chapter twenty-nine, Saturday:2ndnovember2013, discovery (not the Landrover kind).
We set camp as before, but this time I’m not restless and prepared to claw my way through solid rock to escape. I can see the sky and taste the fresh cold air. The sun is angled so the final rays are creeping in our skylight, soon it will be dark, but I’ll still know the sky is there, I feel so happy. A signal? There must be a tower somewhere out there.
TC: “I can see Centaurus and Libra.” it’s quite beautiful.
EC: “Of course you can, this time of year, you’ll get a great view of the sky” she reads an awful lot about many things. And she beats everyone at scrabble and trivial pursuit.
TC: “Dad would have loved it here” I miss him.
EC: “I miss him too” I know you do Mum.
TC: “See you soon” I want to hug my Mum.
We're all incredibly tired and hungry and I begin preparing dinner. Whilst everyone is exploring the cavern and looking at the map and drawings again the Professor has spread on the floor, its corners kept flat with orange rocks at each end, I decide to break up the packing crate to make firewood. I have matches now, and I am determined to honour my Brownie survival badge, by cooking a lovely meal outdoors under the stars. A meal tasty enough to get a camp-fire meal badge from Brown Owl. I'm goal orientated, and need recognition for my successes.
The crate itself sits on a high dry ledge away from the direct spray of the water. It's been here for years and the consecutive atmosphere of direct heat through the opening in the roof combined with the dampness from the spray in the air has aged it further. The nails are contracted, fragile and rusty. It’s bowed and the joints are no longer aligned tightly, but dry nonetheless, a thin coating of lichen has grown on its surface and died, and the structure of the wood is now quite fragile. I begin breaking off the lid with just my fingers. It has metal straps holding the planks together but I can slide them away easily enough as the wood has contracted and the old planks are sitting loose now in their bindings. Just a hard knock with a nearby rock breaks the nails off finally, and I’m in. One by one I slide the wood out piling the individual planks beside me on the ground. Twelve planks in all I count, though I’m not sure why. I peer in hoping to find some useful equipment that could assist us in our morning climb out of here.
But what I see is something else entirely.
In the base of the crate, sits an object wrapped in a rough natural hessian cover and tied elegantly with intricately knotted and tied packing string. About the size of a car battery but deeper by a couple of inches. This hasn’t been done hastily, or carelessly, but meticulously, taking a great deal of time and with great care. The configuration of a complex series of knots in the string suggest to me this person responsible had lots time, and showed a great respect for its contents. I lean in and gently lift the item out placing it very gently on the floor, it’s quite heavy. I have made a raft of the planks as a base sitting on the hard rock, and reverently I sit it centrally, and carefully down.
Cross-legged I sit beside the object, I study the knots and ties and take lots of photos on my phone, Daniel notices the flash going off as he is nearest and comes over. “What have you got there?” He asks casually until he actually looks properly at the thing I’m staring at. He gasps, “Was that in the crate?”
“Yes, I was dismantling it to make a fire, but dinner will have to wait. This was in the bottom, I was just about to unwrap it.”
Daniel just nods and sits beside me. “My Dad used to wrap packages like that,” he crosses his legs on the hard ground. “He always said unwrapping the mystery should be as entertaining as having solved it.”
I look at him, so beautiful in the dimming light. “I love you.” I say without thinking, but I couldn't stop myself in time, bloody brain.
“I know.” is all he says, still staring at the 'thing'.
“Open it,” we hear from behind us, “this is what we came for isn't it?” Says Stan, he has Kurt at his side, and he pats his back like a member of the family.
“Do it.” Says Kurt in anticipation, “Dad's knots eh Danny?” Shaking his head, he does that a lot I notice.
“Another message?” I have been planning how I open this since I saw it, and to preserve the knots and keep it intact for sentimentalities sake, I decide a sharp knife is the way to go. Just to be clear at this point, I am not sentimental, but others may be. I pull my trusty hoof-knife from the concealed pocket in my boot, my riding bookmaker had stitched in for me. “Tharie?” This from Daniel, “a knife?” He asks, but doesn’t stay surprised for long, he’s getting the hang of it, I’m proud of him.
“Perfectly good for pruning, and cutting baling string, but what you need is a real knife.” And we all turn as we hear a metal object being unsheathed from a holster, and a glint of blade in the perfect parody of Crocodile Dundee. “Here.” Stan passes me a 12inch long knife, I smile sweetly, a very sharp steel blade, with a fine serrated edge along one gently curved edge.
“A hero.” I say
“Be prepared, I say.” answered Stan
“That's the Brownie motto.” I scold jokingly. “Do the special forces steal mantras and mottos from little girls now?” I respond laughing.
“What do you think happens to some of those little girls?” He giggles. “They join the special forces!” His smile is uncommon that’s why I notice it. It's dark and all six spectators join torch forces to illuminate my project on the ground. I want to warn them not to cross the beams but decide now's not the time for an 80's film pastiche, it’s hard though, so obvious... Liza and the Professor have joined us too. Interested in the elaborate contrivance that is the wrapping process.
