Buried Crown

by Ally Sherrick

  Hans Ritter appeared at the officer’s right shoulder. The older man waved a gloved hand. Marching stiffly past him, Ritter pulled a long black torch from his pocket, flicked it on and angled the beam on to George and Kitty.

  Adler followed him in, yanking the door shut behind him. He stepped into the beam of light, folded his arms across his chest and fixed them with a pair of gunmetal-grey eyes. ‘If Schütze Ritter here is to be believed, the two of you have – what is that quaint English expression? – tried to put a fly in our ointment already today.’

  Mustering all the courage he could find, George forced himself to return his stare. ‘Sorry, mister, I don’t follow you?’

  ‘Really?’ The hauptsturmführer cocked an eyebrow. ‘Well, let me help you then. I understand you have stolen something; something that does not belong to you.’

  George’s right hand drifted to the strap of his knapsack. He blinked and jerked it down quickly before Adler had the chance to notice. ‘We ain’t stolen anything.’

  ‘No? Well, that is not what Schütze Ritter says, and though it is a close call’ – Adler shot the younger man a scornful look – ‘I think I know which one of you I prefer to trust.’

  A rush of anger flooded up inside George. ‘But it ain’t yours!’

  ‘Ah!’ Adler flared his nostrils. ‘So you do know what I am talking about? Well, the good news is that the article in question will soon be safely back in our possession, will it not, Ritter?’ He threw the younger man another sharp look.

  Ritter snapped to attention. ‘Jawohl, Hauptsturmführer!’

  George clamped his lips together. That’s what they thought! He shot a glance at Kitty, but her head was down, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

  Adler narrowed his eyes. ‘Now, I will ask you again. What are the two of you doing here?’

  George shifted his feet. ‘We . . . we were taking our dog for a walk.’

  Adler raised an eyebrow. ‘Your dog, eh? So where is it now?’

  ‘He ran off. We were about to go and look for him, weren’t we?’ George turned to Kitty.

  She gave a quick nod and looked down at the floor again.

  Adler gestured to Ritter. The two men drew into a huddle and began a whispered conversation.

  Kitty jerked her head up and threw George a panic-filled look. He pulled the knapsack tight against him and tried to force a smile. But it wouldn’t come. He peered over at the two men. What was Adler going to do with them? Keep them prisoner or – he glanced at the gun poking from Ritter’s pocket – something else? He swallowed. One thing was certain – they needed a plan, and fast.

  He dropped his gaze and stared blindly at the ground, sieving his mind for ideas. He could try and bargain with them. Confess he’d got the crown. Offer it to them if Adler agreed to let him and Kitty go. But once the Jerries had got it, what was to stop them going back on their word? He shook his head. It had to be something else – something that gave them a chance to raise the alarm about the invasion plan.

  A sudden thought sparked inside him. He didn’t have to tell them the whole truth; but he could tell them part of it.

  Then there might be a way . . . He glanced back at Adler. Would it work? He didn’t know, but it was their only hope.

  He took a deep breath and called out to him. ‘If you think Crooked Bill Jarvis is bringing you the crown, you’ve got another think coming.’

  Hauptsturmführer Adler jerked up his head. ‘Who?’ Grabbing the torch from Ritter, he stalked over and fixed George with a wolfish stare.

  George pulled back his shoulders and held his gaze. ‘The man who’s meant to be stealing it back for you. You see, it turns out he’s afraid of dogs.’

  Adler’s eyes shrank to two black points. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Kitty elbowed George sharply in the ribs. He slipped her what he hoped passed for a reassuring look and turned back to face the two men.

  ‘He scarpered before he had a chance to get his mitts on it.’

  ‘Scarpered? Mitts? Was ist das?’

  ‘Sorry. I forgot you don’t speak proper English, do you? It means he ran away before he could get his hands on it.’

  ‘Is this true, Ritter?’ Adler rounded on his comrade, jaw muscles twitching.

  The younger man’s face wore a confused look. ‘I-I do not know, sir. The man I hired for the job is called Jarvis, but as I told you, he is not due to deliver it here for another’ – he glanced at his watch – ‘hour and a half.’

