‘But it’s already being preserved,’ said Abbie.
Mr Dabbings scuffed the ground with his sandal. ‘Er yes. Until now. But how long before progress sticks its ugly nose in? Before pylons spring up and crisp packets choke the seagulls?’
No one looked convinced.
Heading back to the huts, Abbie swung between relief and disappointment. Thank goodness I’m not the only sneak on the block. But poop the competition. Because one thing was clear: the hunt was on. Whatever the others might pretend, she could bet her sweet Bounty bar that they wouldn’t give up now.
And so could Mr Dabbings. Back at the huts he blew his horn.
Coriander appeared over the ridge of the moor. In her shiny yellow poncho she looked like a happy pepper. ‘I’ve been listening to mud by the stream.’
Matt returned from the nearest mountain where he’d been watching granite erode. Henry came out of the Platts’ hut where he’d been weightlifting Mr Binkles. Perdita had been at the beach chatting to pebbles. So, of course, had Ursula.
‘That’s cheating,’ said Abbie. ‘You were supposed to go alone.’
‘Talking of cheating.’ Mr Dabbings coughed. ‘Time for a meeting.’ He blew the horn in an impressive but pointless way, as everyone was already there.
He explained that half the party had been caught looking for treasure. Henry looked glad. The Platts looked sad. And Ursula looked at a beetle who was wing-wrestling his cousin.
‘So.’ Mr Dabbings rubbed a sideburn. ‘Seeing that some are already at it, I’ve decided on a change of plan. From now on the treasure hunt’s official.’
The cheer was so loud that a startled cloud ran away to Scotland.
‘How about two groups?’ said Coriander. ‘Better to work in teams than sneak off alone. Two adults, three children in each.’
Abbie could have hugged her. A chance to make peace with Perdita. No doubt Urse would make up the threesome – but it could be worse.
Which is exactly what it turned out to be. When Henry bagsied to go with Perdita, and Abbie told him to shove it, he burst into tears and ran up to the moor. Perdita lured him back with the promise that he could be on her team.
So that was it. Abbie didn’t bother asking if she could be the third. She couldn’t bear to hear again how Ursula needed protecting from Terrifica.
Who right now was telling Marcus that if they were going to be team-mates he’d jolly well better keep the Girl Guide law and be friendly and helpful, which meant sharing any clues he found because, if he didn’t, she’d write to the Countess of Wessex who was the President of Girl-Guiding and practically the Queen.
‘Thank goodness you’re with us,’ he said as Abbie joined them, which cheered her up in a sour sort of way. ‘Let’s grab your dad too. He’s the history boffin – he’ll know where to look.’
Abbie and Marcus found him in the food tent making parsnip paté crackers for lunch. ‘I’d be delighted to join you,’ he said, throwing them each a bag of smokey bacon crisps.
Marcus gasped. ‘This isn’t monk food!’
Dad grinned. ‘They kept pigs and grew potatoes, didn’t they? But if it makes you uncomfortable, Abbie and I are happy to help.’ He held out his hand.
Deciding he was very comfortable, Marcus opened his packet.
After lunch everyone went up to the moor. They sat in a circle to finalise teams. Matt and Coriander insisted on being together as man and wife, two-in-one, plaited for life, blah-di-blah.
Mr Dabbings went quiet. He got up and wandered back to his hut while the others thought up team names. They came up with:
The Slightly Platt-Hollers: Perdita, Ursula, Henry, Matt and Coriander.
The Hartley-Battboilings: Abbie, Marcus, Terrifica, Mr Dabbings and Dad.
Mr Dabbings returned with his guitar. He’d put on his Wendigan, a woolly jacket with five buttons down the front shaped in the letters W, E, N, D and Y. While he gazed out to sea and sang ‘My Poppets Lie over the Ocean’, the others played, ‘What I’d do with the Treasure’.
‘I’d buy this island and turn it into a Guide camp,’ said Terrifica, ‘where people could learn to Be Prepared.’
Dad said he’d write a book called Indiana Hartley: How I Dug Up the Truth.
‘I’d rule the world,’ said Henry, a little off topic.
Coriander said she’d turn Remote Ken into a holiday park so that the zoo creatures could roam as free as birds, even though they were all animals except for the birds.
