Pearced (38 page)

At A, sitting trot.

“Everyone,” I say, “let’s switch our torches off for a second.”  With a brief pause as if to assess if their very own ‘scared of being enclosed designer-type’ had lost the plot, all the torches are turned off and we are once more in an intense velvety blackness.  The stars are missing my brain adds. It’s how designers roll, we notice things, and notice when things aren’t there too.  “There.  See?” I ask, “A very feint glow from the tunnel, ahead, light, it's light, and where there's light there's fresh air and a possible way out.” Everyone agrees in a cacophony of mumblings, one by one the torches are flicked back to life and our claustrophobic plunge into darkness is replaced with vague directions of beams of sparkly light. It’s the enchanting fairy-tale of the light picking up the water droplets filling the air, creating a huge sweep of a rainbow, it's really quite a beautiful effect.  If I weren't so terrified, and bent out of shape trying to keep it under-wraps, I’d have rather enjoyed the light-show too.

Circle to X halt, and turn on the forehand to the right. (That's 3o'clock).

Our gradient is shallow now, and the river is waist deep and travelling too fast to paddle in safety. We pass around a corner and a great standing stone greets us at the entrance to what will be the most beautiful sight second only to George and Harry galloping around their fields, in my view. And it is almost in my view.  The roof of the cavern must be at least three-hundred feet above our heads, we had descended further than any of us realised.   We switch off and stow our torches because we don't need them in here, we look up in awe and are mesmerized by the space.

A cathedralistic space eroded from solid orange rock, by water over millions of years.  There is an eroded elliptical skylight porthole in the roof the size of a range rover and daylight, beautiful clean gleaming blue hued daylight, is pouring in, and we all feel humbled to be here.  “Tea?” I ask to no one in particular. I actually mean get me some, not does anyone want some, and without asking, Daniel hands me a plastic beaker full of it, I down it all in a series of noisy gulps, “Ahhh.”  Better. 

Such a beautiful space, even I am speechless, after I unscrew my flask of course, not before clearly.

The walls and cascading rock formations all around are bright living green with lichens which love the warmth, dampness and light.  The river is now very fast and deep, and enters the cavern on a bend speeding it up further.  It becomes like a moat travelling around clockwise and out of the furthest wall. Water is flooding the moat from above too, as a waterfall pouring through on one side of the skylight opening, the effect is breath-taking, it's light and fresh, it reminds me of the palm house at Kew.  “The island?” Nigel nods yes to me, clearly in awe of the space. No one answers, or speaks, words just don’t cut it here. We are in struck dumb, and we respect the nature of this isolated place, and Professor Nigel says a prayer not quite to himself.

“Incredible,” Liza just had to vocalise what she sees, “it's like heaven.” What a great venue for a wedding, she glances at Kurt probably wishing she’d kept quiet, but he nods in casual agreement.  The shafts of light come straight into the cavern, full of life and nothing like the intense blackness we have just journeyed through, it is quite literally a breath of fresh beautiful, incredible air.  My brain is alight with pleasure, after the day my horses backed down the ramp at my place and were finally mine, this is the happiest I have ever been. And remember dear reader, I have tea in my hand.

“Look over here Danny,” spellbound we have to snap out of our euphoric state of wonderment to hear someone speaking, “over here.” It's Stan

He points behind a huge rock formation like round American pancakes piled on top of each other, getting consecutively smaller as they get higher. I like mine with banana and maple syrup, why can’t I stop thinking about food? It’s just who I am.  “It's like an island, obviously eroded this shape don't you think?” To no one in particular.

We all look where he's pointing. “One of your Dad's crates?” He ventures, the side of the wooden shipping crate has an eagle and ship stencilled on the side with ‘Pearce Mining’ lettered underneath.

Gasps come from the Brothers as they realise their Dad had really been here, gotten this far. “Is that the puzzle? To find the gold? To find what happened to Dad?” Daniel asks the universe, since none of us has the vaguest idea.   The universe is busy and can't reply at this time, but it asks that you either leave a message or call back later. Thank you very much for your patience.

