Now Mathews was certain Charley didn't care if the site was sacred or not. Maybe he'd changed his tune at the thought of a potential treasure.
"We could go a little deeper," Mathews said. "I'll be real careful. Just let me get a few things."
He turned to walk back to the cart when something caught his eye and froze him in place. He stared down at the exposed bottom of the rock, mesmerized. "Charley?"
"Yeah?" Charley stepped over to where his friend was standing and followed his gaze until he saw it too. "What's that?" he asked in a hushed tone.
At first, Mathews didn't answer. He took a cautious step toward the rock and then bent down on one knee. "I'm not sure, Charley. Looks like some sort of Aboriginal drawings."
He took out his brush and started to wipe away some of the excess dirt, but Charley stopped him. "Wait, Bob." He put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "What if you rub it off?"
"I won't. It's carved into the rock. So even if the paint comes off, we can still get a rubbing."
The explanation seemed to convince Charley, and he removed his hand from Mathews's shoulder.
Mathews held the brush delicately in one hand. His fingers fought off nerves that would have caused them to tremble. He'd never discovered anything like this before, and there was no way he wanted to mess it up.
The bristles flicked back and forth against the rock's surface. With each pass they pulled away more and more dirt until the entire image was in view. When he finished, Mathews took a long breath and then let it out slowly.
He stood up and stared at his handiwork.
"You ever seen anything like this?"
Rows of circles, arranged in columns, were etched into the stone. Each circle contained two smaller circles. Next to the grid was a line pointing in two directions. Beside that was an image of a boomerang under the center of three upside down Vs.
Charley lifted the hat off his head and scratched his temple for a moment. "I seen circles like that before but never that many of them on one rock. Not sure what the line means, but there are heaps of boomerang drawings around here. It was part of our ancient culture. This close to the Baiame Cave must mean it's god's boomerang."
Mathews heard everything his friend said but didn't respond. Instead, he kept his thoughts moving forward. "Each circle represents a day." He squatted down again and looked closely at the engraving. "There are forty-five circles here, which means forty-five days."
He was telling Charley something he already knew. Ancient Aborigines had used circles as representations of the sun to keep track of the passage of time.
"Yeah, but forty-five days for what?"
Mathews was already ahead of the question. He tapped the handle of his brush against the line in the rock. "From what I understand, a line like this can often mean a direction. If someone left it here, it could mean that whoever drew it wanted to remind someone which way they should go."
He stood up and stepped over to the impression the rock had left in the dirt. Mathews tilted his head sideways. He glanced at the rock and then again in the dirt, putting the puzzle pieces together in his mind.
"If I'm guessing correctly, when we pulled the rock out of its place, the arrow would have been pointing in that direction."
Charley stared where his friend was pointing. "Northwest?"
"Good. Glad to see we were thinking the same thing. It can get a little disorienting out here at times."
"Not much out that way," Charley said as he peered in that direction. "Just hills and trees."
"No," Mathews agreed. "Not much at all. But think bigger. If someone were to walk for forty-five days in that direction, what would they find?"
"Those things probably indicate mountains or hills of some kind," Charley said, pointing at the inverted Vs.
"Ripper, Charley. You're right. Those would have to be some kind of mountains or something."
Mathews stood up and walked past the horses to the cart parked in a little clearing of dirt. He flipped open a leather pouch sitting in the front and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Charley joined him as Mathews spread out the map on the back of the cart.
The old surveyor had a keen eye for reading a map. It came with the territory from his previous career. He ran his finger along the map, retracing it twice to make sure he figured the direction correctly.
"If someone were to walk at an average of a little over three miles per hour for forty-five days, they would travel around sixteen hundred miles. Give or take."
"How'd you come up with that?" Charley asked with wide eyes.
"I figure walking a day, so about twelve hours. Then you get something like thirty-six or so miles a day. Times forty-five, not hard."
"You did all that in your head?"
Mathews grinned. "I can teach you how to do that too, mate. Although that is a lot of mileage to go on foot. They must have used animals of some kind. That many miles wouldn't have been manageable." He returned his attention to the map. "So if we say around sixteen hundred miles to the northwest..." He reached over and took out a compass and made a circular line around the area in question.
He leaned over the map and looked closely. No towns intersected the line, but there was something even more interesting on the paper that was closer to his drawing than anything else.
"Crikey," Mathews said. He glanced back up the hill at the rock lying on its side. Then he looked at the map once more. "It can't be. Why... How would they..." His voice trailed off.
"What?" Charley prodded. "What you going on about?"
Mathews said nothing. He just stared down at the point where his finger had stopped. Next to it was one word.
Uluru.
1
Sydney, Australia
Annie shuddered at what she'd just done.
Maybe no one noticed, she thought.
Annie Guildford had worked at the museum for nearly thirty years without ever breaking anything. Being meticulous and overly cautious had served her well over the length of her career. Her immaculate reputation was well known around the tight circles of museum curators both in the city and throughout the country.
