it is,’ I said. ‘But that’s not how Principal Greenbeard and his friends saw it when they went to this school. They used to play pirates and that hill was their headquarters. They called it Skull Island. One day they buried a chest full of treasure on it, but when they went back to dig it up all they found was an empty chest and a note.’
‘A note?’ said Jenny. ‘What did it say?’
I closed my eyes and began to recite the poem I’d memorised in Principal Greenbeard’s office.
‘Search the Northwest Southeast Central seas
Search upon bended and bloodied knees
But your treasure again you will never see
Your pirate gang is no match for me.
Dig for one thousand nights and a night
Dig for your treasure as much as you like
But of your riches you will only dream—
Greenbeard’s pirates are no match for me.
‘Principal Greenbeard and his friends searched and searched but they never could find it. It’s still buried somewhere in the school grounds.’
‘Wow!’ said Newton. ‘What do you suppose the tre
asure is?’
‘Gold, probably!’ said Jack. ‘And most likely rubies, emeralds and diamonds!’
‘Bracelets,’ said Jenny. ‘Strings of pearls! Rings!’
‘Don’t forget jewel-encrusted daggers and goblets,’ said Gretel. ‘Pirates love jewel-encrusted daggers and goblets.’
‘And pieces of eight,’ said Newton. ‘Lots and lots of pieces of eight!’
‘What are pieces of eight?’ Jack asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Newton, ‘but there are probably lots of them.’
‘One thing’s for sure,’ I said. ‘Whatever is in that chest must be pretty old by now, and old things are worth a lot of money.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jenny. ‘My uncle found this really old coin and it turned out to be worth TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS.’
‘Two thousand dollars?’ said Jack. ‘And that’s just one coin! Do you suppose Greenbeard’s treasure had coins in it?’
‘He didn’t say,’ I said, ‘but given how much pirates love coins, I’d say it’s pretty likely.’
‘Highly likely, I’d say,’ said Gretel. ‘And there’s probably more than one rare coin. Probably thousands.’
‘Hundreds of thousands,’ said Newton.
‘Maybe even millions!’ said Jenny.
‘Don’t get carried away,’ I said, but it was too late. They already had.
‘Imagine how much fun you could have with a million dollars!’ said Jack.
‘You could have a huge party for all your friends!’ said Jenny.
Gretel punched the air and whooped. ‘All right! Can I come?’
‘You’re my friend, aren’t you?’ said Jenny.
‘Yes, of course I am,’ said Gretel.
‘Then you’re invited!’ said Jenny.
‘But everyone’s your friend!’ I said. ‘You’d have to invite the whole school.’
‘I don’t see a problem with that,’ said Jenny. ‘We’ve got a million dollars . . . at least!’
‘What about Clive Durkin?’ said Jack. ‘Would you invite him?’
‘Yes,’ said Jenny.
‘But he’s not your friend!’ said Jack.
‘Yes he is,’ said Jenny. ‘He just doesn’t know it yet. And I’d have to invite him anyway because otherwise he’d tell his brother and his brother wouldn’t like it.’
‘Smart thinking,’ said Gretel.
Newton was shifting around uncomfortably.
‘What’s the matter, Newton?’ said Jenny.
‘I don’t want to be rich,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘All that money . . .’ said Newton. ‘How would you keep it safe?’
‘Put it in the bank, of course,’ said Jack.
‘How do you know the bank would keep it safe?’ said Newton.
‘Because that’s what banks do,’ said Jack. ‘They keep money safe.’
‘What about bank robbers?’ said Newton. ‘That’s what they do—they rob banks!’
‘Get a grip, Newton,’ said Jack. ‘We haven’t even got the money yet and you’re worrying about it being stolen!’
‘Yeah, Jack’s right,’ I said. ‘We haven’t found the treasure yet. We need a plan.’
‘I have a plan,’ said Gretel. ‘I say we start looking for it right away,’
‘Good plan, Gretel!’ said Jenny.
‘But what if people see us looking for it?’ said Jack.
‘Good point, Jack,’ said Jenny.
‘We’ll tell them we’re not looking for treasure,’ said Newton.
‘Great idea, Newton!’ said Jenny.
‘Newton’s right,’ I said. ‘It’s important that we keep this just between us. This is our secret. It’s not our treasure until we actually find it. Repeat the oath after me: “Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”’
Everyone repeated the oath, except for Newton, who got a bit freaked out by the bit about the needle. ‘A needle?’ he said. ‘I don’t want to stick a needle in my eye!’
‘Well, don’t say anything about the treasure and you won’t have to,’ said Jack.
‘But what if I do it accidentally?’ said Newton. ‘What if I say something about the treasure in my sleep?’
‘Do you talk in your sleep?’ asked Jenny.
