Pyro Watson and the Hidden Treasure (9 page)

There were a lot more people in the caravan park by the time Pyro woke up and pulled himself out of bed. It was amazing, really, how many caravans and campers had been fitted into the spaces between them and the old couple who were travelling around Australia. In fact, if Pyro hadn't stood a second longer on the top step of the camper he might've been fooled into thinking they'd gone already.

He couldn't even see the clifftop or the seats where the Worries sat, without peering around the edge of a big cream and blue caravan. There were all sorts of people sitting all over the place out there and the tables were covered in picnic breakfasts and fishing lines and eskies and baskets and people unpacking things. The only things missing were the Worries but Pyro could easily imagine them slinking off to pick on kids in less populated places. Like backstreets and school playgrounds, when all you really wanted to do was take a short cut.

Mr Stig was at their table in the annex reading the Saturday paper and deciding which horse was most likely to win at the races. Auntie Mor said she only liked to pick them if they had good names like Rolan' Strong or Shesaboy, so they were reading out names and writing them down.

‘Do you want to pick out a horse?' Mr Stig said. ‘We could have a bet using some bottle tops if you like. The winner has to buy the chocolate.'

Pyro wasn't sure he was supposed to bet. His mother liked going to the races and they'd all had a day at the Gosford track when she'd jumped up and down when her horse looked like it was going to win. It didn't. It was just as well, she'd explained, that she hadn't bet any money or else it wouldn't be so funny that it came second last.

‘Your mum won't mind,' Auntie Mor said. ‘Go on, pick out a horse and go find some bottle tops.'

He wasn't sure how she did it but Auntie Mor seemed to have a knack for knowing what he was thinking.

‘She's my sister,' she was saying now. ‘That's how I know.'

He was definitely going to be careful about his thoughts. He wondered if it would make a difference
if he wore a cap. It might muffle any ideas that were drifting around so they wouldn't be so easy to read. It'd make them like a code.

San Simeon held the blackboard aloft. ‘This ‘ere is a code,' he said. ‘It's what we're going to use so the pirates can't work out what we're thinking!'

Derrick the Cook snorted. ‘Course they couldn't do that anyway. Whatever are ye thinkin', Cap'n? Ha! Ha! Ha!'

San Simeon was thinking there was a traitor in his crew. He was thinking up a plan to trick that traitor into the open.

‘Now, watch carefully,' he cried as he picked up two of Sweet Calamity's pocket handkerchiefs. ‘When I hold my hands like this …' he stuck his chest out, held his head high, and straightened his arms out so they formed right angles, ‘this signal means HELP.' And then quickly, without moving his chest or his legs or his middle or anything except his outstretched arms, he swung them straight up so they looked like toothpicks. ‘And this means GO RIGHT.'

Nobody moved.

They simply looked and then one or two glanced sideways. A smile twitched at the edges of Cracker the Wheel's mouth and he fought hard to stop it stretching any wider.

‘Wif respect,' Derrick the Cook finally spoke up, ‘I don't fink so, Cap'n.'

‘Pardon?' San Simeon dropped his arms and held his hankies in front of him. ‘I'm sure it does.' He consulted a book that he had opened on the sand. ‘Why? What d'you think it means?'

A couple of the crew sniggered and then, when Simeon glared about to see who was being disrespectful, they quickly sucked in their cheeks and stood tall.

‘Well, I'm not all that smart, Cap'n, but if I saw one of me lads standing on the wharf wif his lace hankies stuck out there like that I'd reckon he was asking for trouble?'

‘Yeah,' another voice chimed up. ‘You wouldn't like it if someone flapped a hanky out at you, would you? You'd be saying, “what're you flapping that hanky at me for?” And stuff like that. And then there'd probably be a fight or somefing.'

‘He could be drying ‘em?'

Everyone turned to face Smit the Cabin Boy's Father.

‘What?'

‘His hankies. He might have washed ‘em cos they got all snotty and wanted to dry them real quick.'

The crew considered this and a few who could easily recall trying to blow a nose into a snotty hanky nodded wisely.

‘No.' San Simeon looked heavenward as if he hoped a passing angel might be able to help him out. ‘It's a proper code! It is! It's in this book.'

It wasn't an airborne angel who stopped. It was Sweet Calamity. ‘Now boys …' she said as she shook out some fresh new lace-edged hankies. ‘If I stand like this …' She held her hankies out to the side. She didn't stick her chest out and her hands, so delicate and fine, were held more precisely than Simeon's, but the signal was the same. ‘… If you see me doing this, it is a signal for “help me”. Do you think you could remember that?'

The crew nodded.

‘And this …' Her arms were held up high with her sweet wrists just touching each other. ‘… If you see this, gosh, what do you think it means?'

Heads were scratched and toes twitched but it was a toughie. And the Cap'n hadn't said he was going to test them so nobody really knew.

‘Oh dear.' Calamity let her hankies touch at a little wet tear that leaked from her eye. ‘If it meant that I was in great danger, you would have failed me.'

They stood horrified. To think that they were all here and ready and strong, and poor little Calam could have been in danger and they'd done nothing because they didn't know the signal.

It took a minute or two for Calamity to kiss everyone better and settle them down and assure them that she wasn't in real danger, it was just a pretend …'But,' she reminded them, ‘if you don't listen to San Simeon you really won't get it right.'

They listened. By golly, ears fairly twitched as they leaned forward to catch every word.

And, by the time they'd done the test at the end, they were all able to wave hankies or singlets or undies around and send all sorts of messages.

