Treasure Lost

by R. G. Cordiner

  “Whatever it is, it sounds a lot more interesting than hunting rabbits!” Farren was beginning to get excited. “We could be talking monsters, treasure, pirates, excitement, you name it!” He began to jump around the room.

  “Hmm, yeh, excitement. I don’t think we’re going to be too excited to find a knife sticking out of our backs.”

  “Aw, c’mon Peter, don’t be a spoil sport. This could be our ticket out; our ticket to a new life of adventure!”

  Peter frowned. “Farren, we have half a map that people will kill for. That’s a ticket alright … a ticket to an early grave.”

  Farren reluctantly put the fragment away, muttering to himself, “The rate we’re going it’ll be death by boredom!”

  ...

  Meanwhile at the wharf, a ship quietly docked. A huge man stood at the wheel, his face criss-crossed with scars and his body adorned with a variety of unusual tattoos. He grunted as they arrived. He turned to the hooded figure next to him.

  “We here cap’n,” he muttered. A steady rattling noise came from within the figure’s cloak.

  “Good, find out where Aron went,” the soft voice said.

  “An’ if we find ‘im?” the bosun asked.

  The captain slowly turned to face the large man.

  “Get my map and then kill him … slowly”.

  Chapter 2

  Knock! Knock!

  Farren lay as low as he possibly could in the dense shrub, ignoring the prickles that tugged at his tunic. He frowned. Had he been heard? It seemed that every beat of his heart was like a war drum and, what was worse, his breath felt like a siren giving out his location for all to find. Surely any fool could hear him? Speaking of which, he slowly turned to glance behind him, his eyes scanning the forest.

  “Farren?” The low whisper drifted through the trees.

  Crrk!

  His head whipped towards where the twig had been. He fumed.

  “Peter, for god’s sake … stay low and keep up!”

  His brother crouched and came closer. “Hey Farren … slow down will you?”

  “Look,” Farren pointed towards a thicket ahead of them, “unless we are very quiet and stick together then we’ll never catch them.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. If you slowed down then I wouldn’t have to rush and make so much noise,” complained Peter.

  “Shhh!”

  “Don’t tell mmmmmmm,” Peter’s comment was cut abruptly short by his brother’s hand.

  Farren motioned that something was ahead and, checking to see that Peter had understood that silence was a necessity, raised his crossbow. He then carefully placed a bolt in the bolt rest and, as quietly as he could manage, drew back the string until it was taut and resting on the latch.

  A thin bead of sweat dripped onto his nose and, desperately trying to ignore it, he raised the crossbow and looked down the bolt at the thicket ahead. It quivered again. Farren glanced out the corner of his eye at his brother and noticed that his rusty sword was shaking slightly. He sighed, ‘typical!’ Suddenly there was a flash of grey from the bush!

  He flicked the latch.

  The bolt flew through the air.

  WHHW!

  PHMP!

  “Did you get him?” Peter asked.

  “No, Peter, for the fourth time, I didn’t get him. I don’t know why I bother sometimes, I really don’t.”

  “Hey, it’s not my fault.”

  “No, well here’s another bolt stuck in a tree and now it’s completely useless.” Farren was getting increasingly agitated. “Not that it’s the only completely useless thing around here!” he muttered under his breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Never mind, let’s just go home.”

  ...

  They made their way through the forest, the rustling of the trees and the crunching of leaves underfoot providing the only noise as both boys trudged home, lost in their own thoughts. They emerged, blinking in the sunlight, at the familiar cottage.

  “Hey look, there’s smoke over there,” Peter noticed.

  “Probably just kids,” replied Farren as he opened the back door.

  As the boys stepped onto the stone floor there was a loud banging on the front door.

  BOOMPH! BOOMPH!

  “Now who could that be?” Their grandmother cautiously drew aside the curtain and the boys heard her gasp.

