*
They were too late. A day too late. As the slate pink monolith known as Taffy’s Folly came into view, they saw a swarm of people scurrying to and fro, a hive of activity.
‘Maybe they’re just tourists – holidaymakers.’ Wren said hopefully.
They circled round taking an indirect path up to a pile of boulders, where they could spy out the land. The stones formed a haphazard pyramid shape, as easy as a staircase to climb. Around thirty feet above ground one massive boulder seemed mis-placed, overhanging the others by a good ten feet; providing them with a perfect vantage point. They could see for miles: Splayed out beneath the overhang they were completely concealed from view.
Rhyllann’s stomach churned. The men had finished marking out the ground around the monolith with white rods and tape, and were now digging furiously. All but one wore hi-vis vests emblazoned with the initials CCC. Cornwall County Council? Rhyllann tried to tell himself that maybe they were council workers, this was just an unlucky coincidence. But the sinking feeling inside and a persistent little voice in his head told him otherwise.
‘Who are they? How did they get here?’ He asked. Although the answer to his second question was obvious. Two jeeps were parked nearby.
‘Mikey Stern Junior! Scumbag!’ Wren snorted. ‘They managed Joan’s text quicker than my code!’ He gritted his teeth, glaring down at the scene below.
‘The book – Joan's diary: how did they get their hands on it?’ Rhyllann wailed.
Wren snorted again. ‘Ever hear of bent coppers? My money’s on Hewes or Rodgers.’
He spoke without taking his eyes from the excavation. Rhyllann frowned, the men seemed to be digging almost at the base of the standing stone. Strange. Rhyllann rolled onto his back to squint at the sun, almost directly overhead.
‘Midday. Shadows aren’t very long then at noon?’
Wren glanced up.
‘You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that before. I expected a long finger like shadow to point…’ His voice trailed off; studying the scene below him again, he massaged his temples, then crawled away to sit cross legged with his back against another boulder. Rhyllann thought about telling him to get back undercover, but then thought it unlikely anyone would glance over in their direction and inched over to join Wren. The workmen were totally focused on the ground surrounding the massive standing stone. Rhyllann expected at any moment to hear a triumphant shout from below. Wren grasped him suddenly.
‘Look! Look what they’re doing!’ His voice stuttered with emotion.
Rhyllann peered over a craggy boulder rim. A mechanical rotator chundered up earth.
‘They’re digging.’
‘But – they can’t do that – they can’t do that! That’s ancient moor land. They’re destroying the natural habitat!’ Wren spat with rage.
‘You go and tell them then.’ Rhyllann hissed and closed his eyes, opening them again when Wren thumped him.
‘Something’s wrong. Something’s gone wrong. They can’t find it. Look. They’re just digging randomly now.’
They’d attracted company too. A quad bike roared up, a furious argument seemed to be taking place, with much arm throwing and yelling.
‘I’m getting down there – find out what’s going on.’ While all backs were turned on him, Rhyllann slithered down the craggy boulders, and crawled forward through gorse thickets, following old rabbit trails. He managed to get within twenty yards, in time to hear the quad bike rider’s raised voice.
‘I don’t care who you think has given you permission. That is an protected monument. Work stops until I’ve spoken to civic centre.’
With that he climbed back on his quad bike and sped away. Rhyllann counted nine men. The large guy without a council jacket yelled into a mobile.
‘Get hold of your translator. They’ve got it wrong.’ He jammed the mobile into a pocket, turning to face one of the “Workmen” remonstrating with him.
Rhyllann thought he recognised Stern's dumpy figure.
‘We should have shot him!’ Dumpy shouted gesturing towards the quad rider.
‘No. No more violence. This way is better. You’ll see. Back to the farmhouse; have some lunch … the correct translation – we can’t afford too much attention.’
The big guy seemed to be in charge now, Rhyllann thought he recognised him as the ex-rugby player from Gran’s. He’d turned his back on Stern, and didn’t see the calculating looks exchanged with other gang members, or the way Stern spat with disgust.
