Buried Secrets at Louisbourg

by Jo Ann Yhard

  Fine with me, he mused. The fewer witnesses to his constant humiliations, the better. Santier House was to the left, the last structure on the quay. He strolled along the main street, past Morin House.

  A red door surrounded by stone in Le Billard’s foundation caught his eye. It was more the size of a window, with a small, square hole in the middle. The hole was trimmed in wood, like a framed picture. Two strips of metal shaped like swords spread from the hinges on the left across the door. They almost touched the large rusted lock on the right. Fred pressed his face into the opening. It wasn’t even big enough for his head to fit through. Blocking out the only source of light, Fred could see nothing. The smell of damp earth and the whiff of something rotten filled his nostrils. Not an appealing prison, he thought, pulling his head back and examining the outside lock. He wondered what offences had been committed by its past prisoners.

  The crowds were thickening farther ahead at the centre of the quay, by the Frédéric Gate. The smells of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread drifted from the restaurants. His stomach rumbled. Thinking of the lint that filled his pockets instead of money, he turned back toward the campsite where food was waiting. Hunger won over embarrassment—for now.

  A figure darted behind the tents as he approached. “Dad?” he called, sure he recognized the trademark black jeans and matching T-shirt. The figure didn’t pause.

  “Dad?” he repeated, louder.

  Curious, he stopped in front of the vacant buildings where he’d had the run-in with Gerard. The gate was still swinging shut. He stepped closer, holding it ajar. Murmured voices came from inside the courtyard. Fred peered around the gate. His father was talking to a man he didn’t recognize. He was huge! Dressed in a loose white shirt and short pants, with long socks and wooden shoes, he had to be a re-enactor.

  Fred was about to say something, when the man pointed his finger in his dad’s face. “We had a deal.”

  “We still do.”

  “You said you’d found it,” the stranger said.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Well, uncomplicate it!”

  “Relax,” his father said. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “You’d better. I’m counting on this.”

  “Give me ’til tomorrow night. I’ve got a friend on the Invictum. It’s just taking a bit of time. Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”

  “I’m on the hill. With this getup, I blend in with the rest of the crazies up there.” The man kicked at the dirt. “These shoes are ridiculous!”

  “Best I could do,” his father said with a shrug. “I gotta go.”

  Fred carefully let the gate close and hurried around the back of the building. He watched from the corner as the man strode off down the quay. His dad walked in the same direction, but circled around on the quay side of their campsite. He could hear Grace and Mai’s cheery greetings. Fred closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the side of the building.

  His head was spinning. Like he didn’t have enough to worry about already. What trouble had his dad gotten into?

  Chapter 7

  Fred sucked in a deep breath and rounded the water side of the tent site. The firepit was burning brightly. Mai was laughing and busily opening cans and dumping the contents into a metal pot. Jeeter was sitting between Mai and Grace, looking like he owned the place. They all lifted their heads in his direction. All eyes but Mai’s met his. He felt like he was barging into someone’s house uninvited.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Jeeter said. “Where did you take off to?”

  “Uh, bathroom,” he blurted.

  “I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go,” Jeeter smirked.

  “Did you get it open?” Grace asked. “I’m dying to see. Remember, we split three ways!”

  “Get what open?” Jeeter asked.

  “Nothing!” Fred hissed, glancing at the tent. “Not now Grace, okay?”

  Grace looked confused but nodded, her gaze switching from Fred to the tent and back again. I’ll have to explain that, Fred guessed. Although he didn’t know how he would. How do you explain that you don’t trust your own father?

  Mai was quiet, sitting cross-legged by the fire, and hiding behind her hair curtain again. Was she ever going to look at him? And he couldn’t go into the tent. His father was in there and he really didn’t want to get into the whole thing about the diving gear—not where everyone could hear, anyway.

  “What’s the matter?” Grace demanded.

  “Nothing, why?” Fred asked.

  Grace stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Don’t pretend. Something’s up. You’re acting even weirder than usual!”

  “Forget it.”

  She leaned close to his ear, as if not to be overheard. “You don’t have to split four ways, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll give Jeeter some of my share.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Geez, Grace.”

  “Fine, I’m just saying.” She returned to her seat between Mai and Jeeter.

  Fred picked a spot away from the fire. He sat down gingerly and stretched out his legs. From its hiding place, the box dug into his back. It was like an angry cat, scratching him for attention. Be patient, I’m working on it!

  Grace was yacking her head off to Jeeter about the fossil project underway on the Point Aconi beach. He was asking about her dad. Mai stirred the contents of the pot as it sat on a grill above the flames. He wished she’d look up. She was concentrating on the pot like it was the most important thing in the world. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the beams of the seawall.

  Grace and Jeeter’s chatter faded to a dull buzz. Visions of giant rubies and emeralds swam behind Fred’s lids. He imagined himself floating over the fortress. Something here would help him get the box open, he knew it. The details of the maps and sketches of the buildings he’d memorized were suspended around him, like a 3-D movie. It was a fortress, after all, with weapons.

