by John Hughes
Mr P looked positively emasculated and swore again.
Inside it was dark at first but their eyes soon grew accustomed to the gloom. On either side of the confined space were wooden latticed shelves. There was nothing in the centre and the circular floor dipped down to a point well below ground level, looking rather like a large bowl.
“To keep the ice cold as long as possible,” explained Meg. She walked into the middle and inspected the floor. “This is solid stone,” she said. “I can’t see that anything could be hidden underneath here.”
Mr P nodded his head. “I think you’re right. No way is anything down there.”
“So now what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s take a look outside. Maybe there’s another way to reach underneath.” They made their way back through the door and wandered around the side of the ice house. It was overgrown with thick brambles and Mr P had to hack it away with his cutlass. Clearly no one had been round there for years, decades even. Meg followed in his wake, stoically ignoring rips to her dress and scratches to her skin. When they reached the back of the building, the brambles were at their thickest. Mr P stripped to the waste and attacked them with cutlass in one hand and knife in the other. Eventually he had cleared them enough to be able to see the brickwork. His efforts this time were worthwhile. Low down in the wall was a small door, a half-sized version of the one at the front.
“Give me the key,” demanded Mr P. Meg handed it to him. He slid it into the keyhole, pausing for effect before turning it. The key clicked inside the lock and the door instantly moved a fraction. “Here we go – the key fits. This has got to be the place.” He pushed at the door and it opened gradually, creaking as it went, until it was flat against the wall.
They both bent down and peered inside. “It’s terribly dark in there,” said Meg. “Darker than the front. We need a torch.”
“Aye, you’re not wrong,” replied Mr P. “But we don’t have one. Too small for me to get inside… more a cupboard than a room. Do you think you can squeeze in, Meg?”
“I’ll give it a try.” She bent low into a squatting position and edged forwards. “It’s pitch black in here. I can’t see a thing.”
“Close your eyes for a while then reopen them,” suggested Mr P. “It’ll accustom you to the dark.” Meg did as he said. “Any better?”
“Much better, thanks.” She half disappeared into the room, then stopped. “Right, the first thing I can see is a barrel, several in fact. They’re blocking the way. Are they what we’re looking for?”
“I don’t know – I don’t think so. Are they heavy? Can you move them towards me?”
Meg puffed and grunted. “Hang on. Yes, they’re not huge actually. I can tilt and roll them.”
Minutes later four barrels were lined up outside next to Mr P. “Quarter casks, I reckon,” he said. On the side of each were stenciled the word GUNPOWDER.
“Not what we’re after,” said Mr P. “Could come in handy though.” Meg was still inside the room. “Is there anything else in there?”
“Hard to tell. It’s still murky in here, it would help if I knew what I was looking for.” She shuffled into the space as best she could.
“A trunk or a casket is my guess,” said Mr P. “Or a box or a case. Anything that might hold the Riber Hoard!”
“What is this Riber Hoard?”
“It’s the treasure that we seek. Left here many years ago by Zakariah Parry, an evil son of the Devil who would have carved up his own grandmother for some pieces of eight. He spent his life gathering together treasures beyond your wildest imagination. When he died, a clue to its location was left on that parchment for his son Larry who as I’ve told already was murdered in his bed for it.”
“Ow!” cried out Meg.
“What’s up?”
“Stubbed my toe on something.” She felt in front of her with her hands. “A box of some kind. It’s big. I can feel studs all round it. I think it could be made of leather.”
“Can you lift it… bring it out into the open?”
“There’s a handle. Very heavy.” Mr P heard puffs and grunts and scraping noises. “I’ve shifted it a few inches but I don’t think I can manage it any further. It feels like it’s as heavy as lead.”
