by Nic Saint
I shrugged. “I just thought you might have a hunch.”
“I just know he’s going to be as surprised as you are when you finally dig up this so-called Albion treasure,” she said. “And that’s absolutely the last thing I’m saying about this. You girls need to learn your own lessons, and not let an old cow like me tell you what to do.”
“You’re not an old cow, Gran,” I said, walking over and giving her a kiss.
My sisters followed suit, and soon she seemed mollified. She even wiped a tear from her eye, saying it was from the onions she was chopping, and then we all chipped in and helped her to prepare for dinner. And just in time, too, for Sam and Pierre had arrived. Gran had apparently invited them over.
Spear hadn’t been invited, which told Ernestine exactly what Gran thought of him, and neither had Johnny and Jerry. Skip, of course, fresh from his successful mission to wrangle us up a boat and diving gear, was also there, and so was Gresham, and soon we all sat down for dinner.
Pierre, especially, was generous with the compliments, and Gran accepted them with visible pleasure.
“So treasure hunting, huh?” asked Gresham with a chuckle.
In spite of our attempts to keep our nocturnal mission a secret, somehow Gresham had discovered what we were up to, and he seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. Gran, who must have filled him in, pursed her lips.
“It’s not funny at all, Gresham. It’s decidedly dangerous. Those waters are infested with sharks, no doubt, and the moment Sam goes down there, and you too, Pierre, you have to make sure you wear shark-proof suits, you hear?”
“Did you get us shark-proof suits, Skip?” asked Sam with a crooked grin.
“Oh, um, no,” said Skip, looking startled. “Should I have?”
Gran seemed genuinely worried, and I still wondered what she knew that we didn’t. I’d checked just before dinner, and there hadn’t been any shark attacks reported in these waters in ages. So why would Gran try to scare off Sam and Pierre?
“I’m sure it’s quite safe, Mrs. Beadsmore,” said Pierre, taking a third helping of mashed potatoes and drowning them in ample amounts of gravy.
“You still have to be careful out there,” she gave him the same admonition she gave us before. “You never know what might happen down there.”
“I’m sure it’s a piece of cake,” grunted Sam with customary phlegm. “We’ll just pop down, find this so-called treasure, and pop up again.”
Gresham shook his head, still visibly amused by the whole thing.
“What’s so funny, Mr. Seeming?” asked Skip.
“Treasure!” cried the old man. “If there really was treasure out there don’t you think it would have been found ages ago?”
“This treasure is hidden in an extra-secret place,” I couldn’t help blurting out.
“An extra-secret place, huh?” asked Gresham, still shaking his gray head. “It just sounds so… fantastical. Like something from a movie or something.”
“Oh, no, it’s real enough,” I said. “We’re going to find the treasure of the Albion and deliver it to Lord Dockland’s heirs.”
At this, Gresham frowned. “Did you just say Lord Dockland?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. Why, have you heard about him?”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Well, sure. I am Lord Dockland.”
Chapter 22
“So Gresham is a genuine lord, huh? I’ll bet Gran will love that.” We were walking the plank to the boat that would finally take us to see the mighty treasure Captain Suggur had brought from yonder shores.
“Who would have thunk?” asked Edie.
Gresham had told us that his ancestor had received the title from King George III himself, and it had traveled down from father to son until it reached modest old Gresham who could call himself Lord Dockland, if he so chose. He only rarely did, however, and then only when he was over in England visiting relatives or popping in at the House of Lords just for fun. He'd even attended a few of the Queen's fabled Garden Parties at Buckingham Palace and enjoyed her tea, sandwiches and delicious cakes.
It was the first he'd ever heard of this so-called Treasure of the Albion, however, and he was as curious as the rest of us to discover what it might entail. Whether his forebear's sovereign had left him a chestful of gold ingots or perhaps even diamonds and pearls. If this were the case, he'd promised magnanimously that all involved in the rescue operation would be richly rewarded, which had won him loud cheers from the would-be rescuers.
