The Lost Treasure Map Series

by V Bertolaccini

  “I’d just like to check the graves,” Bryson confirmed, watching to see if Merton had lost interest.

  The graveyard was on a hill, in an open space, surrounded by the rest of the village – where they had traveled to from the opposite side.

  Bryson studied the peculiar effect of the scenery looking immense, with it being on a hill, and the landscape not having so many trees. The sight of endless trees filling the horizon had altered his inner perception of a normal landscape, and he expected to see trees, but only saw emptiness.

  He realized how safe it felt, and that he had returned to a natural place, holding a clear view of everything.

  Yet they probably could not find more solitude than back at the castle.

  Sparrows squawked hungrily, some savagely fluttering their wings, and others hopped from hedge to hedge, making expressions resembling growls at them, at attacking their territory. They looked desperate – the snow covered most of the countryside, and the hedges and ground looked empty of the things to eat.

  Many shifted fast, staying warm, moving from their positions, as they approached, and looked forced into accepting their intimidations.

  There were no signs that showed that anyone had been near there in a long time.

  The graveyard shrouded in snow took the appearance of heaven, with its brilliant whiteness. The castle not being there also gave him feelings of it.

  They struggled through a jungle of withered weeds, buried in thick snow, going between the graves, giving brief glances at their dates and words, and occasionally stopping to look at them in more detail – at things of interest.

  Mortimer now looked moderately happy there.

  The taxi driver had taken them to the right place after all. It was the oldest church, and most likely graveyard to have what they wanted.

  The taxi rested beyond the church gates, with the driver still flicking ash out of the window, giving them nervous glances. He occasionally glared directly towards them, thinking of some fact – true or imagined.

  As Bryson read the engraved phrases on a grave, almost buried in moss and dirt, he realized how much the driver had astonished him.

  He knew that it was not his normal reactions, and that he was reacting to them being in his presence, because they were from the castle.

  He had not known how to start communicating with them. He had been more than likely thinking of many things that he had wanted to say and had not known where to start. He seemed to be considering warning them of something! He had suggested that he knew of things that they ought to know. It had been more like a joke though.

  He realized that he might know legends. He seemed to know people that lived about the estate.

  He had given many suggestions that he had wished to obtain information from them – on what was happening there, with it being in the news.

  As Bryson observed the driver, at a distance, as they examined different graves, he caught his attention more.

  What would it be? Yet Sir Richard might have affected them, or had persuaded people to do it for him – to scare away outsiders. But he doubted it! And nobody had ever said that he had done anything like that.

  “This one has the same date as William Randall’s grave,” Mortimer announced, over at his side, grabbing his attention away from the distant landscape, where his eyesight kept falling.

  Bryson crouched in the long grass. It was someone who had been at the village at the same time, but there were few words there – mentioning things that were not what they were looking for. He knew by Mortimer’s reactions that he had already finished with it.

  And Bryson realized that Mortimer had lost confidence in there being anything there.

  Their stroll gradually increased to a fast walk, with them only glimpsing at dates and names.

  Then they returned to the taxi.

  The driver was patiently waiting on them.

  “Did you find what you were after?” he called back, watching their faces in the mirror, and looking about the road ahead, checking it going into the horizon.

  “No,” Bryson replied, since nobody else was going to reply. “We are looking for more stuff about the castle. Do you know if there’s somewhere else, like a library, where we can get it?”

  A loud squeak came from his seat, making him turn his head, and look very alert.

  The vicar then stuck his head out of the church. Then, as the taxi engine burst into life, he shut the door, and the taxi pulled away.

  “I cannot help you – as you will find very little about it ... I’ve lived here all my life ...”

  He glanced at him in the mirror, and adjusted it slightly, to a precise position.

  Bryson saw that he had changed from what he had been like on the way there, and he did not want to say any more.

  Chapter 41

  Deadly Blizzard

  The taxi raced down the dark road, through the heavy blizzard, going deep into the thick wood, and skidded on the snow as it went around a bend, while the new driver tried to catch up with some police cars.

  The deep snow glowed brightly in the light from the headlights, beaming out, and Bryson saw many more police cars parked along the road.

  It was night, and he was tired from the evening spent at the village, and the sudden confrontation on the small road, just as they were about to reach the castle, was unwelcome.

  The car approached the police cars and skidded to a halt, behind them, and they jumped out.

  In the distance, from where the taxi had come from, he saw three more police cars, and what looked like two normal cars, all racing towards him.

  Inspector Bailey was standing playing with a loudspeaker.

  “Let’s spread out!” he hollered, through it, with it blaring out at full volume. And he stopped to turn the volume down (looking like he wanted to throw it away instead).

  Another policeman took it, and started use it to speak for him, telling them to come over to him.

