Buried Secrets at Louisbourg (8 page)

BOOK: Buried Secrets at Louisbourg
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Chapter
15

It was like slamming into
a fridge.

“Whoa, there.” The giant grabbed his arm. “What's your hurry?”

Fred was stunned. The giant's steely eyes had all the warmth of a dead fish.
I'm not being paranoid!
Fred thought.
Something is definitely up with this guy.

“Shark's son, right?”

“Shark?”

“Sorry, I mean Pete.”

Fred didn't respond, wiggling out of the giant's grip.

“Excuse me,” his mom said, wrapping her arm around Fred and at the same time drawing him away, closer to her side. “You know my son?”

The giant turned his attention to Fred's mom. A huge grin spread across his face. “No, ma'am. I'm a friend of his dad's. Name's Lester.” He held out a meaty paw. “Pleased to meet you.”

Her tiny delicate hand disappeared in his. “How do you know my husband?”

“We…worked together.”

His mother continued to stare up at the man's face. Clearly, she was waiting for more. So was Fred.
Who is this guy, really?
The man glanced around, avoiding his mother's eyes. He didn't seem anxious to elaborate.

His mother's body tensed and Fred's friends gathered around him—a united front ready for whatever the giant had to throw their way. Images of old battles probably fought on this very spot hundreds of years ago popped into his head. Maybe those ghosts were on his side, too—ancient buccaneers with weapons drawn.

The giant shuffled his feet, obviously uncomfortable under Fred's mother's gaze. “Nice to meet you,” he muttered, turning abruptly and walking off. His long legs took him around the next corner in only a few strides.

The air felt lighter. The sun brighter. Fred let out the breath he'd been holding. Another close call. Fred had the creeping suspicion that their next giant encounter would not be so easy.

“That was odd,” his mother said, shaking her head. “Anyway, I have to get back to work. You kids have a great day.” Her eyes found Fred's. “And
try
to stay out of trouble?”

“Don't worry, Mrs. D., we'll make sure he behaves,” Grace said.

“Mmm-hmmm, I'm sure.” His mother disappeared inside, swallowed by the shadows.

Fred moved sideways from the door to allow a group of tourists with sunburns and sweaty faces to enter the restaurant. One of them had a square black camera bag looped over his shoulder. It reminded Fred of his own black box. His steps quickened as he headed down the quay and in the direction of their tents.

The quay was clogged with people—weekend re-enactors, tourists, and fortress soldiers in army dress, all gathered in front of the Frédéric Gate. A man stood in the middle dressed in cut-off pants, a white shirt like Fred's, and a blue wool vest. His head hung low and he was flanked by two soldiers. His wrists were encased in handcuffs.


Voleur
?” Grace asked. “What does that mean—that wooden sign around his neck?”

“Thief,” Fred said. The only break in the crowd was around the soldiers and the prisoner. He'd have to cut right in front of them. Anyone could be watching from the crowd. He'd have to wait it out.

“What are they going to do with him?” Mai asked. Her arm pressed against Fred's as they were squeezed by the crowd.

“I don't know.” Fred saw himself in the prisoner's place, in handcuffs, being dragged off to face a criminal's fate. Even though he'd claimed the box was his, belonged to his family, part of him knew the difference. His dad chasing treasure on the open ocean was one thing, where finders were keepers. But here in a government-owned fortress? Well, that was something else.

“Hey, you guys,” Jeeter said. “If you're staying here, I'm going to check out some of the other buildings. Meet you back at the tent in a few, okay?” He didn't offer for anyone to come with him and disappeared into the crowd.

Fred glanced over at Le Billard, the tavern. The padlocked red door with the tiny opening at the bottom. He recalled peering inside it the day before. What would it be like to be locked away in that dark hole that stank of rotting cabbages? He shuddered.

Another fortress employee stepped in front of the prisoner, facing the crowd, and unrolled a scroll. He was dressed differently—buckled shoes, a long coat, and a black, three-sided hat perched on a ponytailed wig. He scowled at the prisoner and began reading in a loud booming voice, first in French, then English.

“This man is a thief,” he said. “Stealing bread from the King's bakery—a serious crime. The sentence from the court is branding and banishment from the town.”

The prisoner looked suitably ashamed. The crowd cheered.

“Please, have mercy,” the prisoner begged. “I was trying to feed my family.”

“Is there anyone among you who seeks clemency for this criminal?”

A young girl close to the front raised her hand. “Let him go,” she pleaded.

“Oh, good grief,” Grace said. “It's not like they're going to really whip the guy—he works here.”

