Faerie Tale

by Raymond Feist

  Jack jumped and laughed. “You are insatiable, woman.” He kissed her. “And those brothers of yours have radar. They’d come rolling into the barn at the worst possible moment. Besides, it’s starting to get wet and the barn roof leaks, and it’s cold. Now, be good!”

  Hugging him again, Gabbie grinned. “Good? I’m great. You’ve said so yourself.”

  Jack laughed in resignation. A scattering of drops announced the arrival of a rainstorm that had been glowering in the sky all day. “Let’s get inside,” Jack said.

  She put her arm around his waist and they walked toward the house.

  In the den, Phil was hunched over before the computer, concentrating hard on what he read on the screen. After a moment he opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a pencil and a legal pad. He consulted his notes and typed in the instruction to return him to where he left off last. Somehow, some way, he was determined to finish this and, without help from anyone, get a perfect score of 400 playing Zork. He looked up and smiled at Jack. “How are things?”

  “Pretty good. I think I’m ready for my orals next Tuesday. My friend Mike came up with questions I don’t think even Aggie could have thought of. Speaking of Aggie, I thought I’d hang out here for a few hours before going home. Her coffee klatch should be finished by then.”

  “Good,” said Gabbie. “We can put the time to good use.”

  “What good use?”

  “We’ve still got a bunch of trunks in the attic we haven’t opened. Let’s go poke around and see if we can’t scratch up something interesting.”

  Jack said, “Toward what ends?”

  “Who knows? Maybe we can find something that will help out Mark and Gary when they get back.” It was already three weeks into October, and Mark and Gary were still on their respective sojourns seeking insights into the odd findings in the Hastingses’ basement. “Gary called a couple of days ago. He’s bogged down with his linguist friends in Seattle. And he’s lost track of Mark and wanted to know if we’ve heard from him.”

  “Lost track?” mused Jack. “That’s strange.”

  “Gary didn’t seem particularly distressed. He said Mark often gets sidetracked while traveling. He must’ve uncovered something diverting after he said he was about to return. So I volunteered us to go snooping in the attic.

  Anyway, it’ll give us something useful to do this afternoon.”

  Jack shook his head. “All right. You’ve talked me into it, you silver-tongued devil.”

  Phil’s attention had already returned to his computer screen. “Have fun, you two,” he said absently.

  Gabbie said to Jack, “Come on, let’s go into the attic and poke.”

  Presenting an evil grin as they climbed the stairs, he whispered, “You know that sounds dirty.”

  A short elbow to the ribs was her only answer as they headed for the stairs to the attic.

  4

  It seemed impossible. If you tried to get through the gas-filled room with a lit torch, you blew up, but if you put out the torch and moved in the dark, the hideous grue got you. Phil was diverted from the computer screen by the sound of rain on the window. He glanced over and discovered the sprinkle had become a steady downpour. Then the sound of water striking glass was cut by Gabbie’s and Jack’s voices. He glanced at his watch and saw he’d been playing for almost an hour and a half. Quickly he saved his location in the game and turned off the computer.

  Jack entered with a roll of paper. “Phil, take a look at this,” he said.

  Phil studied the paper for a moment. “It’s a map of the property.” He noted the yellowish color and condition of the map and added, “And it’s an old one from the look of it.”

  Jack pointed to a title block in the lower right corner and said, “Nineteen hundred and six, according to this. That’s about when Fredrick Kessler bought the property.”

  Gabbie said, “The barn’s in a different place. And it’s smaller.”

  “Must have had a new one built later,” observed Phil. He read the small notations and said, “It’s certainly the original plot plan for the property. There’s no gazebo and no tool shed beside the barn, and the drive heads off at a slightly different angle.” Something about the map bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  He looked up to see Jack studying him. Jack said, “You too?”

  “Something’s funny about this map, Dad.” Gabbie shook her head. “Yes, but what?”

  “It’s like something we saw already, but different,” observed Jack.

  “I don’t recall seeing any maps of the property, except at the bank when we bought this place, and those were the little ones provided by the land title company.”