‘I don’t know,’ said Newton. ‘I’m asleep.’
‘Don’t worry about it then,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t have to stick a needle in your eye in that case, would he, Henry?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘That would be okay.’
The bell for the end of lunch rang.
‘We’ll start the search tomorrow,’ I said. ‘And remember—this is our secret. Don’t breathe a word to anyone.’
19
Making history
‘Good morning, class,’ said Mr Brainfright cheerfully.
‘Good morning, Mr Brainfright,’ we chanted back.
‘And it is a good morning,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘A particularly good morning to study history.’
The class groaned.
Maths was bad, but history was even worse. We’d been studying the history of Ancient Rome. Talk about tedious. Tedious maximus.
I’d tried to liven things up a bit by making a working model of the volcano that erupted and destroyed the city of Pompeii, but it hadn’t worked out the way I’d planned.
I’d made the model volcano out of clay. It was hollow in the middle and to make real smoke and real flame, I’d stuffed it full of newspaper. When I lit it with a match during my class presentation, real smoke and real flame came out of it all right.
In fact so much smoke and flame came out that it set off the fire alarm and we’d had to evacuate the school until the fire brigade came and gave us the all-clear.
Mrs Chalkboard wouldn’t let me make any more model volcanoes after that, so I’d sort of lost interest in history. I wasn’t alone.
‘Hands up if you don’t like history,’ said Mr Brainfright.
Everybody put up their hands.
Well, everybody except Fiona McBrain—but that was predictable. Fiona McBrain was interested in practically everything. So am I, actually—the difference is that I am only interested in interesting things. She was interested in boring things as well.
‘Okay,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Looks like we’re outnumbered, Fiona. Who can tell me what’s wrong with history?’
‘It’s boring,’ said Jack. ‘It’s about boring old people who lived thousands of years ago and it’s got nothing to do with us.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘It’s got everything to do with us. History isn’t confined to thousands of years ago. It’s happening all the time!’
‘How do you figure that?’ said Jack.
‘Well,’ said Mr Brainfright, ‘what did you have for breakfast this morning?’
‘Um . . . cornflakes,’ said Jack.
‘That’s history!’ said Mr Brainfright.
‘No it’s not,’ argued Jack. ‘It was just a bowl of cornflakes.’
‘It’s still history,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘It happened in the past and you’re not a boring old person who lived thousands of years ago.’
‘Wow,’ said Jack. ‘So this morning I made history.’
‘Not just you, Jack,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘We all made history today. In fact, we are making history all the time. We couldn’t stop making history if we tried, because even if we tried to stop making history the very fact that we tried to stop making history would become the history that we were trying not to make.’
Mr Brainfright paused, breathless with the excitement of his history-making speech.
‘And not just this morning, either,’ he said. ‘Your whole lives have been full of historical moments—moments that have never existed on Earth in quite the same way before and never will again.’
‘So when I cut my finger on the bread knife this morning,’ said Jenny, ‘that was history?’
‘Yes!’ said Mr Bra
infright. ‘History! Who else has a historical moment that they can share?’
‘When my dad was helping me with my new chemistry set and we blew the roof off his workshop!’ said Grant.
The class laughed.
‘History again!’ said Mr Brainfright.
I thought of Principal Greenbeard as a kid, hiding his treasure. That was history, too.
‘Will we be tested on this, sir?’ said Fiona, who was furiously taking notes, just in case.
‘Who can say what’s going to happen next?’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out! Does anybody else have any historical moments for us?’
‘When I had a spider in my bedroom and my mum stood on a chair and tried to catch it in a glass but one of its legs was too long and it got cut off and fell onto the carpet and it wriggled,’ said Newton.
The whole class let out a squeal of disgust.
‘When you fell out the window yesterday during our “how to breathe” lesson,’ I said.
‘Now that’s what I call history!’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Who knows? In two thousand years students might be studying my fall out the window as part of their history class. They might even stage re-enactments!’
‘Cool!’ said Jack. ‘I love re-enactments!’
‘Me too!’ said Gretel.
‘So do I,’ said Fiona, ‘as long as they’re historically accurate and not just an excuse to play dress-ups for the fun of it.’
‘Life is an excuse to play dress-ups just for the fun of it, Fiona,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t we stage a re-enactment of yesterday’s fall right now? We’re all wearing historically accurate costumes. It will be just like going back in a time machine!’
‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ said David. ‘You could have been seriously injured yesterday.’
‘But I wasn’t, was I?’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Thanks to the quick thinking of the class. Okay, now where were we?’
‘You were over by the window,’ said Fiona, reading from her notes.
‘About here?’ said Mr Brainfright.
‘A little bit more to the left,’ said Fiona.
Mr Brainfright moved to the left. ‘Like so?’ he said.
Treasure Fever! Page 4