  An idea about how to open his box was just out of his reach. He squinted, as if that would make it come into focus. He pictured the entrance gate. To the right was the bakery. No, not there…but beside it was—

  KKLANGG!!!

  A muffled curse came from the guys’ tent. Fred’s eyes sprang open. The canvas wall facing the water flapped madly. What was his dad doing in there? Then, just as quickly, he realized he’d rather not know. Some crazy scheme to make money, Fred suspected, thinking of the shady character his dad had met earlier.

  “Hungry?” Mai asked softly.

  She held a steaming bowl of stew out toward him. Fred’s heart flipped as he met her gaze. Her lower lip was quivering. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know,” she sniffled. A teardrop hung from her lower eyelash. “I’m so sorry.”

  He thought for a moment of pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. But what was the point?

  “It’s fine,” he muttered. Why was he feeling bad for Mai because she was upset? He was the one that was poor! Girls.

  “I want to help.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. Some things no one could help with. “It’s fine,” he repeated, “really.”

  “Fred, I mean it.”

  Behind Mai, Grace and Jeeter were staring at them. Grace was probably dying to hear what they were whispering about. She was so nosy.

  He lowered his voice even more, motioning Mai closer. “As soon as I get this box open, there won’t be anything to worry about.”

  “I don’t want a share. You keep it.”

  “Grace is nuts, don’t listen to her. There are no shares. It’s all for Mom anyway.” Rats! He hadn’t meant to say that.

  “Your mom?”

  Scenes of the past two months flashed in his head. He still couldn’t believe how fast his life had changed. He remembered going to Grace’s birthday par
ty with Mai at the beginning of the summer. It had almost seemed like a date. Everything had been perfect. Now it was the end of August, and it was as if it had all happened to someone else. In a way, it had. He felt different now.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Mai said, her voice hushed.

  “It’s a long story,” he said. “I—”

  “Are you guys going to eat or what?” Grace said, waving them toward the fire.

  “Yeah,” Fred answered. “Sure. But you better hide those cans. It’s supposed to be all real cooking from the old ages, remember? I don’t think canned stew was on the menu back then.”

  Mai hesitated. Fred could tell she wanted to talk more. He edged closer to the fire. After a second, she followed. They settled around the firepit. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, but Grace couldn’t seem to stand it.

  “Jeeter, you missed a good one today. You should have seen this crazy soldier guy,” she murmured between mouthfuls. “Totally crackers! He thinks he’s back in the 1700s somewhere, waiting for the British invasion.”

  “Figures,” he grinned. “First day and you’re already in trouble.”

  “Wasn’t me,” Grace said. “Freddo’s the trouble magnet now.”

  “I saw him again,” Fred said. “That fortress soldier—he followed me.”

  “What?” Grace said.

  “He’s crazy all right,” he added. “I think he’s after, you know…” He shifted slightly, feeling the weight of the box against his skin.

  “What?” Jeeter asked.

  “Fred’s box,” Grace said.

  “Grace!”

  “What? He’ll find out eventually, Freddo.” She shrugged, scraping out the last bit of stew from her bowl. “When we get it open.”

  “What’s in it?” Jeeter asked.

  “Treasure,” Grace added with relish.

  Fred’s father emerged from the tent. “Treasure?”

  Oh no! Fred desperately tried to think of something to say. “A story we heard today,” he rasped, his throat bone dry. He coughed.

  His father studied each of them, his eyes finally resting on Fred. “Story, huh?”

  Fred doubled over, now in the throws of a coughing fit. The box poked painfully into his lower back. It didn’t seem very happy, either.

  “Not holding out on your dear old dad, are you, son?” His father flashed a wide grin, slapping Fred between his shoulder blades. “Treasure’s right up my alley.”

  Chapter 8

  “You know about treasure?” Grace leaned forward. “Tell us.”

  Fred’s father didn’t need further encouragement. Mai and Grace made room for him in the circle and Mai handed him a bowl of stew.

  “I’ve travelled the world,” he said. There was a gleam in his eye. Or was it the flickering reflection of the fire? “And seen more treasure than you could ever dream about.”

  Grace and Mai exchanged puzzled looks.

  “But…” Grace said.

  Fred could read their minds. Why were they getting meals at the food bank? Why weren’t they living in a big mansion? “He’s leaving out the important part,” he said. “It wasn’t his treasure.”

  “It was.” His father scowled. “I got swindled!”

  Fred rolled his eyes. Not this story again. “Dad, you were a hired hand, remember?”

  “Fred!” Mai gasped. She looked horrified. She’d probably never had so much as an argument with her parents, let alone talked back to them.

  “No, no, it’s okay,” his father said, holding up a hand. “He’s right. Or at least the judge thought the same thing.” He stared off at the water. “But that’s not how it was. We were partners.”

  “What kind of treasure?” Grace asked.

  “Gold. So much gold, it took us a week to get it all up. Millions!”

  “Get it up from where?” Jeeter asked.

  His father smiled. “The bottom of the Bermuda Triangle.”

  There was a collective gasp. All eyes were fixed on Fred’s father. He had them.

