by Carol Pack
DOUBLOONS
C. A. PACK
CHAPTER ONE
Black Dog grabbed a wench and threw her over his shoulder. The pirate’s ghostly pallor and missing fingers may have frightened some people, but they never stopped him from enjoying a little fun.Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum was his personal anthem.
As he spun her around, the sweet scent of alcoholic spirits, along with the stench of human perspiration and sun-parched seaweed, filled the air. Underfoot, empty liquor bottles and gold doubloons littered the Persian carpet. Pirates had taken over the Library of Illumination.
The wanton partying stunned Johanna, the library’s young curator, as she entered through the venerable institution’s double front doors. “Jackson!” she yelled.
Sixteen-year-old Jackson Roth froze for a millisecond before closing the cover ofTreasure Islandby Robert Louis Stevenson. The pirates disappeared, but the odor lingered.
“Low tide,” Johanna muttered as she cranked open a window. “Pick up those bottles and debris and clean up this mess,” she scolded. “Then we need to have a little chat. This is the Library of Illumination, a repository for literature—not a theme park.”
She stormed down the hall and into an antechamber. Gently, she set down an old book in need of a new binding that had just arrived from overseas. Johanna took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. She had placed the library in Jackson’s care while she ran to the local freight office, and now she regretted that decision. He apparently was not mature enough to deal with the unique ability of many of the library’s books to come to life when opened. Johanna hoped she could turn the pirate party into a teaching moment by refusing to help Jackson clean up. He had to learn to deal with the consequences of his actions.
It took a while for the boy to get rid of the pirates’ mess, and when he finally knocked on the antechamber door, his eyes had lost their sparkle and his usual grin was grim. He pushed his hair off his forehead.
Johanna knew he expected the worst. She had hired Jackson to work at the library because she desperately needed assistance after the position of curator was thrust upon her just six months earlier. Before that defining moment, she had sunk to a low point in her life. She had no family and had just lost her home, her job, and, she believed, her tenuous connection to the Library of Illumination. It was the only place that made her feel welcomed. Malcolm Trees, the library’s former curator, literally handed Johanna his job and a diary detailing the history of the library under his command—a precious gift. She would do everything in her power to protect the library and the wonders it held.
She was barely older than Jackson, but seemed to be light years ahead of him in maturity. And the library was a big responsibility, a little too much work to handle by herself.
Exeter High School had referred Jackson, saying his father had walked out on the family and his mother could use the money to keep food on the table for Jackson’s younger brother and sister. Johanna had grown up poor and felt empathy for the family. She identified with Jackson more than she cared to admit, but she didn’t know how to corral his youthful enthusiasm. She tried to put herself in his place and wondered what she could say that would make the young man realize he had to act more responsibly.
“Please don’t fire me,” he croaked, barely above a whisper. His face looked calm, but she saw the tiniest flare of his nostrils—the kind of intrinsic movement that inner turmoil foists upon people who are trying to maintain their composure.
“I’m not going to fire you”—she saw his shoulders relax—“this time. But if you ever pull another stunt like that, you’ll be out of here faster than a vacuum cleaner sucks up dust bunnies. I’ve already demonstrated what happens when one of the library’s books is opened and how the results can sometimes be disastrous. As much as I’d like to believeTreasure Islandopened by accident, the sheer amount of debris and the lingering odor tells me that the book was allowed to remain open for quite some time. And since you were singing along with the pirates when I arrived, I sensed you weren’t being diligent about maintaining order in the library.”
“I’m sorry, Johanna. I swear, it won’t happen again.”
She hadn’t expected him to sound as penitent as he did. Any further reprimand died in her throat. Instead, she walked to her desk drawer and removed his paycheck. “Here.” She handed it to him. “It’s quitting time.”
“Do you still want me to come in tomorrow?”
“Ten a.m.,” she answered. “Don’t be late.”
Jackson smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right on time.”
Jackson’s bike stood perched against a dumpster in the rear yard of the library. As he swung his leg over the battered frame, he heard the jingle of coins in his pocket. He reached in and removed them. Even though the sun barely penetrated the secluded area, the gold doubloons in his hand almost sparkled. Jackson’s heartbeat quickened. He jammed the doubloons back into his pocket and wheeled his bike down the long alley that linked the yard to the street.
Johanna rose early Saturday morning. She tranquilly repaired the binding on the book she had picked up the previous day. When she finished, she carefully removed the magnifying goggles she had inherited from Mal. They made her look like a mad professor in an old-fashioned science-fiction movie. The lenses were inset in brass frames that had been fitted into an old brown leather mask, similar to one an early aviator might have worn. Each lens could be adjusted by twisting the outer brass ring to increase or decrease the depth of field. Additional lenses on movable arms could be flipped down over the eyepieces to increase magnification. She studied the goggles and smiled. Mal had been very possessive of them, but when Johanna found them, they’d had a note attached, written in cramped script upon a tiny piece of vellum:
Johanna,
Use them well. They will give you vast insight.
