Buried Secrets at Louisbourg (12 page)

Time was passing. The man
who'd told him the time was now seated and had ordered. The restaurant was open until nine o'clock, Fred knew that, and the line at the door was still long. His mother was working, but taking longer and longer breaks, sitting on the corner stool in the kitchen. So he couldn't escape that way. His agitation grew by the second. How was he going to get out of here?

Mai was all smiles, looking the same as she had all day. Not a bead of sweat in sight. She finished loading her tray with another stack of dirty dishes. His mother had re-emerged and was taking an order from a large table.

This was his chance! He grabbed the tray from Mai. “I'll take it.”

She shot him a small smile. “Thanks.”

He returned the smile and headed back to the kitchen. The poor dishwasher and cook looked like they'd been partly melted, as if the heat had rendered them, shrinking them like frying bacon.

They didn't look up. The back door was open. Could it be that easy? He dropped the tray of dishes by the sink, mumbled something about garbage and slipped outside. He glanced back, guilt washing over him at leaving Mai and his mother behind.

But what could he do? He couldn't get Mai to come with him without his mother noticing. And then he'd run the risk of not getting out at all. Besides, his mom would need Mai's help, especially with him gone.

Fred dashed around the building and raced to his tent. Grace and Jeeter were sitting by the empty firepit in front of the two tents, wearing regular clothes—shorts and tees. Lucky them.

“It's about time,” Grace said.

“We gotta go,” he said, zooming past them and into his tent. He kicked the wooden shoes into the air and pulled off the thick socks. He wiggled his toes on the canvas. It felt deliciously cool as the sweat evaporated from his skin. Would they let him go barefoot on the tour? He scooped a pair of crumpled shorts and a T-shirt from the floor.

Nuts! A detail he'd forgotten. The tour was free for the volunteer re-enactors, but only if they were in costume. Tourists had to pay. And he had no money. He picked up the damp wool socks and gave then a sniff.

No way was he putting them back on. He shoved his bare feet into the wooden clogs. His toes were not happy. He grabbed his backpack, but realized that wasn't part of the costume, either.

He went outside and held his pack out. “Grace, can you take this?”

“Can't! I've got my own.” She patted her pack already slung over her shoulder. “You carry it.”

“It's not part of the costume,” Fred said. “Hey, wait a second. How come you two aren't in costume?”

Grace's face turned pink. “Um, we bought tickets so we wouldn't have to.”

Fred frowned, totally ticked. But could he blame them? He didn't want to be in costume either. “Well, do you really need your pack?”

“What's in yours besides junk?” Grace said. “Not good junk, either. You don't even have your choco stash. That, I might consider worth it.”

“You're a real pal,” Fred said.

Jeeter held out his hand. “I'll take it.”

Fred hesitated. The last person he wanted help from was Jeeter. But he didn't have much choice—he'd need the pack to hide his box once he got it back. Anyway, it was better than having to ask Jeeter or Grace to pay for a ticket on the boat tour so he could wear his own clothes.

“Thanks.” Reluctantly, he passed the backpack to Jeeter.

“No prob, Freddo.”

Fred bristled but returned the grin. Well, it was more like a grimace, but it was the best he could do. Jeeter irked him, even when he was doing something nice.

“Where's Mai?” Grace asked. “We were going to get her a ticket for the boat tour, too, but I figured she was going for the authentic experience. Staying in character and all that.” Grace shuddered. “Not me! I couldn't stand that dress a second longer.”

“She's still at the restaurant. I snuck out the back.”

“You left her there?” Grace said. “She's going to kill you!”

Fred shrugged, guilt curdling his stomach. “There was nothing I could do.”

They started walking toward the Frédéric Gate on the quay. A huge, yellow wooden archway, it was a focal point on the shoreline road of the fortress. The large, fence-like red doors stood open, allowing access to the rocky beach. A longboat was moored at the wharf. A second was already out in the harbour, probably headed to the
Invictum
.

A fortress employee in blue soldier garb was facing away from him.

“Is there still room?” Fred asked.

The employee turned around.

Crazy Gerard.

It figured.

“Well, well,” Gerard smirked. “Let me check.” He stared at the list in his hand, his eyebrows mashed together. “Hmmm,” he added, rubbing his chin.

Fred hopped from one foot to the other and pointed to the empty seats. “The boat's almost empty,” he said.

“Yeah, but people paid in advance.”

“Oh,” Fred replied, his hope shrivelling.

“Don't cry,” Gerard said. “Some pay and then don't show up. Hang around and there might be space left.”

Fred glanced anxiously up and down the quay, watching for tourists headed their way. It looked good until a family of four came into view from around the corner. They were walking quickly toward the dock.