Rhyllann glanced back to Wren’s hiding place, barely registering the jeeps departing. No way would Wren have mistranslated Welsh. Rhyllann studied the monolith, the sun’s shadow barely cleared the displaced earth surrounding it. Jumping up, he bounded through the gorse, and scrabbled back up to Wren.
‘Some crazy stuff, brawd. Come on. They’ve gone. Let’s get down there.’
Wren leaned back against the massive stone, patting it, as though to console.
‘Look what they’ve done.’ He moaned sinking to his knees, and burying his head in his hands to peer through his fingers at the rutted earth surrounding the stone. Rhyllann slumped beside him. A church bell carried from some distant village, wafting a mournful clanging over the moors. Rhyllann counted automatically: Twelve chimes.
‘Noon.’ He said bleakly.
Wren turned a mud smeared face up to him. ‘What did you say?’
‘Noon – the church bells – they rang out twelve times. Twelve o’clock.’
Wren stared at him open mouthed; joy swamping his face.
‘Of course! Of course!’ He hugged Rhyllann, mussing up his hair.
‘The bells.’ He staggered upright, pulling Rhyllann with him. ‘That’s how the old folk told the time. By looking at the sun – and by bells summoning them to prayer!’ He swung Rhyllann round.
‘But you said yourself – midday hasn’t changed – unless someone did move the stone.’
‘No! No!’ Wren slapped his forehead. ‘You said it Annie – look – hardly any shadow. The midday sun casts no shadow!’ He shouted punching the air then stood stock still, eyes boring into Rhyllann, willing him to understand. ‘Not noon. Nones. Jeez! How could I have been so stupid!’ He thumped his forehead again.
‘What?’ Rhyllann struggled to comprehend what nuns had to do with anything.
‘”Vesters,” “Complain,” “Nones.” Calling the faithful to prayer. No-one had clocks or watches! That’s how they counted the hours!’ He gripped Rhyllann’s arms, jigging again. A trickle of hope fluttered through Rhyllann as light dawned.
‘Nones. So Nones means a different time of day? Is that it?’
‘Yes! It makes sense! Nones – the ninth hour. The equinox – twelve hours day – twelve hours night. Three hours before sunset. The shadows would be almost at their longest.’ Understanding flooded Rhyllann. They clutched at each other giggling hysterically.
‘Annie – your mobile – d’you still have it?’
‘Yes – but …’
‘Turn it on quick. We need the exact time.’
Smoothing the earth over, Wren began making complicated calculations, glancing at the sun a couple of times, making a couple of deep gouges in the earth, then drawing an oversized clock face. Reaching up to drag at Rhyllann’s mobile, he peered at the time. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded to himself, then traced the hands at ten past eleven, then went back to using his fingers as calculus.
Rhyllann frowned. ‘Use the mobile’s calculator!’
‘Shut up! Be quiet!’ Wren spoke absently as if hushing a child. Rhyllann didn’t take offence. Wren was in another world, a world he could never hope to enter. Instead, glancing around Rhyllann spotted a forgotten shovel and rushed over to claim it. He was doing the digging! He did a little body pop dance of delight.
Wren was on his feet again, surveying the standing stone’s height.
‘What d’you rec
kon Annie?’
Rhyllann tipped his head upwards, stepping backwards to view the top of the gigantic stone.
‘Dunno. Twelve, maybe fifteen feet?’ His head swum suddenly. ‘I ain’t climbing up to find out!’
Wren grinned. ‘Plonker! Grab some of that tape they were using … quick! And gimme that scale ruler and protractor.’ Securing the tape firmly to the very foot of the stone with a rod, he hobbled away, turning every few steps to hold the scale ruler at arm’s length. Abruptly he stood still, then drove a second rod into the ground, before scurrying back to his makeshift workstation.
‘Annie – measure that distance – careful now.’ From his pocket Wren produced the shiny digital pedometer. Rather than risk being called a plonker again, Rhyllann obeyed.