As I jumped on board of the Merry Mary it was obvious the vessel’s captain was far from merry: Dale Spalding actually glared at us as we came aboard, but perhaps that was the professional crustiness of the professional fisherman. Like Gresham’s peerage, something Dale had inherited from his forebears. When you spend most of your adult life taming the raging seas and staring into dead fish eyes, it tends to take a toll on your people skills.
Apart from that, the guy looked like a capable enough captain, and his boat didn’t look too shabby either. Richard Branson wouldn’t have approved, or Roman Abramovich, but who needs a million-dollar yacht when you’re fishing for treasure? Not me. The Merry Mary would do nicely to bring us to the wreck of the Albion and back again.
Captain Dale had also arranged the necessary diving gear, and as soon as we were all aboard, and Dale took her out to sea, the guys were busily checking the gear, and trying it on. For most of them this proved an easy enough task, but Johnny Carew, apparently, had a hard time finding something that fit his bulk. When finally he’d squeezed himself into a suit, he looked like a sausage about to burst from its casing. I just hoped he wouldn’t choke.
The men were now all suited up and ready to go, and I couldn’t help admire the sheer musculature of both Sam and Spear. The two men were prime specimens of their sex, and I was starting to feel that somehow I was missing out on something. My sisters certainly had been dealt a great hand, while I was stuck with a pimply teenager who had a crush on me, and Pierre, who hardly looked like a superhero. More an antihero, with his thinning mane and his pudgy midsection, a consequence of his fondness for pastries.
But since I wasn’t here to scout potential boyfriends but oversee a delicate and very important salvage operation, I decided to get my mind out of the gutter and back in the treasure hunting game.
“Listen up, people!” I called out. “The treasure we’re looking for is contained within a treasure chest. It will be made of wood, presumably, and locked inside a secret hiding place aboard the wreck of the Albion.”
They all looked at me expectantly, eager for me to divulge the secret hiding place of the treasure chest. Unfortunately, as Captain Suggur still hadn’t shown his ghostly face, I had no idea what this secret hiding place was, so I decided to leave it at that, fully risking a mutiny on the Merry Mary.
Edie sidled up to me, and so did Ernestine. “Um, Strel?” asked Edie, with a keen eye on Sam, who stood glowering at us, apparently his default expression tonight. The man might be built like Chris Evans, he definitely hadn’t inherited the actor’s sunny disposition. “Where is the treasure?” continued Edie. “You can’t keep the men in suspense any longer. We’re almost there.”
She was right about that. Captain Dale had just been kind enough to inform us that we would reach our final destination in five more minutes.
The night was appropriately cool, and the ocean surface smooth as a mirror. A full moon was out, illuminating the dark mass of water.
“I have no idea,” I whispered.
“What do you mean, you have no idea?” asked Ernestine furiously. “I thought you said you knew where this treasure was located?”
“Captain Suggur was supposed to tell me, but he isn’t here, is he? Didn’t I tell you guys about this? He said he was going to give the location to the first ones to arrive here.”
We quickly glanced around, but there was no trace of another boat.
“Maybe Clive already beat us to it,” said Edie.
“And took
the treasure?” added Ernestine. “No way. We got here as fast as we could.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t like this radio silence on the part of Captain Suggur. He should have been here by now to give me the location of the treasure.”
I walked over to the railing and planted my hands on it while a spray of water hit my face. “Captain Suggur!” I hissed. “Time to show your face!”
But the only response I got was the soft gurgling of the water beneath the bow, as it neatly cleaved through the waters of the Atlantic.
Then the engine made a rumbling sound, as the boat started to list slightly. Captain Dale switched off the engines, and tossed out the anchor.
“This is it,” he announced as he stepped from the cabin.
I stared at him a little helplessly, while my crew stared at me a little impatiently, while my sisters stared at me a little or even a lot annoyedly.
“Um, you wouldn’t happen to know where the captain of the Albion might have kept his treasure chest, would you?” I asked the captain, deciding the time had come to take the man into my confidence. “Any thoughts?”
