A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (17 page)

‘You are a genius.’ Rhyllann breathed.

Wren smiled as he handed over the shovel. ‘No. I pay attention in maths. Now get going.’

Keeping his eyes firmly on the digital readout, Rhyllann paced forward. He sensed Wren hobbling behind him, nudging him slightly now and again to keep his direction true. The pre-set device pinged as he counted the sixty seconded foot. Rhyllann swiftly marked the spot with a divot, then glanced up to grin at Wren, whose face was deathly white beneath the mud streaks. Rhyllann ushered him over to sit on a nearby boulder.

‘Sit here. Rest.’ He ordered. Wren nodded, eyes glued to the spot Rhyllann had marked.

‘Hurry Annie. I feel like we don’t have much time.’

Rhyllann dug efficiently, ploughing the new sharp edge of the spade into the earth. After a minute’s work he paused.

‘Wren?’ He queried.

His cousin cocked his head back towards the monolith.

 ‘A little to the right.’

 ‘Here?’

‘Yeah – dig there, I know we’re in the right place. I can feel it. There has to be something. Some sign.’ It sounded more like a prayer than a statement.

Rhyllann started digging again. He turned over five spadefuls of earth before the spade clanked against something metal.

‘Wren!’ Hoping it wasn’t an old tin can, he resumed digging. A chest! A metal chest.

Wren hobbled over. Rhyllann prised the spade around the edges, trying to free the object. Wren dropped to his knees, scraping earth away with his hands. He stopped suddenly, cocking his head to one side.

‘Annie – can you hear that?’

Rhyllann paused to listen. From far away, like the faintest hum of a vacuum cleaner he could hear an engine. Stern! Back with the correct translation! Throwing the spade to one side, Rhyllann stretched full length forcing his hands down between box and earth. The skin covering his knuckles grazed, peeling against stones peppering the soil, but still he scrabbled for a purchase, managing to work his fingertips under the box's bottom ridge. Wren continued to listen, straining to see over the horizon – the rumble grew louder – heading their way. Rhyllann worked first one side of the box, then the other, trying to dislodge it. Finally, with a slurping noise, it lifted slightly.

‘Quick – help me – I’ve got it – get the other side. Quick!’

Wren plunged his hands opposite Rhyllann’s. Together they strained to haul the box from its moorings. With a louder shorter slurp, the box shot up towards them.

Disappointment flooded through Rhyllann. The rusted box didn’t look anywhere large enough to hold the kind of fortune he’d expected from Wren’s talk of crown jewels. Diamonds! Let it be diamonds; or sapphires, or rubies he prayed under his breath; even a solid gold crown would do. The engine vibrations increased. There was more than one of them. Jumping to his feet, Rhyllann snatched the shovel. Hoisting it over his head, he smashed it down against the box, sparks flying upwards. Once, twice three times. The lid sprung open. He stole a quick glance towards Wren, whose face glowed; his smile one of total satisfaction.

Rhyllann watched in disbelief then anger as his cousin knelt reverently. Moving as though he feared it would break, he reached inside the chest to pull out a smaller wooden box. He held it like an offering, examining it from all sides. Then noticed Rhyllann.

‘Annie. We did it! We did it!’ His eyes gleamed with demonic triumph, inviting Rhyllann to share his excitement, holding the box aloft like a trophy. Rhyllann gripped the shovel handle fighting a sudden urge to smash the spade over his head.

‘What! We’ve been to hell and back for that?!’

Wren started to speak then stopped. Engine revs could be felt through the ground now.

‘Quick. Throw that chest back in the hole, and cover it over. We’ve gotta get outta here!’

Wren shrugged off his army tunic jacket as he spoke. What was the point? Rhyllann fumed. It was obvious someone had been digging here. Well, he was gonna make damn sure they knew they were too late. Drawing his mobile from his back pocket – chucking it inside the rusted metal chest he began shovelling earth over. That would give the Arseholes something to think about! Wren finished wrapping the inner wooden box in his jacket. Giving it a last tender pat, he turned to help. Hell, they’d never get out of sight in time. They’d left it too late to run. Rhyllann dragged Wren back to the gorse he’d hidden in earlier.

With Wren’s heels two inches from his nose, Rhyllann wriggled through a claustrophobic tunnel
 
formed by gorse, meant only for rabbits or foxes. Woody stems towered above ground before growing spiteful thorns along with luscious green leaves and sweet smelling yellow flowers. If they kept their nerve, unless someone actually entered the maze like tunnel, they were undetectable in their borrowed camouflage. They reached the edge of the thicket, which bordered the boulders they had crouched on previously. They could either remain under gorse cover, or clamber back up to the craggy overhang. They opted to stay put.

They had enough time to pick out an excellent spot. A perfect circle where the stalks didn’t grow underneath, but soared above them to form dense cover. A ballroom for rabbits. Enough for two skinny kids to sprawl in comfort and watch without being seen. Rhyllann wondered who’d find his mobile first – Stern or the rugby player. He giggled at the thought. Wren pinched him.

‘Pack it in – what’s so funny?’

He sniggered. ‘Nothing. I left a little surprise for our friends!’

‘What d’you mean?’ Wren asked, an edge to his voice.

‘I left my mobile inside the metal chest! Imagine their faces.’