“Hurry up,” the mother urged. “We're late!” They rushed past, with Gerard taking their tickets and crossing them off his list. Fred noticed there were several more names not crossed off. So Gerard hadn't been lying.

The longboat still had lots of room, even counting the latecomers.

The minutes ticked by. Fred was getting more anxious as the tourists dribbled in by ones and twos. The boat was almost full now. Grace and Jeeter had taken their seats already. They'd even tried to pay for a seat for Fred, but it was sold out.

“It's just a boat tour,” Gerard said, seeming to notice Fred's distress from his twitching. “What's the big deal—something going on?”

“No big deal.” Fred shrugged, trying to throw off the tension and relax.

Gerard didn't look convinced. “Uh-huh.”

Fred's father wasn't on the boat at the dock. He must have been on the other one that had left before Fred got there. Lester the box thief too, he guessed. Either that or he was totally on the wrong track and they weren't even on the
Invictum
.

No. He had to be right. They were on board the
Invictum
. And he was getting on that boat, too.

Fred jerked his arm. Someone or something had poked him. Hard. He swung around. Angry Mai glared at him. “You left me.”

“Uh, sorry?” he sputtered. What could he say?

She thrust her hands out, face-up, under his nose. “Just look at my hands. They're a wreck. Stupid splintery trays.”

“Sorry,” he repeated.

“All afternoon I helped you in that restaurant. And you just took off.”

“Mai, I couldn't miss the tour.”

“We could have talked about it at least. If there hadn't been a way for both of us to leave, I would have stayed anyway.”

Fred glanced back in the direction of the restaurant. More people were hurrying their way. Rats! “So, how did you?”

“How did I what?”

“Get away.”

“Oh, they got more workers in for the supper shift.”

“Oh,” Fred said. He was only half-listening now, his attention on the approaching group. One, two, three…six! There were only six seats left on the longboat.

“Hold the boat!” a bald man with purple shorts yelled. “We have tickets.” He was waving something in his hand.

Gerard took the offered tickets and checked off four names. They scurried past and were helped on board by another fortress worker.

The other two people had cash in their hands. “Can we get on?”

Gerard looked at the money and then at Fred. What was he going to do? Fred pleaded with his eyes.

Gerard made a big deal of studying the list in his hand again. “Sorry,” he said finally, “it's sold out.”

The disappointed couple turned and walked away.

Fred wondered what the catch was. More torture from crazy Gerard? Was he letting him think he'd get on, only to stop him at the last minute?

“Go on, we're not going to hold it any later. It's already quarter after six,” Gerard said gruffly, waving them toward the boat. “And stay out of trouble. Though that might be a tall order. Seems to follow you around.”

“Thanks!” Fred said. Maybe crazy Gerard wasn't such a jerk after all.

Fred grabbed Mai's hand and pulled her along as he raced over to board the boat before Gerard could change his mind. He jumped down, wobbling as the boat swayed with his weight.

“I knew you'd get on!” Grace said, smacking his shoulder. “Or I'd have given you my seat.”

Yeah, right!

Fred and Mai took their seats and within seconds the longboat was pushing away from the dock. Fred could see swaying clumps of seaweed on the rocky bottom. A crab scuttled by, startled by the boat. The fortress workers dipped their oars into the smooth water. Fred let out his held breath as they headed toward the
Invictum
.

Finally, something was going right.

Crew hands were crawling over
the rigging—a mind-boggling circus routine of leaping, swinging acrobats. Tourists lined the railings, some captivated by the crew's antics and others taking pictures of the fortress from their unique view.

The guy running the tour had said it could be cancelled if they didn't get some wind. No wind. No sail.
We need wind. We need wind.
As if in answer to Fred's silent plea, a slight breeze rippled the water. It felt good on the back of his hot neck. But would it be enough to move the
Invictum
?

The hull of the ship loomed high as they came alongside it. Barnacles clung to the wood along and below the waterline, some with small bits of seaweed attached to them.

One of the workers stood on the side of the longboat, grabbed a thrown rope to tie them on, and began guiding people up the rope ladder. Fred wiggled his toes, not excited about scaling the side of a ship in wooden clogs.

The man holding the ladder seemed to read Fred's mind.

“Those will be slippery on the ladder,” he said, pointing at Fred's feet. “If you want, you can leave them here. You won't need them on board. The crew goes barefoot all the time.”

“Great!” Fred didn't need a second invitation, kicking off the shoes. Mai did the same, but tucked her clogs neatly under the seat.