  “The Bermuda Triangle? For real?” Jeeter looked impressed.

  Fred’s father nodded. “And everything they say is true. It doesn’t give up its secrets easily.”

  Fred shook his head. He knew what came next. Heck, he could probably tell the story even better than his father could after all these years. “Why don’t we check out the rest of the fortress?” he suggested lamely.

  Grace shot him an “Are you crazy?” look. “Wander around this boring old fort? We’ve got all weekend to do that. I want to hear about the treasure.”

  “Me too,” Mai added. She looked apologetically at Fred.

  “Fine,” Fred grumbled.

  “It was an accident,” his father continued, “us finding her. Maybe she wanted to be discovered, finally, L’Herminie.”

  His father poked the fire with a stick. Flames licked high, sparks drifting down around them. Fred knew he was taking his time, loving the fresh audience.

  “You were the first to find the boat? Oops, I mean find her?” Mai breathed.

  “This part of L’Herminie, yes. The main part of the wreck had been discovered years before. But she’d broken up and been scattered all over the coral reefs. Cannons and such had been recovered…but never gold.”

  “How did you find it?” Grace asked.

  His father paused, as if trying to recall the details. Fred bit the side of his cheek, holding back the “Gimme a break!” that was on the tip of his tongue.

  “The sea was flat as a table that morning. Not a cloud in the sky. The site we’d been searching hadn’t delivered at all. A few cannon balls, some knives and odd bits, nothing like we’d hoped. We had done an entire grid of the bottom, too. Took our time.”

  A group of re-enactors were strolling by on the quay. They stopped, looking over at everyone gathered around the fire. “Evening,” one said.

  Fred’s father waved casually, but didn’t return the verbal greeting. He made no effort to stand up. The group murmured amongst themselves and resumed their walk. One glanced back their way. They seemed to sense that they weren’t welcome.

  His father poked the fire again, sending a fresh spray of sparks into the darkening sky. “We packed it in and were heading to port. I was on deck, cleaning the dive gear. The da—”

  Fred coughed, aware his father was about to swear.

  His father looked up.

  Fred shook his head.

  “Oh, ah…the darn tank fell over and started rolling down the deck. I bent over to grab it…”

  Grace leaned forward. “What happened then?”

  “WHAM!” his father roared, smacking his two hands together.

  Grace jerked backward. Her water bottle toppled off her lap and spilled into the dirt. Mai squealed and grabbed Jeeter. Even Fred, who knew it had been coming, twitched.

  “White wall! A rogue wave came outta nowhere. Swamped the boat. Almost sank us.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Mai’s brown eyes glowed in the firelight. “Was anyone hurt?”

  Fred’s father pointed to a scar on his forearm. “Used up one of my nine lives that day.”

  Mai put her hand over her mouth.

  “Cool scar,” Jeeter said.

  His father grunted. “Lost most of the equipment. Electronics were fried. We drifted for hours.” He settled back from the fire, his voice lowered to normal. “Ended up hung up on some coral.”

  His eyes were half-closed and his speech had slowed. He always got like this. Fred figured his father was reliving every detail in his head. It reminded him of movies where characters talked about the fish that got away. L’Herminie’s gold was his dad’s fish.

  “Were there any, you know, sharks or stuff like that around?” Mai asked.

  His father nodded and pressed his lips together. “There are
always sharks. But if you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you…mostly.” He scooped a heaping spoonful of stew from his bowl.

  Mai shuddered. “None around here, though, are there?”

  His father smiled. “You’d be surprised what’s swimming around our little ocean—sharks included.”

  “What? I’m never going swimming again!” Mai vowed, gazing fearfully at the harbour.

  “Sharks, schmarks! What about the treasure?” Grace chimed in.

  “Ha, got you hooked, eh?” Fred’s father winked. “So, where was I? Oh, yes, the coral…Anyway, the boat wasn’t leaking, so we figured there was no need to panic. Since we lost the tanks, I patched myself up so I wouldn’t bleed in the water and decided to do a little snorkelling while Nip worked on the radio.”

  “Nip?” Jeeter asked.

  “Dad’s boss,” Fred said.

  “Partner,” Fred’s father corrected. “It was a sweet dive—the reef was pristine. A school of sergeant majors were keeping me company, but a barracuda or something must’ve spooked ’em. They scattered and…there it was.”

  “The treasure?” Grace said.

  “You bet. Laid across the sea floor like a picnic on a blanket.”

  “Wow!” Grace said. “That would be awesome.”

  “There’s nothing like the weight of a gold doubloon in your hand,” Fred’s father said, closing his fingers and rubbing them together.

  “You didn’t get to keep any of it?” Mai asked.

  “Nip was the one who always took care of the paperwork.” His closed hand tightened into a fist. “I guess you never really know someone until there’s a king’s ransom at stake.”

  No one spoke. Their glazed eyes danced eerily in the firelight. Fred figured their minds were dancing as well, imagining what having that kind of money would be like. He used to wonder, too. But he didn’t have to anymore. The box was tucked safely under his shirt. Fred had done what his father never could. He had his own treasure now and no one was going to take it away.