Treasure Hunters

by Allan Baillie

  Oh no, Pat shook his head. You’re not sticking your head on the block like a chicken.

  He turned to swim away, but he glimpsed something white moving in the black hole. He drifted reluctantly.

  Could be a shark ’

  The beam of the torch swung into the hole, penetrating the dark. A single leg was kicking weakly inside the hull.

  Pat stared at the leg, a skinny leg, smaller than his own, then he jerked his eyes to the splintered mast. Was it quivering? He swallowed, trying to shift the lump in his throat.

  You’ve got to. That simple.

  Images and fast, frightening thoughts tumbled into his mind but he shook them away. He turned again and swirled into the black hole. He brushed against the leg and it kicked desperately at him, at his head, chest, stomach. He gasped at the pain and twisted away so the tank on his back would protect him from the battering. Then he broke the surface of the water.

  The beam of his torch lurched over black wood covered in slime only an arm’s reach above him. The air pocket was no bigger than a cupboard. He heard a gasping wheeze behind him and kicked around.

  He could recognise Ali in the shaking light, but his face was distorted with fear. His eyes were widening as he began to scream.

  Pat raised a hand and waved at Ali’s face. It’s all right, it’s all right!

  But Ali kept on shrieking, holding his hands up before his face. The torch threw the shadows of Ali’s fingers against his face, turning him into a dark demon.

  That’s what you look like to him. Even worse.

  Pat turned the torch away as he pulled his mask and his mouthpiece from his head. ‘Look, it’s only me!’

  Ali stopped screaming but the fear remained on his face.

  ‘Ali? Ali? Remember? You took my knife.’

  Ali’s eyes steadied on Pat’s face and a sliver of the panic slid away.

  ‘Okay?’

  Ali nodded carefully.

  Pat sniffed the air and immediately coughed violently. The air tasted of oil, sewage and burnt timber. There was nothing there to breathe. He put his mouthpiece slowly back in his mouth, and brought the second mouthpiece -the octopus – to Ali’s lips.

  Ali shied back for a second, then he lunged at the mouthpiece like a fish taking bait, sucking air and nodding.

  Pat moved his mouthpiece. ‘We’ve got to get away.’ He tugged at Ali’s arm.

  Ali’s face twisted in pain.

  ‘What?’

  Ali pointed down.

  Pat shoved his mask in place and ducked. A wooden beam had been jammed between the deck and the hull, trapping Ali’s left ankle. Pat tried to pull the beam sideways but nothing moved. He pressed the torch into Ali’s hand and jerked at the beam, even kicked his heels at it. A few slivers of dark timber drifted from the beam but that was it.

  He straightened up, avoiding Ali’s eyes.

  There had to be something else ’

  He snatched at a floating piece of wood, crushing it in his hand. When he opened his fingers there was nothing much more than cloudy water. Rotten wood.

  Pat pulled out his diver’s knife, took the torch from Ali and ducked back. Pat attacked the beam, prying at the wood near Ali’s ankle. The water quickly became a dark cloud but the rotten wood was soon replaced by hard timber. Pat felt he was scraping metal with his blade, hardly cutting at all.

  But maybe he had done enough.

  He put the knife away, pushed the torch under a ledge and gripped Ali’s foot with both hands. With Ali helping he pulled the foot towards the dip he had made in the beam, but he could feel Ali’s leg shuddering in pain. The ankle jerked into the dip, and he tried to pull it out – and failed. The foot was still caught.

  Pat surfaced and saw Ali shaking, as if he was freezing, and the water was up to his ears. ‘I’m going to heave real hard, you pull. Okay?’

  Ali nodded.

  Pat dived down and groped for the beam, with a terrible certainty that it wouldn’t work. And there wouldn’t be another way.

  Then his right fin clipped a metal rod and he caught it. A spear, part of a tool or something torn away from the bilges – it didn’t matter. He rammed the rod between the beam and the hull, set his fins on the planks and pulled, working his body as if it was a heavy spring. Very slowly the beam began to move.

  And the metal rod snapped.

  Pat tumbled across the fishing boat hold, yanking the mouthpiece from Ali’s mouth. For a moment he stared at the broken end of the metal rod in his hand and thought, God, what do we do now? Then he skidded into the underside of the deck, the torch bounced around and the light flicked off.

