Authors: Chris Mould

The Smugglers' Mine (2 page)

BOOK: The Smugglers' Mine

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Retrieving the Map

An ancient silver casket sat in damp darkness. No chink of daylight shone upon its delicately crafted surface or picked out the colors that came upon it in the sun.

Until now.

Stanley Buggles's grubby hands reached in and held the silver casket around its belly, retrieving it for one short moment. A moment that was long enough for him to
take out the ancient map that lay inside.

This was the very map that he and Daisy had discovered was a plan of Crampton Rock, the island they were on.

Daisy Grouse was Stanley's closest friend. The niece of the lighthouse keeper, she lived a stone's throw from Stanley when she was visiting her uncle, which seemed to be most of the time. Together they had seen the worst of pirate life, and right now they had business to attend to.

The old map that lay in their possession had an “X marks the spot” that was aching to be discovered. They had found the whereabouts of the cross on the map. But frustratingly, its center lay in the Darkling house, down in the village.

They had checked and double-checked, but each time they came back to the very same spot: the spooky, ramshackle old hut that Edmund Darkling had made his family home.

“Daisy, I've made a decision,” announced Stanley.

Daisy looked at him expectantly.

“Well then â¦!” she prompted. “âWhat is it? Are you going to cut your hair?” She laughed.

He ignored her sense of humor. “We have to get into the cellar of the old Darkling place. We can go during the day because the Darklings sleep for most of it, we know that. As long as we aren't seen by the villagers, we can have a snoop around.”

“Stanley, we've been in enough trouble lately,” Daisy pointed out.

“I know, but this whole treasure-seeking
thing will grind to a halt unless we can get inside there. It must be under the floor,” he persisted.

Daisy had to concede the point. Unless they found their way into the house, they would never get any further!

“Don't think of it as breaking into the house, Daisy. Think of it as taking a shortcut to where we're going,” Stanley chirped, a big smile on his face.

“Oh, yes. Very good, Stanley. I'll tell that to the court!” Daisy quipped.

They set off to the village, map in hand, arguing as they went.

Stanley reflected briefly on his previous actions. He had been forced to break into the Darkling home to retrieve vital evidence, something that had landed him in serious trouble. He knew that his good intentions
caused him to go astray at times, and that he must be careful not to get too carried away.

And as they walked, a curtain twitched in a nearby window and an eye appeared through the netting. It watched them as they went, observing until they were out of sight.

Seeking an Ally

Daisy looked around, making sure no one was watching them. Stanley's feet disappeared through the coalbin entrance as he slid headlong into the basement of the Darkling home. Daisy followed, pulling the door closed on its loose hinges.

Fortunately, the entrance to the cellar through the coalbin was at the back of the
house, and it was not visible to the people steadily flowing in the village.

Inside, the warmth of the sun disappeared and was replaced by a musty, damp cold. Only shafts of light pointed the way. The floor was empty and the walls were covered with poorly mounted shelving, home to bits of this and that.

“Nothing in here, Stanley,” whispered Daisy.

“It's below ground that matters, Daisy. That map is old, very old. Older than this building, for sure. What's here, if anything, is below us!” answered Stanley, forgetting where he was and raising his voice in excitement.

“Shhh!” urged Daisy. “They'll hear us!”

They felt the floor. It was wet and hard, with huge stone slabs laid from wall to wall. Too heavy to lift, thought Stanley, for either him or Daisy, or for that matter, both of them together.

A click, click, clicking sound came from above. And then a sniff, sniff, sniff. Then more clicking. Movement of some kind. They both froze, then Daisy realized what it was.

“It's the dog,” she breathed, wringing her hands. “It's Steadman, the Darkling dog.”

And no sooner had she said it than Steadman began to bark. Louder and louder and furiously leaping about in the room above, until the whole house was awake.

Luckily his noise disguised Stanley and Daisy's scrambling as they wheedled their way back outside into daylight, scurrying away like little beetles from under a stone.

They headed into the village and tried to mingle with the crowd.

But they had been seen. Young Berkeley, one of the Darkling twins, had observed that they were up to no good.

As far as the treasure seekers knew, they had not been spotted. They headed back to the Hall to discuss further plans.

