Treasured Lies (7 page)

Confident his idea worked, Archer deflated the vest and lowered the monkey statue back to the sand. They'd leave it there until they were ready to surface. Now, wringing his hands with excitement, it was time to explore the rest of the wreck. For Jimmy's sake Archer shone his torch on the wooden planks on the side wall.

He couldn't imagine any of the vessels he'd come into contact with surviving as long as the
Flying Seahorse
had. They certainly didn't make ships today like they did in the thirteenth century. Archer had been around boats in one form or another most of his adult life. His first though, had been his father's classic gentleman's cruiser. She had a steel hull, was richly decorated with teak elements and chrome finishing, and his father's unabashed doting taught Archer what it meant to love a boat. He wondered what happened to the
Dancing Princess
.

The name of his father's boat tumbled from nowhere and Archer now made a connection that he'd never made before. His Dad had named the boat after Archer's mother. For years she'd taught ballroom dancing. Archer made a mental note to ask her what happened to the
Dancing Princess
sometime. The thirty metre long Conrad Cabin cruiser had been his father's pride and joy and as far as Archer could remember, it was the only boat he'd ever owned. Maybe someone had been looking after her all these years.

Jimmy headed towards the middle of the domed area with apparent purpose. If Archer didn't know any better, he'd believe Jimmy had some divine knowledge of the wreck layout. As it was, he may have been right. No sooner had Jimmy eased to his knees on the sandy floor when Archer heard him cheering through his regulator. Seconds later Jimmy's hands were filled with dozens of gold coins.

Seeing the look on Jimmy's face, lit up with pure excitement, reminded Archer of his father grinning through his mouthpiece like that. But his gut wrenched as he also realised it was the last couple of minutes of his father's life.

Chapter 8

Nox was living in hell and the two men with their sick grins and bulging eyes were the grim reapers. The weapon in their hands, the bowed saw with its jagged teeth and dulled metal, was their scythe. He wanted to run, but just the thought of moving terrified him. He tried to scream but his dry throat burned and the sound that released from his lips was nothing more than a terrified moan.

They were talking now, but not only was their language foreign, their voices were strange too. The more he looked at them, the more he realised these two men were not normal. Everything from their dishevelled appearance, their foul stench and their lack of communication, led him to believe they hadn't lived a normal life. One of the men had a jagged scar that ran from his eye socket over his cheek and disappeared into the thickness of his beard. The raised pink defect was in brutal contrast to the rest of his sunburnt face. The second man's beard was shorter; in fact, the bluntness of its shape made it look like it had been hacked off. But other than those two anomalies, everything else about them was identical. Nox had no doubt these two were twins.

A bottle was shoved in Nox's face. Water! He reached for it, desperate to quench his barren throat. But the second he drew the bottle near, the pungent odour struck him like a snakebite. They were trying to poison him. He was convinced of it. He tried to wriggle backwards but the searing pain down his back had him gasping for air.

The man thrust the bottle at him again. The vapours made his eyes water and he snapped his face away.

‘No!' This he screamed, and it hurt so much he had to force himself to swallow. His tongue was as dry as cracked leather, brittle enough that he thought it may actually snap in half.

A harsh grating sound came from Scar Face's throat and it took Nox a while to realise he was laughing. The second man joined in now and between the two of them they cackled like a pack of hyenas in a feeding frenzy. Scar Face snatched up the bottle and took a large swig. Through his frizzy beard, Nox watched his Adam's apple bob up and down with each mouthful. His twin yanked the bottle from Scar Face before he had finished, spilling it over his beard and shoulder. A scuffle erupted between them, with yelling and punching.

Nox stared in horror as the crazy twins fell to the floor in a blur of swinging fists and groans. He searched the room, desperate for something, anything he could use as a weapon. One of the rubies in his ring, his poison ring, caught a beam of sunlight penetrating a gap in the wall. It was the briefest of encounters yet the result was dazzling. He twisted the antique around with his thumb. Since he'd found it decades ago, it had always provided some form of comfort. Knowing that he could use the poison powder whenever he wanted was incredibly powerful. This was his chance.

