Treasure Fever!

by Andy Griffiths

  Jack shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ he said.

  ‘Now, we’re going to do this systematically,’ said Mr Brainfright. He went to the window and pointed at Skull Island. ‘We’ll begin by pegging out that hill into twenty-five equal squares. You’ll have a square each, approximately three paces long on each side. I want each of you to take four wooden stakes, some twine and a pick or a shovel. Let’s go!’

  44

  The big dig

  Jenny, Gretel, Jack, Newton and I rushed for the equipment so we could be first to claim the area where we’d already been digging.

  I figured that if anybody deserved to find that treasure it was us.

  We each measured out our squares and tied twine around the four stakes to mark them clearly.

  ‘What do we do now?’ said David from another square.

  ‘Clear the ground,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘After you’ve examined the surface you may start to dig. But do it carefully. The trick is not to destroy what we are looking for.’

  ‘What if we find a mummy?’ Newton asked nervously.

  ‘Well, in that case you should destroy it,’ said Mr Brainfright grimly. ‘Destroy it before it destroys you.’

  Newton began to tremble. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore,’ he said.

  ‘He’s joking, Newton,’ I said.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Mr Brainfright.

  ‘He is, really,’ I whispered to Newton.

  Newton looked uncertain. He swung his pick half-heartedly.

  Everybody else was busy digging. Well, when I say digging, I mean attacking their square of earth with every ounce of energy they had.

  It wasn’t so much an orderly archaeological dig as complete and utter mayhem.

  The air was thick with picks, spades and flying dirt.

  ‘Be careful, now,’ called Mr Brainfright above the din. ‘Don’t forget to be careful!’

  But his words were lost in the treasure-digging frenzy.

  Clive was smashing his patch of dirt apart with a pick.

  Gretel was digging with so much determination and strength that an earthmoving machine would have had trouble keeping up with her.

  Fiona was on her hands and knees throwing dirt over her shoulder with a small trowel. The dirt was showering all over David, but he was too intent on digging his own hole to notice, or even care.

  Gina and Penny were the only ones not digging. They were too busy trotting around on their imaginary horses, using the twine as jumps.

  One thing was for sure, though.

  If there was buried treasure here, 5C was going to find it.

  Whether the treasure would survive the excavation—well, that was another question. But we would find it.

  I could see students from other classrooms looking enviously out their windows at us.

  All the students at Northwest Southeast Central had been spending every minute outside of class time searching for the treasure, but we were the only ones lucky enough to be able to search during class time.

  This fact was not lost on Mrs Cross, who soon appeared and began marching up the hill towards us.

  ‘What on earth is going on here?’ she yelled.

  ‘An archaeological dig!’ said Mr Brainfright.

  ‘An archaeological dig?’ said Mrs Cross. ‘But archaeology is not in the fifth-grade syllabus!’

  ‘It is now,’ said Mr Brainfright.

  Mrs Cross shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t be destroying the school grounds like this,’ she said. ‘It’s not right.’

  ‘We’re not digging up the school grounds,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘We’re conducting an archaeological dig.’

  ‘I don’t care what you call it!’ said Mrs Cross. ‘It’s destructive and unnecessary as far as I’m concerned. And I’m not the only one. All the digging of the last few days has upset poor Mr Spade so much that he’s had to take stress leave. I should have known you were behind it all.’

  ‘We’ll fill it back in again when we’ve finished,’ said Mr Brainfright.

  ‘You’re finished now, Brainfright,’ said Mrs Cross. ‘I’ll give you and your class fifteen minutes to fill in your holes, pack up your rubbish, and leave this hill EXACTLY as it was! Otherwise I will be notifying Principal Greenbeard of this deviation from the program . . . and you know what that means!’

  Mrs Cross turned and stomped back down the hill.

  Mr Brainfright shrugged. He had the same sort of sad look on his face that he’d had after Principal Greenbeard had bawled him out in the corridor the day before.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to finish our dig there, everybody,’ he said quietly. ‘Could you please begin to fill in your—’

  ‘I’ve found something, sir!’ said Gretel.