  “Boys – lift up the rug – there’s a trapdoor underneath.” They both looked at her, puzzled. “Quickly!” she whispered. Sensing the urgency in her voice, they went to the rug and lifted it up. Sure enough, for all this time, there was a rusted iron rung underneath and the vague, dusty outline of a door. They tugged at it, as more frantic knocking sounded at the front door.

  BOOMPH! BOOMPH!

  The boys scrambled down the moss covered stones into a confined, dank room that seemed to be filled with boxes and odd shapes. As the rug descended over the floorboards, the boys could see a glimpse of light in the corner of the cramped little area. They huddled over closer to it, but they could barely make out any of the room above. They could hear footsteps as their nanna walked over to the door.

  “Coming, coming,” she said.

  They heard the door slowly creak open.

  “Righ’ miss, out the way,” a deep voice rumbled.

  “Chad that is no way to treat Madame. I apologise for my companion. He is, ‘ow you say … direct. We were told you have two boys staying here, non? We think they ‘ave something of ours.” The voice’s owner had the unmistakeable sound of a French accent.

  “They must be out,” their grandmother replied abruptly.

  “Well, Madame, I’m sure you won’t mind if we have a look, non?”

  “Actually I do mind. Get out of my house.” The boys could hear that their nanna’s voice was shaking.

  “Madame, now that you are an old lady that commands only a cottage, what makes you think I care what you want? So, either we look around or Chad ‘ere will ‘ave no ‘esitation in slitting your throat.”

  “Uggh,” the other man grunted.

  They heard a sword unsheathed. “Don’t think that because I know you that either of us wouldn’t think twice about it. Chad, take some men and look around.”

  In the musty basement below the boys lay tense, straining to hear what was happening above. The little light that filtered through flickered as people passed overhead. They couldn’t work out how many there were in the house.

  Farren turned to Peter and whispered in his ear, “I’ve had enough of this – let’s go up there and take them!”

  Peter turned, “Farren, there are at least five guys up there, who all sound bigger than us and, not to mention it, are most likely trained killers. But you seem to think that you and I, who are currently unarmed although, of course, we do have extensive fighting experience against rabbits, will somehow leap forth from here and defeat them. Oh, I almost forgot – with the able assistance of our old nanna – who’ll fight them with what? The frying pan??”

  Farren gritted his teeth, “Fine, we’ll just stay here and do nothing … as always!”

  Peter turned and put his fingers to his lips and pointed. The thumping and crashing around above them appeared to have ceased and the boys heard the deep voice of the bosun. “Renard, they not here.”

  “The captain will not be ‘appy. First Aron gets lost on a simple mission and somehow goes and gets ‘imself killed. Then ‘e gives it to two brats we can’t find,” the Frenchman paused. “Alors, we do not ‘ave much time. Take Madame ‘ere and let’s go. The Captain can decide what to do with ‘er.”

  Above them they heard their grandmother say, “Alright, I wanted to see the Nemesis again anyway.”

  The man called Renard laughed. “I will make sure that this time it will be au revoir.” And with that, they left.

  Farren reached for the latch but was pulled back by Peter. “Wait until we know they are gone.”

  The breathing of the two boys was the only sound in the
confined space.

  Hhhhhhhhhhhhh ………..

  Hhhhhhhhhhhhh ………

  Hhhhhhhhhhhhh …..

  “Right, I’ve had enough. Let’s check it out.” Farren started to push on the wooden opening above their heads.

  “Why don’t we just wait a little bit longer,” insisted Peter.

  “I’m sick of waiting. Always waiting! They’re not coming back. Let’s just go.” Farren’s voice began to tremble with annoyance. He grunted as he pushed on the oak. It lifted a little, offering them a small glimpse into the room above.

  Hearing no further noise emanating from the cottage, they climbed out of the hidden chamber, closed the door, replaced the rug and then gazed in bewilderment at the sight before them.

  Years of belongings that had been carefully hoarded and preserved were scattered carelessly throughout the cottage, as if a maelstrom had suddenly hit. Their world had quite literarily been turned upside down. They walked towards their bedroom and, sure enough, it was also in a state of disarray. There were sword marks through their beds and their clothes were strewn all over the room. Favoured memories lay crushed on the ground. Farren was the first to awaken from their astonished stupor.

