Buried Secrets at Louisbourg (3 page)

“Geez, Fred,” Grace said, emerging
from the girls' tent. “Yell a little louder, why don't you?”

Had he been loud? Clutching the box, he retreated into the hollowed-out section of the wall, expecting Gerard to come blazing around a corner any second.

“Stay still.” Mai pounced at him and finished cleaning his cuts. “It's not too bad. I think you only need a bandage—no stitches.”

A steady stream of re-enactors were making their way down the quay, laden with tents and supplies. Most were turning up side streets and heading to camp on the slopes around the King's Bastion. The rest were stopping along the way, picking sites along the seawall, closer to the main buildings.

Some sites were quite elaborate, with cooking areas and displays of activities like rope making, or different artifacts. It did look pretty cool—like a living, moving picture from a history book.

Luckily, no one had set up tents anywhere near them. They were off the main track, so Fred hoped it would stay that way. There wasn't much extra room. He'd memorized the map and guide for the entire fortress. The two buildings behind them weren't furnished inside yet, so they were closed to the public. That's why he had suggested to his dad they set up their camp in this spot. Less traffic, hopefully.

“So, what's the scoop?” Grace asked, pointing to the box. “Are we rich?”

“
We?
” Fred said.

“Treasure hunters or fossil hunters, it doesn't matter,” she said. “We split three ways.”

“Yeah, right,” he said. “Anyways, I've got a problem.”

“What's the matter?” Grace asked.

“It won't open.”

“Let me see.” Grace held out her hand. “It's probably just stuck.”

Reluctantly, Fred passed over the box.

Grace turned it around, tugging on the handle.

“Duh, you think I didn't do that already?” he said.

“Just checking.” She smirked. “Sometimes you miss the obvious.”

“Forget it. Give it back.”

“Hold on, Freddo, I'm only kidding. Don't be so touchy.” She sat cross-legged on the ground beside him, leaning her back against the thick wooden beams of the wall.

“I couldn't find a release latch or anything like that,” he said.

She ran her fingers slowly over the edges. “Mai, give me one of those wipey things of yours.”

Mai passed over a wet wipe and sat down beside her.

“There are some indentations here,” she said, digging soot and dirt out with the wipe. “This looks like a keyhole.”

Fred's heart sank. “But we don't have a key.”

“Hang on,” Grace said. She held the box closer to her face, squinting. “It's shaped like a keyhole, but it's all plugged up.”

“With dirt?” Mai asked.

“I don't think so.”

“What, then?” Fred edged closer.

I don't know.” Grace rapped her knuckles on the top. “Something harder.”

“A piece of rock?” Fred asked.

“Maybe…” Grace said.

“Give it here,” Fred said. “If it's a rock, we can dig it out.”

Grace passed the box back to him. “What are you going to use?”

“Where's your knife, Grace?” Fred asked.

She fished it out of her pack, opening the blade. “I think the blade's too big,” she said. “But you can try it.”

Fred tried to poke it in the keyhole. “You're right, it's too wide,” he said, disappointment washing over him. Frustrated, he tried the other gadgets attached to the Swiss Army knife. Nothing worked.

“You need something longer,” Mai said.

“Like what?” Fred asked.

“Try these tweezers from my kit.”

He poked at the hole with the tweezers, but it was too awkward to fit. Yanking the two sides apart, he broke the tweezers into two pieces.

“Hey!” Mai said.

“Sorry, I'll get you another set.” He used the sharp, narrow tip to dig around the hole. There
was
a tiny piece of rock jammed in there. He popped it out. But the hole was still blocked. No matter how much he tried to clear it out, he couldn't.

“Another rock?” Grace asked.

“No.” He tossed the scratched and mangled tweezers aside. “There's nothing
to
dig out. It's as deep as it goes. The hole is filled in. With metal, I think.”

“Metal?” Grace sounded surprised.

“Yeah, and around the whole top and any other place there would have been a crack or anything…it's all been totally sealed up.”

“That's weird,” Mai said. “Who would do that?”

Fred stared off across the harbour. It made sense, he supposed. Maybe he would have done it, too. “Claude Gagnon.”

“Your ancestor?” Grace asked.

He nodded.

“But why do that?” Mai reached over and ran the tip of her index finger around the edges of the box. “Then he wouldn't be able to open it either.”

“I think he knew he'd never see it again,” Fred said. “And wanted to protect what's inside.”

“What happened to him?” Mai breathed.

What had it been like here over two hundred and fifty years ago? Had there been guns roaring overhead as the British laid siege to the fortress? Had the thunder of cannon fire shaken the ground?

“He was murdered.”

“No!” Mai gasped.

“How do you know?” Grace asked.

“My great-aunt Hughena had the old family Bible. When she died, Mom got it.”

“What was in it? A treasure map or something?” Grace asked excitedly.

“No, nothing like that.”

“What, then?” Mai asked.

“A letter, sort of.”

“Oh. This is sounding like a long story,” Grace said. “I'm starving! We should eat first. Besides, we've still got to figure out how to open that thing.”