  Adler swung round to face George again. ‘So if this man, this Bill Jarvis, does not have the crown, then where is it?’

  George curled his fingers into fists. Time to feed him the bait.

  ‘It’s locked away. Somewhere safe. In a place no one would even think of looking. Me and my friend, we’re the only ones who know where. We . . . we could go and fetch it for you if you like, mister?’ As he spoke the words, a pulse of burning heat shot from the knapsack and spread across his back. He clenched his jaw and did his best to steady his gaze.

  Adler’s eyes narrowed. ‘What? And alert your British bobbies too? I do not think so! Know this; if you try to play games with me, it will end badly for both of you.’

  A tide of panic rose up George’s chest. ‘I don’t . . . I mean I won’t . . . I mean . . .’

  Adler studied George for a moment, then sniffed and gave a quick nod. ‘Perhaps the two of you can be of some use to us after all. Here is what I propose. You’ – he jabbed a finger at George – ‘will return to the town. My man Ritter here will accompany you. You will retrieve the crown from wherever you have hidden it and hand it to him. And remember; he knows what it looks like, so do not think to fool him with an inferior object. In the meantime, to be sure that you do not go back on your word’ – he swung his gaze from George to Kitty – ‘we will keep your friend hostage.’

  George’s stomach clenched. That wasn’t what he’d planned. But what choice did he have? If he confessed to having the crown now, they’d shoot them both for sure.

  Adler bent forwards and traced a gloved finger down the side of Kitty’s quivering cheek. ‘No need to fear, little one. If this brave boy gives us what we want, then we will let you both go . . . eventually.’ He turned to George and gave him a hard-mouthed smile. ‘However, if you try to double-cross me’ – his eyes glittered like two chips of granite – ‘I am afraid, pretty Miss . . .’ He shot Kitty another look and frowned. ‘What is your name, young lady?’

  Kitty tensed and looked down quickly.

  Adler grabbed her chin and forced her head up again. ‘Answer me!’

  She shivered. ‘My name is . . . is—’

  ‘Mary. Her name is Mary MacTavish. She’s an evacuee like me. ’Cept she’s from Scotland.’

  ‘Scotland?’ Adler raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’

  Kitty kept her eyes fixed straight ahead and gave a quick nod.

  He dropped his hand. ‘Very well, Mary. Now, where was I?’ He wrinkled his forehead into a mock frown. ‘Ah, yes! So if your friend here decides to double-cross me, I am afraid you will pay the price for his treachery.’

  Kitty shuddered and looked away again.

  George’s chest tightened. ‘What d’you mean?’

  Adler’s lips curled into a sneer. ‘I think you know perfectly well what I mean.’

  ‘But you can’t. That’s . . . that’s—’

  ‘Do not tell me what I can and cannot do.’ Adler’s voice cut across him, razor-sharp. ‘Now, you have a choice. Either go and fetch the crown. Or stay here and we will see if Mister Jarvis turns up with it after all. And if he does not and you still refuse to help us, Ritter will take young Mary and his pistol for a little target practice. Is that not so, Ritter?’

  Ritter’s eyes widened for a second. Blinking quickly, he reset his jaw and pulled his arm into a sharp salute. ‘Jawohl, Hauptsturmführer Adler!’

  Kitty gave a small choked cry.

  ‘It’s all right.’ George gripped her arm. ‘T
hey can’t hurt you. I won’t let ’em.’

  Adler snorted. ‘Brave words. But words on their own will not be enough.’ He clamped a hand on George’s right shoulder. ‘So, what is it to be, little man?’

  George twisted away from him and stared down at the floor. He’d tried his best, but somehow his plan had backfired. All he could do now was go back to the Regenbogens’ house and pretend to find the crown and hope, once he handed it over, he could somehow persuade Adler to let them both go.

  Another pulse of heat shot out from the knapsack. He grimaced. If it kept doing that, he wouldn’t be taking it anywhere . . . He slumped his shoulders. The only other thing was to put up a fight and try to get away. But what chance would they have against a bunch of Nazis?

