By the end of a sometimes heated discussion over tea and scones, the captain was convinced by Lorna that they should follow through on the elderly man’s suggestion and at least meet with Mr. Briand. Roberta would still be wary regarding any scheming on his part. Authenticated journal or not, she wasn’t entirely convinced that this “mistress’s descendant” wasn’t orchestrating a scam and her poor grandfather happened to be his unwitting prey. Nevertheless, the pair returned to the Evangeline and set off to meet with the journal’s owner, less than an hour’s travel away.
Mr. Briand’s cottage on the shores of Oak Island looked like a little wooden box in comparison to the Rogers’ Lunenburg estate, but the grounds surrounding it were well kept and the home had a rustic charm to it. Roberta was pleased to see enough cleared land to dock the Evangeline rather than having to set down in water. Most of the island was covered in trees.
The gentleman who answered the door took Roberta somewhat by surprise. She had been anticipating someone rakish, with the air of a snake oil salesman. Instead, the man who greeted them had a bookish look, a slender, pale individual with dark hair, spectacles and conservative attire. While well groomed, he had not gone out of his way to embellish his appearance, wearing neutral-coloured clothing with no stylistic flair.
“I’m looking for Mr. Briand,” Roberta said, lifting the seahorse that hung at her throat. “I was told he would have some information I might find useful.”
“I’m Mr. Briand – Louis Briand, to be exact. You must be Miss Rogers,” he replied.
“Captain Rogers,” Lorna corrected with a growl.
He gave her a leery look. “Pardon me – my mistake. I wasn’t aware. No disrespect intended.”
Roberta elbowed Lorna, giving Briand a cheerful smile.
“No offence taken. Don’t mind Lorna. We encounter disrespect far too often and she can be a little overprotective at times. Her bark is worse than her bite.”
“Says you…” Lorna mumbled.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Roberta continued. “My grandfather says you are insisting on joining us if we follow through on this venture. Is that so?”
Briand waved the two women into his humble abode, waiting for them to take their seats before speaking further. “I really can’t afford to let this journal out of my sight. If the wrong people get their hands on it, I’ll never see it again. It could bring ruin upon a few families with stellar reputations, any of which would go out of their way to destroy it if given the chance. I wasn’t inclined to part with the curlicue seahorse either, but I’m a man of letters and it was my only means of raising the funds I needed to continue my studies. Selling it at auction was my concession. I will not be so liberal with the journal.”
Roberta noted that his otherwise cold grey eyes glimmered with warmth when he mentioned his studies. She found that appealing. She could certainly appreciate a learned man, even if he was a tad on the scrawny side.
“You do realize how dangerous this could be? The cursed treasure has already killed more than one man. I don’t expect to be held responsible for you if things don’t go as hoped. I will already have enough to worry about. I figure that’s plenty.”
“I can mind my own person, Captain Rogers. I’m not ignorant of the risks involved. Removing the failsafe requires more than just the turn of a key. First of all, you need to know where to excavate to reach the deactivation device. And then there are a series of knobs and levers that also have to be manipulated in the proper order. One misstep is likely to trigger one or more of the many traps surrounding the treasure, possibly resulting in death. I doubt that any of us would wish to see that as an outcome.”
A small crease furrowed Roberta’s brow. She shot Lorna an unhappy look. “It sounds like it’s more trouble than it’s worth. We don’t need that money. I have no plans to retire early and I pay my crew well enough for them to respect my wishes. I really want to get to those scholarly artefacts down south. Are you dead set on this, Lorna?”
“This will have rewards the likes of which our crew has never seen. I don’t want to retire early either – I love the airship life – but setting a nest egg aside for when I do would be a good thing. Whatever you decide though, Captain Ro, is good with me as it will be with the others. We trust your judgement.”
“If it’s scholarly artefacts you’re after, I can guarantee you such finds in this treasure,” Briand told them. “Captain Kidd left an inventory in the journal. I’ll let you review it and you can consider that in your decision. To be honest with you, that’s what interested me in this treasure in the first place. Sure, I need the funds to further my education, but that’s not my primary motivation. These historical gems ought not be left to rot in the dirt. They belong in a museum. I’ve dedicated my life to history. I’d risk my life to preserve it.”
The grin on Lorna’s face when he said this suggested the man of letters had just struck gold. Roberta knew she didn’t have to show her the contents of that inventory. By nature, it would prove incentive enough for her to agree to Briand’s terms and postpone the Evangeline’s trip to the Caribbean, as Lorna was no doubt aware.
Roberta eventually sighed and nodded, returning the journal to Briand.
“I hate to agree with you but I must. We’ll postpone our voyage to the south, but I want to limit any delays. Since we need you and your journal for this recovery, I expect you to be ready to go first thing tomorrow. We’ll be examining this ‘pit’ from the surface and readying our equipment. We brought with us a special submersible that works as an extension of the ship. I understand the area we need to venture into was flooded during the last excavation?”
“That’s right. The treasure hunters triggered one of the traps. I’ll be ready.”