  Gabbie looked hard at it, as if by force of will she’d make it yield its secret. Then her expression turned to one of understanding. “I’ve got it!” she shouted.

  “What?” asked Jack.

  “Stay here and I’ll show you.” She ran from the room and Jack and Phil could hear the basement door under the stairs open. They heard her footfalls on the wooden stairs to the basement, then the distant sound of the door to the secret room being opened. In a moment she was back with a parchment. “It’s this odd thing we found when we helped Mark.” She unrolled it and they again regarded the strange unmarked vellum with its odd lines and circles. “Look at the seven lines at the right and look at the underlined words on the map!” Her tone was excited.

  Jack said, “Gabbie, you’re a genius! It’s an overlay. Watch.” Jack laid the translucent vellum atop the map. “By pressing, you can see the map underneath.”

  Phil looked and said, “Barely.”

  “Maybe they didn’t have onionskin paper back then,” said Gabbie.

  “Or they wanted something that would last a little longer,” said Jack. He pointed. “Look at these seven lines on the right.”

  Each line on the vellum underlined a word of description on the map, part of a notation made by the records clerk when the map had been filed at the turn of the century.

  “That coil of lines wraps right around the base of Erl King Hill,” said Jack. He moved the overlay and read the paragraph below. It began, “From the median line of county road 15, at a distance of exactly two miles south of the junction of state road 7, to the point described as a meeting of lines extending from.…” It went on describing the property limits of the farm using geographical locations of the day. The word “to” had been underlined. The entire paragraph was strictly pro forma legal description, but the last line read, “… the property commonly known as Erl King Hill,” with the words “Erl King” underlined, completing the-message.

  Gabbie read the seven words aloud. “‘To the home of the Erl King.’ What’s that mean?”

  “I think it’s a code within a code,” ventured Jack. Gabbie and Phil looked at him questioningly. “‘The home of the Erl King’ meant something to Kessler and maybe some others, but … you know, in case someone like us found the map and the overlay, we’d still not know what it showed the location of.”

  Phil’s eyes followed the long lines and saw that the larger circle was located a half mile behind the house. Pointing to the coil with circles design, he tapped it with his finger. “What’s that?”

  Jack’s voice sounded excited. “I don’t know. But the large circle is at the base of Erl King Hill.” He looked at Phil and Gabbie. “Know what I think?”

  Phil said, “You think that’s where Kessler buried his gold?”

  Jokingly Gabbie said, “What happened to ‘X marks the spot’?”

  “That’s a long shot,” commented Phil.

  “What else could it be?” asked Jack. “Why this much trouble to mark one place on the side of a bald hill? And this overlay and code business. There’s something hidden there.”

  Phil looked at the other lines. “What about this other circle here?” He pointed to a smaller circle on the map, located about a hundred feet or so to the east of the larger one.

  Gabbie mov
ed the vellum aside and read a note on the map. “That’s where that big oak stump sits. See, here it’s noted as ‘a lightning-struck oak, needing to be cut.’”

  Phil grinned as Jack’s smile faded. Phil shrugged. “If I was burying gold, I’d put it somewhere I could find without the map, like the base of an easy-to-find tree stump.”

  “Then what’s this other circle?” wondered Jack.

  Phil returned to his seat. “Maybe a covered well? Or some other mundane thing a property owner might like to know about.”

  Jack shook his head. “Not with all this other secret bullshit going on, Phil. Look at all these weird lines and things. One of these two circles is where Kessler buried his gold. I’ll bet on it.”

  Phil laughed. “Well, if you want to go digging, you have my permission. Just fill in the holes when you’re done, okay?”

  Jack smiled, half self-consciously. “Well, okay.” To Gabbie he said, “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

  “In the rain!” she said in disbelief.

  “We’ll just poke around, nothing serious. All right?”

  With a groan of resignation, Gabbie threw up her hands and said sotto voce to her dad, “Watch him stop in the barn for a shovel.”