  Gretel’s square was right next to mine. I looked into the hole she’d dug; it was twice as deep as mine. At the bottom I could just make out the shape of a box.

  Mr Brainfright came across. ‘What have you found, Gretel?’ he asked.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I was digging and my spade made a clunking sound. I think there’s something there.’

  Mr Brainfright was down on his stomach, scraping dirt away with his hands. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said excitedly. ‘But given Mrs Cross’s ultimatum, it’s going to take us too long to dig it out by hand. I have the exact tool we need in my car. I’ll be right back!’

  45

  Jackhammer

  What happened next is going to sound kind of crazy, but I swear it’s the truth.

  Mr Brainfright returned with a jackhammer.

  Now I’m not sure how many people—or teachers—drive around with jackhammers in their cars, but Mr Brainfright was obviously one of them.

  And I really wasn’t quite sure how the use of a jackhammer fitted with Mr Brainfright’s instructions that archaeological digs needed to be conducted with EXTREME care, but I guess we were running out of time.

  Mrs Cross had given us fifteen minutes, and it would take a lot longer than that to dig the box out carefully.

  ‘Wow, is that a single-phase demolition breaker?’ said Grant, clearly impressed.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Brainfright, as he lowered it down into the hole. ‘It’s small, but it gets the job done. Stand back everyone, and block your ears—it’s a little bit loud.’

  ‘A little bit loud’ was putting it mildly. It was a BIG bit loud. When Mr Brainfright started it up, we didn’t only hear it, we felt it!

  It made the ground tremble.

  It made our feet, legs, chests and arms shake.

  It made our teeth rattle in our jaws.

  And the noise was unbelievable!

  I never knew such a small machine could make such a commotion.

  Even with my hands pressed hard against my ears the noise hurt.

  Mr Brainfright and his single-phase demolition breaker were just a vibrating blur in the middle of a cloud of dust.

  And then Mrs Cross appeared.

  ‘That’s enough, Brainfright!’ she yelled, her shrill tones clearly audible above the noise of the jackhammer.

  Even Mr Brainfright heard her.

  He shut the jackhammer off.

  ‘Just a couple more minutes and I’ll be done,’ he pleaded.

  But Mrs Cross was firm. ‘You’re done, all right. You’re done RIGHT NOW!’

  ‘But Mrs Cross,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘I’m so close!’

  ‘You’re more than close,’ said Mrs Cross. ‘This time you’ve gone TOO FAR! I’m trying to teach and you’re turning the school into a construction zone. You have blown your last chance! I’m going to see that you never teach at this—or any other—school ever again! If “teach” is the right word to describe the bizarre activities you waste your class’s time with!’

  Mrs Cross marched back down the hill, but not towards her classroom.

  She was headed towards Principal Greenbeard’s office!

  46

  Goodbye, Mr Brainfright

  Mr Brainfright shook
his head sadly and climbed out of the hole.

  ‘I think our work is finished here today,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, class. So close and yet so far!’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Jenny. ‘At least we tried. We gave it our best shot.’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ said Mr Brainfright.

  The school PA system crackled to life. ‘Mr Brainfright is to report to the principal’s office immediately,’ ordered Mrs Rosethorn. ‘Mr Brainfright to the principal’s office. IMMEDIATELY!’

  Mrs Rosethorn was no more pleasant over the PA than she was in person.

  ‘Grade five,’ said Mr Brainfright, ‘if I should not return, I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed my time with you very much. I’ve learned a lot, and I’m going to miss you all.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Gretel. ‘You’ll be back! You’re just going to the principal’s office.’

  ‘I think we have to face facts here,’ said Mr Brainfright, ‘and the fact is that Mrs Cross has got it in for me.’

  ‘Nobody listens to her!’ said Jack. ‘She’s just a cross old busybody!’

  ‘Principal Greenbeard listens to her, Jack,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘And I’m rather afraid that he’s going to make me walk the plank.’