  “What happened?” Mortimer asked desperately – now not understanding the situation – and then noticing that they were not really listening.

  “If we search along this stretch of road, all of us should easily find their trail.” Inspector Bailey firmly announced.

  Inspector Bailey played around with the loudspeaker again, making sure that he did not touch the volume.

  “We’re going to search along this road,” he muttered to Mortimer. “So look for any footprints!”

  Everyone started clambering through the snow, going along the road, in different groups. Bryson searched the inner wood, while the others around him looked about the road – generally searching places that they believed the others were not searching.

  The other cars reached the cars, and the policemen in them started climbing out, chatting loudly, about what was happening.

  Eventually, a distant shout came from behind them, and all of them made their way to there.

  Bryson took the opportunity to question him further.

  “What’s happened? Who’re you after?”

  “Has the killer struck again?” Mortimer continued.

  “Are you chasing him?” Merton tried to resume.

  “We could be! We’re searching for some of the women. They’ve vanished! And there’s a possibility, according to the others, that they’ve come up against him.”

  “Or they’re lost out there – in this blizzard!” Merton continued.

  Bryson listened horrified! He knew one of the women was Sarah by their reactions. And he started to prepare himself for what was to come.

  “So spread out,” Inspector Bailey shouted, “and tell us immediately, if you find them.”

  The policemen were entering the wood, with their torches jumping about, lighting up the dense trees. And Bryson’s heart pounded, as he waited for them to yell that they had found their mutilated bodies.

  But their lights vanished into the wood, and their voices grew faint, until he could not hear them. By the time Bryson, Mortimer, Merton, and Inspect
or Bailey reached where they had been, they were deep in the wood, and increasing their speed.

  Bryson examined the footprints at the side of the road, untouched by them. They definitely were theirs. Sarah’s shoe mark was there! Moreover, all three were women’s shoe marks, and that was the correct amount of prints, for the group that she had been in.

  Bryson raced after them, through the trees.

  This time it felt as though the rest of their walks had been training.

  In minutes, they were rushing through branches, dodging trees, in almost complete blackness – with the vague lights jumping about everywhere, in front and behind.

  Bryson received bruises and cuts everywhere. His lower legs were soaked, in pools of icy mud and water.

  Heavy breathing, and clouds of steam, poured out of their mouths.

  He became sure that they were going to find something ahead of them, as he could not see them going at the pace that they were going at for very long; but he had not heard anything to confirm it.

  When they continued on and on, he started to doubt that they had anything, and that they were either wrong or desperate. However, after he had seen the situation in front, he took it that they were just racing.

  Did they actually know how long ago the prints had been there? He had been sure that they could tell fresh prints. But he doubted it, and they could be miles away, lost in the wood, trying to return from some other angle.

  They had all day, but they had obviously been strolling through the wood.

  Nonetheless, had they become so tired that they could not make it back?

  Bryson slowed as some of the policemen in front got more and more exhausted, and finally allow them to pass.

  Their pace finally started to slow, at the front, as the wood went dense. And they continued at a more normal pace, almost as if the ones at the front had finally realized what they had already known – that they could be going through there for hours.

  Bryson was now able to move himself to a position near the front, where he stayed watching the policemen at the front of the group rushing on – not fully knowing what they were doing.

  Bryson stayed at his position, not really knowing the policemen, and having no real need to get involved.

  He remained at a distance that he could see the footprints that they came to.

  Bryson spotted the policemen stopping, and he slowed.

  The prints went off in another direction, directly to their left.

  He believed that they had not fully known where they had been.

  How could they be lost with their prints always being behind them? They had to have had some idea where they had been going – and that they would not have dramatically changed their direction, to go over there, if they had not had a reason.

  Yet they might have become too tired or something, to return. If one of them had injured her leg, what would they have done?

  He observed everything in detail, but saw little. But he was sure that they would have returned to the road ...

  Yet, later on, they might have later become so tired and far out that they might have gone somewhere to shelter.

  At this moment they could be even trying to return here, if they had not found any shelter.

  Bryson was confused, and no longer really knew where they were, as nothing was ahead of them, and they were endlessly going on; and he came to the conclusion that he did not fully realize what they had been up to – going this far into the wood.

  What were they expecting to find? Why had they not just stayed in the radius of the castle, where the rest of them had been? What sort of information would they have expected to discover? What would Sir Richard have been doing out at this place? The hunt was turning to a disaster before his eyes.

  He tried to imagine what sorts of ideas had been running through their heads. But he could not imagine any of them having come out with such an idea unless they had found something that had given them definite proof that something was in this region.

  To his sudden horror, the policemen stopped dead. Their behavior showed that something had occurred.

  Bryson blindly shifted to them – waiting to witness a detestable sight.