‘Fourteen feet, eight inches.’ He called over.
Wren bent his head without a word of thanks. Rhyllann couldn’t bear anymore. His enforced quietness and inactivity were driving him crazy. Striding over he hollered.
‘What the hell are you up to? We can’t sit here all day playing with dirt!’
As he spoke Wren finished the last of his scribbling. He looked up at Rhyllann as though seeing him for the first time that day, his face full of wonder.
‘We did it Annie! We’ve found it!’
Glancing down Rhyllann saw that the clock face now acted as a giant protractor. Angles had been marked off, one in particular heavily indented, with a measurement of sixty-two feet.
‘Rods Annie – get the rods – hurry now – we’ve gotta work fast.’ Wren's sense of urgency was contagious, Rhyllann scurried to get the rods, which were snatched from him and planted in a diagonal ordered format. After wrapping it round the last rod, Wren handed him the tape, still secured to the foot of Taffy’s Folly.
‘Kay Annie – keep the same angle – you understand? Start at the very beginning, walk sixty-two feet away then mark it well.’
The moors hadn’t changed. They were still in the same place. But somehow the colours deepened, sounds were sharper and the air crackled with anticipation. Every single particle of the universe, every blade of grass, crumble of earth, puff of breeze intensified. As though nature herself rejoiced in this moment.
‘You are a genius.’ Rhyllann breathed.
Wren smiled as he handed over the shovel. ‘No, I pay attention in maths. Now get going.’
Keeping his eyes firmly on the digital readout, Rhyllann paced forward. He sensed Wren hobbling behind him, nudging him slightly now and again to keep his direction true. The pre-set device pinged as he counted the sixty seconded foot. Rhyllann swiftly marked the spot with a divot, then glanced up to grin at Wren, whose face was deathly white beneath the mud streaks. Rhyllann ushered him over to sit on a nearby boulder.
‘Sit here. Rest.’ He ordered. Wren nodded, eyes glued to the spot Rhyllann had marked.
‘Hurry Annie. I feel like we don’t have much time.’
Rhyllann dug efficiently, ploughing the sharp edge of the brand new spade into the earth. After a minute’s work he paused.
‘Wren?’ He queried.
His cousin cocked his head back towards the monolith.
‘A little to the right.’
‘Here?’
‘Yeah – dig there, I know we’re in the right place. I can feel it. There has to be something. Some sign.’ It sounded more like a prayer than a statement.
Rhyllann started digging again. He turned over five spadefuls of earth before the spade clanked against something metal.
‘Wren!’ Hoping it wasn’t an old tin can, he resumed digging. A chest! A metal chest.
Wren hobbled over. Rhyllann prised the spade around the edges, trying to free the object. Wren dropped to his knees, scraping earth away with his hands. He stopped suddenly, cocking his head to one side.
‘Annie – can you hear that?’
Rhyllann paused to listen. From far away, like the faintest hum of a vacuum cleaner he could hear an engine. Stern! Back with the correct translation! Throwing the spade to one side, Rhyllann stretched full length, and forced his hands down between box and earth. The skin covering his knuckles grazed, peeling against stones peppering the soil, but still he scrabbled for a purchase, managing to work his fingertips under the box's bottom ridge. Wren continued to listen, straining to see over the horizon – the rumble grew louder – heading their way. Rhyllann worked first one side of the box, then the other, trying to dislodge it. Finally, with a slurping noise, it lifted slightly.
‘Quick – help me – I’ve got it – get the other side. Quick!’
Wren plunged his hands opposite Rhyllann’s. Together they strained to haul the box from its moorings. With a louder shorter slurp, the box shot up towards them.