Warm regards,
Mal
He had released his goggles into her custody, and she did her best to take good care of them. She polished them with a soft cloth before placing them in their protective leather box. The goggles were precious; however, no more precious than any book, armillary, or fountain pen found inside the library. Johanna treated every little bit and bob with the utmost respect.
The ancient grandfather clock in the corner struck ten. She wondered if Jackson had already arrived, or would be late as usual.
Jackson stood behind the information desk, staring into space. He had hurried to get there a few minutes early, and waited patiently for Johanna to appear. He thought about the ruckus the pirates had caused the day before and what had happened once he shut and shelved the book. Almost everything had gone away. Almost. He could see the gold doubloons in his mind’s eye.Why didn’t they disappear with the pirates?At the moment, they sat in a jar of change he kept on his dresser at home. He wondered if the pirates would contact Johanna somehow, demanding the return of their money. The thought made him uncomfortable.
He unconsciously played with a large gong sitting on the corner of the desk. It was quite old, with a dark patina on the outer rim, although the center remained bright. He picked up the mallet that lay beside it and, without thinking, banged it against the gong. The rich sound reverberated throughout the library.
He felt a hand grip his shoulder.Oh my God, Long John Silver! He whirled about, a sheen of fear-induced perspiration oozing onto his face.
“What are you doing?” Johanna asked, with an edge to her voice.
Jackson felt his terror evaporate, only to find it immediately replaced by a different kind of fear. “Waiting for you?”
“Did you read the sign below the gong that says, ‘Please do not handle’?”
Johanna noticed the beads of sweat on Jackson’s upper lip. “Are you all right?”
The teen took a deep breath. “Fine.”
She continued to stare at him.
“Really, Johanna, I’m fine. I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s my little brother—he’s sick, you know? And mom’s taking him to Saint Thomas Hospital this morning, to see if she can get some medicine for him.”
“I didn’t realize he was that ill. Do you need to go home and watch your sister?”
“No, that’s okay. Mrs. Caruthers, our next-door neighbor, is watching her so Mom doesn’t have to pay a babysitter.”
Johanna removed the mallet from Jackson’s hand and placed it back in its rightful place. “All right then, let’s get to it.”
For several hours, Johanna and Jackson pored over long lists of book titles, retrieving them from the stacks and packing them for delivery. Jackson did most of the grunt work, climbing the ladder and carrying piles of books. Johanna handled the administrative work, filling out invoices and making sure boxes were labeled correctly. They worked quietly, stacking completed orders one next to the other, until they had built a wall of cartons nearly four feet high and twenty feet long. They finished late in the afternoon.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I didn’t mean to keep you so long.” Johanna pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill. Jackson’s eyes widened when she handed it to him. “This is for today’s work. It’s more than I usually pay you, but you deserve a little extra for working on a Saturday and missing your lunch. Normally, I’d make you wait until payday, but it doesn’t seem fair to make you wait a whole week.” She prayed he wouldn’t spend the cash on something frivolous like sneakers or beer.
“Thanks, Johanna.” He shoved the bill into his pocket. “See you Monday afternoon.”
Jackson walked outthe back door feeling funny about taking the money when he had a fistful of doubloons at home. He grappled with the idea of returning the doubloons to the library and telling Johanna he had forgotten to give them to her when he had cleaned up after the pirates. Would she even believe him, or would she call him a thief? He didn’t know if they could actually be considered stolen property, because they had come from the pirates and not from the library. He shook his head, making a face.Of course they’re stolen, you dimwit! The pirates stole them!
Jackson knew his friends would be playing ball in the park by the train station, but bypassed them and peddled straight home. If he showed them the hundred-dollar bill, he would feel really cool. But someone might try to steal it, and that wouldn’t be cool at all.
He dropped his bike in the driveway next to his house and walked into the wood-frame cottage with its peeling white paint. He had offered to re-paint it, but his mother had no money for painting supplies. He wondered how much a gold doubloon was worth, and if it would cover the cost.
He found his mother at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. Nearby, his younger brother slept on a battered, old sofa, wheezing with every breath.
“How is he, Ma?”
She looked up at her eldest son, her face puffy and her eyes bloodshot. “He’s got pneumonia. The doctor gave me some pills for him, but not enough. I’ve got prescriptions for more pills, but he needs antibiotics and steroids and cough medicine and inhalers ...” The tears began pooling under her eyes.
“It’s okay, Ma. Look what Johanna paid me.” He stuffed the hundred-dollar bill in her hand.
“Why would she give you so much? You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?” His mother stared at him.
He thought of the doubloons and felt the heat build as his face reddened.
“Oh no, Jackson. Please don’t tell me you’re stealing.” She paused. “Or dealing.”
“No, Ma, no,” he blurted, shocked that she implied he might sell drugs. “Johanna paid me this for working all day on a Saturday to pack up a shipment of books. I didn’t get to eat lunch, so she paid me extra.”