  The boat creaked and Pat felt it move.

  You’ve got to go! You’re going ’

  Something brushed over his mask, tugging at the air line on his shoulder.

  There’s something big in the water with you. A shark?

  There was a grab at his second mouthpiece.

  Pat began to see shadows in the dark. There was a small shape eating the second mouthpiece – Ali was free!

  Quickly, Pat curled his legs under him, grabbed Ali’s arm and swam for the hole. But the hole was not wide enough for two bodies. He stopped before the hole and motioned Ali to reverse and go first. But instead Ali let go the mouthpiece and swam through the hole headfirst.

  Now he trusts you. Okay.

  Pat kicked after him and pushed the mouthpiece into his hand.

  Let’s go! Pat linked arms with Ali and they began to drive for the surface.

  But something coarse clutched his face, hands and arms, stopping him. It was everywhere. He wanted to spit the mouthpiece and scream. He saw Ali’s face white with panic. There were thick lines all over Ali’s face, and over his hands.

  Like a monstrous web ’

  No. It is a net. It’s only the nets from this fishing boat.

  Pat swam backwards and the lines drifted from his face, from his arms. He pulled Ali back from the net and the panic settled. He was still frightened but he could think.

  Okay, it’s only a fishing net, but you’re still trapped. If you go and try to cut a way through with the knife the net could tangle you hopelessly. And if the boat crashes down, you and Ali could be held against the hull.

  Ali nudged his shoulder and pointed. The net was not quite down to the sand to the right of them, forming a low tunnel.

  Fine, if you don’t disturb the water and don’t touch the net.

  Pat nodded.

  Ali sucked a breath from the mouthpiece and slithered across the sand. His feet were hardly moving. The net swayed over him but he did not touch it on the way through. He turned back, bubbled at Pat and lifted it cautiously.

  Pat slid to the sand, creeping through the net tunnel, until he felt a soft brushing on his leg. He kicked furiously and rocketed clear of the net. As he passed the mouthpiece to Ali the mast snapped and the fishing boat slammed down like a giant mousetrap. A cloud of sand swept over them.

  Pat shivered, before locking arms with Ali and pushing for the surface.

  Do you have to stop on the way up? How long were you down there? You’ve got a watch but you didn’t look when you hit the water. How deep were you? Twenty metres, thirty?

  He stopped on the ascent and when Ali frowned at him he waved two fingers. The two of them breathed from Pat’s tank for a while, Ali looking down at the fishing boat. The torch Pat had left in the hull had flicked on again and light beamed through the many holes to catch a school of silver fish. The fishing boat looked like a Christmas lantern.

  Ali finally turned away, pulled his arm from Pat, spat out the mouthpiece line and struck out for the surface. Pat hesitated then followed him.

  He broke water earlier than he expected, pulled out the mouthpiece, lifted the mask and looked around. There was Ali, gasping lightly, but nothing else.

  There was a smear of stars, a red glow on a low dark patch, and that was it. The black water stretched out to infinity and there was no Tub.

  Pat swallowed
and his hands were shaking.

  Stop it, stop it. It’s there, you know it’s there.

  He looked at the glow. All right that’s the mountain, so the Tub is out there and where’s your compass?

  But Ali was faster. He poked a finger at a dark patch and began to swim to it. Pat followed Ali until the Tub began to black out stars, then he passed him to hang onto the divers’ landing. He pulled his fins off in the water, but he didn’t seem to have the strength left to pull himself aboard.

  After a little time he was tapped on the shoulder. Ali, reaching down from the landing, was offering a swaying hand. He took it and he was dragged onto the boat. Ali helped him unload his tank and gear, then they both sprawled exhausted on the deck.

  24 / ali

  Slowly Pat felt his body coming back. Oh, it was aching, and tired, but he could move a little and he’d better get himself going. He swayed to his feet, stepped over Ali and returned with a couple of steaming mugs of cocoa. He passed a mug near Ali’s nose.

  When Pat saw Ali’s face he realised that he had been weeping. Ali curled himself into a ball, taking the mug with a blurred mumble.

  What can you say?