 

It hadn't taken very long for Pyro to have a wash and clean his teeth. The whole day stretched out ahead of him. Empty. Not even the rock pool was going to be available as Mor said she wasn't putting her face into any water that had that many bottoms sitting in it all day.

He ambled along the path, not looking where he was going and thinking it'd be fun to write out Simeon's code.

At least it would pass a bit of time.

He'd barely rounded the grassy edge that led to his camper when a quick shove in his back nearly sent him sprawling, at the same time as a fat little doggy body hurled itself at his chest.

‘Gotcha!' Min danced around in front of him. Becks was flinging herself up and down like she was on a string and it was wonderful. ‘You didn't even see me creeping up!'

Pyro didn't like being shoved in the back. At least, he didn't think he'd like it but it was the best surprise he'd ever had. He shoved Min back and together they fell in a lump onto the grass. Becks barked and grabbed bits of T-shirt and tried to pull them apart. When she couldn't she contented herself by jumping right on top of both of them and landing on their necks.

Both boys had to stop to push her off and they'd barely found their feet when a new voice joined in.

‘Righto, you lot!' It was the park manager. He was very stern about people who didn't do the right thing and he'd put lists of right things to do all over the
place. And he was pretty stern about dogs and child ren doing just about anything. ‘Get the noise down and that dog, Sonny Jim, will have to go home today. Too many people in the park to be kicking up such a ruckus!'

Min waited until the park manager had moved off towards his cabin. ‘Did you kick up a ruckus?'

Pyro giggled. ‘I don't even know what a ruckus is?'

‘It's a thing you kick!'

‘Like a football!'

Min hooted. He hunched himself over and walked with his hands hanging down in front of him. ‘I'm a ruckus!' he roared.

Pyro hunched over as well. ‘So am I!'

Becks danced around them as they ruckused back across the park to the camper. They had to stop every now and then because she was having so much fun she forgot to be quiet.

‘Listen here, dog!' Pyro said. ‘You'd better stop kicking up a ruckus!'

It set them off again and they hooted and stumbled as they shuffled, ruckus-shaped, back to their bit of the park.

They'd barely arrived when the park manager appeared on the horizon. Both boys leapt on Becks and hushed her.

‘Come to my place,' Min said. ‘There's too many people to work on the hide-out.'

Quickly then, because the day that had started off at a slow crawl now held so much promise and already it was whooshing by and they'd barely begun.

‘We can go down the street and they've got these neat swords …' Min slashed the air in front of him.

‘I know the ones. They make a clanking noise.'

‘Yeah, and you can clobber each other and it doesn't hurt.'

Becks was setting up for a day of high fun and games with lots of leaping and barking and ripping and racing about.

‘They cost three bucks. Shush, Becks.'

‘Three bucks fifty. Shut it, Becks.'

The boys leapt on her again but it was too late. The park manager stormed over. ‘You boys are going to have to keep that dog quiet! Can't have noisy dogs upsetting everyone.' Then he launched himself right at Mr Stig and Auntie Mor. His hand waving was pretty well saying it all.

‘We didn't mean it,' Pyro said when they arrived. ‘True. We were just talking about these neat swords …'

‘And we're going down the street to buy one if that's okay,' Min said. ‘And then my gran said that Pyro could come and play at our house for a bit.'

‘Three bucks, eh?' Mr Stig said.

‘Three bucks fifty.'

‘Sold!' He dragged out his wallet and gave the boys ten dollars. Min's eyes were like saucers and Pyro wasn't too sure about taking money just like that. His mum liked to know all about any money that came his way. ‘And keep the change!'

Pyro's hand seemed as if it was clamped to his side.

‘Here.' Auntie Mor took it. ‘It's all right, I promise. I'll tell your mum that you didn't ask for it, or even hint for it.'

Pyro grinned. She was neat, his mind-reading auntie. ‘Fantastic,' he said. ‘Hot!'

‘Wow!' Min was so impressed his voice was just a whisper. Becks' voice wasn't. She barked her head off.

‘Shut it, Becks!' Everyone roared at once.

‘Lordy, that dog's noisy!' Auntie Mor threw a stick and Becks charged after it. ‘Home by five, okay?'

The boys took off. A whole day.

First, they decided, they were going to walk across the bridge and Min could show Pyro where he went fishing. And then they were going to walk down the other side of the bridge to where the big leftover pipes from the road building were stored. The bottom ones were all muddy and mostly underwater from the tide and the fisheries said they were going to make great fish nurseries, but the top ones were great for climbing. And further around was the old co-op where the boats used to come in with their loads of fish. They didn't anymore, but the wharf out the front was still there and it was magic.

‘We have to go and tell Gran first,' Min was saying as they swerved through the gate and out onto the road that led to the bridge.

‘Did she really invite me?' Pyro said.

‘She sure did. She's a real stickybeak, my gran. See …' He was pointing to the map on the signpost outside the caravan park. ‘That's my street right there. My house is number six and it sits right up close to the bush at the end of town.'

Pyro looked.

‘And there's the main street where we're going to buy our swords.' He slashed at the air and made sword swishing noises. Pyro slashed back.

And then stopped.

There was a car turning off the bridge and onto the dusty road that led to the caravan park. It was a car he recognised.

He recognised the driver, too.

And now, because the driver of that car always drove a bit faster than was good for it, he could see there was another person in there. A back seat passenger whose head just peeped over the level of the front seat.

Dad.

And Geezer.

‘What's up?'