Morning couldn’t seem to come fast enough for Roberta. She waited with anticipation on deck as Lorna fetched Briand. He looked fresh faced and far more eager than he had the day before. At least, he did until he caught sight of the submersible.
“That? That’s your diving equipment? It looks like a giant brass potato dangling from a pair of chains and hoses.”
“With arms,” Lorna pointed out. “Don’t forget the arms. The person inside the submersible can insert their own arms into them from the inside of the vessel and use them to manipulate things in the water on the outside.”
“There’s barely enough room for one of us in there, let alone two,” Briand said, continuing to gape at the egg-like encasement.
“That’s because it’s only supposed to be a single person device. Who said anything about two?” Roberta gently pushed her way past the pair, making for the brass hatch. “I’m the one trained to use this. I’ll be going down to disable the fail-safe.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that without the journal? Because even if I were to let you take it down there without me, I doubt you are agile enough to hold it open with your toes and read from it while you work the key and levers with those mechanical hands.”
Roberta stood up, pursing her lips. “I suppose you have a point.” She eyed him and then the submersible. “I guess it will have to be a tight squeeze then. I hope it can withstand the additional weight.”
Briand’s pale face turned a brilliant shade of red. “The two of us pressed into such a tiny space?” he sputtered. “It wouldn’t be proper. Certainly not for a lady of your status.”
“I never claimed to be proper,” Roberta said with a grunt, as she spun the wheel to open the hatch.
“Nor a lady,” Lorna added, smirking.
“Take it or leave.” Roberta swung the hatch out with a lurch. “It’s not like we have a lot of options. We get cozy, or we abandon this altogether. You go home with your journal and we head south with my decorative but otherwise useless seahorse trinket.”
Perspiring more than he should in the morning cool, Briand mumbled his consent to proceed with a slight nod, his face even more flushed. Roberta allowed him to step in first.
“I have a feeling I’m more
flexible than our man of letters,” the captain said to Lorna over her shoulder. “I’ll manage to contort myself as best I can into what little space he leaves me.”
The fit was so tight it left little room to breathe and even less for movement – enough to open and page through the journal and insert arms into the holes provided for external access. If it weren’t for filtration through the hoses, the air in the cramped submersible would have gotten stale fast. Briand’s laboured breathing didn’t help matters any.
“I’m going to Hell for this,” he muttered.
“If I deflower you before we’re through here, I guess I’ll just have to marry you. Now stop being so anxious and take a slow deep breath,” Roberta said. “We just have to relax and sit tight until we spot that marker you mentioned through the porthole. When I knock, Lorna will stop our descent. If I knock twice in rapid succession, that’s the signal to pull us up as soon as possible.”
“I can’t do any of that as long as your elbow is wedged into my diaphragm and your hipbone is threatening to penetrate my thigh.”
“If it’s that much of a bother it would take no trouble to have Lorna yank us out again.” Roberta raised her fist to knock.
“No, no – I’ve already suffered enough embarrassment and shame. Let’s just get this over with, all right?”
Their vessel continued to drop until Roberta caught sight of the marker. She knocked hard, with a great clang! and the submersible jarred to a sudden halt.
“What now?” she asked.
“Dig to the left of it. The failsafe device is buried about a foot past it, so be careful when you’re getting close.”
Thrusting her hands into mechanical arms, she started clawing into the compacted earth with the left one only.
“It will go faster with both. I’d prefer faster.” Briand leafed through the journal, looking for his next reference point.
“Lorna and I rigged the right one with the key. I wouldn’t want to knock it out of place before I’ve had the chance to use it,” Roberta said.
Briand glanced up from his pages, somewhat surprised. “Right – it would have to be outside the submersible, wouldn’t it…that required some foresight.”
“You say that as if you’re surprised.”
“Well, you do strike me as rather impulsive.”
Roberta snorted. “And that precludes me from thinking things through? I may be impulsive at times, but I never embark on an adventure unprepared.” She paused. “I think I’m almost there. The soil is getting looser.” A silence came from Briand in response. “Did you hear me?”
“Captain Rogers – I think you need to work faster. My feet are getting wet.”
Roberta froze. “Wet?” She glanced down and noted the puddle forming at the bottom of the submersible. “Damn it. One of the seals didn’t hold, likely because of the additional weight.”
The dirt where she had been digging gave way in a cloud of newly formed mud, and when it cleared it revealed a strange-looking box with a keyhole and a variety of levers.
“That’s it! That’s the failsafe device. Let’s resurface, repair the damaged seal and then return to finish the job,” Briand said.
“Are you kidding me? We need to finish this. Can’t you see that entire area is unstable? It could collapse at any moment because of the water, and if it does, it could take the entire tunnel with it. We have to do this now. Circumstance won’t allow for delay.”
“My soggy ankles beg to differ.”
Roberta scowled at Briand, perched above him. The water had yet to reach her. “It’s now or never. So either give me those directions or it’s over.”
Briand hesitated, precious moments ticking by while he decided if staying was worth the risk. Then, with an anxious sigh, he began listing off the steps.