“What are we going to have?” Mai asked.

“Anything but those birdseed bars of yours.”

“Oh, sure, Grace,” Mai said. “They were good enough this afternoon.”

“I need
real
food!” Grace said.

“Dad picked up stuff, I think. There were grocery bags in our tent.” Fred started to get up but Mai waved him back down.

“We'll get it.”

Fred rested on the low wall, his sore leg stretched out in front of him as Mai and Grace disappeared inside his tent.

Oh, crud! Had he left his underwear on the floor?

He sprang to his feet and was about to pull the flap back when he heard Mai and Grace talking inside. He stopped.

“Grace, look,” Mai said.

“Can't you find the groceries?”

“Yeah, I did, but…”

“Well, come on then, I'm hungry.”

“Wait.”

“What's the matter?”

“Look at this,” Mai whispered. “It fell out of the bag.”

“What is it?”

“Grace, this slip says ‘Sydney Mines Food Bank.'”

Oh no!

Fred closed his eyes. What was he going to do now? Run? Where would he go? But he couldn't face Mai, not now. This was his stupid father's fault. If he'd sold his diving gear like he'd promised, they would have had some money and—

“Hey,
Freddo
. Long time no see.”

This couldn't be happening.

Fred slowly opened his eyes.

“Hello, Jeeter.”

Jeeter laughed, sliding a large
duffle bag off his shoulder. “Good to see you too, Freddo
.
” He reached over and punched him lightly in the arm.

The jab stung, but Fred refused to flinch. “Didn't think I'd ever see you again,” he said, flatly. Who had told him they were here? Mai? The thought was like a punch to the gut. No, she wouldn't have done that. It must've been Grace.

Things were going from worse to worst.

Jeeter shrugged. “Well, better get used to it. Dad and I are moving here.”

“What?”

“He got a two-year assignment at the Tar Ponds project.” Jeeter leapt to the top of the wall, dangling his legs over the side.

EEEEEKKKKK!

The shrill scream shot through the air like a laser. A flash of purple was all Fred saw of Grace as she ran past him, almost knocking him into the wall.

“You're moving here, for real?” Grace yelped.

Jeeter grinned down from his perch. “I know. Cool, eh?” He grabbed Grace's outstretched hand and hauled her up beside him. “Miss me?”

Grace's face flushed poppy red. “Don't get a swelled head,” she said. “But it won't suck having you around…I guess.”

Jeeter tilted his head back and laughed. “Who could get a swelled head around you?”

Fred's stomach felt like he'd swallowed a flushing toilet, and it was stuck, spinning crazily in circles. Jeeter sat up on the wall like some prince on a throne, soaking it all in. What was it about the guy? This annoying, know-it-all jock whose mission seemed to be to ruin Fred's life.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. But Fred knew Mai had had a crush on Jeeter before the summer. And with Jeeter back, strutting around, there was no way she'd be interested in Fred. Even Grace's excitement at Jeeter showing up ticked Fred off. Grace and Mai were
his
friends, not Jeeter's.

It seemed like everything about Jeeter was the opposite of Fred—he was tall, muscular, and un-clutzy. Did he live at the gym? Fred even felt like his brain shrank when Jeeter was around, like he was just some stupid kid.

Fred tensed as the flap on his tent moved. Mai emerged, the groceries clutched tightly in her arms. Her head was bent over the bag and her hair had fallen forward, hiding her face.

She can't even look at me.
Shame burned through him. He couldn't stand it. He mumbled out loud, “Be back in a minute,” and dashed around the tent. He staggered through the open gate between the two unoccupied buildings, slamming it behind him.

Blood rushed to his head. He felt dizzy. Dropping the metal box on the ground, he doubled over, pressing his hands to his knees and sucking in a deep breath. What was he going to do? The thought of facing Mai's pity was unbearable.

He sank down on his haunches and leaned back against the wooden siding of the empty building. The gate remained closed. No one had followed him. Were they talking about him right now? Probably. No wonder.
The food bank!
He could kill his dad right now.

The worst of it was that no one had had to find out about this. His family would have lots of money once he sold the treasure.

Fred scooped up the black box, brushing off the dust. His fingers scraped against the sharp edges. There had to be a way to get it open. Holding it to his ear, he gave it a shake. Something was inside, sliding from side to side. But there was no rattle.

The jewels must be wrapped up, protected. Yeah. That made sense. He examined the sealed seams of the box again. What could he use to open it? Here, in the middle of the fortress? Nothing sprung to mind.

Standing up, he tucked the box into the back of his shorts, pulling his shirt out over. Luckily his shorts fit better than his jeans, and the box was snug against his skin. He wished he didn't have to go back to the tent site. Well, he could wait a bit. Maybe some miracle would happen and Jeeter would disappear.

What if they just went home? He had the box. There was no reason to stay. He could ask his dad. But…what if the jewels weren't in the box? If they weren't, he'd need to return to the excavation site. And if he left the fortress, that wouldn't be possible. No, he couldn't risk it. He had to get the box open, and then they could go home. For now, he'd have to suffer.