  ‘Yikes!’ said Newton.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Mr Brainfright, patting Newton on the shoulder.

  Fiona cleared her throat. ‘As co-class captain,’ she said, ‘on behalf of 5C, I would just like to say that we’ve really enjoyed having you as our teacher. And I think we’ve learned a lot, too.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ said David.

  Gretel stepped forward and shook Mr Brainfright’s hand.

  Mr Brainfright’s face scrunched up like he was going to cry. ‘Gretel,’ he said, ‘could you let go of my hand? You’re crushing it!’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ she said.

  ‘That’s quite all right, Gretel,’ he said. ‘You just have a very strong grip.’

  He began walking down the hill.

  We were all silent.

  None of us knew what to say.

  At the bottom of the hill he turned and waved. ‘Don’t forget how to breathe!’ he called. ‘And watch out for that window!’

  I never cry—well, hardly ever—but I don’t mind admitting that I was blinking back tears. Jenny was sobbing. We were watching the best teacher we’d ever had walking away from us.

  Don’t get me wrong: we liked Mrs Chalkboard all right—but we loved Mr Brainfright.

  And the worst thing was that it was all my fault he was leaving. If I hadn’t encouraged him to start digging for treasure, he wouldn’t have organised the archaeological dig, and if he hadn’t organised the archaeological dig, Gretel wouldn’t have found the treasure chest, and if Gretel hadn’t found the treasure chest, then Mr Brainfright wouldn’t have gone and got a jackhammer, and if Mr Brainfright hadn’t gone and got a jackhammer, then Mrs Cross wouldn’t have got quite so cross, and if Mrs Cross hadn’t got quite so cross, she wouldn’t have gone to Principal Greenbeard, and Principal Greenbeard wouldn’t have called Mr Brainfright to his office, and then . . . and then . . . and then I had an idea—a BRILLIANT idea.

  47

  A brilliant idea

  I jumped into the hole and started digging.

  Mr Brainfright’s efforts had revealed the top half of a wooden box. It wasn’t possible to pull it out just yet, but it wouldn’t take very much more digging before it was.

  ‘What are you doing, Henry?’ Jenny called out. ‘How can you keep digging at a time like this? We’re about to lose the best teacher we’ve ever had and all you care about is some stupid old treasure! Don’t you have any feelings at all?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘you don’t understand! We have to get the treasure. It’s our only hope!’

  ‘Of what?’ said Jenny. ‘Of getting rich?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘of saving Mr Brainfright.’

  ‘How?’ Gretel asked.

  ‘I can’t explain now,’ I said, still digging hard. ‘There’s no time. Just help me get the treasure!’

  ‘Out of the way, McThrottle,’ said Gretel. ‘I can dig faster than you can!’

  I jumped out of the hole and Gretel jumped in.

  Armed with a pick, she made short work of it, and moments later she held up a small dirt-encrusted wooden treasure chest with a grinning skull on top of it. I couldn’t blame the skull for grinning. I think I’d be grinning too if, finally, after all those years in the dirt, somebody had dug me up. (Although if I’d been buried all those years I’d probably be dead and not grinning at all, so ignore that last comment.)

  ‘Wow,’ said Jack, in genuine awe of Gretel. ‘You were almost as fast as Mr Brainfright’s jackhammer.’

  ‘Almost?’ said Gretel. ‘I’d like to see the jackhammer that could beat me!’

  She handed me the chest. ‘So how is this going to save Mr Brainfright?’ she asked, still panting with the effort of digging it out.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘the treasure originally belonged to Principal Greenbeard, right? I figure if we can get the treasure to him now, he’ll be so happy to have it back, he won’t fire Mr Brainfright!’

  ‘Brilliant thinking, Henry!’ said Jenny.

  ‘Let’s open it first, though, and make sure the treasure is there,’ said Jack. ‘It might just make Principal Greenbeard angrier if he gets his treasure chest back after all these years and it’s empty.’