  Gabbie followed Jack from the room and Phil sat back, half-amused and half-curious. Maybe in a little while he’d don his raincoat and go out and give Jack a hand. He flipped on the computer and returned his attention to getting through the gas-filled room without blowing up.

  5

  “Dad!”

  Phil was out from behind his desk and moving toward the kitchen the instant he heard the excited tone in Gabbie’s voice. He pushed open the door and halted when he saw his daughter. Gabbie stood dripping wet, covered in mud, while Gloria and the boys looked on in astonishment. “You’ve got to come. We found something!”

  “What?” said Phil, not believing what he had just heard.

  “Beneath the stump, like you thought. We poked around there and found a hollow among the roots. Water’s been eroding the ground for years. Jack only had to stick the shovel in and it collapsed. He moved the mud around, and after digging less than a foot, he hit the top.”

  “Top of what?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gabbie. “There’s something down there. We shined the light down there and Jack’s digging for it now. I couldn’t tell what it was, Dad, but it’s big.”

  Phil said, “I’ll get my coat.”

  Gloria said, “I’ll get mine.”

  The boys were dashing toward the hall—where the raincoats were hung—in an instant, and Phil halted them. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

  “Aw, Dad,” began Patrick. “We want to come and see, too.”

  “Wrong. You guys stay here and watch TV or something, and listen for the phone. And write down messages!” he shouted after the disgruntled boys as they left the kitchen.

  Within minutes the three adults were hurrying across the Troll Bridge. They discovered Jack digging at the stump a short distance from the bridge. Phil studied the hole Jack had dug. It had filled with water, and Jack hastily dug at the side until a small channel was fashioned to lead the water away. Then he knelt and shined the heavy rubber-encased flashlight into a depression under the stump. Phil hunkered down and peered into the hole. A glimpse of an odd shape greeted him as the water washed the dirt from atop something in the hole. For a long minute Phil was silent, then he stood up while Gloria and Gabbie regarded the hole.

  “What do we do, Dad?” asked Gabbie.

  “Let’s see if we can wrestle this thing out.” He motioned for Jack, who put down the shovel and knelt beside Phil. Together they reached in and each took a grip on what felt to be a large wooden chest. They pulled, but the thing wouldn’t move. “Christ!” swore Phil. “This thing weighs a ton.”

  Jack began digging around the box, while Phil played the light over the chest. Soon Jack stood knee-deep in mud as he moved shovelfuls up and over the edge of the hole. Phil motioned for Jack to push away some dirt from the front and said, “That thing’s got a handle on it. Gabbie, there’s a rope in the trunk of the car. Would you get it? Jack, use the shovel to make a ramp in the mud.” She took the keys and ran off, while Phil shined the light on the chest and Jack continued to dig furiously.

  By the time she returned, Jack had dug out a smooth ramp of dirt down to the chest, angling under the old stump. “If it weren’t for this rain,” Jack observed, “this would have taken hours.” Still he was panting, and under the hood of his slicker perspiration ran off his forehead with the rainwater. “Let’s see if we can pull it out.”

  They tied the rope to the metal handle closest to the ramp. Phil and Jack pulled, and when no movement was apparent at first, Gabbie and then Gloria grabbed hold. They pulled, but the chest didn’t budge. Jack yelled for a halt and sat on the ground in the hole. He stuck the shovel in between the chest and the ground. He then jumped up and leaned on the handle.

  “What are you doing?” shouted Phil over the now pounding rain.

  “Suction. I’m trying to break the vacuum between the chest and the mud.”

  Phil nodded and stepped down on the handle, his foot next to Jack’s, adding his weight to the shovel. After a long minute of the two of them putting their full weight on the shovel, it moved. Phil barely avoided falling on top of Jack and jumped back. Jack pulled out the shovel and scampered out of the hole. He signaled the others to grab the rope and they all hauled on it. The footing was slippery, but after a long pull the chest moved slightly. Then it halted. Jack said, “It’s like the roots of the stump are holding the box in place.” He jumped back into the hole and used the edge of the shovel to slash at the roots, to little effect.