Matt agreed, adding that he’d build an open-air heating system so that the zoo creatures could be as snug as bugs, even though they were all animals and birds except for the bugs.
‘Me too,’ said Perdita. ‘And with the money left over I’d buy a Guide uniform for Urse.’
Ursula was so moved she had to miss her turn.
Everyone looked at Abbie. ‘I … I dunno.’ She hugged her knees and stared at the ground. Perdita hadn’t even thought of her. That’s it. Our friendship’s officially dead.
‘Hey.’ Marcus leaned over. ‘If I won, you could have half the money.’
She didn’t believe him for a second. But just at that moment it was the kindest thing anyone could have said.
On the way back to the huts, Coriander suggested they make reed whistles before starting the treasure hunt tomorrow. ‘We’ll be wandering all over the island. We need to be able to contact each other. If a fog came down we’d be in trouble.’
No one could argue with that, though Mr Dabbings looked annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it first. They walked round the lake until they found a cluster of reeds and spent the rest of the afternoon learning from Matt how to cut notches for the mouthpiece using a stone.
That evening, after a meal of potted mole stew, they sat round the fire and practised peeping on their pipes. There was such a racket that a family of midges who’d booked a lakeside table had to cancel their dinner for eight hundred and ninety-four.
***
‘… And three fifty change,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘Thank you, Madam.’
Grandma scooped the money across the counter towards her purse. Three coins dropped onto the floor. ‘Blast!’
The young man behind her picked them up. ‘Your treasure, Ma’am,’ he said, handing them back.
‘Much obliged.’ She frowned. ‘’Ere, what did you say?’
The man repeated it.
‘Of course!’ She punched him in the shoulder. ‘That’s it.’ She pressed the coins into his hand. ‘There you go, chuck. Treat yourself.’
The young man stared as the old lady danced out of the shop, shouting, ‘I’m on your trail, you crafty crumpet!’
Shaking his head, he turned back and bought a Toblerone.
***
Klench sat in the darkest corner of the Welsh motorway service station, munching his fifth chocolate-chip muffin.
‘Zat’s enough, you pastry puff,’ barked Inner Mummy.
He looked at the clock on the wall. ‘But it’s only seven forty-four and nineteen seconds, Mums. I must get through whole night before Brag collects me in mornink. Besides, I need to stock up for trip.’ He shivered at the thought of all the long-life food he’d packed in his rucksack.
‘Any more snacks vill raise suspicion – zen goodbye to expedition.’
She was right. He’d got this far without being recognised. Just a few more hours to keep a low profile. Grabbing the four Danish pastries, six burgers and five turkey subs he’d bought for dinner, Klench crouched down and squeezed himself and his rucksack under the bulging leather seat, with which he merged so well that the short-sighted cleaning lady, who came every hour on the hour, thought he was part of the furniture.
11
Choco-sneaks
Next morning everyone was up bright and early – or at least early. Abbie felt as bright as the inside of a Hoover bag, thanks to Terrifica’s night-travel. The large girl, wrapped in her sleeping bag and snoring like a rhino, had kept rolling across the floor and slamming into Ab
bie. After the fourth slam, Abbie had escaped to the stone bench where she’d lain safely, if lumpily, for the rest of the night.
Yawning, she dressed and shuffled out of the hut. The air was sharp and still. Only the lake danced to its silent music, wriggling and swirling in tricky little currents.
Over a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and corn cakes they discussed the rules for treasure hunting. Excitement grew until Dad reminded them that there was practically zero chance of finding the goblet because there was practically zero chance it was there.
Marcus said that practically zero wasn’t actually zero, so there was a very small chance, say 0.0000001 per cent.
Mr Dabbings said, ‘Please Marcus, it’s too early for maths.’
Matt said they should spend the mornings treasure hunting and the afternoons doing joint activities, to keep good relations between the teams.
Coriander said that was a great idea: the most important thing was that everyone stayed friends.
Abbie said nothing on the outside but plenty on the inside as Ursula showed Perdita a Sneaky Belter.
Collecting a jerrycan from the food tent after breakfast, she strolled past them to the lake. The jerrycan was for water. The stroll was for spying.
‘Where shall we look first?’ It was amazing how much louder Ursula’s voice had become. Three days ago it would have sounded like, ‘Where shall we look first?’