“Here let me try.” Mr P reached inside the space. “Guide my hands.” He felt them being taken by Meg and pulled into the darkness. His body filled the doorway and it was a stretch, but eventually the fingers of one hand made contact with the handle – and he pulled. What had been heavy for Meg was a gentle lift for him and the leather box came sliding towards him. Then it was in his arms and he and Meg were back outside, round the ice house, and sitting in the clearing inspecting their find. It was indeed a leather box, studded on all sides with reinforced edges and a stout handle at both ends. The lid was held in place by rope wound round the box and tied securely; underneath was a lock. Mr P took his knife to the rope and had it removed in seconds. From beneath his tunic he pulled out the key again and tried it in the lock. It was not a fit, far too large.
“What now?” said Meg.
“Desperate measures,” said Mr P. With his knife, he stabbed at the leather to one side of the lock. Once it had penetrated, he sawed into the leather and gradually sliced round the lock. Moments later it came loose and fell onto the grass. He lifted the lid. They peered inside and saw what appeared to be a sack, tied at one end with more rope.
Meg’s curiosity was boiling over by now. She grabbed the sack impatiently, tugged the rope to loosen the end and held it over the leather box, allowing the contents to spill out. From within poured a multi-coloured shower of jewelry, gems, precious stones, and gold and silver nuggets. She gasped. When the bag was empty she ran her hands through them all. She recognized diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds; some were loose stones, others were embedded in rings or necklaces. There were bracelets and head combs, all studded with gems of one sort or another.
“Well I never!” said Meg. “This little lot is worth a fortune… an absolute fortune!”
Mr P’s eyes were out on stalks. “By heavens, woman, you’re right. This is even greater a hoard than I imagined!” He too ran his hands through the contents of the box. He picked up a large, loose diamond, put it between his teeth and bit down on it. He winced. “The real thing,” he acknowledged. “Stronger than my teeth.” He picked out an ornate comb, made of ebony and lined along the top with half a dozen blood red rubies, and slipped it into Meg’s hair. “There, you’d look a picture wearing that.”
Meg giggled. “I would, only shouldn’t we be concerned about Black Jack and his men? They must surely have reached the castle by now.”
“Blast the man! I’d like to hang him from a yardarm, and whip him with a cat o’ nine tails as he swings there.”
“Meanwhile,” said Meg. “Back in the real world…”
Mr P roared with laughter. “The real world! I don’t think so, my wench! Even so we must make a plan. We need to get away from here as fast as we can with this hoard. We need a plan of escape. What say you, Meg?”
“I agree. So, we are hidden at present in these woods at the back of the castle, the pirates are making their way up towards the front – probably close to it by now – and my car is in the car park. The plan surely has to be to get to the car and drive away with the hoard avoiding Black Jack’s thugs in the process.”
“Easy!” said Mr P, slamming the lid of the treasure case down and slotting it under his arm. “Let’s head that way right now.” He strode off through the woods at such a pace that Meg had trouble keeping up with him. As they reached the edge where the trees thinned out, he slowed down to a gentle stroll, then stopped altogether allowing Meg to catch up. She knew why he had stopped before she could see out of the woods. The noise of marauding pirates was raucous and unmistakable. She edged forwards until the veil of trees barely still
hid them. In front of her were the castle grounds with the castle itself beyond. The grounds were a heaving mass of activity.
There were pirates everywhere.
* * *
Half an hour later, they were still standing in exactly the same place.
“Easy!” said Meg sarcastically. Mr P gave her a blanching look, his manhood bruised once again. Meg squeezed his side. “Now now, don’t go mardy on me. We need to work together on this. We’re stuck here, we need to find a way out.”
“What do you suggest then?” said Mr P grumpily.
Meg thought for a moment, looking one way and then the other. “Well, we’re here, and the car is over there” – she pointed to their right – “and between the two are a lot of nasty men who want to tear us to pieces.”
“Or do worse to you.”
She shivered. “Ugh, perish the thought.”
“So what’s your magic solution?”
Meg thought some more, then said: “A distraction.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, in order for us to get from here to the car we need to get those pirates shifted. One way of doing that would be to give them something to focus their attention on.” She pointed dramatically to her left. “Over there!”
“What do you have in mind?”
“An explosion – as loud as possible.”
“An explosion! And how in the name of Hades do you intend to…” He stopped in mid-sentence and glanced back towards the woods.