The bottle with the pungent liquid was within reach. He grabbed it. The stench, as powerful as peroxide, stung at his nostrils. With one eye on the fools on the ground, still beating the hell out of each other, he flipped the lid on his jewelled ring. Careful not to lose any of the precious powder, he drew it closer to look inside the tiny well.

What he saw clawed away the last piece of his sanity. It was empty. Every last grain of his mushroom poison was gone.

Nox screamed as loudly and as painfully as he could.

He must have caught their attention, because when Nox opened his eyes, he was looking directly at Scar Face. The way his eyes bulged, showing too much white around the iris and the smirk on his lips, like he'd had more than enough to drink, made Nox's impression of the strange man jump straight to madman. His breath too was rancid, a mixture of rotten teeth and alcohol. Nox was certain Scar Face was the man who was going to kill him.

Nox couldn't stand it any longer. The pain, the fear, the unknown, it was all too much. He reached for the bottle and, forcing past the vicious odour, he took giant swallows. It stung his tongue, stung his throat and clawed at his insides. He paused, gasping for breath and swallowing back the hideous liquid. The brothers were laughing again but Nox didn't care anymore. His only hope was that the poison worked quickly. Right now all he wanted was to end this living hell.

Nox tipped the bottle up again and gulped back every last drop. The dryness in his mouth changed from barren wasteland to a new strange sensation, nothing. It was as if he'd been anesthetised. He couldn't tell if his tongue was moving at all. He turned his attention to his hand. With all the concentration he could assemble he wriggled his fingers. As he blinked away the blurriness, the room began to spin. Nox could no longer control his eyes.

He began to experience an incredible weightlessness, like floating on a cloud. He could no longer feel the lower half of his body. The pain subsided and became nothing more than a dull ache. He closed his eyes and absorbed the peacefulness.

The last sound he heard before he slipped into a wonderful, pain-free blackness was the sharp rasp of a saw on metal.

Nox drifted. Floating on an endless sea and staring up at the bluest sky he'd ever seen. Fluffy white clouds cruised overhead. He floated past islands covered in thick green vegetation and dotted with brilliant white rocks. The water was warm, lapping at his sides and lulling him to sleep. He dreamed of treasure, so vast and valuable that it took mighty ships to carry the entire haul. Images flashed through his mind with tickertape craziness. He saw gold, silver, coins and jewels. He saw rats, blood, rotting flesh and wooden crosses. He saw fancy yachts, blonde women in bikinis and fish tanks filled with mushrooms. And a cat. A silver-grey Chartreux. The name Shadow came to mind. The cat's teeth sawed back and forward, crushing a writhing rodent between his jaws. Soon there was nothing but a bloody mess.

Nox snapped his eyes open and stared into darkness so black he wondered if he were alive. His body was on fire. Burning up with furnace intensity. He knew he was indeed alive when he felt his own sweat dribble out of his pores like his life was oozing out of him.

As he blinked into the darkness, shapes began to appear. Slithers of light filtered in through jagged slits in the walls and it showed just how poorly made the building was. He wondered if it were a full moon outside providing the limited light. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out his surroundings.

The shabby construction of the building was just the beginning. Everything he looked at appeared to be homemade. And not by someone with any skills. The ladder was made of gnarled wood and rope. As were the chairs and table. The wood he lay on, maybe a table of some sort, wasn't smooth by any means. He ran his fingers over the dozens, maybe hundreds, of dents in the wood and realised the table must be used for some kind of chopping. The grooves could be axe marks.

The image of a curved saw with its jagged teeth and dulled metal jumped into his mind. With trembling fingers, Nox reached down to his stomach. His breath caught in his throat as he ran his hand over the area where the spear had been. Finally he looked down. In the dim light he could see the rod was gone. What looked like a homemade bandage with threaded edges and varying widths was wrapped around his body. But then he noticed the dark stain seeping from beneath. It was blood. His blood.