Now that could be thrown out the window.
She'd been taking inventory of some items in the storage vault as she did on a yearly basis. If she was honest, Annie often wondered why they did it annually. Very few things were added to the collection in storage. Most of the new stuff was put on display or sent around the country for exhibits.
She stole a quick glance toward the only door in and out of the room. No one had seen or heard what happened. How would they? She was the only one working after hours. Reminding herself of that eased her paranoia. A few deep breaths, and she was okay.
Still, there was the issue of the desk.
Annie bent down and looked underneath it.
The item in question was an antique oak desk that dated back to the early part of the twentieth century. She wasn't even sure why the museum was holding onto it, thinking it might be better suited for an auction house or perhaps the office of a writer who enjoyed antiques. The stain had faded over the decades, but the desk remained in good condition. Well, except for the fact Annie had broken it, or so she at first suspected.
A piece of wood dangled from the underside of the desk near its front. When she'd looked initially, it appeared she'd knocked a piece loose. Now she realized it wasn't an ordinary piece of wood like all the others composing the desk. This one was hanging from internal hinges.
It was a false door.
She stood up and looked around again, making sure the room was vacant. Annie shook her head. "You're the only one here. Remember?"
Her eyes involuntarily searched the room once more as she crouched down on her knees and tilted her body to stare up at the anomaly. It was too dark under the desk, so she pulled out her cell phone and turned on the LED light. The bright, sterile glow cast on the desk's underbelly revealed what she'd suspected. Whoever owned this desk had installed a fake panel.
But wh
y?
She rolled onto her back and slid under to get a better view. Holding the phone up to the hanging panel, she shined the light into the cavity. It was difficult to see at first, but there was definitely something inside. Carefully, Annie pushed herself up enough so her head was against the bottom of the desk and her eyes were nearly level with the opening.
Annie got her first view of the object within the desk. It was a rolled up piece of paper. She reached out her hand to take the scroll, but something clicked from the front of the room near the door. Her hand snapped back to her side, the other quickly dimming the light by pressing it to her blouse. Her heart pounded in her chest, beating faster with every breath. She swallowed hard and tried to mute her breathing but felt like it echoed through the room.
After a few minutes that seemed like hours, she crawled out from under the desk and took a quick look around. Still empty. She had no idea what had made the noise, but as far as she could tell, she was alone. Her eyes darted back and forth until she was convinced. Then they drifted back to the mysterious desk.
With another swallow she got back on her hands and knees and crawled back to the spot under the desk. She wasted no time. She pointed the light into the hole with one hand and reached up with the other.
Wait, stupid. This is potentially a hundred-year-old piece of paper. You know better than that.
She scrambled back out from under the desk and walked over to a workstation against the wall near the door. She picked up a pair of white gloves sitting on the table and slipped them on. Annie had been handling delicate items for a long time. She wasn't about to get sloppy now. Plus the walk to the door gave her a chance to do one more survey of the room.
Still alone, she thought. Maybe she was going a little crazy after having been by herself in the vault for so long. Some fresh air would do her good. First, though, was the matter of the paper in the desk.
She strode back to the antique piece of furniture and slid underneath again. Once more she put the light's beam directly into the cavity. With the other hand she reached up and gently rolled the paper with a gloved finger until it rested on the edge of the hole. Then, with a steadfast patience, Annie pinched the paper as lightly as possible and pulled it down out of the desk. It wasn't until she held it in her palm that she realized she'd been holding her breath.
She sighed and took a few deep breaths as she stared at the strange object.
A minute later she was back over at the work table. She warily pried apart the paper and began rolling it open. Annie had to be careful not to do it too fast. If the page had collected any moisture during its time in the desk, the surface could stick together and tear. Since the document had been hidden for the better part of a century, she assumed whatever it was must be important. Tearing it was not an option.
This wasn't the first time Annie had worked with old paper. She'd done it dozens of times over the years, though usually under the watchful eye of experts. The techniques were ones she'd learned from her predecessor. He'd been a gruff man and stubborn to a fault. When it came to taking care of valuable antiquities, however, he was like a father with his firstborn. He worked with a sort of fear hanging over him, as if he screwed something up the world would come to an end.
Annie had taken on those traits through constant observation. As she finished peeling back the paper and pressing it against the surface of the table, she breathed a sigh of relief. Again she'd been holding her breath, although consciously this time.
She stared at the nonsensical writing on the page. Her eyebrows stitched together as she tried to understand what it could be about.
Journal Entry 73,
Charley took ill about a month ago. We haven't been able to do any further investigation on the treasure for nearly three weeks. It appears that he has taken a turn for the worse, and I do not believe he will survive the next few days.
My heart aches to see my friend in such pain. He's been a loyal assistant and comrade throughout this strange journey, a journey I fear is at an end.