But he merely shook his head and returned to his cabin, obviously one of those strong, silent types you always hear so much about. Or it could be that he’d taken so many idiot tourists to dive for the Albion he was fed up.
He then switched on the boat’s underwater lights, which served to help our divers reach their target. “This is so great!” I said, giving the captain a thumbs-up. Frankly I was at the end of my tether here, and about to buckle under the pressure. And it was then that a dark figure approached me from the nor’-nor’-east. The figure seemed to hover over the water, and was approaching fast, seemingly drifting toward us from the mainland.
“Captain!” I cried, elated. “Finally! I thought you’d abandoned me.”
He quickly surveyed my crew, and it seemed to earn his approval, for he grunted, “You kept your end of the bargain, Miss Flummox. Now it’s time for me to return the favor. The location of the treasure is inside the captain’s cabin, beneath a small hidden panel beneath the captain’s bunk. It hasn’t been disturbed by any of the foul scavengers who have desecrated the Albion.”
I stared at him. “I wonder why that is.”
“You wonder why what is?” he asked as his dark eyes studied my sisters, who stood listening intently. We were the only ones who could see him.
“That nobody ever discovered your treasure. I mean, plenty of people have searched that wreck top to bottom over the years. Dozens of them.”
“None of them was worthy,” he grunted with a deep growl.
I was taken aback by this. “None of them was worthy?”
“They would have simply kept the treasure for themselves. I had to wait over two hundred years to find someone who would be morally sound enough to give the treasure to its rightful owner. A person like you, Estrella.”
I frowned at him. This was a totally different story than the one he’d fed me earlier. “I thought you said that you couldn’t get in touch with anyone? That I was the first person who could see you after all these years?”
“I was lying,” he told me point blank. “I had plenty of opportunity to be seen and heard, only I never found one worthy of my trust. You, Estrella Flummox, are the first person who’s both honorable and good. You want the treasure not for yourself, but to do what’s right. To help an old ghost like me for absolutely unselfish reasons. That’s why I chose you for this mission.”
“Well, me and Clive, you mean,” I pointed out, a little peeved.
He gave me a curt nod. “You and the lifeguard,” he amended.
I still stared at him a little suspiciously, remembering Gran’s words about being careful. “Don’t you think it’s odd,” I said, “that on the same day you found me, a truly honorable and selfless person, you also found Clive, a second truly honorable and selfless person? I mean, what are the odds?”
“Slim,” he agreed. “A very happy coincidence indeed. And now are you going to dive for treasure, or wait until Clive arrives and beats you to it?”
“Oh, no,” I hastened to say. “We’re going to get that treasure right now.”
I stepped forward, and if my crew had thought it a little strange that I’d been conversing with myself just now, they didn’t give any indication. They probably thought this entire mission was a little weird, but then what else can you expect when you get on board with the Flummox triplets?
“So where’s the treasure?” asked Jerry eagerly, revisiting his favorite theme.
“The treasure is hidden beneath the captain’s bunk in the captain’s cabin,” I told the crew slowly and emphatically, my eyes darting from man to man. They all nodded, relieved that things were finally moving forward, and I could see that their faith in their fearless leader was gradually being restored.
“And where’s the captain’s cabin, exactly?” asked Sam now.
I turned to Suggur, who was now standing next to me, his hands clasped behind his back, his legs planted firmly on the deck, like a true-blue captain. “You’ll find the great cabin at the stern of the ship, spanning the entire width. It’s the nicest, roomiest and most luxurious cabin. Naturally.”
“Naturally,” I echoed, though I wondered if it would still look as nice, roomy and luxurious after spending two centuries at the bottom of the Atlantic. Probably not. But I faithfully conveyed the information to my men.
Sam nodded. “Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out, Strel. My apologies. I really thought you were going about this half-cocked as usual.”
“Oh, no,” I assured him. “I’m going about this fully-cocked, Sam.”