  After a few minutes of futile hacking, Gabbie said, “I’ll get the ax from the barn.” She dashed off and returned shortly with both the ax and a hatchet. Jack spent the better part of a half hour cutting at the roots atop the box. Several loud clangs informed them there was metal on the box.

  Jack tossed the ax out of the hole and went at it with the hatchet. After he thought a way out of the root tangle had been secured, he said, “Let’s try it again.” All four grabbed the rope. They moved in concert and slowly it came out from under the stump. As it continued to slide, momentum aided their efforts, and once it cleared the lip of the ramp Jack had dug, it slid cleanly into view. It was a wooden chest two feet on each side, fastened round by two iron bands, with iron reinforcing at the corners. The metal was brown with rust but still looked substantially intact; silver glints peeked through scars formed by Jack’s ax blows. There was no apparent latch or lock, simply an iron hasp over an iron ring. Without waiting, Gabbie said, “What’s inside?”

  She knelt and opened the lid, while Phil shined the light down on her. She lifted the lid, revealing the interior. Shimmering reflections danced from the golden coins that nearly filled the chest to overflowing. Softly Jack said, “No wonder it was so heavy.”

  Gloria said, “Shit! An honest-to-God treasure chest!”

  Gabbie said, “Kessler’s gold. It’s real.”

  Then Phil began to laugh, and in a moment all were whooping and hollering. After this short burst of enthusiasm, Gabbie said, “What do we do now?”

  “I think we go back to the house and have dinner,” said Phil.

  Gloria looked up at her husband. “You think we should tell someone?”

  “I’ll call Darren in the morning and have him start looking up laws on property rights or mineral rights or salvage rights or whatever the hell else it is that applies here.”

  “Darren?” asked Jack.

  “The family lawyer,” said Gabbie.

  “For all we know,” added Phil, “we might have a German national treasure here, or something someone else has a legal claim on. So let’s get it safe into the house and find out. Until then we keep our mouths shut, and I mean especially the twins. Now, come on. Let’s get dry and fed.”

  Jack pushed the mud back into the hole
, causing it to fill quickly. He then grabbed one of the two handles of the chest, and he and Phil lifted. It was heavy but, free of the mud’s pull, manageable. They returned across the bridge, heading back to the dry and warm kitchen at home.

  Among the trees two pairs of eyes followed their travel. The tall figure held the small black one, cradling it like a baby. Long fingers stroked the leathery hide of the thing’s stomach, then paused. With a sudden jab that brought forth a squeal of pain from the small one, the tall being with the mad eyes said, “Ahh! It is near!” The sound was one of frustration. Gripping the black thing by the neck, he spun it around to face him and said, “Soon, my pet. Soon.”

  With a half toss, half slap, he deposited the little black creature on the ground. The Bad Thing struck the mud with an audible splash, but turned and rolled, scampering to its feet, already moving to do its master’s bidding. “Go and watch, small one,” he whispered, his voice an echo of ancient breezes. “Go and keep it safe until the deed is done.” Then he threw back his head and howled in pleasure, his shrieks hidden by the rolling thunder in the skies. Then, with a twinkle of light in the gloom, he was gone.

  6

  The rain had halted the next day. As Phil hung up the phone, he laughed, a short amused bark. “Darren wasn’t amused. He thinks I’m crazy. But he’s going to look up whatever information he can about lost treasure, as he calls it, and he’ll get back to us. He did say not to move it until he gets back to us. Which should take a few days because, as he puts it, he’s got to waltz around with the IRS and the police without letting them know what’s going on. Otherwise one or the other’s likely just to seize everything and let us go to court to get back any share we’re entitled to.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” asked Gloria.

  “Sure. Jack filled the hole with mud, and after the rain there’ll be little sign of digging. Besides, how many people have come tramping over that way since we moved in? Just some of the boys’ chums from school, and Jack. No one knows the chest is in the basement. It’ll be all right down there for another few days.”