Disappointment flooded through Rhyllann. The rusted box didn’t look anywhere large enough to hold the kind of fortune he’d expected from Wren’s talk of crown jewels. Diamonds! Let it be diamonds; or sapphires, or rubies he prayed under his breath; even a solid gold crown would do. The engine vibrations increased. There was more than one of them. Jumping to his feet, Rhyllann snatched the shovel. Hoisting it over his head, he smashed it down against the box, sending sparks flying upwards. Once, twice three times. The lid sprung open. He stole a quick glance towards Wren, whose face glowed; his smile was one of total satisfaction.
Rhyllann watched in disbelief then anger as his cousin knelt reverently. Moving as though he feared it would break, he reached inside the chest to pull out a smaller wooden box. He held it like an offering, examining it from all sides. Then he noticed Rhyllann.
‘Annie. We did it! We did it!’ His eyes gleamed with demonic triumph, inviting Rhyllann to share his excitement, holding the box aloft like a trophy. Rhyllann gripped the shovel handle fighting a sudden urge to smash the spade over Wren's head.
‘What! We’ve been to hell and back for that?!’
Wren started to speak then stopped. Engine revs could be felt through the ground now.
‘Quick. Throw that chest back in the hole, and cover it over. We’ve gotta get outta here!’
Wren shrugged off his army tunic jacket as he spoke. What was the point? Rhyllann fumed. It was obvious someone had been digging here. Well, he was gonna make damn sure they knew they were too late. Drawing his mobile from his back pocket and chucking it inside the rusted metal chest he began shovelling earth over. That would give the Arseholes something to think about! Wren finished wrapping the inner wooden box in his jacket. Giving it a last tender pat, he turned to help. Hell, they’d never get out of sight in time. They’d left it too late to run. Rhyllann dragged Wren back to the gorse he’d hidden in earlier.
With Wren’s heels two inches from his nose, Rhyllann wriggled through a claustrophobic tunnel formed by gorse, meant only for rabbits or foxes. Woody stems towered above ground before growing spiteful thorns along with luscious green leaves and sweet smelling yellow flowers. If they kept their nerve, unless someone actually entered the maze like tunnel, they were undetectable in their borrowed camouflage. They reached the edge of the thicket, which bordered the boulders they had crouched on previously. They could either remain under gorse cover, or clamber back up to the craggy overhang. They opted to stay put.
They had enough time to pick out an excellent spot. A perfect circle where the stalks didn’t grow underneath, but soared above them to form dense cover. A ballroom for rabbits. Enough for two skinny kids to sprawl in comfort and watch without being seen. Rhyllann wondered who’d find his mobile first – Stern or the rugby player. He giggled at the thought. Wren pinched him.
‘Pack it in – what’s so funny?’
He sniggered. ‘Nothing. I left a little surprise for our friends!’
‘What d’you mean?’ Wren asked, an edge to his voice.
‘I left my mobile inside the metal chest! Imagine their faces.’
‘You did what?’ Wren sounded incredulous. ‘Are you completely ma
d?’ Not for the first time, Rhyllann decided his cousin had no sense of humour.
‘C’mon – chill – it’s jokes! They’re digging for ancient treasure – they come up with a modern mobile.’ A new thought struck Rhyllann, so funny he struggled to get the words out: ‘They might think … Wren – they might think the mobile’s thousands of years old – you know like finding a bus on the moon. It’ll drive them crazy!’ He rocked with silent laughter, hugging himself.
Wren hit him. Hard. ‘Fool. You might just as well have left a note saying Rhyllann Jones Was Here. Oh and by the way – here’s the phone number of all my friends!’
Rhyllann's glee deflated like a balloon. ‘There’s no sim card. You don’t think?’
Wren hit him again as a warning to keep quiet. Rhyllann couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. It wasn’t his fault. All that build up – the anticipation. And then to find a cruddy wooden box like the one gran kept her jewellery in. It had been a small rebellious act. Leaving something just as useless for Stern to find and puzzle over. In fact, Rhyllann decided, this was Wren’s fault for building his hopes up. But he couldn’t even tell Wren that, because the gang were back. They simmered in silence – glaring at each other.