Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wren's had been placed in a small private room directly opposite the nurses' station. As Rhyllann eased the door open, Wren turned bloodshot eyes up to him, as though he'd been waiting for his cousin's arrival.
‘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!’ Rhyllann plucked at the stinking khaki tee-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!’
Wren 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 Scotland 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.' He gave a dry laugh and continued: 'They 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, and took 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; the 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 mon
astery – 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 Crombie – 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; leaving his face a yellowish white; his eyes bulged and his hands flexed 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 handcuffs 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, and there was nothing child like about the calculating blue eyes. In fact Wren surveyed them both as though they were the children.
‘I’ll deal with him later. He’ll be safe enough until we can move him. I booked him in under a false name.’
‘Aren’t you gonna put a guard at the door or something? Is this your idea of witness protection?’ Rhyllann fumed.
Wren’s clear voice cut through the bickering.
‘Detective Crombie? You know this area. You know who built Tintagel Castle?’ Crombie shot him an exasperated look, then swivelled on his heel tugging Rhyllann along in his wake before Wren could spout any more nonsense.
Crombie marched him out the hospital, flood waters swirling around his ankles, Rhyllann’s borrowed trainers saturated and squelched as they splashed forward.
‘Crombie!’
‘He’s safe in that hospital. I told you we’ve got them in maximum security.’ Crombie smiled. ‘They won’t get away this time. It’s only when the trial starts that you have to worry.’
‘Thanks.’ A thought occurred to Rhyllann, he stopped dead.
‘A cult. Detective Crombie. They’ve got people everywhere. One of your men! Crombie! I swear – I can prove it – listen to me.’ He gabbled as Crombie dragged him forwards. ‘You found an envelope – but you couldn’t find the book. At Green’s. You were sure there was a book or wallet – you could smell leather – but you couldn’t find it.’
Crombie stopped dead, thrusting his face into Rhyllann's. ‘How do you know? How could you know that?’ he snarled.
‘We were in the crawl space. The ceiling. We hid behind the water tank. Rodgers didn’t spot us. We heard everything. How else d’you think Wren knew about your brother?’ Giving Crombie an incredulous look, he continued. ‘You don’t really think he’s physic do you? He worked it out. You said yourself – he’s got a wild imagination. Please Mr - Detective Crombie. Detective Inspector Crombie Sir. We forgot the book, we left it in the photocopier. We waited for you to leave. When we came out – it had gone. One of your men must have picked it up.’ Rhyllann paused to swallow. ‘Then that day – remember – you nearly caught us. We got to Taffy’s Folly too late. But they were digging in the wrong place. Wren made the same mistake – mistook noon for Nones. But they knew somehow that we’d found the right place – dug up a chest … oww leggo!’ He shouted.
Crombie shook him hard, his face a mask of rage. ‘Are you trying to tell me that one of mine is bent? One of my own men?’
Screwing up his eyes, Rhyllann nodded miserably.
Crombie’s grasp on his arms relaxed. ‘Winding me up. You’re trying to wind me up, aren’t you son? Just like your cousin in there …’ He stopped, clamping his mouth firmly shut against that memory. ‘Either you’re lying, there was no book, or you just didn’t look properly. Yeah, that’s it. When we get back to London, we’ll go through those offices again. We’ll find it.’
Crombie ushered him up the steps to the police station as he spoke, past sand bags and through to the main office. Rhyllann braced for another round of filthy looks and muttered comments. Raising his chin he prepared to brazen it out.
But he had a reprieve. Earlier the place throbbed with activity. Now a couple of uniforms wandered around while a solitary probationer manned the desk.
Crombie grunted. ‘Looks like the fan club’s gone for lunch!’
Without answering Rhyllann slumped into a chair, Crombie flumped down in the seat nearby. After hanging his jacket on the floor, Crombie leafed through a couple of files laying on the canteen table come desk in front of them. Without looking at Rhyllann he said ‘Sorry son – you’ve had a pretty rough ride.’
Rhyllann kicked at a chair leg. ‘Yeah well – bought it on my own head I suppose.’
Crombie raised his head to
stare at him, then returned to perusing his files. Rhyllann edged one over, bored rather than curious. It held a dozen loose print outs. The first page had a heading in bold:
The Royal Inventory audited 1215 –1216 by command of King John.’
