[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

From the cigar box he produced two pages, torn from a school exercise book. Squinting slightly, Jon read aloud. “ ‘Given in this year of grace, Thirteen Hundred and Forty-one, by the hand of Bishop Algernon Peveril, chaplain to his illustrious Majesty, Edward III, King of England. To my good friend in God, Caran De Winn, loyal servant to the King, Captain and newly made Squire. Brother, I have marked the bounds of your land on a map. It will mark out the boundaries of the acres granted to you by our King, for your heroic services at the Battle of Sluys, which resulted in the defeat and capture of the French fleet. Chapelvale will be a fitting name for your property. I know you will receive good help from the honest folk thereabout to build the church we have planned. Friend Caran, make the name of Chapelvale and the Church of Saint Peter resound throughout the land. Thus will it add praise to the Lord, thanks to our King and grace to my true friend, Caran De Winn. I will send, under guard, a wagon to you, when winter’s snows are cleared. It will contain the map, deeds, and title to your land, signed and sealed by the hand of our Monarch. There will also be gifts to grace the altar of our church, treasures that I give freely to you as a mark of my admiration and respect. Algernon Peveril, your friend at Court.’ ”

Jon looked rather proud of himself. “There now, lad, what d’ye make of that, eh?”

“That’s marvelous, Jon. Where did you find the vellum?”

The carpenter pointed at the floor, which had been recently repaired. “Under some old floorboards I was fixin’. ’Twas in an old box, heavily sealed up with beeswax. A lucky discovery, eh, lad?”

Ben nodded. “Very lucky, mate, but will it stand up as proof of ownership? What happened to the King’s signed deeds and the treasure? Did Caran receive them?”

Swilling tea around in his mug, Jon replied. “I don’t know yet, Ben, I have been lookin’ ’round for more clues. But ’tis difficult, I can tell ye. There was only one other thing in that box ’neath the floorboards, though it don’t look very helpful. See what ye think.”

Jon took the last scrap of paper from his cigar box. “Nought but an old torn piece o’ thin paper, with two little holes burned in it an’ a half line o’ writin’ on the bottom.”

Jon noticed the boy’s hands gripping the table edge, white-knuckled. “What’s up, mate, are you all right?” Jonathan Preston’s eyes grew wide as the boy slowly drew an identical scrap of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “Great thunder, Ben, where did ye come by that?”

“In the spine of Cap’n Winn’s family Bible!”

They stood staring at the two pieces of paper, fascinated. Ben flourished a hand over them. “You’re the senior historian, Jon, put them together!”

Jon’s big workworn hands trembled as he reunited the two scraps. They fitted perfectly. The writing along the bottom of the piece now read:

Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,

Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure.

They stared at the writing for a long time, racking their brains at the significance of it. Jon stroked his beard. “Trouble is, it don’t tell us what the treasure is or where to find it, though I’ll wager whatever and wherever ’tis, the deeds will be with it, Ben. We’ll seek it out together, mate, just you an’ me, eh?”

Ben accepted the old man’s sturdy handshake, adding, “Well, not quite just us two, friend, there’s others interested. My two friends, Amy and Alex Somers. Then there’s Aunt Winnie. I’ll bet Mr. Braithwaite could be useful, too. Oh, and one other, my dog Ned, he’s a good searcher. Actually it was he who really found that paper. You’ll like him, Jon.”

The old carpenter shook his head, chuckling. “I’m sure I will, shipmate, if he’s anything like you! Alex and Amy Somers and old Braithwaite, your aunt, too? Looks like we’ve got quite a crew. You sure you don’t want to bring the whole village along, Ben?”

The boy grinned. “Only if they want to come, Jon. I’m willing to take on any folk who’ll try helping themselves, instead of sitting ’round hoping the problem’ll disappear.”

Jon took out a battered but reliable pocket watch and consulted it. “Nearly four, time for proper tea. D’you like corned beef sandwiches and some of Blodwen Evans’s scones? I bought ’em yesterday, but they’re still fairly fresh.”

Ben remembered his four o’clock appointment. “I’d love to stay to tea, mate, but I’ve got to go somewhere. Tell you what, I’ll see you here tomorrow, say about eleven. Will it be all right if I bring my friends and my dog?”

Jon waved at Ben as he leapt up to the windowsill.

“Aye. See you in the mornin’, then, partner!”