Riddle Gully Secrets (13 page)

Pollo, Will and Dan crouched as the beam lurched from side to side, scanning the cavern near the rockslide.

‘I can't see nuffin, Pooky.'

Pollo whispered to Dan and Will. ‘We can't loosen the rope from the chest. So we have to free the other end from the stalagmite.

At that moment, the beam swept across to the far side of the cavern. ‘Now!' hissed Pollo. She dashed blindly across the open space to the stalagmite. Will and Dan followed. In the blackness the three began working the rope up the rock column.

‘If only I'd used a loop instead of a knot!' Pollo muttered.

‘Here, Curly! Gimme that torch!' Pooky's voice shot across the lake. Seconds later, bright light bathed Dan, Will and Pollo like actors on a stage.

‘I've got 'em, Curly – there's three of 'em!' The torch beam traced the rope back to the shawl of rock. The strongbox's iron bands glinted beneath it. ‘And what do you know? There's our treasure!'

‘Pooky-doll, you sit tight with that busted ankle. I reckon I can squeeze through this gap now.'

‘For Pete's sake, Curly! What are you worrying about that for? You've got a piece in your pocket and a line of sight! Just pop 'em!'

Curly hesitated. ‘What about the ricochet? A bullet could bounce right back at us, Pooky-doll! Better if I go for them up close and personal.'

Dan, Will and Pollo jiggled the rope desperately. The light from the rockpile halved as Curly's large muscly form plugged the gap.

The rope was only centimetres from the top. The panting from the rockpile was coming faster and louder.

‘Hey Pooky? Gimme a shove, will ya?'

‘Hey! Get your smelly boot out of my face!'

‘I think …
grunt …
maybe …
puff
… I should've made the hole bigger.'

‘I'm warning you, Curly! Touch me again with that boot and I'll –'

Curly's voice was a reedy rasp. ‘Trouble … breathing.
Groan
…
huff
… Help!'

Suddenly there was a clang of spade on stone, with a bit of human in between. It was followed by a loud grunt, then a tumble of rock and body. Curly sprawled at the edge of the lake, wincing and spitting out dirt. Light beamed through the gap and spotlit him. He rose to his knees, shading his eyes, and spoke between sucks of breath.

‘Did you just hit me with the
spade
, sweet pea?'

‘Sorry Curly-honey. I thought a little extra wriggle on your part might get us somewhere. I was right, wasn't I?'

Pollo, Will and Dan scrabbled at the rope as Pooky
hurled a rock in their direction. It splashed in the lake. Her second bounced past Will's left foot. ‘Go Curly! Go get those suckers! Atta boy!'

Suddenly the rope slipped free. Pollo, Will and Dan raced back to the strongbox, swept it up and stumbled away into the darkness, trying to dodge the light from Pooky's torch.

‘Quick, Curly!' Pooky's voice echoed through the cavern after them. ‘They're getting away! Don't just stand there! Do something!'

Pollo, Will and Dan ducked behind a rock wall to get their bearings. They heard urgent whispering from Curly, still on the other side of the lake, but couldn't make anything out.

Pooky, on the other hand, was crystal clear. ‘What d'ya mean, you didn't notice the lake before?' She picked up a rock and flung it in Curly's direction.

‘Eee-ow!' Curly hopped, clutching his shin.

‘Go get after 'em, ya great lump of stuffing!'

‘But it looks deep, Pooky! It's a big lake!'

‘And you're a big fella!'

‘But, Pooky-doll, sweet-pea … I can't swim.'

‘Pah! You'd be across it in –' For a moment there was dead silence. ‘You can't
what
?'

‘Swim … I never learned.'

The next rock landed in the water with a sulky plop. Pooky exhaled with a long low whistle. ‘You know what, Curly? Sometimes I think I'd be better off married to a god-darned hard-boiled egg.'

Dan, hands outstretched, groped through the dark. Pollo and Will shuffled close behind, taking turns to carry the chest. As they edged forward, Dan softly chanted his song, checking off the landmarks – Bushrangers' Kitchen, Spiky Ladder, Whale Mouth, Stinky Tunnel and, at last, Wallaby Cave.

They wriggled out of the tunnel and lay on the dirt floor trying to breathe quietly, listening for noises that didn't belong, squinting as their eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming in.

‘You made it then.' The whisper came from a dark corner.

They swung round. Ash was pressed into a nook, her legs tucked up, her chin resting on her kneecaps. In the half dark, watching them with her huge eyes, she looked
more than ever like a wild animal. She crawled across the cave and gave each of her friends a hug, even Pollo and Will who were slimy with mud.

‘I know I was meant to meet you at Dan's but I couldn't wait.' Ash looked at them, her dark eyes glistening. ‘Didn't you hear my warning whistles?' she blurted. ‘Was I doing it wrong?'

‘You were doing it just right, Ash,' said Pollo. ‘We heard you, but –'

‘We're sorry, Ash,' said Will. ‘We were so close to freeing the chest when you started whistling that we had to keep going.'

‘We couldn't just abandon it to those two,' said Pollo.

‘They're not nice people,' said Ash. ‘I hope that chest is worth it.' She wiped her eyes, leaving streaks of mud.

‘Is it safe outside?' said Dan.

‘I haven't heard anything,' said Ash. ‘The birds seem happy.'

‘We should get to safety,' said Pollo.

Will chuckled. ‘While they're trying to kill each other rather than us.'