Then underneath a sub-title: The Rolls as instituted by John, King of England, Ireland, and Wales. Duke of Normandy.
Rhyllann flicked over to the second page. Headed:
“Imperial Regalia inherited from Matilda, Empress of Germany, Queen of England, Ireland and Wales, Duchess of Normandy etc.”
There followed a list of valuables, jewellery, religious artefacts, gold and silver plate. Rhyllann scanned down. It read like a catalogue from a fine art dealer and ran for almost two pages. The fourth page was similar, but entitled
Inherited from Henry II King of England, Ireland and Wales, Duke of Normandy etc.
Though not so impressive, there were still fifty items.
Feeling light headed now, Rhyllann turned to page six. This was a shorter list, inherited from John’s Mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Queen of England Ireland and Wales, Duchess of Normandy. Page seven detailed items inherited from Richard, John's brother. At the very top of the list was the word “Excalibur.” With a sharp intake of breath Rhyllann devoured the description. Approximately a yard long fashioned of silver metal with engraved dragons. A gouge along the blade adorned with mystic writing. Rhyllann flicked over the following pages; John’s own collection, his wife’s and various other “artefacts”.
The last page was much shorter. It was an inventory dated 1218. The treasures and valuables owned by Henry III, John’s heir. The paltry items described were mainly inherited from his mother.
Several exclamation and question marks had been scrawled in felt tip at the bottom of the page. Beside him, Crombie fidgeted, shooting back his sleeve to check his wristwatch for the time. Rhyllann flicked back to the first page, noting the date. Then to the last page. Between 1216 and 1218 the royal inventory had dwindled from almost eleven pages of single type single line descriptions of valuable items to an single sheet of paper. Leaning back in his chair, Rhyllann’s hands crept up to his mouth, and he found himself chewing on a knuckle.
Crombie reached over, slapping the file shut, then pulling Rhyllann’s hand down by the metal cuffs. Rhyllann grabbed Crombie's arm – gibbering with excitement:
‘It’s true. It’s all true. Wren was right! – all this time!’ Rhyllann had only half believed they might find a chest containing treasure. According to this list, it would more likely be an Aladdin’s Cave.
Crombie shook him off. ‘Leave it son. So we found this list at the Farmhouse.’ He jerked his head towards a computer terminal. ‘I could print you off a dozen – better than that – Holy Grail an’ all! It doesn’t prove a thing. You’re saying that a thousand year old hoard of treasure is still lying around waiting to be found.’ Cue crocodile smile. ‘If you believe that – you’re just as crazy as those Brotherhoods or whatever they call themselves this week.’
An urgent buzzing noise came from the floor. Snatching up his jacket Crombie searched through several pockets before withdrawing a police radio.
‘What? Yes Christine we’re still here. Keep it short. I’m nearly out of battery.’
Still sulking, Rhyllann tuned out, flinching in surprise when Crombie thrust the radio at him. ‘She wants a word.’
‘Hello? Hello?’ Rhyllann said, holding the radio awkwardly to his ear with both hands. Crombie snatched the radio back and flicked it over to loud speak.
‘Rhyllann – WPC Christine Hewes. Are you still at Bodmin Police Station with Detective Crombie?’ It sounded as though she was speaking from a cave. Feeling puzzled Rhyllann replied.
‘Hello. Yes. I’m still in Bodmin police station.’ He raised his voice slightly.
‘Good. So you haven’t left the police station yet?’ There was nothing good about it. Crombie simmered by his side, Rhyllann didn’t want to leave Bodmin, but certainly didn’t want to face Bates and his men again.
‘No. Me and Detective Crombie are still at the police station, I think we’re waiting for Superintendent Bates.’ He replied, wondering where this was going.
‘I just wanted to say goodbye before you left.’
He’d misjudged that woman. She really did have a heart.
‘Thank you – you’ve been very kind.’
‘Well; hope you have a good trip.’
Rhyllann looked at Crombie, thinking this conversation had gotten a bit unreal.
‘Thank you Christine. Your concern’s been noted.’ Crombie huffed, reaching over to switch the radio off. Before he could do so another voice rang out.
‘Bye Annie. Take care.’
