A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (22 page)

Wren turned bloodshot eyes up to him.

‘Annie – they pumped my stomach. I’ve had my foot reset.’ He croaked. ‘The pain!’ Then he caught sight of Rhyllann’s shadow and shut his eyes tightly. ‘No.’ He groaned.

Rhyllann didn’t have to look behind to know Crombie wore that crocodile smile.

‘Isn’t this cosy.’ Crombie gloated, dragging a chair up to Wren’s beside.

‘No.’ Wren groaned again. He opened his eyes to stare accusingly at Rhyllann. ‘How did he find us?’

Crombie smirked.

‘He figured if we weren’t dead, we’d wash up at a hospital. He got lucky.’ Rhyllann explained, perching on Wren’s bed. Crombie waggled his fingers, still smirking.

‘Don’t look at me like that! You’ve had it easy – nice warm dry hospital bed. I spent two nights in a cupboard!’ He plucked at the stinking khaki t-shirt for emphasis. ‘Are you laughing? It isn’t funny!’ But Wren continued to gurgle a strange hiccupping sound.

‘Sorry Annie – if you could see yourself!’ He could talk. One of the nurses had combed his hair for him, with his pink cheeks and side parting he looked like a schoolboy from the 1950s.

Crombie coughed. Rhyllann looked at him with suspicion. Was he laughing too?

‘Are you gonna take these cuffs off now?’ he demanded.

‘No. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re back in London.’

‘But we could be stuck here days!’ He wailed. Crombie shrugged, his face expressionless: So what?

‘At least while he’s in the hospital – please Detective Crombie.’ Wren pleaded. ‘Look at him – where’s he gonna run to? He can’t go anywhere.’

’Please?’ They chorused.

Crombie relented. ‘Alright. But you move five inches away from me, and they’re straight back on and they don’t come off.’

Rhyllann massaged his wrists as Crombie brought Wren up to date.

‘I’ve contacted the Yard, reported you safe and well. You’re being put into a witness protection scheme.’ Wren gasped and clutched at Rhyllann. ‘Sorry boys. Interpol identified the men chasing you. You were right.’ He nodded towards Wren. ‘They’re part of a sect calling themselves The Brotherhood, reckon they're part of the Knights Templar or some such blarney. They think if they take over the Holy Land, they’ll act as guardians – like the Vatican’s Swiss Army – bringing peace to the Middle East. It seems to make peace they need to make war and that costs money. They came across a hoard of manuscripts, packed them off to Mike Stern for translation. Old man Stern must have let slip that you’d found something of interest in one of those books … ‘

Wren grinned at that. ‘Boasted. He was boasting about me.’ He blinked rapidly.

‘Son – if its any consolation, the old man had a dodgy heart. Angina.’ Wren shook his head to say no, but Rhyllann felt grateful to Crombie for trying.

‘They’re being transferred from Bodmin Jail to a max security prison, awaiting trail. They won’t get bail. Three other EU countries have put in for their extradition. A Middle East delegation are demanding to be present at their interviews.’ Crombie finished. ‘Any questions?’

Rhyllann licked his lips. ‘Are we in … are we in any trouble?’ He faltered under Crombie’s stare.

‘I think you mean “how much trouble are we in”?’ He said sharply. Then seemed to relent. ‘You’re both minors.’ Crombie shrugged. ‘You can hardly be blamed for your parents’ deserting you.’

‘What! My mum’s …’ Rhyllann felt Wren nudge him, and fell silent, still simmering.

 
‘Detective Crombie? What happened to our box?’ Wren changed the subject quickly.

Reaching for his jacket, Crombie rummaged inside the large poacher’s pocket, without taking his eyes from Rhyllann. Wren propped himself upright, taking the box from Crombie’s hands. He caressed it lovingly. Rhyllann wanted to snatch it from him, and dash it to the ground.

‘I can’t believe we went through hell for that bloody thing.’ He blurted.

Crombie looked astonished. ‘You mean that’s it – that’s the treasure?’ He barked a laugh. ‘Unbelievable.’ He peered closer. ‘Is there anything inside?’

Rhyllann shook his head with disgust. ‘Nothing. I lie. A key. The key is inside the box.’ He shrugged.

Wren continued to stroke the box. Rhyllann decided he would never understand his cousin. He looked like the cat that had swallowed the cream. He withdrew the key from the box, eyes sparkling now with mischief.

‘That’s your trouble Annie. You need to think outside the box.’ Inserting the key into the lock, Wren gave a quarter turn anti-clockwise. A soft click sounded, mesmerising Rhyllann. Wren moved his hands along the edges, pressing them firmly upwards, and with an origami style twist of his hands, the box sides collapsed into themselves, making a flat two dimensional shape.

‘Oooh!’ Rhyllann breathed, peering closer.

As the sides merged, the random patterns morphed into a plaque. A fierce-some dragon sat on its haunches snarling, one raptor like paw outstretched menacingly, the other clutched a sword against its chest. Surrounding it, smaller dragons fought amongst theirselves.

‘Neat!’ He and Crombie said together. Wren tilted his head modestly. ‘That’s it then! No treasure map?’ Though clearly symbolic, the images gave nothing away. Rhyllann tried to keep the disappointment from his voice, Wren looked so pleased with his new toy.

With a jerk towards Crombie, Wren spoke rapidly in Welsh:

‘Do you trust him?’

Rhyllann eyed Crombie, then Wren.

‘Do you?’ He asked. They nodded gravely at each other.