‘Mum suggested the mountain, just above the woods,’ said Perdita, who couldn’t whisper if she tried. ‘There must be plenty of nooks and crannies – perfect for hiding treasure. Oh, hi.’ She waved at Abbie. ‘Are you spying on us?’
Dung buttons. Abbie frowned in a ‘How dare you suggest such a thing?’ sort of way.
‘Why don’t you join us?’ said Perdita. ‘Your team could go one way round the mountainside and we could go the other. We’d cover the area in half the time.’
‘Nah.’ Abbie smiled coolly. ‘We’ve got a totally different idea.’ She sauntered back to the food tent, swinging the jerrycan in a calm but firm, carefree yet determined way. ‘Quick!’ she hissed, ducking into the tent. ‘We need a plan.’
Mr Dabbings was sitting on the floor, stroking a round stone. ‘If I screw up my eyes,’ he murmured, ‘that could be Wendy’s tum.’
Terrifica snapped her fingers. ‘No moping, Sir. We need to organise. I’ll be chairperson.’ She blew three times on her reed whistle. ‘Dyb dyb dyb, chin up chaps. Let’s put on our thinking caps. Hands up with suggestions.’
Marcus’s hand went up. ‘Who said you could be chairperson?’
Terrifica twiddled her pencil. ‘That’s a question, not a suggestion. Mr Hartley, as monk expert, where do you think they might have kept the goblet?’
‘We-e-ell.’ Dad scratched his beard. ‘Somewhere hidden yet obvious.’
Terrifica nodded. ‘Easy but difficult.’
Marcus gave a slow handclap. ‘Genius.’
Terrifica glared at him. ‘I meant easy for the monks to find but difficult for anyone else. Somewhere near the huts. What about the lake?’
‘If you’re suggesting scuba diving,’ said Abbie, ‘you’ve won your Stick It In Your Pipe badge.’
Dad smiled. ‘I’m sure Terrifica doesn’t mean in the water, love, but round it. How about we split up? Half our team goes one way round the lake and half the other.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Abbie quickly.
‘How nice. Fond of your old dad, eh?’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she replied, eyeing the rectangular bulge up his sleeve.
Mr Dabbings took a pair of knitting needles from his rucksack. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stay and man the fort. This baby jacket won’t knit itself, you know.’ He held up a patch the shape of Australia.
‘Fine by me, Bran.’ Dad patted Abbie on the back. ‘Let’s head to the right of the lake.’
‘Hang on.’ Marcus raised his hand. ‘You can’t expect me to go with–’
But Dad and Abbie were off.
A few clouds lay across the sky like ripped sheets. On the left the lake stirred gently, nudging the beach with little waves. The pebbles merged on the right with thick undergrowth.
‘This is like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ said Abbie, ‘except there’s no needle.’
‘Nice to be together, though. Just us two.’
‘Yeah. You’re great, Dad.’ She squeezed his arm affectionately.
‘You too … hey!’ But she’d already pulled the Crunchie bar out of his sleeve.
They munched round the lake. Flies buzzed. A crow creaked from a distant tree. Pebbles crunched under their trainers.
‘Dad.’
‘Yes, love?’
‘Don’t you feel bad about this secret food? You’re the one who wanted to eat medievally. The others’ll go mad if they find out we’re cheating. You wouldn’t even use Matt’s Scour Flour.’
‘Matt!’ He stopped.
Abbie stared at him. Matt was his closest friend, the man who’d drop anything to mend his computer or fix his car. But the way he’d said it, you’d think Matt was a fly that needed swatting. ‘What would we do without Matt, eh?’ He kicked a pebble. ‘Always has a plan. Handy as a hanky, smart as a phone, kind as a clementine.’
Abbie had never thought of small oranges as particularly caring. But she let it pass. Dad clearly needed to get this off his chest.
‘I mean,’ he folded his arms, ‘I’m supposed to be the medieval expert round here. But he keeps scoring points with his Scour Flour and Soilets and silly old Erics.’
Abbie overlooked that one too.
‘Oh he seems all quiet and helpful. But underneath he’s just showing off. And if that’s his game, he jolly well can stick it up his–’
‘Dad!’ Abbie clutched his arm. ‘Look.’ Bubbles were popping in the middle of the lake. ‘The hot springs.’