The courtyard between the two buildings was partially finished. Some gardens had been planted, with green sprouting up through the earth in even rows. But the other half of the area was still just mounds of dirt and gravel. Fred looked into one of the windows of the vacant building. There was nothing inside. It would be cool when they got it finished, he thought.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “What do you think you're doing?”

Fred jumped, swinging around to get caught in the glare of the mean, black eyes of Gerard the crazy soldier.
Not again!
he thought.

“Well?”

“Nothing.” Fred wiggled free of Gerard's grip and stumbled two steps back.

“This isn't open to the public. You're not allowed in here.” Gerard's gaze darted around the courtyard, as if looking for some sign of criminal activity.

“Sorry.”

“Blind, are ya?” Gerard spat into the dirt.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Are you blind?'”

“No.”

“So you saw the
No Trespassing
sign,” Gerard accused, thrusting the end of his rifle at the painted sign on the gate. A vein was pulsing over his right eye.

“Uhh…not really.”

“Out!”

Fred edged past him without protest, careful to avoid the end of his rifle. The secluded, fenced-in yard wasn't the best place to be alone with a crazy man, he realized. What were the odds he'd run into him twice in a few hours? Then he remembered Gerard's coworker saying something about his over-the-top behaviour.

“Move it,” Gerard prodded.

“Were you…spying on me?” Fred guessed.

Gerard froze. “Beg your pardon?” he blustered. Now he was the one to take two steps back.

“I should get my dad,” Fred said.

Gerard glanced nervously over his shoulder. “We'll just make this a warning,” he muttered. Not even bothering to wait for Fred to leave, he spun around and strode off.

Maybe that'll keep him off my back, Fred thought. What was the guy's problem, anyway? It's not as if it were wartime, like back in the 1700s. Louisbourg was only a park now. But something told him it was all very real to Gerard. Vowing to keep an eye out for the wacked-out re-enactor, Fred reluctantly left the quietness of the courtyard.

The idea of returning to the campsite and Jeeter-the-jock wasn't appealing, to say the least. So instead of turning right and following the curve of the seawall, he veered left, onto the quay. Maybe he could find something to open his box.

The grassy slopes of the King's Bastion were dotted with more tents than before. The weekend pretend soldiers, their backs bent with the heavy packs of tents and supplies, continued on the route to their right, up the hill. It seemed everyone wanted to be in the centre of the action, none coming as far as their edge of the reconstructed town limits.

Fine with me
, he mused. The fewer witnesses to his constant humiliations, the better. Santier House was to the left, the last structure on the quay. He strolled along the main street, past Morin House.

A red door surrounded by stone in Le Billard's foundation caught his eye. It was more the size of a window, with a small, square hole in the middle. The hole was trimmed in wood, like a framed picture. Two strips of metal shaped like swords spread from the hinges on the left across the door. They almost touched the large rusted lock on the right. Fred pressed his face into the opening. It wasn't even big enough for his head to fit through. Blocking out the only source of light, Fred could see nothing. The smell of damp earth and the whiff of something rotten filled his nostrils. Not an appealing prison, he thought, pulling his head back and examining the outside lock. He wondered what offences had been committed by its past prisoners.

The crowds were thickening farther ahead at the centre of the quay, by the Frédéric Gate. The smells of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread drifted from the restaurants. His stomach rumbled. Thinking of the lint that filled his pockets instead of money, he turned back toward the campsite where food was waiting. Hunger won over embarrassment—for now.

A figure darted behind the tents as he approached. “Dad?” he called, sure he recognized the trademark black jeans and matching T-shirt. The figure didn't pause.

“Dad?” he repeated, louder.

Curious, he stopped in front of the vacant buildings where he'd had the run-in with Gerard. The gate was still swinging shut. He stepped closer, holding it ajar. Murmured voices came from inside the courtyard. Fred peered around the gate. His father was talking to a man he didn't recognize. He was huge! Dressed in a loose white shirt and short pants, with long socks and wooden shoes, he had to be a re-enactor.

Fred was about to say something, when the man pointed his finger in his dad's face. “We had a deal.”

“We still do.”

“You said you'd found it,” the stranger said.

“It's complicated.”

“Well, uncomplicate it!”

“Relax,” his father said. “I'll figure something out.”

“You'd better. I'm counting on this.”

“Give me 'til tomorrow night. I've got a friend on the
Invictum
. It's just taking a bit of time. Don't worry, I'll find you.”

“I'm on the hill. With this getup, I blend in with the rest of the crazies up there.” The man kicked at the dirt. “These shoes are ridiculous!”

“Best I could do,” his father said with a shrug. “I gotta go.”

Fred carefully let the gate close and hurried around the back of the building. He watched from the corner as the man strode off down the quay. His dad walked in the same direction, but circled around on the quay side of their campsite. He could hear Grace and Mai's cheery greetings. Fred closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the side of the building.

His head was spinning. Like he didn't have enough to worry about already. What trouble had his dad gotten into?