Meg grinned. “The penny has dropped,” she said.
“Gunpowder! And we can use the rope off this here case as a fuse.” His gaze turned towards their left. “Do you know what’s over there?”
“Not exactly, no,” said Meg. “It’s been so long since I was here. More outbuildings I seem to remember. But it doesn’t really matter what we blow up, it’s the distraction that counts.”
“Wait here.” Mr P disappeared into the trees and presently returned with a barrel on each shoulder and some strands of rope tucked into his tunic. He stood erect with legs apart and a gleam in his eye.
“My, you make a picture, Mr P,” stated Meg, admiring the perfect example of manhood standing before her. She shook her head to clear it. “So, make your way round there just inside the tree line until you’ve outstripped the pirates. Set up your gunpowder with a long enough fuse to get back here in good time.”
“As you say, Meg.” He bent forward and kissed her on her lips. “My God, you’d make a cracking pirate princess. Come and be mine when this is all done. With the Riber Hoard we can live in luxury together on a boat I’ll have specially built. A love boat!”
“Go now, Mr P, or it will never happen!”
He headed off through the trees again, only in a different direction this time. All Meg could do was stand and wait. Peering through the trees she could see the pirates clearly. She counted at least fifty. They were milling about, searching outbuildings, talking to each other and standing guard. Black Jack was in the thick of it. Pirates kept coming up to him and speaking; reporting, it seemed to Meg, probably of their failed attempts to find her and Mr P. He looked angry. After one such briefing, a scurvy looking character got a fist in the face for his trouble.
Black Jack moved away from them, towards the woods as if in disgust. He was close to the edge of the tree line now, barely feet away from Meg with just a few trees shielding her from his view. She heard him curse. He took a wad of tobacco from his pocket, bit off a chunk and chewed. Between the branches and leaves she saw brown liquid dribble from the corner of his mouth into his beard; the colour of both was identical. She could hear him breathing, and she could smell him, he was that close.
She felt a tickle inside her nose. She wriggled it from one side to the other, trying to make it go away. But the more she wriggled it, the worse the tickle became. It really was the worst possible moment to sneeze.
* * *
Mr P had set the two quarter casks next to each other and twisted together the two pieces of rope fuse that now fed out of the top of each, so he only had to light the end of one. They were tucked behind what appeared to be an old stable; wooden and in need of repair. The wood was dry and brittle. It would burn well.
He took out his tinderbox, struck the flint vigorously until the tinder glowed, then blew on it gently until it had caught enough to ignite a sulphur-tipped splint. This he applied to the rope. It took a while to catch but once it did the rope burned solidly. A perfect fuse. When there was no doubt that it would stay alight, Mr P departed, making his way back into the woods, round to the place where he had left Meg. When he reached the spot, he looked about in all directions. She was nowhere to be seen.
From beyond the trees he heard the excited babble of pirates, louder and more animated than before, punctuated by cheers and whistles. He peered through the foliage and saw figures circled around something, but he could not see what. Their backs were towards him, forming a wall of pirates. His gaze was fixed upon them. After a while a gap appeared which allowed him to see into the middle of the circle. To his horror he saw Meg, pinned against a wall, her hands tied behind her back, her silk bodice all but torn down to the waste. Black Jack was leering at her. Next to her, on the floor, lay the case containing the Riber Hoard.
Mr P’s blood boiled instantly. “Scurvy scum!” he yelled and, throwing caution to the wind, pushed his way through the foliage into the clearing. When he reached the two pirates closest to him, he grabbed them by the ears and cracked their heads together. They fell like ninepins. He strode into the circle.
“Black Jack! Step aside and leave my woman be, you son of a dog!”
Meg craned her neck towards him. She looked angry and defiant rather than victimized. “Mr P!” she beseeched. “Please deal with this evil monster before…”
Black Jack stopped her mouth with his hand. “Ahaaar!” he bellowed. “We have some goods of yours here, and was just about to enjoy them for ourselves.”