  And then, just as he was about to give up all hope, it came to him. What if he could find a way to shake Ritter off and double back up to the big house to raise the alarm? It was risky, but if he kept his wits about him, it might just work.

  He took another breath and raised his head. ‘All right. I’ll go.’

  Kitty threw him a puzzled look, but he ignored it and concentrated on meeting the Nazi’s gaze.

  ‘You have seen sense. Good! What time is it, Ritter?’

  The younger man checked his watch again. ‘Twenty to eleven, sir.’

  Adler frowned. ‘Not long to go now. You are to be back here by one, or else . . .’ He tipped his head in Kitty’s direction. Then, beckoning to Ritter, he yanked the door open and stepped outside. The younger man threw them a quick glance and followed Adler out into the night.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Kitty clutched George’s sleeve. ‘They must not get the crown. You have to take it back to the burial site, before it is too late.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘There’s more important things to worry about right now, like getting shot of Ritter and raising the alarm.’

  ‘But after that. We have to make sure it is safe. Remember what the runes say.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t see what difference it’s going to make.’

  The heat came again; stabbing into him like a set of red-hot claws. He gave a small groan and slid the knapsack off, face scrunching up in pain.

  Kitty stared at the bag, then back at him. ‘See! You have got to do it, George. Promise you will. Please!’ She tightened her grip on his arm, eyes blazing with fresh fire.

  ‘But what about you?’

  She pulled back her shoulders and jutted out her chin. ‘I will be all right. Like Opa said, I am a Regenbogen!’

  He hesitated for a moment, then drew in another breath and nodded. ‘All right. I promise.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Giving him a quick hug, she reached in her dress pocket and pulled out Bill Jarvis’s watch. ‘Here. So you can keep a check on the time.’

  A shadow darkened the door. George pocketed the watch quickly as first Adler, then Ritter, stepped back inside.

  The older man stalked over and thrust George and Kitty apart. ‘You have had quite long enough to say your farewells.’ He gestured angrily at his comrade. ‘Take the boy away!’

  ‘Jahwohl, Hauptsturmführer!’ Clicking his heels together, Ritter grabbed George by the arm and marched him to the door.

  As he bundled George forwards, a voice called from the darkness, ‘You can do it, Saint George. I know you can!’

  George turned to catch a final glimpse of Kitty, but Ritter blocked his way leaving him no choice but to grip the knapsack to him and stumble out into the night.

  A small group of men stood huddled outside the hut. They looked like a bunch of boatmen in their black caps and dark, workaday jackets and trousers – except boatmen didn’t walk about in the middle of the night with boot-black on their faces and signalling lamps in their hands. They jerked their heads up and stared at George as he passed. One of them called out something in German and the sound of harsh laughter ricocheted through the air.

  George twisted round. Ritter spun him back again and led him away down the slope. As they neared the bottom, George’s heart gave a sudden jolt. What if Spud turned up now? He wouldn’t stand a chance against Ritter and his gun. He licked his lips and chased the thought away. He had to stay focused. Work out how he was going to get free.

  He glanced down to where the path led off into the woods. The German might have the gun, but he didn’t know the lie of the land. If he could lead him by the pit, he might have a chance. Sliding the knapsack back over his shoulder, he turned towards it.

  Ritter yanked him to a stop. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘It’s a shortcut. It’ll save time. Twenty minutes, at least.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You had better be telling me the truth.’

  ‘I am, mister. I mean, sir.’

  Ritter rubbed a hand across his chin and peered into the undergrowth. ‘All right. Let’s go.’ He jerked the gun at him.

  George stumbled down on to the path, and into the trees. As he did, a beam of light flared up behind him. His chest tightened. The torch. If Ritter spotted the pit . . .

  He slipped his hand in his pocket and fumbled for the penknife. He had to be ready to act. Do anything it took . . . As his fingers curled round the handle, a cold snake of fear wound its way up his chest. What would it be like to have to kill a man? Or what if . . . what if it was him who got killed instead? He shook his head. Think like that and you’d be beat before you got started.

  Keeping his eyes fixed on the path, he slid the knife out and prised the blade free with his thumb. The trees had begun to thin out on his left. They must be approaching the pit. He threw a glance at Ritter. If his plan was going to work, he needed to try and distract him.

