Behind Mt. Baldy (57 page)
Roger looked around. There was
the Butts Shed. There (shudder) was Mt Baldy looming over them. Out there were
the Microwave Tower and the Seven Pines and...
“I’ve got it!” he cried.
“All five!
You have to go to a place where you can see all
five things and that is where the treasure is!”
“Well done Roger!” Captain Conkey
cried.
Roger began walking quickly along
the top of the mound, followed by the others. They passed close behind the captured
partisans who stared curiously at them. At the far end Roger stopped and
turned.
“Where is the High School Peter?”
“Over there somewhere, on the
north side of the town,” Peter replied.
Roger scanned the distant jumble
of buildings which sprawled down the slope of the hill. “Which one is it? I
can’t tell.”
They all looked but no-one could
positively identify any buildings as the High School. Stephen pointed to the
largest he could see. “What about those?”
“That is the Hospital, remember?”
Graham said.
They all nodded. Roger shook his
head. ‘We aren’t likely to forget,’ he thought, ‘not after that horrible
adventure in the old mine at Stannary Hills last year when we all ended up
there.’
“Give us a magnetic bearing to
the school Pete,” Graham asked, seeing Peter had his map out.
Peter knelt and quickly drew a
pencil line on his map. He used his Silva Compass to calculate the magnetic
bearing,
then
converted it to a ‘Back Bearing’. He
gave the answer to Graham who lined his own compass up.
Graham pointed. “It is through
those trees there,” he said.
“Perhaps we can see it from up on
the side of the mountain,” Stephen suggested.
“Or further down the range,”
Roger added.
Stephen sneered. “Don’t be a dork
Roger, there’s nothing there,” he said, pointing down the long strip of mowed
grass.
The jibe stung and Roger’s temper
flared. “Then the treasure might be buried. You go up the mountain and I’ll
look down there,” he snapped. He began striding down the mound. Stephen
shrugged and turned to walk up the slope. The others stood and watched.
Roger kept looking to his left as
he walked. His path took him right over on the southern side of the range
beside the drain. He reached the 100 Metre Mound but still there was no sign of
the High School. But a small part of the northern slope of Atherton had come
into view so he continued on.
At the 200 metre mound he still
could not see the school but he could see even more of the slope. By then he
was starting to feel silly, worried that he would look a fool if there was
nothing, or if he could not see the High School at all because of the trees on
the other side of the range. Stubbornly he kept walking. There were some weeds
and small bushes ahead near the end of the 300 Metre Mound. He walked to them
and looked.
There was nothing among the
bushes but he wondered if they grew there because the ground had been disturbed
when someone had buried the treasure. Feeling quite stressed he walked onto the
mound and looked. ‘Yes! There, through that gap in the trees. I can see the
school.’ To check he went forward ten paces but the school was lost to sight.
He walked fifty and it did not reappear.
Roger stopped and walked back
slowly. The school came into view again as he reached the mound again.
Just that one gap in the trees.
He looked down. A low
concrete wall about 20cm high ran across the front of the mound and ended in a
concrete sump just next to him. This had a rusty iron grille over it and was
almost hidden by a small bush. He walked around in a circle studying the ground
for signs of digging; and checking that he could still see all five objects.
Graham called out: “Can you see
the High School?”
“Yes,” Roger replied. He pointed.
Then he noted with some satisfaction that Stephen was walking back down the
mountain side. That sent him back to quartering the ground. He quickly
discovered that he could only see all five things within a couple of paces of
the drain. If he crossed it he lost sight of the pine trees. If he went up and
down the drain he lost sight of the school.
Was it the sump? It looked such
an ordinary thing, half-hidden in weeds. He stopped and looked carefully at it.
A few paces away was the open drain, a deep, eroded ditch running downhill
along the side of the clearing. He walked to that and looked into it. A pipe
led into it from the sump but was much too small for a person to crawl into.
Roger jumped down into the drain
and looked up the pipe. He could see clearly up to the concrete sump a few
metres away.
Nothing in there.
Feeling frustrated but
certain that the answer was close he scrambled out of the drain, ignoring a
sharp twinge in his left knee. Again he walked up and down checking that the
five objects could only be seen from that one area. Further down the drain the
pine trees were obscured and so was the school.
He went back to the sump. That
was the only place he could see all five objects from. But he could see no sign
of any disturbed earth. Puzzled, Roger studied the sump again. It looked like
every other sump he had ever seen. So what was the answer? He shook his head in
annoyance and studied the surrounding area. Then it occurred to him. Why was
this the
only mound which appeared to have a retaining wall
and a sump? Why was it there? Why didn’t any run-off simply flow along the face
of the retaining wall and into the ditch?
‘Is the treasure hidden in the
sump?’ Roger wondered. To check he bent down and pushed the bush aside. His
eyes focused on the metal grille. It was just the usual heavy, rusty iron bars
resting in grooves. He brushed some grass and leaves aside, pushed his fingers
through the bars and gripped them. Then he tried to lift it.
It was heavy. Roger found he was
panting as he strained with exertion.
“What is it Roger? What have you
found?” called Graham, who was running down ahead of the group. Roger made no
answer. He heaved again and the grille moved. Graham joined him and grabbed a
hold. They hauled the grille up.
“Just a drain,” Graham said,
bending to look in.
Roger knelt and peered in. The
concrete rim which supported the grille was smaller than the space underneath,
which was at least a metre and a half deep. He could not see under the rim
because of that. On an impulse he put his feet in and slid down, just as the
others arrived.
There was just room for him to
bend his knees and crouch. He looked around.
