Tarver's Treasure

by Malcolm Archibald

  ‘Hurry up, Jacko!’ Bethany’s voice echoed around him.

  ‘I can’t see anything down here,’ Jack complained. He rose slightly, banged his head against the ceiling and swore.

  ‘Jack!’ Bethany’s voice mocked him. ‘You use such commonplace language for a gentle husband.’

  ‘It’s dark, it’s low and there’s nothing down here!’ Jack rubbed his head. For a moment, he thought of Alfonso Bellus and wondered what sort of a man he had been, and what sort of things he had done, and then his feet gave way beneath him and he found himself slipping downwards.

  ‘Bethany!’ he shouted, scrambling for purchase. He found a ridge between two of the bricks and held on tight.

  ‘What is it?’ Bethany’s face appeared upside down as she peered into the cistern. ‘What on earth are you playing at, Jack?’

  ‘There’s a hole in the ground!’ Jack tried to pull himself up, but the stones worked free and he slid backwards into the black hole.

  ‘Jack!’

  It was not a long fall, but the impact knocked the wind from him, so he lay for a while, feeling himself for broken bones.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Bethany had lowered herself into the cistern and was poised above him.

  Knowing her terror of dark places, Jack tried to sound reassuring. ‘All’s bowman, Bethany. I’m unhurt, but you take care there.’

  ‘What is it?’ As soon as Bethany knew that Jack was safe, her natural curiosity asserted itself. ‘What have you fallen into? Is it a well, perhaps?’

  ‘If there was only some light …’ Jack looked around, but it was too dark to tell where rock ended and space began. ‘Get back to the surface, Bethany, while I poke around down here.’

  ‘And you can go to Bath, Jack Tarver! I’ll wait right here until you are out!’

  Jack grinned ruefully. That was his Bethany. He began to feel along the ground. It was damp, with pieces of slimy weed and other objects that he could not identify. ‘There are lots of things here,’ he reported. ‘Sticks, I think. And bits of rusty iron. I can’t find the key, though.’ He stopped as a sudden thought hit him. ‘Bethany, what if it’s completely different? I’m looking for another dagger, but what if it’s something else?’

  ‘Don’t think that! Just look for anything that might be the key!’ Bethany’s sigh was very audible. ‘Oh Jack, I do wish you had remembered to bring a lantern!’

  Night came so suddenly it took them by surprise. One moment they were in semi-gloom, the next the sun had set and the fort was in total darkness. Bethany’s breathing roughened, and Jack tried to struggle back to the hole through which he had fallen.

  ‘I should have watched the time.’ Reaching for her hand, he manoeuvred them both back to ground level.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Bethany asked. She looked around the shattered fort and shivered. ‘I don’t want to stay here all night.’

  ‘Nor do I, but we can’t go back that route in the dark. Think of the cliff path, and that beach.’ Jack sighed. ‘It will be a long night, Bethany, so we had better find the least uncomfortable place to spend it.’

  They squeezed into a corner, with stone walls on two sides and the stars high above. ‘At least it’s warm,’ Bethany said, as she snuggled into him.

  Jack put an arm around her. He felt completely foolish for not bringing a lantern or anything to eat and drink, and he should have been far more attentive of the time.

  ‘This day has been a total fudge,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘No, it has not,’ Bethany chided him. ‘We’re together and we found the fort. We’ll have another look tomorrow morning.’

  Perhaps it was utter exhaustion that made Jack sleep, but he was surprised when Bethany shook him awake. ‘Look, Jacko!’

  At first he could see only the glitter of moonlight on the sea and the breaking phosphorescence of the surf, but then he focused on where Bethany was pointing. A shaft of moonlight hit low down on the walls of the fort, revealing a gap in the rough stonework.

  ‘There’s a hole there,’ Bethany said. ‘I’ll bet that leads into that room you found.’

  ‘Maybe so.’ Jack could not see the significance.

  Bethany encouraged him with a nudge. ‘Use the moon as a lantern, Jack. You will be able to see what you are doing.’

  Angled through what might once have been a window or ventilation shaft, the moonlight illuminated the underground room far better than any lantern. As soon as Jack thrust through his head, he realised exactly the function of the room and the priest’s words returned in full meaning: ‘It’s a bad place. There are tales that would frighten young ladies and stories of terrible things.’