“We can't move those slabs, Daisy. But I have an idea. We can break them up.”

“Oh great, Stanley. Another good idea. You're not going to stop at breaking and entering. You're going to smash the place up now. And I guess you'll be doing that without making any noise, will you?” she asked, with her arms held aloft. “We need help,” she insisted. “But who in their right mind would join us in a treasure hunt through someone else's basement? We need someone trustworthy but with a hint of mischief about them, and a glint of piracy in their eye. Ah, if only Admiral Swift was still here!” she sighed.

Stanley's expression changed, from a glum, forlorn sulk into a wide-eyed, villainous grin.

“Daisy, you're a genius. Well done!” he
laughed. He kissed her on the cheek and began dancing along the cobblestones until he was so dizzy he fell flat on his face.

“What's the matter with you?” Daisy asked, wiping the wet from her face.

“You need to come and meet someone,” insisted Stanley, nursing a bashed elbow. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along at a fast pace.

When they reached the Hall, MacDowell was lying out in the sun with a huge hat pulled over his face. Daisy stared at the long loose shape in front of her. She had never seen such a gnarled old man in all her time on the Rock. His hat was wider than his shoulders and his holey tights were wrapped around the most ridiculous pair of legs she had ever seen. His huge buckled shoes pointed up to the sun and revealed a hole in each sole.

“Meet MacDowell,” said Stanley. “A dear old friend of Admiral Swift's.”

“Oh â¦ er, pleased to meet you, sir,” said Daisy, performing a limp handshake with MacDowell's craggy, dried-up palm. As his hand closed around hers, Daisy realized that his frail figure belied his real strength.

“Well, tickle me timbers,” MacDowell started. “If ever I saw I a pretty little face well there it is, right in front o' me. Pleased to meet yer, Miss Daisy.”

Daisy rolled her eyes at Stanley. She hated nothing more than someone telling her she was pretty.

Stanley was eager to know more about MacDowell and his adventures with Admiral Swift, before he and Daisy unfolded their plan.

MacDowell had no idea, but he was about to be interviewed for the best job on Crampton Rock.

“Tell me more about how you met my great-uncle,” said Stanley.

“Well, Stanley,” MacDowell began, “I am
an inventor by trade. A poor one, yes, I admit. But that doesn't stop me from makin' the effort. At one time I traveled the seas in an old fishing boat, selling my wares at every port I could find and scratchin' a meager living. I came across your great-uncle when he was down on his luck as well, fresh out o' the navy, injured and without a penny to his name. We were in the same destitute position. It wouldn't have started if we 'adn't been desperate.”

“What wouldn't have started?” asked Stanley.

“Oh â¦ the pirate thing. It were unintentional. We watched a boat leaving shore and we'd noticed a few well-to-do types climbing aboard. Yer know, Stanley, fancy folk wi' money in their pockets and gold about their necks.

“I had agreed to give yer Great-Uncle Bart a lift on me boat and we got caught in a storm. In the thick of it, another boat came into view.”

“The rich people's boat,” predicted Daisy.

“Aye, lass, the very same,” MacDowell replied with a sigh. “We helped their boat through the worst of it, but we claimed everything they had in return. It was a dreadful business, Stanley. It should not have happened, but it did. And it carried on.”

“You're not a man to be trusted then?” suggested Stanley.

“I wasn't then,” he admitted, giving another, deeper, sigh. “And neither was yer old great-uncle. But those days are behind me now. I only wish me old mate was 'ere to enjoy the quiet life with.” He finished speaking, closed his eyes, and soaked up the sun.

Stanley stepped aside to whisper to Daisy. He had decided he liked MacDowell. There was something brutally honest about him: he wasn't trying to hide his past and there wasn't an ounce of threat to him.

“He's just a whiskey-guzzling old buccaneer who's grown tired of the sea and his pirate ways, much as Great-Uncle Bart did.” Stanley explained to Daisy.

“Mmmm, I'm not sure. I don't see why we should trust him. He looks like a villain, and he's as sly as an old fox.”

Stanley was not always such a great listener. If he listened to anyone, it was Daisy, but he had an awful habit of ignoring what he didn't want to hear.