  But he could barely see in the dimness, and he listened to hear the voices of the police grow to an audible level, as he moved near.

  “We can go back now ...” the policeman moaned.

  Then he heard one of them using a radio or mobile, communicating with someone, while the others listened.

  “What is it?” Mortimer called, from behind his back, proceeding fast to him.

  The policeman turned towards them. “They’ve found them – at a location over there – near the village. They made their way over there, and they are staying at a hotel.”

  Bryson felt like falling over. They had gone to the village instead of going back to the castle. It was illogical! It was far more distant.

  Why had they wanted to go there? And why had they not phoned the castle.

  He was annoyed, but happy that nothing had happened.

  “Why are they staying at a hotel?” he grumbled. “They could have returned in a taxi, or have phoned someone.”

  Mortimer could only shrug his shoulders. “They might not have had a phone.”

  “A hotel without a phone ...!”

  “It’s probably a small bed and breakfast, without a public phone.”

  It was hard to believe that they had made it to a hotel. They had strolled there, over hours though. It had been earlier in the day.

  Chapter 42

  Escalating Aspirations

  The bedroom was more silent, empty, and cold now, but he slept better.

  It had the effect of making him even wake late.

  He stood at the window, and studied the outside.

  Now where should they begin, and concentrate their investigations?

  He felt about in his pocket for a piece of paper, where he had scribbled the clue Sir Richard had given them beside the writing from the tomb of William Randall. Then he studied it, to try to jolt his mind.

  If they had found something, he would have been deeply surprised, he now realized. Not just because he, or the others, could not think of anything, with all the things that they knew now, but because the clue had little to do with anything, and because of the way that Sir Richard had behaved on the video. They would need to be lucky to answer it, and he was almost certain.

  He even sensed that he was missing something about Sir Richard, which he could not quite grasp (something that he had not acknowledged had been true). He believed that he would actually have to hear it in the right way before he would accept it as being something.

  And why would he have even hidden it near him? The theory existed because they had mainly believed that he would have wanted to make sure nothing happened to it. But it was now clear that he could have done that and have put it almost anywhere.

  He now realized how hungry he had become, and how cold the room was out of bed.

  He watched the clouds roll past. And he pushed his feet into his shoes, remembering why they were so sore.

  He had desires to leave the castle.

  He picked up his radio from the table and fiddled with the dials, trying to receive a clear signal.

  He felt his cuts and bruises, including his sore feet again, trying to recall where he had acquired them – remembering the night before in vivid detail – realizing how serious and determined they had been.

  Suddenly, he saw the door vibrate, and a knock emerged.

  He opened it, and Merton and Mortimer entered.

  “Incredible!” Merton uttered, looking out the window at the wood.

  “Do you remember us discussing that your uncle could have invested the cash in something?” Mortimer suddenly remarked, recollecting something he wished to say, before he forgot. “He could easily have concealed it somewhere – without it being noticeable.”

  “Somewhere!” Merton resumed.

  Bryson considered the idea of
a painting being hidden. “You may be right – there may be. We’ve not even been in some of the rooms yet. And I cannot imagine any of the furniture and antiques being worth that much.”

  “There would have been a risk that someone could damage it, not realizing its value – or even future owners discarding it.”

  “Then perhaps it’s something that would not be damaged, and be in a place where it would be safe.”

  Yet he realized his previous thoughts, and that he could just about hidden it anywhere.

  “I think that we should stay quiet about it,” Merton uttered, making sure that someone would not be able to listen from along the corridor.

  “That’s a good idea,” he replied, wondering what they were trying to suggest.

  “Well, we were having a look for it,” Merton explained, excitedly, “and I think we found somewhere.”

  “Or something else!” Mortimer said, calming him.

  “What?” Bryson replied, wondering what they meant.

  Merton indicated to him to follow them, and they led him down to the room next to the library, where Bryson and James had heard the wall was thinner, and they had realized that the inner library could have been behind it.

  Mortimer lifted part of the carpet, at the corner of the room, next to the wall. And Merton grabbed the planks of wood up, which were loose.

  They examined the stone of the original floor under it, from when they had built it (built when they had installed the electricity in the castle).

  Merton randomly tapped the lower floor.

  Bryson heard parts of it were hollow.

  “I’ve not seen anyone near here,” Merton spoke silently to Mortimer.

  A faint crackle came from Bryson’s radio, in his pocket, which he had left on. And he responded by listening to the background sounds from it. Out of all the devices that there was available, he had to have brought only a radio!

  He should have found and got a mobile phone – at the village – if any of the small shops sold them.

  He did not know if the others were going to continue their search of the wood or what. He was sure that some of them had lost interest in it. There was nothing out there but endless trees. The other legendary building, which Robert had spoken of, did not exist, as far as he was concerned. Or was it that cottage or whatever?