Fred scrambled up the ladder after Mai as it twisted to and fro. He grasped the rough rope and his bare toes curled around the rungs as he climbed. Relief washed over him when his feet hit the wooden deck. He'd made it. Fred held up his arms, the breeze cooling his sweaty underarms. The ripples in the water had quickly become small waves. The ship swayed. They had wind.

“So, what's the plan?” Grace asked.

“Find Lester. Get my box back. That's it.”

“Simple plan, Freddo. I'm usually a fan of simple. But it's a little light on the details. Meaning, there are none. How exactly are we going to do that?” Grace said.

Fred surveyed the deck. There was no sign of his dad or Lester anywhere. Not a good start. But they could be on a tour below decks, or maybe in the captain's cabin, the large structure that took up the entire back half of the deck, with just a thin strip of decking along the railing on either side.

“Uh,” Fred said. They'd have to search the ship, somehow. But were they allowed below decks? How many hands worked on this boat, anyhow? With other re-enactors on board from the fortress, it was hard to tell. Except for the acrobats in the air, that is. They scrambled about, unfurling the sails as if in time to a silent tune.

There was a steady wind now, the waves choppy and whitecapped again. Boy, that had happened fast. The sea had been so smooth only minutes before. It was unpredictable. Off in the distance the dark clouds seemed to loom larger than before.

Creee. Creee. Creee.

A bald eagle screeched as it glided over them. Its white head and tail feathers were bright and its dark wings gleamed in the sunlight. Fast as lightning, it dove beside the ship, talons outstretched. Water exploded as it snatched a fat fish and immediately started to climb. The
whoosh
of its wings was drowned out by the
oohs
and
ahhs
surrounding him as the tourists pointed and tried, vainly, to capture the scene on their cameras. The fish wiggled uselessly, its fate already sealed.

Fred scrunched his toes against the smooth, wooden deck, sucking in a gulp of salty ocean air. He watched until the bird was out of sight, feeling a lingering sympathy for the helpless fish. Did it know it was the end?

“My goodness, you young ones do get around, don't you?”

Fred started, shielding his eyes as he looked up. Flyaway grey hair poked out from underneath a floppy Tilley hat. It was the archaeologist from the museum. “Hi, err, Mrs.…” It was M- something or other.

The archaeologist frowned. “Enthusiastic, but not the greatest memory, hmmm? It's Molly, dear. Just Molly.”

Fred's face flushed. It felt like he was being chastised by his mother for doing something wrong. “Hi, Molly,” he murmured.

Her face immediately changed into a wide grin. “So good to see you all here. It's nice that the young people have an interest in all the activities.” Blue eyes held his gaze in an unblinking stare. “It was a full year in the planning, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Fred felt like a bug with its wings pinned to a collector's board. “Um, well, it's all great. You organized everything?”

“Yes, even this tour. It was my idea. Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing. The board thought it was too much, but I insisted. Adds to the experience, don't you think? And it's a special privilege—you can't travel in the coastal waters around here without clearance from the fortress officials. Did you know that?”

He shook his head.

“There are many wrecks beneath the waves here, all belonging to the park.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and winked. “Some are rumoured to still hold undiscovered treasures.” Molly stretched her arm out over the side. “I'm in charge of that, too. It's illegal to dive here without permission,” she said. “And I don't give that out…ever. Not to civilians, anyway.”

“I saw a sign that said the harbourmaster was in charge of diving.”

“The harbourmaster and I are one and the same now. Cutbacks and all that. I run all the excavation activities of the fortress assets, both above and below the sea,” she said.

Fred thought of his dad's night dives and mysterious activities. A tingling of alarm ran through him. Maybe she was already on to his dad? Fred knew whatever his dad was up to wasn't on the up and up. And she said she never gave out permits.

It now seemed even more important to find his box. Whatever his dad was up to, Fred knew it had to be some scheme. He always had good intentions, but they never worked out. But no matter what, Fred didn't want his dad getting into trouble. Plus, that would be one more thing for his mom to handle. And she already had enough on her plate.

So he'd have to kill two birds with one stone—get his box from Lester and warn his dad about Molly. Stop him from whatever crazy plan he'd cooked up. It had to be diving for treasure on some wreck where he wasn't allowed.

But to stop his dad, Fred had to find him.

The sails billowed, the anchor was pulled, and the
Invictum
began to move. In seconds, they were cutting through the waves in the harbour, heading out to sea. A thrill ran through Fred as the ship creaked and groaned. It was like an animal. He could feel its power beneath his feet.

He walked the length of the ship, peering into openings and dark alcoves. Then he rounded the back of the captain's cabin, about to head along the other side. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a blur of black. In a sea of cut-off tan pants and white shirts, black stood out. His dad always wore black.