‘Help!' he screamed. But he wasn't sure if any words had actually come out. He tried again, but knew it was nothing more than a pathetic moan. He could hear breathing, ragged strained breathing, and it took him a while to realise it was his own.

Pain riddled most of his body, from his cracked lips to the pulsing agony down his legs. Was he being punished? Maybe, as a Brother of the St Apostoli Church who didn't believe in the theory of God, he deserved to be punished. But this was crazy. He wasn't sure he could cope with the pain much longer. As he twisted the bulky antique around his middle finger, he knew he had no choice. Even if he had his powder, did he really think he could end his life, after all he'd been through?

The ring was an important link. It reminded him where he came from, even if he didn't know where he was now, or how he got here. Most of all, the ring represented a vast treasure. His treasure. Thoughts of that treasure were the only thing keeping him alive right now. It was the only thing he believed in. Not God. Not prayer. Neither of them ever helped him before. It dawned on him that he was in a very similar situation as when he was ten years old and locked in that cupboard. Alone, in the dark, trapped and scared. This was another test. God was yet again making him prove he didn't need him, that he was a survivor. He'd been to hell and back many times. What he needed to do now was focus on surviving this new living hell.

He was still on his side and the ache in his shoulder was probably nothing more than a physical cramp. From what he could recall, he'd been lying on his side for a long time. Days at least, maybe weeks. Resting hard up against the cold rough wood like he was, it was a wonder he hadn't seized up altogether. He brought his fingers to his temples and tried to massage away a throbbing headache.

Water was his first priority. He was pretty sure his headache was a direct result of severe dehydration. In researching the effects of ingesting his poisonous mushrooms he'd learnt just how cruel severe dehydration was. And if he didn't get some water soon he was heading down the path from where there was no return.

Now that the spear was gone, there was no reason why he couldn't move. At least, that's what he wanted to believe. It took a few moments to psyche himself up. To prepare, he sucked in deep breaths, as if readying for battle. Then, with clenched jaw and brute determination, he pushed up from the table.

Chapter 9

Rosalina watched Archer and Jimmy disappear below the surface for the second time that day. The water was so clear she was able to follow their descent for a full minute or two before they vanished into obscurity. She checked the time on her watch and set her alarm for fifty minutes in advance. That's when she'd return with the small boat and prepare for the men to resurface.

With a flick of the switch, she started the engine and motored towards the sandy Anafi shore. The diver-below buoy bobbed in the water, waving the marker flag in their wake. Directly above her, the sun was fireball white and it reflected off a piece of treasure that had slipped out from under the tarpaulin.

‘Hey, Ginger, can you push that back in please?'

Since their visit from Ignatius, they'd all become paranoid. And with good reason. She couldn't imagine what Archer, or Jimmy would do if Iggy managed to get hold of any of this treasure.

Just trying to estimate the value of what they'd found so far was breath taking. The monkey statue alone had to be priceless. It had been a mammoth effort to raise it. For starters, it weighed so much it was impossible to lift it into the little motorboat, even with the four of them helping. In the end they had to tow it very slowly back to
Evangeline
.

It was proving quite problematic not having the yacht at the dive site; everything was taking a whole lot longer. It was time they couldn't afford to waste. But both Jimmy and Archer had become obsessed with continuing the recovery operation like a stealth mission. It didn't matter how many times she suggested it, there was no changing their minds about mooring the yacht closer to the dive site.

Once they'd towed the statue to
Evangeline,
Archer used the crane to lift the monkey statue onto the dive deck. The entire operation took hours, but seeing that golden statue glowing in the afternoon sunlight had been magical. Archer flatly refused to let Jimmy or Alessandro lift it, knowing full well the weight was too much for the two men, given their recent operations. So between Archer, Ginger and Rosalina, the three of them juggled the statue up the stairs and into the saloon.

The statue now took pride of place at the foot of the bar. It looked like it was always meant to be there—an exquisite piece designed specifically for that spot. Alessandro, who'd remained aboard
Evangeline
, was probably trying to work out how to open it right now. After the statue was in position, they'd devoured a quick snack of her homemade macadamia and salted caramel friands, and then set off again.