They filed down the hillside and across the old railway bridge, their senses straining for signs of Curly and
Pooky. Quiet as spiders, they wove through the bush until eventually they made it to Dan and Twig's camp. Bright prismed colours danced around the clearing from the crystal on the tent pole twirling slowly in the breeze. The buzzes and creaks of the forest were the only sounds.

Dan called for his father. There was no answer. He checked inside the tent. ‘His basket's gone. He's probably digging up some weird surprise for lunch.' He dipped two cloths in a bucket of water and passed them to Pollo and Will. ‘Here, clean yourselves up if you like.'

‘It's late for Twig to be out foraging,' said Ash. ‘Most things are better picked first thing.' She closed her eyes, her head bobbing slightly like a flower, trying to detect something, anything. When she opened her eyes a frown flickered over her forehead. ‘I hope he's back soon,' she said quietly.

They helped Dan fish a blue plastic tarpaulin and toolbox from the back of Twig's old ute, parked a little way off at the end of the firebreak. The scratched midnight-blue duco was hand-painted with yellow comets and stars.

Dan saw the others looking. ‘Twig's idea, not mine.'

They spread the tarp on the ground by the circle of fire stones, carefully shifting Twig's ukulele out of
harm's way first. ‘It's about the only possession he really cares about,' said Dan, ‘apart from his tin of family photos.'

They sat on the tarp in a tight circle around the strongbox, now free of its waterproof wrapping. Though the box was intact it was still sealed shut. Working on it from different angles, they filed and chipped away the last traces of limestone until finally all the clasps could be opened.

They crowded in close and together raised the lid. Inside were folds of calico, brown at the edges and speckled with mildew. Dan plucked at them and sighed. ‘It's just a bunch of rags.'

‘Rags most likely protecting something,' said Pollo. ‘Be gentle.'

‘It's a breath from another world,' said Ash. ‘We should treasure every scrap of it.'

‘It's heaps better than those rocks they bring back from other planets!' said Will. He drew out a calico parcel and breathlessly unfolded it. ‘Hang on! This
is
a rock.'

‘Gee willakers!' said Dan. ‘You mean we risked our necks for rocks?'

‘Give it here,' said Pollo. She rubbed the rock with her T-shirt and held it out on her palm. It glinted in the sun. ‘It's a rock alright,' said Pollo. ‘It's a nugget of gold!'

Twig, having finished his Weetbix and rinsed his bowl, had sat at the edge of the forest to play his ukulele. But for the life of him, the strings wouldn't sing to him like they usually did. He was jittery – as he'd been all night. The family gift that Dan didn't want, Dan's scary talk of hidden entrances leading to secret hideouts, the quiet dark-eyed girl from the play … these worries had hovered in his sleep-fuddled brain and woven themselves into his dreams.

He laid aside his ukulele. Some bush tea might settle him, and the exercise wouldn't do any harm. A short while later, his straw hat on his head and a basket on his arm, he was pottering up the hill to where, just off the trail the day before, he thought he'd seen some bush mint growing.

Sure enough, there it was, its pretty grey foliage patterned like snowflakes. He began snapping off sprigs and placing them in his basket. The girl was ruffling him more than the other stuff. Was he just an old fruitcake? Losing his loved ones – all but Dan – had done odd things to him; he'd seen in people things that weren't there more than once. But this kid, talking about the stars in that soft sure way, reminded him of what his little girl might have become if …

One thing a life in the bush had taught him was to tread softly-softly. Things were already a bit leathery with Dan right now. He didn't want to throw a spanner in the works by scaring off one of his new friends.

Dan had been a different kid this morning, heading off to meet them with his rope slung over his shoulder. He'd had a sparkle in his eyes that Twig hadn't seen in a long time. If, as Twig suspected, his son had the Whittle family gift, he had responsibilities coming his way. The happier he was, the better he would bear up.

Which was why, when Dan had told him he wanted to explore a cave with these three, Twig had swallowed a great big lump and said ‘Sounds cool,' when inside he'd been thinking ‘Sounds dangerous! Stay at camp here with me!'

Twig stopped picking and looked up at the sky
through the trees. Was his wife looking down at him from a star and shaking her head?
It's tough raising a kid on your own!
he wanted to shout. Sorting out what they wanted from what they needed; what was best for you at their age from what was best for them now.

Twig had picked enough bush mint to last him a week. But he was frowning now more than when he'd arrived. He'd take the long way back to camp, meander a little, let the forest help him work things out.

He'd meandered so far and was so lost in thought that it wasn't until he was tripping over her leg – his sprigs of mint airborne – that he noticed the woman resting at the foot of the tree.

‘Y
a-aa-aah
!' the woman screamed. She clutched her ankle, looking at Twig with eyes aflame. ‘It's
you
– the lurker! It's not enough to catch me having a tinkle yesterday! Today you have to break my ankle that's already broken!'

Twig hurried to his feet and saw he'd wandered onto the trail to the sealed-off cave. ‘I'm very sorry,' he said. ‘I didn't mean you any harm.'

The woman scowled and looked away. She took off her hat and began fanning herself with it furiously.

Twig studied her. She was a curious mixture of bushwalkers' khaki, big jewellery, muddy nicks and scratches and a dirty silky scarf. She was a cornered carpet python, he decided. Showy, hissy and ultimately harmless – maybe even nice.

Dan would be proud of him if he came out of his shell a little, thought Twig. He made a big decision. ‘If you like, I can give you a lift back to town.'

The woman sneered at him. ‘I'm not letting no lurker carry me!'