  The light gleamed on things that were white and long, on harsh stone and strands of damp vegetation, creating shadows too dark to be simply a product of the night. What Jack had taken to be sticks were bones scattered around the floor, with three human skulls and lengths of rusted chains. He recoiled for a second before shaking his head at his own foolishness and returning to his search. Dead men can’t bite.

  ‘This used to be the dungeon, Bethany,’ he reported, his voice hollow with echoes. He shivered anew as he saw a brazier and wondered to what terrible use it had been put. The moonlight ghosted along the wall, revealing strange implements and iron bars, and there, high on a ledge in the far corner, sat a man in a long dark cloak with the black cross of Malta reflecting the light. Jack started, and looked again, seeing the full uniform of a Knight of St John, green with mildew save for that resplendent Maltese cross.

  The Knight gave it up, then. Those were Sobczak’s words. And there was the Knight, sitting eternally in a corner of the dungeon. Feeling the breath constricted inside his chest, Jack stepped forward, studiously avoiding the bones and debris that littered the ground.

  The man was long dead, with the skin stretched tightly across the sharp bones of his face and sightless eyes staring into nothing, as they had done for many decades. Why was he here, Jack wondered? Was he a Knight who had transgressed some ancient code, or was he perhaps just an ordinary prisoner dressed up as a macabre joke? He did not know, and would never know, just as he did not know how long the man had sat there in his lonely vigil. What was more important was the sheath that dangled from the Knight’s belt. Decorated with gold wire, the leather had mostly perished, but the handle of the dagger it contained was the brother of that which Jack had found in Ta Rena.

  ‘Got it!’ Jack shouted his triumph, and pulled the dagger free. The movement was enough to cause the corpse to collapse into a pile of acrid dust and clattering bones. The sound seemed to last forever.

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Coming out …’ Jack spoke just as a cloud blocked the moonlight, leaving him in total darkness. For a second, he stood still as the atmosphere of things long gone pressed upon him, but he had never been a particularly imaginative man so he just shrugged them away. There were no ghosts or spirits, and bones were simply devices that framed the human machine. Whistling to prove his lack of concern, Jack scrabbled his way to the cistern and nearly ran up to the surface, where Bethany was waiting for him.

  ‘You got it?’ she asked.

  ‘I got it,’ Jack confirmed, and handed her the dagger.

  She held it for a second. ‘It’s too dark to compare them here,’ she said. ‘We’ll do it in the morning.’ She accentuated her smile, so it could be seen. ‘Do you realise that we’ve done it? We have both keys to the treasure that Bonaparte lost?’

  Jack looked at her. He had been too busy actually searching for the key to recognise the significance. Bethany was correct: they held the keys to the Knight’s treasure. The thought was strangely frightening.

  ‘Now we really have to make a decision,’ he said softly. ‘Do we tell Sir Alexander or Mr Dover, Mr Borg or …’

  ‘Or?’ Bethany’s voice was soft.

  ‘Or do we tell nobody.’ Jack clutched the second dagger close. ‘Annis Yat, Bethany. We could have it, and anything else we want. We could be landowners
, country gentry with a place in town. I could ride to hounds and keep a carriage and four, while you could have as many clothes as you wished.’

  ‘Books,’ Bethany corrected him. ‘I would have a library of books, the best and most modern editions, as well as all the classics.’ He could hear the catch in her voice. ‘I would open a school, Jacko, where girls and boys would get taught together, side by side, and they could have access to every advantage that I never had …’

  The sound of the sea was very loud as they stopped, looking at each other inside the four harsh walls of St Alfonso’s Tower.

  ‘Can we?’ Jack asked, as the temptation grew within him.

  We could have everything, we could start afresh. My Wolvington education gives me the background, the treasure provides the means and nobody would ever question my antecedents again.

  ‘We’ll need to find out where it’s hidden,’ Bethany said. ‘Mr Borg knows, that’s for sure. Oh Lord, oh sweet Lord. I am in a perfect fever of uncertainty! What to do, Jack? What shall we do?’

  ‘No more money worries,’ Jack coaxed her.

  ‘Father could retire from the land,’ Bethany agreed.