‘You did what?’ Wren sounded incredulous. ‘Are you completely mad?’ Not for the first time, Rhyllann decided his cousin had no sense of humour.

‘C’mon – chill – it’s jokes! They’re digging for ancient treasure – they come up with a modern mobile.’ A new thought struck Rhyllann, so funny he struggled to get the words out: ‘They might think … Wren – they might think the mobile’s thousands of years old – you know like finding a bus on the moon. It’ll drive them crazy!’ He rocked with silent laughter, hugging himself.

Wren hit him. Hard. ‘Fool. You might just as well have left a note saying Rhyllann Jones Was Here. Oh and by the way – here’s the phone number of all my friends!’

Rhyllann's glee deflated like a balloon. ‘There’s no sim card. You don’t think?’

Wren hit him again as a warning to keep quiet. Rhyllann couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. It wasn’t his fault. All that build up – the anticipation. And then to find a cruddy wooden box like the one gran kept her jewellery in. It had been a small rebellious act. Leaving something just as useless for those bastards to find and puzzle over. In fact, Rhyllann decided, this was Wren’s fault for building his hopes up. But he couldn’t even tell Wren that, because the gang were back. They simmered in silence – glaring at each other.

*

Engines stilled, doors slammed and voices sounded.

‘Jesus – look at the mess here!’

‘No wonder that conservation guy was so upset Sir!’

‘Mmm. These are our boys Sergeant Tiller. Good thing our man played innocent and backed off. Can we get a photo of that – and those weird markings?’

Rhyllann could only glimpse legs sweeping past but he recognised that voice. He nudged Wren.

‘Crombie!’

Wren held an imaginary phone to his cheek with a grimace. Crombie would discover the mobile. Crombie would know immediately where Rhyllann was hiding because Crombie had a nose like a bloodhound when it came to Rhyllann. Crombie’s boots turned in their direction; catching his breath Rhyllann wriggled deeper into the dirt, trying to bury himself. Wren hissed at him to keep still.

‘Ok – Rodgers – looks like they dug over there – get your fat lazy arse down there and dig.’

Buses on the moon and mobiles in ancient chests seemed less and less funny.

Crombie’s voice boomed again carrying clearly:

‘Superintendent Bates – You’re in position? Yep. We’re at Taffy’s Folly – it’s deserted. Guess our master race are all holed up in the farmhouse. Probably taking a powernap. Tell your boys it’s a go!’

Rhyllann buried his face in the dirt. Crombie had tracked down Stern and his gang, it seemed armed police were up for a shoot out. If he hadn’t been so stupid! Stern’s gang would have been taken care of, and no-one would ever have known he and Wren were even here.

‘Sir! Look! A spade!’ A woman’s voice called excitedly.

‘That’s great – good work Chrissie! Tell you what – you and Tiller get over there and search those rocks.’

‘Sir?’

‘We’ll charge ‘em first with desecrating an ancient monument while we hold ‘em for Interpol. After you’ve searched those rocks, search that thicket – the whole area. Anything else that can tie them to this place – sweet wrappers – cigarette packets – understood? And photograph everything.’

The undergrowth shuddered as someone began probing with a spade, batting the gorse first one way then another. The boys shrunk back, vicious little spikes piercing their flesh. Rhyllann held his breath. Any moment now they’d be discovered.
But we’ve done nothing.
He told himself.
We’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, but we’ve done nothing. I’ll stand up – tell Crombie we thought
… he felt fingers of
s
teel grasp his arm, as Wren read his mind.

‘Sir! Sir!’ Rodgers was calling. ‘I’ve found something.’ There was a stampede in his direction. Rhyllann counted four pairs of legs.

‘A mobile Sir – that’s strange.’

The female voice spoke. ‘Maybe there’s a text message – or a phone number to call …’

‘I’ll take it back to Bodmin Station – they might be able to unlock it!’ That sounded like Sergeant Tiller.

A faded leather jacket flapped into view as its owner bent to scoop up the mobile.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Crombie shouted. ‘For godsake Bates – stand down weapons.’ He yelled into the radio. ‘Hostages! They’ve got hostages. STAND DOWN! At least one, maybe two kids hostage! Abort! Abort! Abort!’

He yelled over to Rodgers again – Hewes and Tiller began speaking at once.

‘Are you sure Sir – how do you know?’

‘I recognise this mobile – the cracked screen, the sellotape. It belongs to Rhyllann Jones!’

‘What! That mouthy little git? You think they’ve got him?’

‘Yes. He might be a mouthy little git – but he’s street smart. He dropped the phone in there unnoticed. Hoping someone would find it. Rodgers – come on! We’ve gotta get going. Make sure Bates doesn’t get trigger happy.’

Rhyllann groaned. Wren’s eyes burnt into the back of his neck. Doors slammed, engines roared, wheels churned and silence returned.

*

Rhyllann wished himself a thousand miles away. But because he had nowhere else to turn, he faced his cousin.

‘Don’t say anything.’ He warned. ‘Don’t say anything because it’s not as though you never muck up.’ He nearly shrivelled under Wren’s scorn. He should have saved his breath. It was going to be a long long time before Wren spoke to him again. If ever.

Wordlessly Wren extracted himself from the gorse thicket, dusted himself down and began walking. The camouflage jacket containing the wooden box tucked under his arm. Rhyllann chased after him.

‘Brawd – brawd – where are we going?’