His mother eyed the hundred-dollar bill. “We do need the money.” She pushed herself up from the table. “If you’ll watch your brother, I can run to the store and get more medicine and maybe buy some groceries.”
“Sure, Ma, you go. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”
Jackson’s mother returned an hour later, looking as depressed as ever. “How’s Chris?”
“He’s fine, Ma. He woke up and started coughing, but I gave him some cough medicine and told him a story about pirates. He fell back asleep. Why? What’s wrong?”
“I always thought a hundred dollars was a lot of money, but it was barely enough to pay for the prescriptions. So instead of completely filling the order, Mr. Meyer gave me less medication so I’d have some money left for food. I bought bread and soup and eggs, and I found some halfway decent fruit and vegetables in the half-price bin, but by then I had spent it all. I don’t know what we’re going to do when this runs out.”
A vision of doubloons danced in Jackson’s head. “Don’t worry, Ma, something will turn up.”
Jackson spent the weekend thinking long and hard about the pirate gold. He hadn’t really meant to take the doubloons. He’d stuffed them in his pocket because he didn’t know what else to do with them. Now, he’d had them for three days. He knew Johanna would question why he didn’t return them to her immediately. She might even claim he was untrustworthy and fire him. He could not afford to lose this job. What would he tell his mother if he did? It would break her heart. He had to hold onto the doubloons and keep his mouth shut about them to avoid getting fired.
He cut out of school early on Monday, taking one of the doubloons to the village pawnshop. He didn’t know what it would be worth, but if it was made out of gold, it had to be worth something.
“Where’d you get this, kid?” Larry Farmer, the owner of Once A-Pawn A Time, was short and squat and had long, grey fringe surrounding his shiny domed head. He inspected the coin carefully, then took a knife and scored the edge. He tried to hide his smile, certain it was gold. It had all the markings of a Spanish doubloon. Still, it should look several hundred years old, and this coin looked like only a few years had passed since it was minted.
“I found it,” Jackson answered, avoiding the man’s eyes.
“Sure you did, kid. Now why don’t you tell me where you found it?”
“Near the Library of Illumination. You know, the building that looks so old it’s a wonder it’s still standing? I found it behind the library, in the dirt by the dumpster. I don’t know, maybe someone dropped it? Is it worth anything?”
The pawnbroker thought the kid might be lying, because Jackson wouldn’t look him in the eye. Still, the kid’s story had enough detail for the pawnbroker to recognize the place where he said he found it. Larry borrowed books from the library when he had to appraise old coins and jewelry. Wouldn’t it be something if a coin he needed to research actually came from there? It’s an old building in the oldest part of town. What if someone buried doubloons there centuries ago, and they’re just showing up now because of last month’s rainstorm?
“So what do you want to do with this, kid, pawn it or sell it?”
“What’s it worth?”
“I don’t know, a few hundred dollars maybe?”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah, kid. Who knows if it’s real? All I can go by is the weight of the metal, and I can’t tell if it’s gold all the way through without cutting into it. I’ll give you two hundred dollars for it.”
“You said ‘a few hundred dollars.’ Two is just a couple. A few means three or more. I want three hundred for it.”
The pawnbroker eyed the kid. He looked like the stubborn type, like he’d be annoyed unless he got what he felt he deserved. Truth be told, if the coin was genuine, it would be worth more than hundreds—it would be worth thousands. “Why you need this money so bad, kid?”
“Because my little brother needs medicine. He’s got pneumonia. Are you going to pay me or not?”
Finally, the kid’s answer had a ring of truth to it. The pawnbroker had nieces and nephews. His sister always complained about how doctor bills piled up when they were sick. “Okay, kid, three hundred dollars.” He counted out a pile of twenty-dollar bills and placed them on the counter. “This is a sale, not a pawn. Once you accept this, you can’t get your coin back.”
“Fine.” Jackson picked up the money. “Is that it?”
Normally there would have been paperwork, but the pawnbroker decided not to document the sale. “Yeah, kid, that’s it.”
Jackson arrived ten minutes late for work. When he rushed into the library, Johanna just shook her head. It had looked like he would turn over a new leaf after their confrontation on Friday; indeed, he had worked like a trooper on Saturday. But here it was Monday, and he was late as usual.
“Held up at school?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
She didn’t believe him, but she let it slide. There was only so much she could do.
After he finished dusting the stacks in the main reading room, Johanna called him over. “We’re going to do something that I don’t think has ever been done before here at the library. We’re holding a book reading for a small audience. An actor who performs at the community theater is going to read aloud from one of the classics. I’d like you to help me move these tables to the executive boardroom. We have to make space for folding chairs.”
“Where are the folding chairs?”
“Downstairs.” Johanna walked over to the back wall and twisted a wooden rosette that decorated part of the paneling. A section of wall slid open, revealing the stairs to the basement. She started down the steps with Jackson, but the phone began ringing. “They’re in the first room on the left,” she said, pointing before sprinting for the telephone. As she ran across the room, something shiny caught her eye. She quickly scooped it up along the way and managed to answer the phone by the third ring.