  ‘That was terrible,’ Pat said.

  Ali looked up, his lips moving for a moment before shaking his head.

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Pat felt absolutely useless.

  After the cocoa he led Ali to the shower. Ali was limping painfully and clutched the wall of the wheelhouse. Pat reached out to help and Ali leaned on him as he passed the open door. Then Ali glanced inside the wheelhouse, stopped and Pat saw his face changing.

  ‘What?’ Pat said.

  Ali turned quickly to him. ‘Where –?’ Then he sucked in a breath.

  Pat followed his eyes and saw a long line quivering in the water, as if a snake was after the Tub.

  Ali skidded against the wall until he stumbled over the bronze lion.

  ‘It’s all right, Ali. Really. That’s only Matt and Col coming back.’ And you had forgotten them.

  Ali pulled himself up but he kept his eyes on the quivering line.

  Pat thought of putting lights on, but no, not while that maniac patrol boat was around. He glanced into the wheelhouse wondering what Ali had seen. But there was nothing new, just those machines reading the bottom, the compass, the Malacca token, the chart; nothing at all.

  The dinghy slid out of darkness, a murky shadow on the water with Matt pulling the line. ‘My son, my son, you’ve got that knife. Ten knives!’ He was slurring some of his words, but he was grinning broadly.

  Col clutched Matt’s shoulder. ‘There’s someone else on the Tub.’

  Matt wobbled his head as his eyes focussed.

  Ali moved next to Pat.

  ‘Ali?’ Matt said slowly.

  Ali nodded.

  ‘Why are you here? Where’s Ramos’ fishing boat?’ Matt snapped angrily.

  Ali tried to speak, but he couldn’t get out the words.

  ‘Gone,’ Pat said flatly, and pointed to the bottom of the sea. ‘The patrol boat was here but they didn’t see the Tub.’

  Matt glanced at Ali and shook his head. ‘No, not now.’

  But Col was still groping to understand as the dinghy nudged the Tub. ‘The old man and Ramos?’

  ‘Gone.’ Pat’s hands were trembling again.

  ‘Gone? What happened?’

  Pat swallowed. ‘They came from the island, Ramos’ fishing boat and the patrol boat. I heard the boats coming for a long time. Then maybe Ramos saw the Tub; he sort of turned away. And that patrol boat caught up ’’ He petered out.

  Col clambered aboard. ‘Maybe it’s not the time to talk about –’

  ‘It fired shells. And machine guns. They didn’t have a chance.’

  ‘Bastards.’ Col reached back and pulled Matt up.

  Matt staggered on the deck, as if the Tub was in a storm.

  ‘Take it easy.’ Col caught his arm as he saw the alarm in Pat’s face. ‘Too long down there. He’s getting better.’

  Matt shook his arm free. ‘Nothing to do with us.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Col bit angrily.

  ‘Fishing boat, the island. Nothing to do with us. Not now.’

  Pat stared at Matt, as if he was a stranger.

  Col slapped his hand on Ali’s shoulder. ‘What do you think this boy is – someone’s fish?’

  Ali twisted from Col, snatched something from the wheelhouse and barrelled past Matt to the drums at the bow.

  Matt shuffled backwards in surprise and banged the back of his foot against Pat’s tank. He looked around and saw the wet fins and the lead belt, and his face darkened.

  Pat flinched. He could see the build-up of Matt’s eruption but he couldn’t do anything about it. Matt had just been blasted by Col and felt Ali’s fury – now he needed to blast someone else. Pat only had to wait.

  Col turned from Ali and saw the faces of Pat and Matt. He said quickly, ‘We saw a light above us. Was it you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Pat blurted out the word to stop the shouting. He turned to Matt. ‘I had to go.’

  Matt’s roar died into a muttered bite. ‘You went down solo? You want to make sure Col knows that we’re a family of idiots.’

  ‘Ali was stuck in the fishing boat,’ Pat said.

  ‘The boat that the patrol boat sank.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I thought I saw Ali in the fishing boat just before it went down.’

  ‘You thought?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell.’

  ‘You dived in the dark to see if anyone by any chance was still in the sunken wreck?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘You are a bloody idiot.’