  “Jesus, they’ve destroyed everything. What do we do now?”

  “Hmmm,” Peter sat down amongst the rubble.

  “… well?” asked Farren.

  “I’m thinking, alright,” Peter snapped back.

  Farren waited.

  His brother scratched his head, “They’re obviously searching for the parchment for some reason. I guess it must be important. I don’t understand why they seemed to know Nanna, though.”

  “Maybe she worked on a boat when she was younger,” suggested Farren.

  “Yeh, well she always seemed a bit nautical.”

  “Peter, how could you say something like that?! We are talking about our Nanna, here!” Farren replied indignantly.

  Peter sighed. “Nautical means she was interested in boats and things to do with the sea, Farren.”

  “I knew that,” mumbled his brother.

  “Well, Nanna mentioned the Nemesis. I guess that must be the ship they are using. That means they must be heading towards the wharfs.”

  “Right, let’s go then.” Farren started to make his way towards the door.

  “Wait,” Peter held him back. “We can’t just march off and attack them. We should follow, but let’s get some stuff together first before we go.”

  “But they’re getting away!” Farren was beginning to get irritated.

  “But Farren, that’s ok – we still don’t know what to do if we catch them. And we will be in a much better position if we have actually packed some stuff and had a chance to think things through. It may take us quite a while to find her,” Peter replied.

  They went to their rooms, which were a complete mess. The boys scavenged through the wreckage and quickly packed some clothes – a jerkin to keep them warm, some comfortable leather shoes, some open-necked shirts, a couple of pairs of hose (with a belt to keep them up) and their flat caps. They collected some cheese, nuts, dried fish and bread, a flagon of water and a small knife for the journey ahead. Farren picked up his crossbow and bolts.

  Peter frowned, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We’re not hunting rabbits you know.”

  Farren stood up, “Yeh, but we are still hunting.”

  They shuddered as they surveyed the room in what had been their home for as long as they could remember. In a few short moments it had all been brutally crushed. With a sigh they both turned and left the room and made their way out into the world beyond.

  ...

  The wharf was a bubbling cauldron of noise and activity as vessels were loaded and unloaded with cargo, people and animals. It had been, until now, a place well avoided, for there were frequently groups of men who would press gang boys of their age into service on either a pirate or navy vessel. Of course, the fact that the smell of rotting fish smacked into their nostrils and crawled under their skin probably had something to do with it as well. The boys turned the corner and once their eyes stopped watering from the stench, they saw about forty vessels of varying sizes and shapes. Once they would have been impressed with the sight of the creaking, old Portuguese naos being loaded with cargo or the large three masted Spanish galleon preparing to depart, but the youths were not so easily distracted.

  They were quickly spotted by a large, burly sailor who approached them. His muscles were covered in scars and tattoos. His weather beaten face grimaced.

  “Afternoon boys. Fancy an adventure?”

  “Sure,” said Farren, “where’s … ” and he was cut short by Peter who dragged him further down the dock.

  “What was that about?” asked Farren as he wrested himself clear of his brother.

  “I’m not sure that that’s the sort of adventure we’re looking for,” replied Peter.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need to be on the deck of a boat, like a deckhand or something, so we can keep an eye out. The last thing we need is to be stuck in the brig waiting to be sold as slaves.”

  Farren scowled. His brother was getting very irritating.

  Peter spotted two old, wrinkled sailors leaning against the rotting boards of the building. He walked over to them.

  “Excuse me sirs?”

  “Yes, laddie, what can we do you for?” the old man’s mouth barely moved as he spoke.

  “We were supposed to start today as deckhands on a ship – the Nemesis. But we can’t seem to find it – do you know if it has docked yet?” Peter asked as his brother walked up to join him.