“Don't be such a downer,” Mai said. “Go with it. It's all part of the fun. Everyone knows nothing's really going to happen.” She leaned closer to Fred and whispered in his ear, “Right?”

Distracted by the feel of her sweet breath on his neck, Fred didn't answer right away.

“Right?” she repeated.

“Huh? Oh yeah, it's all part of the act.”
As long as psycho soldier Gerard's not in charge.
As if on cue, a tourist moved and there was Gerard. Their eyes met. Fred knew he was thinking the same thing. Did Gerard still have the thumbscrews found in the dig the day before?

“Very well,” the officer droned. “Mercy for the prisoner.” He turned to the prisoner and unlocked the cuffs. “Take heed, monsieur,” he said. “Next time you will not be so fortunate.”

The crowd clapped and started to disperse. The contingent of soldiers lined up and began marching back up toward the King's Bastion, their steps timed with the beat of the drummer. The man who'd read from the scroll was talking to a family of tourists next to Fred and Mai.

“Would he really have been granted a pardon back then?” a tourist asked.

The officer shook his head. “
Mais, non
. Definitely not. He would have been branded on his face or shoulder with a ‘V' from a hot poker as a
voleur
, a thief. Then he would have been banished from the town forever.”

“Were there worse punishments?” asked the tourist.

The officer nodded. “Oh yes, indeed. On one documented occasion, a man and woman who conspired to commit murder were sentenced to the wheel.”

“The wheel?”

Fred leaned closer.

“Yes, the criminals were each strapped to a large wheel, with arms and legs stretched, and then tortured. The executioner beat them to death, breaking every bone in their bodies.”

The tourists gasped. So did Mai. Fred had heard enough. At least if he was caught, no physical punishment would be involved. He wiggled and jostled through the milling crowd, his eyes focused on their tents. The sun shone brightly. The threatening clouds had vanished. Something moved behind the canvas. He quickened to a jog, imagining the giant ransacking the place.

“Hey, wait up,” Mai protested. “What's the rush?”

“There's someone in my tent!”

Chapter
16

He rounded the curve of
the seawall. The shadow moved again. Someone was definitely inside his tent.

“I see it!” Mai rasped. “You don't think that Lester guy would trespass in broad daylight, do you?”

Fred definitely did. He reached out to pull open the entrance flap, just as the intruder pushed it open from the inside.

“About time you kids showed up,” his father said, stepping out into the sunlight. He grinned at them, his dark hair shiny and wet. “Where have you been? Having fun?”

“Fun?” Anger coursed through Fred like surging lava. Rather than the stalking giant, it was his mother that flashed in his mind. “Did you know Mom's working here?”

His father's eyebrows shot up, shock clearly showing on his face. “
What?
She's supposed to be resting.”

“Yeah, well, Aunt Marjorie got her on at the restaurant. Mom says we need the money.” Accusation dripped from each word.

A frown replaced the shocked expression. “I told her not to worry—I'm taking care of things.”

Yeah, sure you are. Just like you took care of everything else.
“How?”

“It's…complicated,” his father said.

“Complicated? Complicated like how you got our groceries at the food bank?” Fred was shaking.

“Son, I told you, it's a temporary situation. I've got it under control.”

“No you don't! You were supposed to sell your dive gear—but I saw it in the tent.”

His father gripped Fred's shoulders and stared intently into his eyes. “I know you're angry. But I'll have good news very soon. You have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Trust. Fred wished he could. But years of failed promises had built a towering wall that was impossible to climb, and trust lay somewhere on the other side. “I can't—”

“Try. Just try for me, okay?” His father gave his shoulders a squeeze.

Fred shrugged out of his father's grasp. He couldn't say yes.

His father sighed and turned away. “Sit tight, I'm going to talk with your mother.”

He was gone before Fred could ask him about Lester and what he was doing here. Although he was pretty sure the answer would be more of the same—that his dad couldn't explain and for Fred to trust him.

Fred ducked into his tent and away from the stares of his friends. He felt wetness on his face and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, surveying the crowded tent. Everything seemed to be undisturbed. Pulling aside his sleeping bag, he lifted the flat rock recessed in the ground. He reached down into the hole he'd dug beneath it.

His hiding place was empty.

The box was gone!

No. No. No!
“It has to be here!” He burrowed under his clothes strewn over the tent floor, his father's sleeping bag, the duffle bags, the food, until it was all piled in a jumbled heap.

Nothing.

His legs flopped like unsnapped rubber bands and he collapsed back on the pile.
What am I going to do now?

“Are you okay?” Mai peeked in through the tent flap. “It sounded like a stampede of wild animals in here.” Her wide eyes took in the mountain pile in the middle of the floor and Fred collapsed on top.