  ‘Good thinking, Jack,’ said Jenny. ‘We don’t want to make the situation any worse than it already is.’

  ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘I have the key right here.’

  I reached into my pocket and pulled it out.

  The grinning skull on the key matched the grinning skull on the chest perfectly.

  I was about to push the key into the lock when Newton blew his whistle.

  It was almost as loud as Mr Brainfright’s jackhammer.

  ‘What are you doing, Newton?’ said Jack.

  ‘Danger!’ Newton wheezed.

  ‘What danger?’ said Jack.

  ‘What if the treasure has a curse on it and mummies start attacking us in our dreams?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Newton,’ said Jack. ‘If they try anything just blow your whistle: that will fix them!’

  ‘Mummies can’t hear anything,’ said Fiona. ‘They’ve got bandages all over their ears, remember?’

  ‘I think Newton’s whistle will pierce through a few old bandages,’ said Jack.

  ‘It won’t happen anyway,’ I said. ‘You’re mixing up pirate treasure with Egyptian treasure. They’re two completely different things!’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jenny. ‘Henry’s right. There’s no need to be worried about mummies, Newton.’

  I pushed the key into the lock.

  And turned it.

  Well, I tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t move.

  ‘It’s not working!’ I said.

  ‘It has to work,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Well, it isn’t,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Grant. ‘Let me try. I’ve got a digital skeleton key. Opens anything. It’s brand new. My dad invented it last night.’

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  I shrugged. ‘It’s worth a try,’ I said.

  Grant produced a shiny black tube that looked more like a torch than a key. He placed it over the keyhole and pushed a button. It made a series of beeps and clicks. It glowed red. Then it started smoking.

  ‘Grant . . .’ said Jack.

  ‘Almost there,’ he said.

  ‘Is smoke supposed to be coming out of the end?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Grant. ‘I’ve never used it before.’

  ‘It looks like it’s going to explode,’ said Jack.

  Suddenly Grant’s digital skeleton key exploded.

  ‘I hate to say I told you so,’ said Jack, ‘but I told you so.’

  Grant shook his head. ‘Maybe the lock’s too old,’ he said.
<
br />   ‘And then again,’ said Jack, ‘maybe, just maybe, the digital skeleton key doesn’t work.’

  ‘Impossible!’ said Grant. ‘My dad invented it!’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Jack.

  ‘That’s enough, Jack,’ said Gretel. ‘This isn’t exactly helping us to get the chest open. What we need here is good old-fashioned non-digital brute force. Stand back! This is a job for One-punch!’

  Gretel rolled up her sleeve. She clenched her fist, took a deep breath, and then punched the top of the chest.

  But, incredibly, despite the power of Gretel’s fist, which was strong enough to knock somebody out with just one punch, the chest did not break open.

  Gretel’s fist just bounced off it. ‘Ouch!’ she said, shaking her hand. ‘That’s one tough treasure chest!’

  We all stared at it.

  The skull’s grin seemed to be even wider than before, almost as if it was enjoying our desperate attempts to crack the lock.

  Time was running out.

  Unless we could open the chest we were going to lose the best teacher we’d ever had!

  Then Jenny smiled. ‘I’ve got it!’ she said, removing her smiley badge, and getting down on her hands and knees. She began poking around in the lock with the pin of her badge.

  ‘Are you trying to pick the lock?’ I said.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m cleaning it. The reason the lock won’t open is that it’s clogged with dirt.’ She picked and poked and prodded. ‘That’s got it! Try the key now, Henry.’

  I pushed the key in . . .

  and turned . . .

  and . . .

  the lock clicked.

  The chest was open!

  But before I could lift the lid, Newton blew his whistle again.

  ‘Newton!’ I said. ‘Stop blowing that stupid whistle! I already told you, there’s no curse!’

  But it wasn’t the curse Newton was trying to warn me about.

  It was worse.

  48

  Fred’s revenge

  Two hands reached down from above and picked up the treasure chest.

  ‘I’ll take that, thanks very much,’ said a familiar voice.