“Leave her be!” commanded Mr P through gritted teeth. A pirate stepped out of the circle, intent on blocking his way. A single punch to the jaw saw him tumble unconscious to the ground. Another tried the same and found himself tipped upside down and body slammed. A third received such a hard kick between the legs that he twisted sideways in agony, gasping for breath. And a fourth, who had swung at Mr P with a cutlass, screamed as his weapon was wrenched from him and used to sever his own arm.
Black Jack pulled his cutlass from its scabbard and confronted Mr P head on. Meg was forgotten. The two men faced each other with cutlasses poised… and the fight began. Black Jack struck a blow towards Mr P’s neck but was parried. He tried again, aiming lower this time, but this too was countered. The sound of clashing swords was crisp in the air and they flashed as sunlight shone off their blades. Black Jack was fast and accurate, but Mr P was his match and not a single blow hit home, though he felt the blade whizz past him numerous times. Then he managed to break through and drew blood from Black Jack’s forearm. Almost immediately, Black Jack reciprocated and bloodied Mr P’s cheek. The pirates were egging their leader on, cursing and cheering. Black Jack seemed inspired by them and cut faster and harder with his cutlass. The blows eventually overwhelmed Mr P who was forced to back away from the onslaught. A pirate stuck his foot out and Mr P went tumbling backwards onto the ground. Black Jack lunged forwards, tugged his knife from his belt and knelt down on one knee, ready for the kill.
A huge explosion ripped through the air. Everyone stopped dead, including Black Jack, then turned and looked in the direction of the noise. A plume of black smoke rose from behind the outhouses in the corner of the castle grounds, and flames were rising up. Everyone had turned to look, apart from Mr P. When the pirates turned back again, Black Jack was lying on the ground, a bloody gash across his face, stretching from his left ear to the bottom of his right cheek. He lay motionless.
Mr P got to his feet, clutched his cutlass tight in one hand, and Black Jack’s knife in the other. He backed towards Meg and stood protectively in front of her. Some of the pirates had started running off towards the explosion; others stood as still as statues, looks of puzzlement, fear and astonishment on their faces.
“Who wants some?” shouted Mr P. “Come on, you cowardly bunch… who’s next?” A pirate rushed at him, screaming loudly, a wooden club in his hand. Holding his knife by the blade, Mr P threw it directly at him. It embedded itself in his chest, and the pirate slumped in a heap. “Anyone else?”
The rabble gradually began moving backwards, slowly at first, then faster until they were in full flight. Mr P turned his attention to Meg. “My angel, I let you down. I am sorry.” He untied her hands and legs and covered her up with the rags that were left from her bodice.
“Not your fault, my love,” said Meg. “I have myself to blame – I gave myself away. No harm done, apart from being touched by that beast. Is he dead?”
Mr P looked down at Black Jack. “I think not. But he won’t be hassling anyone for a while until that face of his is mended. Shall we get out of here?”
“Oh yes please. Look, the explosion did the trick, they’ve all run off in that direction as we hoped. We can reach the car now.”
Mr P picked up the case, and with his other hand took Meg’s arm and led her towards the car park. The little red Fiat he had scoffed at earlier now seemed a very welcome sight indeed. “Our chariot awaits,” he said, grinning. “Let’s hope those seventy-two old nags don’t fail us.”
“They won’t,” said Meg. “They never have before.” They climbed in and Mr P threw the case onto the back seat. “Where to?”
“Anywhere there are no pirates… present company excepted!”
Meg started the engine and off they went, away from the castle, through Riber village and out onto country lanes. With no plan or direction in mind, she instinctively found herself heading back towards Matlock. They approached the town centre from the same direction they had left it, driving along Causeway Lane. It seemed natural to head back to the place where their adventure had begun and before long they were back in the multi-storey car park, in exactly the same bay. They strolled out into the street, hand in hand, Mr P clutching the case containing the Riber Hoard. No one seemed to notice the fact that a pirate was wandering around, nor did they seem to pay any attention to how Meg was dressed, not even her badly torn bodice. Eventually they were in Causeway Lane, outside Superdrug, the very spot where Meg had spied the pirate ship for the first time.