“It's a steep climb, but it looks doable, what do you think Nigel?” Asks Stan staring up through the skylight in the roof, his hands on his hips, surveying the terrain.

“Agree, simple job,” as he points toward the side of the aperture, “start there, head that way.” He points, Stan nods in agreement. Our obvious surprise at their dialogue, we all pay attention to it, “I have done some rock-climbing in my day,” Nigel qualifies, “I think it’ll be fine.” he chuckles.

“Rock-climbing?” Asks Kurt. “Aren’t you a museum nerd?” He asked unapologetically amused and friendly, not in a derisive way.  The professor takes it light-heartedly. We are all learning a life lesson here, that there’s more to some people than meets the eye, and surprising intelligent talented adventurers we certainly are.

“Field work,” he goes on to remind us, “Isn’t just digging holes in fields you know.” He takes off his spectacles and cleans them naturally. “You have to get good at navigating many different terrains with a trowel, not just holes in the ground.  I’ve climbed a cave like this in Egypt.” He points at us reproachfully with his glasses.  He sounds so matter of fact that we all laugh, and he fails to see why.  And that my friends, my brain is concluding, is why we shouldn't take people at face value.

“Can I suggest?” Stan begins in military fashion, “we have a poke around here, take some family shots, camp for the night, have we got plenty of food and water Tharie?”

“To last another two days at least.” I answer emphatically, what was he thinking?
I
did the food packing.

“Peanut butter again?” From Liza with a wink.

“When we're home”, I shake my head, “you won’t ever have to eat it again, but it’s full of good stuff for itinerant explorers.” Nuts are, so Vogue tells me, a 'power-food'.  I'm still not sure what that means but the tone was a positive one, so eat it copiously I do.

“Then, that's settled,” Stan continues, we are all more than happy someone is taking charge. “We sleep here under the stars, and make our way top-side first thing in the morning, and never have to eat a peanut butter sandwich ever again.”  He looks at me playfully, I fake my best hurt look.

“Let’s get the kettle on, anyone got matches?” I ask.

Chapter twenty-nine, Saturday
:
2ndnovember2013, discovery (not the Landrover kind).

We set camp as before, but this time I’m not restless and prepared to claw my way through solid rock to escape.  I can see the sky and taste the fresh cold air.  The sun is angled so the final rays are creeping in our skylight, soon it will be dark, but I’ll still know the sky is there, I feel so happy. A signal? There must be a tower somewhere out there.

TC: “I can see Centaurus and Libra.” it’s quite beautiful.

EC: “Of course you can, this time of year, you’ll get a great view of the sky” she reads an awful lot about many things. And she beats
everyone
at scrabble and trivial pursuit.

TC: “Dad would have loved it here” I miss him.

EC: “I miss him too” I know you do Mum.

TC: “See you soon” I want to hug my Mum.

We're all incredibly tired and hungry and I begin preparing dinner.   Whilst everyone is exploring the cavern and looking at the map and drawings again the Professor has spread on the floor, its corners kept flat with orange rocks at each end, I decide to break up the packing crate to make firewood.  I have matches now, and I am determined to honour my Brownie survival badge, by cooking a lovely meal outdoors under the stars.  A meal tasty enough to get a camp-fire meal badge from Brown Owl. I'm goal orientated, and need recognition for my successes.

The crate itself sits on a high dry ledge away from the direct spray of the water.   It's been here for years and the consecutive atmosphere of direct heat through the opening in the roof combined with the dampness from the spray in the air has aged it further.  The nails are contracted, fragile and rusty.  It’s bowed and the joints are no longer aligned tightly, but dry nonetheless, a thin coating of lichen has grown on its surface and died, and the structure of the wood is now quite fragile. I begin breaking off the lid with just my fingers.  It has metal straps holding the planks together but I can slide them away easily enough as the wood has contracted and the old planks are sitting loose now in their bindings.  Just a hard knock with a nearby rock breaks the nails off finally, and I’m in.  One by one I slide the wood out piling the individual planks beside me on the ground.  Twelve planks in all I count, though I’m not sure why.  I peer in hoping to find some useful equipment that could assist us in our morning climb out of here.