  He took a deep breath. ‘You’re one of them diggers, ain’t you?’

  ‘What?’ Ritter’s eyebrows arrowed up in surprise.

  ‘The lot that found that old ship here, last summer.’

  Ritter’s pace slowed. ‘How do you know about that?’

  George snatched a look to his left. The path fell away into blackness. If he could keep him talking a few seconds longer . . . He gripped the knife tighter. ‘There’s . . . there’s a photograph. The old man who looks after the museum showed it me. He told me you and him were digging partners. That the pair of you went looking for the crown.’

  ‘Digging partners, yes. Friends too.’ For a moment Ritter’s face wore a distant look, as if remembering happier times. ‘I learnt a lot from him, even though . . .’

  ‘You mean, even though he was a Jew?’

  Ritter’s cheeks flushed. ‘That is enough!’ He jabbed the gun into George’s ribs and shoved him forwards. ‘Keep moving.’

  A dribble of cold sweat trickled down the back of George’s neck.

  You’re almost there, Georgie. Don’t let him put you off now.

  He drew in another breath. ‘So if you didn’t find the crown before, how come you managed it this time?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions. Still, what can it matter if I tell you now?’ Ritter cleared his throat. ‘When I got back to the Fatherland, I undertook further studies. It was only then I realized the answer had been staring us in the face all along.’

  George frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The legend. I am guessing the old man told you about it? It talks about the dragon’s treasure hoard being buried beneath a tree.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘If you have been up to the site, you will know there is really only one possibility.’

  ‘But it’s just a story.’

  ‘Maybe so. But that is where I found it.’

  Goosebumps rippled across George’s arms and neck. He pulled the knapsack tight against his back. ‘What are you planning to do with it anyway?’

  Ritter sighed. ‘It is not me you should be asking, but the Führer.’

  George juddered to a stop and spun round, mouth gaping. So it was Hitler Ritter had come to steal it for. Did he believe in what the runes said too? He must do. Why else would he go to so much trouble
to get his hands on it?

  Ritter blinked. ‘I have said too much.’ He cast a quick look about him, as if half expecting his leader to appear out of the shadows and start screaming at him for giving away his secrets. ‘Come on.’ He motioned at George to get moving again.

  But he stood his ground.

  ‘If your Fewer, or whatever he’s called, fancies himself as King of England, he should know the job’s taken.’

  ‘Silence! Now do as I say.’ Ritter yanked George round. As he pushed him forwards, his hand made contact with the knapsack. ‘Wait a minute! What is this?’ He probed the bag with his fingers and gave a small cry of surprise.

  A knot formed in George’s throat. He whipped round smartly before the German could get a proper hold.

  Ritter stared back at him, eyes glittering with astonishment. ‘So, you have had it with you all along.’ He shoved the torch under his arm and thrust out a hand. ‘Give it to me.’

  George backed away up the path, left hand gripping hold of the knapsack strap, right hand still concealing the knife.

  ‘I said give it to me, or—’

  A loud snarling noise ripped through the air, followed by a sudden sharp cry. Ritter slid the torch back down into his hand and jerked up the beam.

  ‘Mein Gott!’

  George wheeled round. Halfway along the path, the figure of a boy sat cowering, his arms raised in defence against a furry black shape hunkered down in front of him. As the light fell on him, he dropped his hands and stared back blindly, lips quivering, face ashen pale.

  ‘Get him off me, please!’

  George’s heart skipped a beat. Scroggins! What was he doing here? And Spud too.

  He glanced back at Ritter. ‘It’s my dog. He—’

  At the sound of George’s voice, Spud gave a quick yelp and sprang round.

  The German’s eyes flitted to the dog and back to George again. ‘The bag. Now!’ He raised the gun up and took a step forwards.

  Spud gave a low growl and sloped along the path towards him, head down, teeth bared.

  Ritter eyed him nervously. ‘Keep him back, or I will shoot.’ He lowered the gun muzzle, training it on Spud.

  ‘Come here, boy!’ George made a grab for Spud’s collar and missed.