This drew smiles from both Sam and Pierre, a grimace from Spear, who was always a stickler for the right phrase at the right time, as any lawyer would be, a guffaw from Skip, and a scowl from Jerry. Johnny simply stared at me, his expression not changing one bit from his usual vacuous look.
“So when are we diving, Miss Flummox?” the big guy now asked.
“Um, whenever the mood strikes you,” I said. But then I heard the sound of another boat approaching. “Uh-oh,” I said. “I think the competition is here. You better do this now, you guys.” And then I used a phrase I’d been wanting to use ever since I heard it in a Michael Bay movie—or perhaps in all of his movies: “Go, go, go, go, go, go!”
And so they went. One by one they put on their masks, and let themselves fall backward off the side of the boat, into the tranquil waters beneath. I watched them disappear into the darkness, and soon they were gone.
Now it was up to them to find the treasure of the Albion. Or not.
Chapter 23
Jerry was not in a good mood. He’d hoped to abscond with the treasure, hide it in some place only he would know about, and pick it up later. But now, with all these other guys around, that seemed hardly feasible. For one thing, two cops would never allow two crooks like him and Johnny to get away with snatching this treasure. And then there was this Skip, the triplets’ loyal mutt, and this stupid lawyer who looked like Johnny frickin’ Weissmuller. Not that he had anything against lawyers. They’d helped him and Johnny out of a jam more than once, but this particular lawyer was into Ernestine Flummox, and therefore hardly likely to look the other way.
Dammit, he thought as he flapped his flippers and followed the others down to the ship. At least he hadn't drowned yet, and neither had Johnny. It really was true what they said: it was just like riding a bicycle. You never forgot. And as he went deeper and deeper into the drink, the shipwreck lit up under the beams of the team members' powerful flashlights. It was a sight for sore eyes. First the beams hit a pile of rubbish but then, as they drew nearer, Sam Barkley in the lead, they came upon the shipwreck itself.
In spite of its respectable age, the old thing looked pretty spruce and impressive. She was lying on her side, the once mighty Albion having succumbed to the waves, her masts cracked and snapped like twigs, half of the ship collapsed, while the stern was
still pretty much intact. Shoals of fish were gracefully moving in and out through the holes in the hull, and he just hoped they wouldn’t encounter any sharks out here. He didn’t like sharks.
He gestured at a large window at the stern of the ship, where that Flummox wench had told them the treasure was likely hidden, and Johnny gave him a wave of the hand. The small band of divers now gathered near the great cabin, as the captain’s cabin was apparently called, and peered in. The holes two hundred years of storms had knocked into this part of the ship weren’t big enough to allow them to move in, so Sam gave part of one of the windows a vicious kick, splintering the wood. The others soon joined in, and before long, the rotten wood gave way, and they’d created an opening large enough for a diver to move through safely.
He was still hoping against hope that he’d manage to get a hold of this treasure before the others did, but hope was dwindling fast. This Barkley guy seemed awfully keen to get there first, as he ventured inside the minute he could, Jerry a close second while the others patiently waited outside.
The moment he was inside, he saw a fish suddenly blow itself up and he started, producing a stream of bubbles himself. Christ. A damn blowfish. Well, at least it wasn’t a shark. The fish quickly moved away, and he scanned the room. For a great cabin, it was remarkably small and light on fancy decorations. Lots of seaweed, though, and plenty of moss covering every available surface. He saw an old compass lying on the floor, and wondered why no treasure hunter had snapped that up yet. So he did.
Sam, meanwhile, had reached the captain’s bunk, and was poking around underneath, clearly eager to get the job done and get out of here. The cop was now kicking at the floor beneath the bunk, and Jerry hurried over. He was just in time to see the decayed wood give way and reveal something glittering that looked like it just might be what they were after. The treasure!
And as Sam fished it out of its hiding place, Jerry saw that the object was only about half a foot long. It was a little gilded box, a few stones inset on the lid, but apart from that not much to look at. And definitely not a treasure.