  They looked at each other as the possibilities multiplied.

  The first droplet hit Jack without him realising what it was, but the second was harder, stinging his face like the lash of a small whip. He looked up, thinking it was rain, but the skies were clear again, brilliant with stars and the moon hanging low and silver.

  ‘Listen, Jacko. It’s the sea.’

  They had been so absorbed in dreams of the future that neither had realised the tide had turned. Now silver surf hushed at the gate, splashing spindrift within the fort’s shattered walls.

  Jack shook his head. ‘It’s still a sea gate,’ he said. ‘But the tide was out. The fall is so small here, I nearly forgot about it.’

  ‘Will the sea rise this high?’ Bethany wondered. ‘Will we drown after all our hard work?’

  ‘No,’ Jack shook his head. ‘If it came all the way, the dungeon and the cistern would be under water.’ He did not mention the slimy weed, and wondered if prisoners had been put in that dungeon to drown. Perhaps that was why the Knight had been on the high shelf, cowering from the rising water each high tide, waiting to die of hunger and thirst. The thought was horrible. ‘But we won’t be able to leave until the ebb.’

  ‘It feels more like an island now.’ Bethany was holding on to his arm, as her old fear of the dark returned. ‘Shall we get somewhere higher?’

  They withdrew as far as they could, holding hands for reassurance. Bethany’s hand was cold and Jack squeezed it.

  ‘I don’t like this place, Jack,’ Bethany said, as the sea grew more intense, the waves slapping from the walls and the sound reverberating within the fort. ‘Remember what the priest said about a monster?’

  ‘I remember,’ Jack said, squeezing her to him. ‘Our smugglers spread similar tales to keep people away from places. It’s all superstition and old wives’ tales. Nobody believes such things nowadays.’

  Bethany shook her head. ‘No, but that’s because nobody sits overnight in old towers beside the sea, or lives in haunted castles. It’s easy to be a sceptic when you’re beside your own fire.’

  Jack held her close. He remembered Bethany’s tales of her childhood, when her mother had punished her by locking her in a dark cellar with a book of images of hell and a single candle. The childhood terrors still affected her, so Bethany was nervous of dark places and of anything pertaining to the supernatural.

  ‘Jack,’ Bethany said, pointing to the gate. ‘What’s that?’ Her voice was unnaturally calm. ‘It’s coming this way.’

  At first Jack could see nothing, but then he saw the eyes. They were much larger than those of a man, and they seemed to slide across the surface of the lake, heading straight for the gateway to the fort. As he looked, a final shaft of moonlight glinted on them, showing the vivid whites and the unblinking blue orb of the pupils. Then another cloud scudded over the moon and they were left in the dark, with the knowledge that whatever had seen them was coming their way.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Underground

  ‘It’s not a monster,’ Jack said, feeling for the pistol that he had remembered to bring. ‘Whatever it is, it’s natural.’

  What sort of creatures lived in this sea? Jack remembered the local markets, with their displays of squid and cuttlefish. Perhaps it was a large squid that lived in the fort. Cocking the pistol, he held Bethany close. ‘Keep still, Bethany, and it might not even see us.’

  Focusing on the gateway, they were both aware of the large creature that nosed inside, and the two light eyes that had stared directly at them. They heard another sound, something like a human voice, the scrape of a tinderbox and a lantern glowed dimly.

  ‘Well now, Mr and Mrs Tarver. Imagine finding you out here.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Jack levelled the pistol, as his initial relief was replaced by apprehension. It was obviously no monster, but he certainly had no desire to meet Mr Egerton or Adam Kaskrin.

  ‘It’s Mr Borg!’ Bethany pushed down the pistol. ‘Mr Borg! How did you know we were here?’

  ‘My brother, Father Vicente, mentioned you were asking about St Alfonso’s Tower, so I guessed you’d come here.’ When Borg raised the lantern high, the light pooled on the bow of his boat, showing the eye painted on either side. ‘When you did not come back, I knew the tide had cut you off.’ He noticed the direction of Jack’s gaze and explained. ‘This is a dghajsa, Mr Tarver, and the eyes are traditional. I believe they date back to the days of the Phoenicians. They help the boat to see its way.’