He really had misjudged WPC Hewes. She was at the hospital, trying to reassure Wren. No wonder her voice sounded echoey. He even smiled at Crombie thinking cops weren’t so bad after all.
Re-pocketing the radio, Crombie breathed out a word that sounded suspiciously like ‘Women!’ adding in a louder voice ‘Kids!’
Crombie checked his watch again muttering ‘Where the bloody hell’s Bates?’ Frowning around the deserted offices. The lights dimmed as the generator cut back to a lower whine. Crombie’s frown deepened. He got to his feet, dragging Rhyllann with him.
‘But Detective Crombie – what if you’re wrong – you heard my cousin. Isn’t it worth checking – it won’t take long …’ Crombie ignored his pleading, banging open the door to reception.
‘You there!’ He addressed the probationer – ‘Any word from Superintendent Bates?’
The young constable flushed. ‘Sir. No Sir. Sorry Sir. He must be in his meeting by now with the other emergency services.’
Crombie cupped an ear. ‘Say again.’
The youngster swallowed hard. ‘Sir. After the train station, Superintendent Bates told everybody – that is – everyone from Bodmin station to meet at the Civic Centre. That’s the other side of town Sir.’
Crombie spoke slowly, fixing the squirming uniform with his beadiest look.
‘Son. Take it again. From the top. Pretend I’ve just arrived from outer space. Now then. Go.’
Rhyllann had been inventing different ways to kill Crombie. Now his ears pricked up. Something had gone wrong. Very wrong.
‘Sir. Superintendent Bates was told not to wait for you, but collect the prisoners from Bodmin Jail.’ The young probationer faltered under Crombie’s stare. ‘Sir. Superintendent Bates wasn’t very happy Sir. It meant pulling two of ours off duty.’
Crombie raised an eyebrow.
‘Apparently you told one of your officers to check out Folly’s Farmhouse again Sir. Your orders Sir.’
Crombie kept his temper. ‘I see. So Superintendent Bates bought this nonsense. He really believed I okay'd just two of my officers to guard those lunatics all the way into London?’ His voice rose. ‘While I sit here twiddling my thumbs with this – this scallywag?’ Rhyllann watched the trainee policeman’s Adam’s apple bob up and down, careful to keep the smile off his own face.
‘Sir. He did think it unusual. That’s why he pulled PC Thompson and …’
He flinched as Crombie’s fist rammed against the desk.
‘Unusual! I’d have to be a bloody loony myself! Why the hell didn’t he check with me?’
Rhyllann almost felt sorry for the young copper.
‘Don’t tell me we’ve missed our train.’ He said. Raising his eyebrows and putting his tongue in his cheek. Uh-oh. Had he gone too far? Crombie’s fist clenched. Speaking through gritted teeth he asked.
‘What time does the train leave?’
‘Sir. I don’t know Sir. They’re using the tourist steam train, Sir. It's old and slow but working. If you run Sir, you might catch it!’
‘Run! Run! It would be quicker to swim!’
A gurgled laugh escaped Rhyllann.
Banging his fist on the table Crombie shouted ‘Get on the blower! Tell them to hold th
at train!’
‘Sir!’ The PC seized a handset, then replaced it. ‘I’m sorry Sir. All phones are down. I don’t know their radio frequency, or even if they’ve got radios.’ He gibbered.
Crombie rubbed his face. Rhyllann smirked.
‘Have your “men” been telling porkies?’ He asked.
‘Don’t be stupid. A simple misunderstanding.’ To the PC he said ‘Sorry I shouted at you son.’
The entrance door swung open to admit a burly ruddy faced man with stripes on his rolled uniform sleeves.
‘Now then Charlie. Where is everyone?’ Looking Crombie up and down he immediately assessed his rank in spite of Crombie's hobo clothes.
‘Afternoon Sir.’
The young policeman breathed a loud sigh. ‘Detective Inspector Crombie – this is Sergeant Holden. Jeff – didn’t you get the Super’s message?’
Jeff shook Crombie’s hand as he replied, looking sheepish for some reason. ‘No my ‘andsome. The jeep radio’s proper buggered.’
Crombie grasped Holden's arm. ‘Jeep – you’ve got a jeep?’
Rhyllann groaned out loud. Just his luck.