Authors: H Ryder
“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.
Chapter thirty, Sunday
:
3rdnovember2013, discovery, the 'found' type
“But that's impossible, it can't be from Dad!” Says Kurt. “But he always signs Dr GP, Dr Graham Pearse”
“Signs?” Present tense, I thought they assume he is dead, that's interesting.
“Signed,” Kurt corrects himself, “I always do that.”
“What does it mean Daniel?” I ask quietly, looking over at him whilst I get the kettle on the fire.
“I…we all promised not to pursue this legendary treasure, many of our family have died trying, as you know.” He tells us with a disinterested far-away expression. Speaking like an automaton, bland and singularly toned. “But our ancestor had help, it seems possible that this spice trader could be related to the man who inked my body?”
“And he was trying to lead us to the treasure?” From Kurt.
“...and?” I ask impatiently, “what about the ‘she’ part, is someone watching over us Daniel.”
There’s a great heave of breath behind us, amplified by the space, but it sounds like a deflation leading to an admission, “me!” Stan finally speaks. “It is me.” We all turn to look at him in surprise, “I promised your Father I would watch you Daniel.” He looks from face to face looking for any gesture, “and you've been under surveillance for a few weeks.”
“A few weeks!” Daniel exclaims, “How?” He shakes his head as if clearing the disbelief from his ears, “since when?”
“Since Tharie.” Looking at Daniel, not me. “And I’ve been watching them watching you, to keep you both safe.” He appears frustrated but it’s likely because he couldn’t tell us anything. I forgive him.
“Why,” asks Daniel, “why now?”
Stan looks proud. Proud of doing the job he was given, and succeeded, we are all fine aren’t we? After all, we have survived. “Then something changed?” I conclude, “
Anything happen recently Daniel?”
“My tattoo?” He's right, it is that reason alone we are all here now, isn't it? Now, I’m not sure.
“No Daniel” I tell him shaking my head slowly, trying to work it out, “your tattoo was a consequence of the something happening.” I am certain I’m right, my instincts tell me. Stan is shaking his head, he knows something, my instincts turn out to be right about that too.
He looks at Daniel. “You met someone that changed everything.” Stan looks taller than I remember, imposing even, a real protector, I can see it now.
“And how has this someone changed everything?” Daniel asks looking directly at me, into my eyes and not leaving my stare. Staring back at him, I know don't I? Yes. It's me. We know, but we say nothing, stand perfectly still, like a theatre piece, waiting for the curtain to fall. And someone to appear with a lighted little tray full of ice creams.
I'd prefer tea please.
“It’s Tharie, Daniel.” He breaths a long breath, “she is the new person in your life.” Stan tells us. He’s been watching after us all along, and somehow I am not at all surprised, somehow I knew. Liza has her hand over her mouth, nodding, somehow all this makes sense to her too.
“Me? What has this to do with me, I’m a denim designer!” I cry, but something in my neural network tells me I
am
the missing link. It’s my abilities, my odd brain, its mechanisms are unique and my talents well documented by Dr Shrink. I don’t know how it works, it just does.
“Because,” Stan continues patiently and soothingly, “Tharie has a very rare gift, maybe even unique, her brain makes connections nobody else can.” I stand suddenly wishing I wasn't hearing this all over again. “Her mind can visualise complexities and map ideas like no one alive today.” My temples begin to throb, something's happening up there. “She sees a pattern, where we just see chaos, it's a gift.”
“And a curse!” I say rubbing my forehead as another headache blossoms inside my skull, beginning to throb to a drumbeat, its Nitzer Ebb, this is going to hurt. “Will someone pass me my flask please?” That'll help.
“Hip or tea?” Kurt asks gently.
“Tea.”
“Tharie is the person who threads strings of random thoughts together to form a tangible idea, she will find the key to all this, I’m certain of it.” He look at our faces one after the other,“ and the dangers we have all been feeling, in the background, watching us from a distance, breathing down our necks, means other parties believe she will too.”
God no!
We all look at Stan, “and if I’d been in Tokyo you’d never have gotten abandoned Danny, I’m so sorry.” Daniel smiles up at Stan to totally forgive him, even though there’s nothing to forgive. Everyone else is looking at me in shock. Faces with questioning looks, like little birds waiting to be fed, and I have a juicy wet worm in my beak.
What do I tell them? “Liza knows how this works, “I begin to try to explain, “feelings come and go, they work by themselves, it’s completely uncontrolled and totally random.” well not always random. I open my flask and pour myself a large steaming cup of tea. Take a long refreshing gulp, breathe, then another, god, it's good, and a very, very dark brown. I feel almost human again, not comfortable with attention, I’d like to walk away, put my headphones on, but that's not an option.
“I can see things,” I try to explain, “but the price is my head hurts,” I sit on my rock, “pieces of the universe, random signals meet in my brain, and each 'voice' as I call them, speaks at once, it's deafening sometimes.” Daniel takes my hand in his and kisses it.
“And tell them the feeling you get Tharie, when you face something that isn’t right.” Liza wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a friendly hug. I nearly spill my tea she pulls me hard into her, because she knows how this affects me.
“My allergic reaction you mean?” Liza nods affirmative, “it’s an uncomfortable itch and tightening of the chest.” I take another soothing swig of plastic tainted tea, “sometimes, if I’m seeing an outfit that’s wrong for example or hear a song out of rhythm, it’s hard for me to breathe and, it feels like the prickling of a rash.” I haven't really explained it very well, because I feel lightheaded too, but I’m tired of talking about me. I just want to be by myself. Liza lets me go and stands with Kurt, looking up at him. Letting him know she's there for him, it's very sweet. Wait until he wants her to do something on a show day, then we'll see about the 'sweet' side.
Daniel holds me tight around the waist, pulling me close to him, reassuring me. “OK,“ we hear, “and my Dad?” Kurt asks Stan. Stan just stares conflicted between a promise and the love of those boys he's been watching over since they were little. “Stan?”
“I don’t know anything Kurt and Danny” and he sits on a rock nearby “that’s the truth” going through the routine of checking and rechecking the climbing equipment for safety and delivery. It's his coping mechanism to have routine, as it is mine, I wonder if he likes loud music too?
“Well I’ll be...” we hear a cry from behind us, happy it's not about me any longer. The Professor has spread the knotted string onto the floor of the cavern, he has switched his torch for a smaller version attached to a soft elastic strap and fits around his head. I fumble for my headphones, I need quiet. “You see here, these knots aren’t just random, they are…” too much information....?
“The constellation of Orion the warrior,” I interrupt, putting my Bose’s on my head and plugging in my phone. I don't sit along with the others, instead I play very loud Marilyn Manson to quieten my head.
A little irritated at the interruption but continues nevertheless, “yes, Orion.” Looking up at my retreating form, “see?” And his audience nods in amazed agreement. “Now watch what happens when I overlay this onto this from Daniels old drawings.” He arranges the string piece over the paper carefully, “some of the stars line up with this image,” straightening the mesh finally, “and do these lines look familiar to anyone”?