I cannot go on without him. It wouldn't be right. After all, the treasure we seek belongs to him and his people, not me—an alien in this land. I'd hoped we'd find it before he passed. I even had the idea of going it alone in an attempt to bring it back to him. His condition, however, grieved me, and I didn't want to leave his side.
So here, at the end of the journey, I must abandon this quest. It pains me to have come so close only to have to walk away.
I have left the clues in place for whoever may find this note. When I gave my speech to the Royal Society, I omitted anything that has to do with the treasure. While they are a decent group of people, there is corruption among them. Were one of the bad seeds to find the clues to the treasure and decode them, I fear the great reward would fall into the wrong hands. As I've said before, it belongs to the Aboriginal people.
If you, dear reader, make the decision to embark on this treacherous journey, remember that. Should you find the treasure, it must be given to the Aboriginal people. I realize there are many tribes, but at their core they are one.
I leave you with this, if you are considering the task. It began with Baiame and a foreign stone, turned and unturned. From there, forty-five suns to the northwest in the northern chasm of the three. Rivers mark the way where light turns dark.
R.H. Mathews
Annie blinked rapidly as she finished the passage. Who was R.H. Mathews? And what was this treasure? From his description, it sounded significant. There were several references to Aborigines and the treasure belonging to them. As far as she could recall, she'd never come across any relics from their culture—nothing of financial value, anyway. Everything she'd seen was more valuable from a historical perspective.
While Annie did have a vague grasp on Aboriginal history, it was hardly her field of expertise. Her mind raced. She had to know someone who might know who this Mathews fellow was, or perhaps knew something about this treasure.
Her thoughts stopped on one name. He was a long shot, but she figured if any of her friends knew anything about what was in this letter, it was him. More importantly, she could trust him. If she were to tell her coworkers about this, who knows what they would do? Better to keep it confidential for now.
She pulled out her cell phone and snapped a quick photo of the paper, careful to make sure the words were clear enough to read. Then she sent it to her email.
Next Annie slid into the desk chair at the computer on the table and logged into her email, found the one she'd just sent, and then typed a quick message to her friend. She copied the image attachment into the email and then hit send.
She let out a short sigh and then shut down the computer. It was time for her to leave. She'd stayed longer than normal anyway. Her eyes darted back to the paper on the table. She'd need to secure that.
Annie stepped over to a shelf where they kept several compressed plastic files. She'd used them before for delicate documents just like this one. Essentially, the files would seal off the inside from external air, thus preserving the paper for considerably longer than if it were just sitting around.
She was lucky the Mathews document wasn't in worse condition. Now that it was in the hands of an expert, she would take better care of it. She carefully slid the paper into the folder and pressed the edges down to complete the seal.
Annie had already decided where to hide the thing. She floated over to a filing cabinet where dozens of similar documents had been stored and slid it in right behind the letter M on the divider. That way she would know exactly where to find it when she came back. And should anyone question her about it, she could claim she'd done as she was supposed to and kept it where it belonged. Annie wouldn't be accused of thievery.
She closed the filing cabinet and then walked over to where she'd left her keys on the work table. She hoped her friend received the email by morning. Curiosity was getting the best of her.
Whatever the Mathews paper was about, one thing was certain: Annie wouldn't be getti
ng any sleep until she had some answers.
2
Adelaide, South Australia
"You gotta be kidding me!" Reece Skelton stared at the television screen in disbelief. "How you gonna let him run all the way down the field like that?"
The television announcer commented on how easily the player made his way through the defense.
"Thank you, yes, we all saw what just happened. Idiots."
He shook his head and reached for the bottle of VB sitting on the end table next to his chair. The second he wrapped his fingers around the cool brown bottle, he realized it was empty. "Of course."
Reece got up and took the bottle to the kitchen, dropped it in the rubbish bin, and opened the fridge to get a fresh one. He opened the new bottle and tossed the cap into the bin with the others and returned to his usual spot.
"Since you blokes aren't gonna help me out today, I guess I could get some work done," he said to the television. "I guess that's what I get for cheering for a bunch of rabbits."
He set the beer down on the nightstand and picked up the laptop from the lounge cushion next to him.
Reece ran his own adventure tour business. Most of his runs went from Adelaide up to the north, and they usually consisted of Americans. They all wanted to see the famous Ayers Rock, known to the locals as Uluru. Of course, Reece always threw in a few extras with his trips. A few picturesque mountain ranges, some pretty waterfalls, a little mountain biking and kayaking from time to time—depending on the fitness level of his customers.
Lately, things had gotten slower. That was highly unusual for this time of year. Reece knew what was to blame.
The internet was chock full of adventure tour guides hocking amazing trips to all parts of Australia. He'd been offered the opportunity to join one of the bigger internet groups, but by doing so he knew he'd have to stick to a more rigid set of rules.
The Sean Wyatt Series Box Set 4 Page 2