He didn't answer. His heart was racing and tripping over itself.

“Fred?”

“It's gone,” he croaked.

Grace poked her head in next. “Fred, are you okay?” She stepped in beside Mai.

“No,” Fred said. He closed his eyes, picturing his dad standing in front of him. Shorts. Tucked-in shirt. No place to hide anything. “The giant stole my box.”

“He must have had it when we saw him at the restaurant!” Grace said. “If he'd just stolen it, why would he come looking for you?”

“It won't open, remember?” Fred said. He pictured the giant's puffy shirt—lots of room to hide his box. He stood up, his head clearing as his mind worked out what he needed to do. “He'd be looking for a way to get it open. And it's got a keyhole. Maybe he thinks I have the key.”

“Isn't he missing the obvious?” Grace said to Mai.

“Umm,” Mai murmured. She didn't say anything else, instead picking up a towel and folding it. She placed it neatly on the pile of clothes.

“What's obvious?” Fred asked.

“Your dad,” Grace said. “He was just here. Do you think maybe…?”

“He didn't take it with him. He had no place to hide it.”

Grace gave him one of her “You-are-so-stunned” looks. “He could have put it somewhere
else
, couldn't he?”

“No. I already searched in here.”

“Maybe you missed it?” Mai said. She swept her arm at the mess. “If we clean up, we might find—”

“No point,” Grace said. “Why would he hide it in here? He'd figure Fred would search everywhere. He'd put it somewhere else. That's what I'd do, anyway.” She poked at the pile, causing an avalanche of clothes and dishes. A tin mug rolled across the floor. “But you still don't know exactly what's in this box thing, do you? How can you be sure it's even valuable?”

Fred checked outside the tent to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. Then he reached inside his waistband, pulling out a zip-lock bag with a bundle of yellowed, folded pieces of paper inside. “Because it's all in here,” he said. Opening the bag and gently unfolding the aged parchments and his translated notes, he smoothed the pages carefully against his shirt.

“What's that?” Mai asked, leaning close.

“A letter. Well, sort of a journal, really. From my ancestor, Claude Gagnon. He was the sole survivor of the treasure ship,
Le Chameau
.”

Grace sucked in a breath. “Treasure ship?”

“Yeah, and it's real,” Fred said. “I mean it
was
real. I Googled it. It was wrecked off Louisbourg during a storm in 1725. They said there were no survivors—over
three hundred lives lost. And there was
tons
of treasure on board.”

“Wow, Freddo, you might really be on to something this time,” Grace said. Her eyes gleamed and she slapped him on the shoulder. “A real treasure ship.”

“Yes, and I've got to get my box back before Lester finds a way to open it!”

“Maybe there's something in the letter that can help?” Mai said.

“Not in the pages I found.” Fred tapped the paper lightly. “Which are all in French, by the way. I had to use a French-English dictionary to translate it. It took forever!”

“Why didn't you just ask your mother?” Grace asked, looking puzzled. “She's bilingual, isn't she?”

Fred pressed his lips together. “She had more important things on her mind.”

Grace's cheeks flushed. “Oh, right.”

“Anyway,” Fred said. “The pages tell all about that night, the night of the shipwreck…and everything afterward.”

Mai and Grace looked at him expectantly. He had them.

“Well, don't keep us in suspense,” Mai said. “What happened?”

Fred motioned for them to follow him as he side-stepped around them and out into the sunlight. He scanned the nearby faces. All were strangers. The coast was clear—for now.

Voices carried across the quay. Tall ships drifted in the harbour. Waves lapped the shoreline. Once again he had that sensation, as if he'd been transported back to the 1700s. It felt weird, like he was zigzagging between the present and the past.

“C'mon,” Grace said. “Let's hear about this treasure.”

He plunked down in the vacant cannon slot in the seawall. Grace and Mai sat on the ground, cross-legged in front of him. Mai tucked her skirt around her knees, a lock of her hair coming loose and falling across her face. She glanced up at him and their eyes locked. His fingers twitched as he had the sudden urge to reach down and tuck her hair back in place.

“Ahem!” Grace muttered.

Pulling his eyes from Mai's, Fred examined the papers. He knew the story so well. He fingered the aged parchment.

He'd spent so many hours with the words, translating them, reliving them. Maybe that's why he felt so connected to this place. The words were part of him now.

“There had been a full moon,” Fred began. “The calmest night of the voyage. We had no idea what lay in wait for us.
Le diable.
The devil
.

BOOK: Buried Secrets at Louisbourg
11.78Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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