I begin cutting away the string, its tension is still tight and easy to cut, and it is quick work. I peel the strands carefully from around the jute and hand the string to Daniel and he looks at it lovingly, memories of his Dad must be flooding his brain. The Professor pushes his spectacles back on his nose in interest and reaches for the string, “may I?” Released from the spell Daniel hands the net of knotted twine back to Nigel, and Nigel skulks away with his torch like a cat that's caught a shrew, and wants to give it his full attention.
I slowly unfold the hessian, its rough still in my hands and has been wrapped with masterful hospital corners, and folded back on itself to keep sections in place which would make the wrapper at Tiffany’s seem sloppy in comparison. A sharp inhalation of air from everyone as the object is revealed.
“Your Dad Daniel, he found the box.” My hands are in my lap, I am transfixed by the intricate craftsmanship of the carvings made into the black wood with delicately carved metal inlays. Creatures real and mythical of the sea, carved waves and birds and a sailing ship. The box is really quite beautiful. Atop the mast sits an eagle, resting with its wings by its side, a fish in its talon. It’s a quite astounding object, I’m enjoying looking at it, it would not look out of place in Daniels own personal collection, in fact there are some shapes and forms about it that link in my mind, and belong alongside those collected objects in his home.
“Open it.” Daniel whispers to me, kissing me sweetly on my face, and aware he sounded too bossy adds, “please.” He changes tone to one more suitably tender and less dominant, “open it.”
That’s better. The top isn’t hinged, and its lid is thick and heavy, but it lifts off with some wiggling, and manoeuvring. It hasn't been touched by any damp, the crate protected it. Inside there is a roll of paper, still dry, with more string wrapped and knotted, and holding the string in place an off-white wax seal, with the eagle and ship logo embossed on the surface, it looks like a fancy graduation certificate. I slide the roll out into my hand and pass the string back as before.
“A note.” As I hold the fragile paper in my hand, “it's a note, one very old on a parchment written in ink, with some of Daniels symbols and graphics inked around the edges, it's English but old, 1593 it says at the bottom, I can read most of it.”
“Really?” This from Kurt
Nigel huffs, “remember we had Shakespeare by then Kurt.” He cleans his glasses again, mumbling under his breath not quite quiet enough, “...and here I am, suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...!”
...”or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them...” to myself. True story. Anyway...”and reads something like:
“To my last breath I will tell a tale, I alone survived with my second mate. All hands lost, all I have is my reputation and the will to hide the idol.”
I look up at the staring faces looking down on me, waiting for the story to unfold.
“I have fallen with sickness, and will not live long, but maps exist and those I leave to you here.”
“Only a worthy translator will be rewarded, with a strong will, a handful of the prize will be within your grasp”
“There's a part I can't read, then it goes on”:
“Word has been sent to a trusted old friend, a spice trader.”
“Be helped with good advice” much luck E. Pearse 1593.”
I look at Daniel, his breathing is shallow and face pale.
I continue. “The second note, is written on much newer paper, good quality,” and as I hold it up to the torchlight to see to read it, we all see it has an eagle and ship watermark.
“My Dad's handwriting, Tharie, tell me what it says please.”
Kurt lays a hand on Daniels shoulder, “can you believe this Danny?” All he gets for his question, rhetorical or no, is a head-shake in response, must be a family thing.
I return my focus to the words. “My beloved sons, I will journey into obscurity if I can escape from here. To avoid any link with my beloved family and this matter, the idol remains lost and it's too dangerous to return home for fear those who search for it might come to you. I have tried to find it, but suspect my directions are either a miscalculation or some important clue is missing. Sons, I have tried to protect you and your Mum, please don't get so absorbed in the search for treasure you forget what's important like I almost did. I am sick now, the water in this cave is poison, I will try again to get out.
Forgive me, your loving father, Dr GP.”
“Your Dad is Dr GP?” I’m cross for not realising it before.
Snapped out of his own train of thoughts Daniel nods, “yes, why do you ask?” He and Kurt look confused, and they've got a right to be haven't they?
“An email,” I look to the rock ceiling above hoping the exact wording is written there, sadly this is not the case and I must rely on my own memory to suffice. “I read your e-mail, I’m sorry Daniel, you had a message from Dr GP” the boys are at fully alert now, like Harry on a still morning, when a sound catches his interest.
“And?” From Stan
“It sounded like a threat Stan,” I look at Daniel, he's the one I’m most interested in, and the mail was meant for him.
“You were missing Daniel, and I would have read an invite to dinner as a promise to kill me, but it was a warning, a warning Daniel don’t you see?” Blank looks all round, deep breaths everyone.
He didn't see at all. My brain is frustrated, trying to recall the exact wording, it’ll come, I just need to reach the storage unit in my head where I keep it, now where is it? I look down at my lap.
“Let me see if I can remember exactly what it said, found it:
Dan,
Do as you promised and there won’t be a problem. I’m watching you and her, she’s not safe.
Dr.GP.
Sunday26thoctober2013”
“I promised Dad I wouldn't join his mania for finding this thing, he never knew exactly what it was he was looking for anyway, and so it was easy to convince him I wasn't interested.” Daniel says at last.
“Me too, from Kurt, so I did the next best thing and went out searching for other treasure.” Makes sense.
Looking up at Daniel, pleased I could remember everything that was written, I am good at remembering stuff.
“Shall we get the kettle on?” I ask to the universe, but the universe is busy still, and asks that I leave a message and it'll call back later.
Bloody hell.