‘Ha!’ Dad stabbed the air with his finger. ‘There we go again. We all had our theories but who was right? The Marvellous Mr Matt, of course.’
Abbie pulled him back as the bubbles spread to the shore, bursting onto the beach. It was the strangest sight: not a breath of wind and the lake boiling like water in a pan. Panic rose in her chest. What if Matt had been right and wrong? Right about the volcano, wrong about extinct? What if it had been building up for years, waiting for this moment to erupt?
She grabbed Dad’s hand. ‘Let’s go back.’ Not that it would help. If the volcano blew its top, huddling in a hut wouldn’t save them. But at least they could eat Dad’s chocolate supplies before melting into lava.
By the time they reached the camp, though, the bubbles had subsided and the lake was back to its gentle dip and swell.
There was no sign of the others. ‘Any more chocolate?’ asked Abbie.
Dad winked. But on the way to the food tent, he froze. ‘Listen.’ With a finger on his lips, he turned towards the wall that surrounded the huts. They crouched down.
‘Zitters indeed!’ A voice was coming from the other side. ‘They were definitely Normans. She humiliated me in front of the children, Wendikin.’
Abbie peered over. Mr Dabbings was sitting with his back to the wall.
Dad sprang up. ‘Gotcha!’
‘Aaagh!’ The teacher dropped his phone. Snatching it up, he gasped, ‘Gotta go, Wendo. Kiss Buddleia for me – no, it’ll strain your stomach.’ He made a kissy noise and ended the call.
Abbie smiled sweetly. ‘I thought the phone was for emergencies, Sir.’
Mr Dabbings ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Yes, of course. I was just, er, checking there wasn’t one at home. You never know with babies.’
Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘What d’you think, Abbs; should we tell the others?’
Mr Dabbings stood up. ‘Had a good walk?’ He tapped his foot. ‘It certainly looked like it, with that snack to spur you on. You should have seen the wrapper sparkle when I happened to glance across the lake. Quite lovely. What do you think; should I tell the others?’
Dad
held up his hands. ‘OK, point made. How about we call it quits? You keep our secret, we’ll keep yours.’ Mr Dabbings nodded. They all shook hands.
A shrill sound pierced the air. Terrifica was running up from the beach blowing her reed whistle. ‘Yoo hoo lot!’ Her cheeks were flushed, her nostrils flared. ‘Have you seen Marcus?’
‘I thought he went with you,’ said Abbie.
‘We had an argument by the lake.’
Not you too, thought Abbie. Everyone seemed to be at it – falling out in lumps like manure from a tractor.
‘I said he should wade in and look for glinting,’ Terrifica explained. ‘He told me to wade in myself. I said, “I can’t, I’m busy directing.” He said, “You mean dictating.” I said, “What’s your problem?” He said, “You are.” And then the lake started to bubble and he said “Stuff you!” and ran off along the beach. So I just carried on. I thought he’d come round the lake and join you.’ Shielding her eyes with her hand, she surveyed the landscape like a bossy pirate. ‘Oh my woggle, where can he be?’
In his hut, it turned out. Abbie and Terrifica found him sitting on the ground playing chess with himself.
‘Checkmate.’ He shook hands with himself. ‘I won,’ he said, looking up triumphantly at Abbie. ‘And I only cheated twice.’
‘I was worried about you,’ said Terrifica. ‘You shouldn’t rush off like that.’
Marcus frowned. ‘Did you say something, Abbie? I thought I heard a voice.’
‘It was me,’ said Terrifica.
Marcus arched his eyebrows. ‘Wow, Abbie, how do you do that without moving your lips? That’s pretty cool. But then you are pretty cool.’ He glared at Terrifica. ‘Unlike some people round here.’
She glared back. ‘Well, I agree with that!’
As Terrifica huffed out of the hut Abbie couldn’t help a little grin. How about that, Perdita Platt? Look who’s popular now.
***
‘Are you sure?’ said Mum. She was tucking clean sheets into Chunca’s bed while he tucked into lasagne downstairs. Being royalty, the Emp had made it clear to Bacpac (who’d made it clear to Fernando, who’d made it clear to Mum) that he expected to be treated like – well – royalty.
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