Roberta followed his commands diligently, echoing word for word to make sure she had each step right. It felt as much like a dance as it did a disarming, a plethora of varying flicks and turns. Arriving at the end, there was a shudder accompanied by a grinding sound. She glanced down. Briand shivered beneath her, waist-deep in cold water. Her legs were also wet now, the dampness encroaching on her as well.
“That’s it,” he confirmed, teeth chattering. “The traps have been disarmed. The water should start receding now.”
“Let’s just hope it does so fast enough. Just in case it doesn’t, I’ll have the ship raise us as well.” She slipped her arms out their mechanical extensions and gave a solid pair of knocks upon the submersible’s brass frame. “Hopefully we’ll be out of the water before the interior of this can is entirely immersed.”
In response to the knock, the submersible did begin to ascend, but progress was painfully slow. Roberta grimaced.
“They must be having trouble lifting us with all this extra weight. This is going to take longer than I would have liked.”
“You and me both,” Briand said. He gasped from the cold, the water now reaching his chest. “I think the breach is worsening – the water is rising more quickly. Here – take the journal. You’ll be able to hold it out of the water higher than I can. Maybe you can keep it from getting the kind of soaking that would destroy its secrets, where I would fail.”
“I’m more concerned with preserving you, my good man. The book is secondary.”
“Not to me. It’s my family’s legacy. Besides, there’s little you can do for me now. I’m in the hands of faith and fate. Lift that journal as high as you can and pray for me.”
Roberta did as he asked, raising the book as far up as she could. Only slightly elevated above Briand, it was enough to allow her to watch as the water spilling in surrounded Briand’s face while she still had her mouth and nose above its surface. Bubbles rose up from his position a few moments later, slowing as time ticked by. At the point Roberta feared she would follow him into a watery grave, the water finally stopped rising and started to regress. The man of letters’ head lolled against her, seemingly lifeless, as soon as it lost its liquid support.
“Briand? Briand!”
Despite the urgency in her voice, he offered no reply. As the water continued to recede, she propped the journal under one arm and clutched his bluish face with both hands. No breath escaped his nose or mouth.
“Damn it. We should have gone up as soon as the leak started.”
With worried eyes and frantic gestures she decided she could not just abandon him for dead. She had watched a native woman breathe life into a drowned sailor once before. She could at least attempt that herself before giving up on him.
Unsure exactly what to do, she pinched his nose closed and tilted back his head, as she had seen it done. Then she pressed her still warm lips to his frigid ones and blew in. She attempted this several times, blowing harder when gentler puffs drew no response.
Without warning her own mouth suddenly filled with brackish water as Briand began to regurgitate massive quantities. She pulled away, watching helplessly as he wretched up almost all he had swallowed. He then clung to her, eyes unfocused and limbs trembling, as he attempted to borrow as much heat from her as he could manage. Roberta was so distracted by the entire affair that she did not notice they had reached the surface and that her crewmembers were scrambling to extricate their captain and the man of letters from their watery capsule.
Briand still held her in his shaky grasp, his head resting in the crook of her neck, when Lorna threw open the hatch.
“Well now – you two are even cosier than you were when last I left you,” she remarked.
“Don’t be foolish,” Roberta snarled. “One of the seals gave way and he almost drowned. He’s freezing. Have someone round up blankets and hot tea, then help me get him somewhere better suited for his recuperation.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Lorna disappeared from view.
Briand groaned, returning to his senses. “I’m not dead? The journal?”
“Safe, as per your bidding. And by some miracle, so are you.”
“Thank you,” he whispered
, before lapsing into a faint.
Roberta sighed, hugging him close. It no longer seemed like an awkward or uncomfortable thing to do.
“Don’t thank me just yet. The treasure’s not in hand. But first, we get you secured and then we see what that pit has to offer us now that its traps are disarmed.”
* * *
Roberta crept into Briand’s current quarters to check on the Evangeline’ s only treasure-hunting casualty. Fortunately, the Oak Island curse had not claimed him along with the others. Perhaps it was destiny that had overridden it, God’s will, or plain dumb luck. They would never know.
Briand stirred upon her approach. He started, sitting up abruptly in bed.
“Be calm,” Roberta insisted. “You’re safe. Your journal lies securely beside you. My crewmembers are retrieving the treasure as we speak. There is no more need for worry. Rest.”
He gently lowered himself back into the bed, an action accompanied by a rattling cough.
“It’ll take some time before your lungs return to normal, but that’s better than the alternative. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to your family if we returned with the treasure but without you. I’m sorry that my persistence nearly brought you to an early end.”
Briand appeared unfazed by the incident, more interested in confirming the presence of the journal, safe and sound. He glanced around until sighting it, then relaxed
“I heard you right? Your crew found it – the treasure?”
“Indeed they did. It was hidden just beyond the failsafe mechanism, locked away exactly as your journal described it. It was far more impressive than anything else we’ve managed to recover. I’m sure my crew are already contemplating their plans for their cut. I likely won’t retain them all. Lorna will stick with me, and several of the younger women, but a few, like Marguerite, will retire as a result of this. I’ll have to recruit replacements before resuming our trip to the Caribbean.” Roberta sat on the end of the bed.
Clockwork Canada Page 9