  Bethany nodded. ‘That sounds very sensible.’ She accepted the explanation without a qualm. ‘But can you take us back, Mr Borg?’

  ‘I certainly would not leave you here,’ Borg told her. He nearly smiled as he helped her onto his boat. The second rower, Jack recognised, was George, the limping man whom he had employed in the building of the road.

  ‘How did you get onto the lake?’ Jack asked, cursing himself for again missing the obvious.

  ‘High tide,’ Borg said laconically. ‘The sea floods over the island and into the lake, so it is connected. That’s why the fort was so strong: it could only be entered at low tide, or by boat, and Alfonso Bellum had his own boat to keep the place secure.’ He glanced at Bethany. ‘He was an evil man, Mrs Tarver.’

  ‘So I believe,’ Bethany said.

  On a nod from Borg, George pulled them out into the lake. The tide had not risen to its full extent, and the keel of the boat nearly scraped over the rocks at the edge of the lake, but then they were in the open sea and heading for the mainland.

  ‘Did he have the key, Mr Tarver?’ The question was so casual that Jack had nodded before he realised what was happening.

  ‘I thought as much when you asked my brother about the tower. So now, Mr Tarver, you have both keys, what will you do with them?’ He gave a quick command in Maltese and George stopped rowing. They drifted a hundred yards from the Dingli Cliffs, with the surf a silver sheen against the dark rock and the constant booming a reminder of the gunfire at Maida.

  Jack glanced at Bethany, who shrugged. ‘Is the key so important?’ she asked.

  ‘It is,’ Borg replied. ‘We know where the treasure is, but it is so securely locked that we cannot get in.’

  Bethany shrugged again. ‘You could try gunpowder. Blow your way in?’

  Borg shook his head. ‘That is not what I meant, Mrs Tarver. Of course we could break our way in with pickaxes and explosives, even though that would take time. It is the location of the treasure that is the problem, not the security.’ He looked at them, as if assessing how much they could be trusted. ‘The treasure, you see, is held in one of the most holy places in the islands, and you know that we are a religious people. We could no more destroy the site than we could deny Christ. Your Mr Dover, the agent who tries so hard not to be seen, knows the dangers of meddling with our religio
n, for he is a clever man.’ At this point, Borg frowned at Jack. ‘You would not understand, being Protestant, and therefore not a proper Christian, but Mrs Tarver might …’

  ‘My Christianity is every bit as devout as yours, Mr Borg, and Protestants are as Christian as any Roman Catholic.’ It was unusual for Jack to lose his temper, so Bethany put forward her arm to restrain him.

  ‘My husband and I were married in a very Christian ceremony,’ she explained to Borg. ‘He does understand, as do I.’

  ‘Very good. Pray remember the nature of the Maltese people. We threw out the French when they insulted our religion. If Mr Dover learns the location and the British try to enter by blowing up the door, they will also have a Maltese rising on their hands.’

  ‘And if we give him the keys?’ Bethany asked.

  ‘Then Great Britain will have gained a great deal of wealth,’ Borg said simply. ‘And Malta will have lost much of its heritage.’ He waited for a minute, as the sea surged around them. ‘The Maltese people would be unhappy if they learned of such an unfortunate event.’

  Jack understood. Britain was stretched to maintain its present position, and the Valletta naval base was vital to its control of Sicily and the larger Mediterranean. If Britain had to hold down a restless population while facing the French in the toe of Italy, their army would be impossibly extended. On the other hand, the treasure could be invaluable in maintaining the Third Coalition.

  ‘I believe that you are more concerned with preserving the religious site than with obtaining the treasure,’ Bethany said shrewdly.

  ‘Both are important, one for spiritual and one for material security.’ Borg adjusted the tiller slightly and the dghajsa headed slightly out to sea, the water glinting like tears in its wide eyes.

  ‘But now we will get you back home before this wind picks up.’ Borg lifted his head. ‘Can you smell the sand? It is a sure sign that a xlokk, a sirocco, is coming straight from the African deserts.’ His smile was quick and elusive. ‘It’s going to get a bit rough, Mrs Tarver.’

  Jack expected Borg to take them to the beach they had left from, but instead he hoisted a small lateen sail and headed further west.