  ‘No.’ Col said quietly. He was looking at Ali’s dark shape at the bow.

  ‘No? What the hell has it to do with you, anyway?’ Matt snapped.

  ‘Maybe he had to do it.’

  Pat blinked. He wasn’t expecting that.

  ‘What the bloody ’ You’re in Sorrento, aren’t you?’

  Col winced and slowly nodded his head. ‘I guess so. Again.’

  ‘It’s not Sorrento here,’ Matt rocked his head. ‘Nothing like it.’

  ‘Maybe Pat felt it was.’

  Pat stood uncertain between the men, as if he was listening to strangers speaking in a foreign language.

  ‘Hey, mate, stop seeing things that aren’t there.’

  ‘But this time Pat did something about it.’ Col looked at Pat with a shadow of sorrow in his eyes.

  Matt waved his hands at Col. ‘Stupid. Nothing to do with us. And tomorrow we are going to do something special.’

  Col pressed his lips together and gently led Matt towards the cabin. ‘I don’t think so.’ He looked back to Pat. ‘I shouldn’t have allowed him to stay down that long. He needs sleep. Could you see how Ali is ’’

  25 / the drums

  Ali was sitting on one of the petrol drums, rubbing something in his hand.

  Pat climbed onto another drum and sat next to him. ‘You all right?’ He wanted to bite back the words. Of course he doesn’t feel all right. He feels awful.

  ‘This?’ Ali opened his hand.

  It was the Malacca token. ‘That’s ours,’ Pat said. Oh great, now you’re brawling over a piece of tin.

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘Matt got it from a woman. She found it in the shallows. Why?’

  ‘Woman from my village?’

  ‘I think so.’ He wants it. He has lost his father and his grandfather but he’s trying to grab the token like your knife.

  Ali looked at the token. ‘Kakek lost it fixing nets. He looked everywhere. It was with us always. It was his lucky charm.’

  ‘Oh.’ Oh yes.

  Ali looked across to Pat and his eyes were full. ‘It wasn’t with him tonight.’ And he pressed the token into Pat’s hand.

  Pat blinked down at the token. ‘You don’t want it back?’

  Al
i shook his head. ‘Its luck has gone for my family.’

  Pat held the token motionless. It had helped him to create a sixteenth-century sailor, Diego, and his sinking ship in his head. But now his Diego had broken away from his imagination. The name might not have been the same but he had been on a sinking ship and had rowed to that village. And stayed. Diego had stretched across five hundred years to forge a link with Pat. Diego was Ali’s ancestor.

  Pat felt that he was wandering into a dense fog, where reality blurred into a dream. He was shivering, thinking that Ali should have the token. Col would say it was okay but Matt would say no. Matt couldn’t give anything away. The hell with him.

  He was moving the token towards Ali when he realised that Ali was talking to him.

  ‘I caused it,’ he was saying.

  ‘Um?’

  ‘I caused it. The shooting, those shells. Everything.’

  Pat lowered his hand. ‘No, you didn’t. It was that grey patrol boat who did it. The General.’

  ‘I got that flag.’

  Pat could see the flag waving on the fleeing fishing boat. ‘But your father put it up.’

  ‘He didn’t want it on the mast. I talked him into putting it up when we were fishing. We were all right out at sea, but we caught a great load of fish – so much that Ramos and Kakek were dancing about the boat – and we forgot it was there. Iforgot. We came into the harbour with the flag waving.

  ‘The patrol boat was anchored in the middle of the harbour and a soldier fired at us. Ramos turned the boat fast back into the sea but we could see people running about on the decks and shouting, pulling the anchors. We thought we might get away in the dark, but the fish were slowing us down. I was throwing fish out when they caught us ’ I caused it! I caused it!’

  A shadow passed across his face and he flinched.

  Pat reached out and steadied Ali. ‘It’s all right. It’s over.’

  ‘No. It is not.’ Ali was staring at the distant flickering fires on the black island.

  ‘You want to go home.’

  ‘I have a mother.’

  ‘Maybe we can take you home tomorrow.’

  ‘I have to tell her,’ Ali said heavily.

  Pat thought about staggering, slurring Matt and weary Col in the cabin. ‘Just sleep until dawn. Okay?’