Crombie was a major pain in the arse, but one of the good guys. The key now sat in the centre of the collapsed box. Wren laid his palm on the key, lowering it down past the first shank, until just the top half of the ring remained. The strange metal fringe slotted into precision cut holes. With a gentle pressure, Wren revolved the key clockwise a complete circuit, again an ancient mechanism whirled. Rhyllann watched open mouthed as the dragons swirled away in a starfish shape, to be hidden by a new image rising to arrange itself magically in their place.

A coat of arms – A bird in flight holding a green twig – A castle –

Rhyllann raised his hands to his mouth prayer like. ‘Oh My God!’

Wren’s face shone as he explained:

’Tintagel castle – look – she’s showing us Tintagel castle – The bird flying west – a swan Siwan – Welsh for Joan – holding a sprig of Plantagenet. See ‘em? Flying over a convent – see the sisterhood? Nuns. There’s a convent close to Tintagel castle Annie – we have to find it! Find it and we’ve found the treasure. See the anchor – see it! She’s telling us. Find the anchorite cell – and the treasure is there! Understand?’

’Jesus – slow down – speak slower!’

’Speak English please!’

Wren had been gabbling in Welsh, with the odd English word thrown in.

‘Sorry – I got excited!’ He plucked at Crombie’s sleeve – ‘We’ve found the treasure! Tintagel’s only twenty minutes up the coast.’

‘Don’t you see Annie – that business about Llwellynn banishing her and then forgiving her – a smoke screen.’

Rhyllann saw. A country on the brink of civil war, a woman torn between loyalty to her father and her husband, Prince of Wales. And a king’s ransom in treasure.

‘A convent Detective Crombie – we need to find a convent close to Tintagel.’ Rhyllann explained.

Crombie thought for a moment. ‘I know there’s a monastery, in very good nick – we’ve been there on holiday.' Adding: 'Well not staying at the monastery – but we visited.’

Rhyllann sprung off the bed, tugging at Crombie’s arm. ‘Come on! Come on! If we go now – it’ll be deserted!’

He looked up in surprise, Crombie hadn’t moved. ‘Come on! Wren’ll have to stay here.’

‘What!’ Wren thumped the bedclothes.

‘Well you can’t come in that state.’ Rhyllann said carelessly. ‘Come on – what are you waiting for?’

Crombie laughed outloud. ‘Look around you son. The whole area’s flooded – the roads are impassable. Anyhow – if you think for one moment I’m going off on some wild goose chase over the cliff tops with you – think again! Not so bloody likely! I’m putting you on the next train out of here!’

Rhyllann blinked, bewildered. ‘But … you heard what he said!’

Crombie settled back into his chair, folding his arms. ‘And you heard what I said.’

Rhyllann tried again. ‘Detective Crombie, think carefully. This isn’t something that will ever happen again. You will never have a chance like this. I understand that you put your job on the line for us. We’ll share it. Split it three ways. We’re talking millions. You must love your work, you’re so good at it. But you could start up on your own – specialise in what you want to do – start your own detective agency – anywhere!’ He said earnestly. He risked a hand on Crombie’s shoulder.

 ‘Come on what do you say – Derek? Del boy?’ Crombie shrugged his hand off.

‘Detective Inspector Crombie to you sonny!’

‘Tigger.’ Wren spoke dreamily.

‘What?’ Crombie looked at him sharply, blood rushing to his face.

‘Tigger – he calls you Tigger. I bet you were always bouncing around. Missing presumed dead. Only you know he isn’t dead. He’s your brother. If he were dead, something inside you would die.’ He rested a hand against Crombie’s chest.

Crombie turned even redder, he grabbed at Wren’s hand, trying to push it away. Wren clung on, gripping Crombie’s hand tightly.

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. He flooded into your mind. You were thinking about how you could use that money to find him – bring him home. I’m sorry.’

Derek Crombie spoke through clenched teeth, dragging his hand away. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

The look on Wren’s face was merciless. ‘Yes I do. I know exactly what I’m talking about. So do you. Did he tell you he’d found religion? Did he? Did he tell you he’d found a new cause to fight for?’ His eyes searched Crombie’s; and seemed to find the answers to his questions. Wren's voice softened:

‘And in one of those letters home he told you didn’t he? Told you not to worry, not to be alarmed no matter what you heard.’

Crombie grew very still, the bright red colour draining from him; eyes bulging and hands flexing as though he longed to wrap them round Wren’s throat.

‘Crombie! Crombie – don’t listen to him! He isn’t well – he does this sometimes – makes up stories – invents things … Brawd you apologise now!’ Rhyllann babbled an unknown terror clutching at his insides. But it was Crombie who apologised.

He wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head as though to clear it.

‘I’m sorry. Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’ An uneasy silence followed. Rhyllann glanced at Wren, opened his mouth to speak. Wren shook his head without taking his eyes from the detective. Who sat brooding. Rhyllann’s eyelids began to sag with boredom. Without warning Crombie jumped to his feet, grabbing his jacket and Rhyllann’s upper arm. ‘Come on!’ Rhyllann dragged back feeling panicky – he wouldn’t go into that cupboard again!

‘You’ve got a train to catch. Say goodbye.’ Crombie replaced the cuffs as he spoke using unnecessary force.

‘We’re going back to London. I wanna get you two both securely into witness protection. Starting with you.’

‘What about him?’ Rhyllann asked, indicating Wren, who seemed preoccupied in reconstructing the box before carefully replacing the key. Like a child ignoring the arguments of grown ups. As though realising he was under discussion, his head raised, there was nothing child like about the calculating blue eyes. In fact Wren surveyed them both as though they were the children.