  “Huh, the Nemesis, hey. Everyone’s heard of that ship. Looks like you boys drew the short straw if you were going to be stuck on that vessel. But boys you’re lucky you missed it … it left maybe twenty minutes ago.” It looked as though a smile crossed his face – although it was hard to tell, as all his wrinkles simply repositioned themselves.

  “You didn’t happen to see which direction it went?” Peter couldn’t disguise the eagerness on his face.

  “I didn’t, did you Bill?”

  “Wassa?”

  “The Nemesis’ heading, Bill”

  “Sou’ we’,” mumbled the old man

  Noticing the boys’ puzzled expressions, he translated, “South west.”

  “Thanks sirs!” Peter and Farren walked off closer to the ships.

  “Well now we just have to find someone who’s going the same way,” said Farren.

  “Let’s split up and ask – we should try the cabin boys or deckhands – they’re probably more likely to tell us.”

  Sure enough, it was not long before they met Malhair, a young, tousle haired deckhand.

  “What do you guys want?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  “We are looking for work as deckhands, wherever we can get it,” replied Peter.

  Malhair looked them up and down.

  “Well we are short a couple of hands,” he began, “but do you have any experience at all?”

  “Well, no. But we are keen to work.”

  “They all say that,” replied Malhair and turned.

  So it was quickly decided and, as they slowly made their way up the gnarled gangplank, the boys hesitated slightly. They glanced at each other and nervous smiles spread out across their faces … each person thinking, “A bit of adventure – this could end up being fun yet!”

  Chapter 3

  All Aboard!

  “Bleeeaugh!”

  For the fifth time, the dwindling contents of Peter’s stomach were violently thrown overboard. He was still amazed that he had anything left to contribute to the wake of the ship.

  Peter watched the waves lick the side of the vessel for a while and then turned his attention back to the deck. It was smaller than he expected, considering the number of people on board. Not all of the crew were on deck, some presumably below sleeping off the previous night. A couple of young men were half-heartedly scrubbing the deck, s
ome were playing what looked like cards and others were sleeping in whatever crevice they could find. He looked up and could barely make out movement in the crow’s nest above. It was hard enough trying to see it in amongst the sails.

  ‘Eeeeeee!’ A high pitched whistle sounded across the ship, and brought Peter out of his thoughts.

  “What on earth was that?” Farren turned to ask one of the other deckhands.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “It’s the bosun’s pipe. He’s going to give us our orders!”

  “C’mon, you can rest when you’re dead!! Back to work, the lot o’ ya!!” The bosun’s face began to turn a beetroot red as he hefted his ponderous bulk down the stairs like an oversized penguin.

  “Boy,” he roared, pointing at Malhair, “check the glass, ring the bell. You,” his stubby finger jabbed towards Farren, “let out the log. And Aeolus,” the red haired youth looked up at his name, “you help him and do the line. And you two,” he rolled his head towards Peter and a lanky boy known as Reeve, “you can start scrubbing the decks.”

  He paused. “Well!” he roared, “what are you waiting for … COME ON!” The five boys scurried off, whilst the bosun stood with a grimace and looked out at the rapidly retreating coastline.

  Aeolus began to explain to Farren, “I throw out the log and you count those coloured knots on the rope. When Reeve calls out the time, we can work out how fast we are going.” Farren nodded and then asked, “So where are we headed?”

  Aeolus laughed, “You mean you don’t know? Hang on, let me guess, a guy came up to you asking if you wanted an adventure, right?”

  Farren nodded, “Something like that.”

  “Well, mate I hope you’re enjoying it because this is as adventurous as it gets. We go out, we get cargo, we come back, and so the merry jig continues.”

  “So we’re not likely to meet any trouble, like say … pirates?”

  Aeolus gave him a probing look, “Well it’s not on the plan, why, you know some?”

  Farren returned the look with interest, “No, it’s just that my brother and I weren’t forced to join this ship, we volunteered. We were hoping for a quiet trip.”

  Aeolus smiled, “Everyone volunteers mate. Getting on board is easy enough. It’s the getting off bit that’s hard. Unless you’re dead that is. That’s where those pirates can help you.”