But what I see is something else entirely.

In the base of the crate, sits an object wrapped in a rough natural hessian cover and tied elegantly with intricately knotted and tied packing string.  About the size of a car battery but deeper by a couple of inches.  This hasn’t been done hastily, or carelessly, but meticulously, taking a great deal of time and with great care. The configuration of a complex series of knots in the string suggest to me this person responsible had lots time, and showed a great respect for its contents.  I lean in and gently lift the item out placing it very gently on the floor, it’s quite heavy.  I have made a raft of the planks as a base sitting on the hard rock, and reverently I sit it centrally, and carefully down.

Cross-legged I sit beside the object, I study the knots and ties and take lots of photos on my phone, Daniel notices the flash going off as he is nearest and comes over. “What have you got there?” He asks casually until he actually looks properly at the thing I’m staring at.  He gasps, “Was that in the crate?”

“Yes, I was dismantling it to make a fire, but dinner will have to wait. This was in the bottom, I was just about to unwrap it.”

Daniel just nods and sits beside me. “My Dad used to wrap packages like that,” he crosses his legs on the hard ground.  “He always said unwrapping the mystery should be as entertaining as having solved it.”

I look at him, so beautiful in the dimming light. “I love you.” I say without thinking, but I couldn't stop myself in time, bloody brain.

“I know.” is all he says, still staring at the 'thing'.

“Open it,” we hear from behind us, “this is what we came for isn't it?” Says Stan, he has Kurt at his side, and he pats his back like a member of the family.

“Do it.” Says Kurt in anticipation, “Dad's knots eh Danny?” Shaking his head, he does that a lot I notice.

“Another message?”  I have been planning how I open this since I saw it, and to preserve the knots and keep it intact for sentimentalities sake, I decide a sharp knife is the way to go. Just to be clear at this point, I am not sentimental, but others may be.  I pull my trusty hoof-knife from the concealed pocket in my boot, my riding bookmaker had stitched in for me. “Tharie?” This from Daniel, “a knife?” He asks, but doesn’t stay surprised for long, he’s getting the hang of it, I’m proud of him.

“Perfectly good for pruning, and cutting baling string, but what you need is a real knife.” And we all turn as we hear a metal object being unsheathed from a holster, and a glint of blade in the perfect parody of Crocodile Dundee.  “Here.” Stan passes me a 12inch long knife, I smile sweetly, a very sharp steel blade, with a fine serrated edge along one gently curved edge.

“A hero.” I say

“Be prepared, I say.” answered Stan

“That's the Brownie motto.” I scold jokingly. “Do the special forces steal mantras and
mottos from little girls now?” I respond laughing.

“What do you think happens to some of those little girls?” He giggles. “They join the special forces!” His smile is uncommon that’s why I notice it.  It's dark and all six spectators join torch forces to illuminate my project on the ground.  I want to warn them not to cross the beams but decide now's not the time for an 80's film pastiche, it’s hard though, so obvious...  Liza and the Professor have joined us too. Interested in the elaborate contrivance that is the wrapping process.

I begin cutting away the string, its tension is still tight and easy to cut, and it is quick work. I peel the strands carefully from around the jute and hand the string to Daniel and he looks at it lovingly, memories of his Dad must be flooding his brain.  The Professor pushes his spectacles back on his nose in interest and reaches for the string, “may I?” Released from the spell Daniel hands the net of knotted twine back to Nigel, and Nigel skulks away with his torch like a cat that's caught a shrew, and wants to give it his full attention.

I slowly unfold the hessian,
its rough still in my hands and has been wrapped with masterful hospital corners, and folded back on itself to keep sections in place which would make the wrapper at Tiffany’s seem sloppy in comparison.  A sharp inhalation of air from everyone as the object is revealed.