And there it was: a small steel
door about 40cm high X 50cm wide, with a heavy padlock on it.
Roger stood up, his eyes only
able to focus on Prince Peter.
“The big
key
please
Your Majesty.”
Prince Peter looked astonished,
then
fumbled in the briefcase. Princess Mareena took the
piece of cardboard from him, ripped the key free and handed it to Roger. He
crouched and had to wipe perspiration from his hands before taking hold of the
lock.
The key slid in easily. The lock
was oiled and in good condition.
Click!
Roger unlocked the padlock and
passed it up. He pulled the metal door by a small handle. It swung open easily.
Also well oiled, he noted. Beyond was a concrete lined cavity. Almost filling
the space was a grey metal container. He had difficulty getting a grip on it
but after a few tries he pulled it out.
It was an oblong box almost a
metre long. It was locked.
‘I know what this is,’ Roger
thought with a strong sense of premonition. He suddenly shivered and found he
was trembling as he passed the heavy box up to Graham, who laid it on the
grass. Peter helped Roger to climb out.
Inspector Sharpe shook his head
in admiration. “The cunning old devil,” he said. “He built this drain,
then
came here almost every day for years, to guard it with
a loaded rifle.”
Prince Peter put down his
briefcase and took the other key from the princess and knelt to open the box.
He was visibly trembling and was gripped by strong emotion.
Lt Col Smith moved next to him.
“Do you know what it is sir?” he asked.
Prince Peter shook his head. “No.
Count Krapinski did not say. But I can guess,” he replied. He licked his lips
and wiped his hands, then inserted the key and turned it.
“I hope it’s not booby-trapped,” DS
Crowe commented.
There was a moment of frozen
pause. Then Prince Peter took a deep breath and opened the lid.
The container was felt lined and
around the edges had a rubber seal. Inside was another oblong object wrapped in
purple silk. The Prince reverently picked it up and gently
unwrapped
the silk.
“The Thigh Bone of St Joris,” he
whispered.
They stood in awed silence,
gazing at the relic. It was in a glass fronted box of ancient polished wood.
Roger realized that the hinges, fastenings and clamps were made of gold. The
sacred bone looked thin and grey and had several splits along it.
Prince Peter stood up. He seemed
to swell up as he lifted the box. In a loud voice he cried: “The Thigh Bone of
St Joris!”
“Are you sure?” Inspector Sharpe
asked.
“Yes! Yes I am. Look here. It
says so.” He pointed to a gold plate with engraved Cyrillic letters. His eyes
blazed and he held the icon aloft. His voice rang in exultation as he shouted
in Serbo-Croat.
Roger did not understand what he
said but the effect on the partisan prisoners on the mound was instantaneous.
To the alarm of their police guards they sprang to their feet and began
shouting.
Prince Peter grasped the box to
his chest, took Princess Mareena’s hand and began striding up the range. The
others followed in amazed silence. Inspector Sharpe picked up the prince’s
briefcase as he went.
Roger walked along at the rear as
though he was in a dream. He felt simultaneously uplifted and exhausted.
Prince Peter walked right up to the
six prisoners. He held the box out and began to speak rapidly in Serbo-Croat,
ending in a shout of triumph. The effect on the men was astonishing. One threw
himself at the prince’s feet and went to kiss his boots. Two others knelt and
put their heads on the ground. The partisan sergeant knelt and bowed his head.
Only one remained standing, glaring hate and defiance.
DS Crowe moved forward to push
the grovelling partisan back.
Inspector Sharpe also stepped
forward. “Please
Your
Highness. Please move away from
these men.” He led the prince and princess down off the mound to the police
vehicles.
Roger turned to the partisan
sergeant. “What did Prince Peter say? What was that all about?”
The man’s eyes seemed to glaze.
He wiped sweat from his brow. “He said, ‘I am Peter Dragovitch, your rightful
King and, and.... here is God’s sign that this is so; our most sacred national
treasure’,” the partisan sergeant said. He suddenly raised his arms and shouted
in Serbo-Croat.
Roger and the others sprang back
in alarm.
The police guards raised their
weapons. Three other partisans also scrambled to their feet and joined in the
shouting. It was a rhythmic chant which echoed from the slopes of Mt Baldy. The
men looked towards Prince Peter who turned to face them and smiled. He made a
gesture with his right hand and the men cheered.
“Long live King Peter!” shouted
the partisan sergeant, tears streaming down his face. He suddenly embraced his
neighbour and kissed him on both cheeks. The others did likewise, although
handicapped by their handcuffs. Only the sour-faced one did not join in. The
police looked on in astonishment.
Then the partisan sergeant turned
and grabbed Roger, who was too surprised to react. Before he could move the man
had slobbered smelly, sweaty kisses on each cheek. He then turned towards
Stephen but he and the others retreated hastily. Roger fled after them, aflame
with embarrassment.
“Lucky you
Roger!”
Peter
laughed.
“Bite your bum!” Roger growled.
Graham grabbed hold of the
partisan sergeant and shook him. “Stop it! Stop it! Calm down! Inspector! I
just had an idea. Have this bloke radio to his officers that Prince Peter now
has the Thigh Bone of St Joris.”
“Jolly good idea. Come down here
you cadets. Constable, sit those fellows down. And keep a close eye on that
surly looking brute at the back,” Inspector Sharpe called.
The boys moved down with Captain
Conkey to stand with the Lt Colonel and his staff near Prince Peter and
Princess Mareena. A few minutes later Inspector Sharpe came walking down.
“Done that.
Good. Now, who is this coming?
Ah! The Federal Police at last.”
