The Pinnacle Of Empire (Book 6) (43 page)

A small copper chest floated out to sea on the evening tide a week later, its pale silver glow barely perceptible in the moonlight.

Saturday morning’s sunlight ran the leaf gauntlet, streaking down to dance in broken patterns on the ravine’s grassy edge ringing the golf course. The sunbeams splashed on exposed roots in the ditch’s far wall, stopping abruptly when cut off by the opposite bank. The warm, golden hue melted into cool silver tones below, illuminating the drying stream gurgling tenaciously in defiance of the drought.

Like fallen soldiers, two bicycles lay beneath the willow oak behind Chris, a bubbly blond boy of twelve, and his reserved, dark-haired best friend George. Prostrate on the ancient ditch’s rim, they stared down into the depths, spellbound by possibilities of things unseen.

Chris wants me to explore with him, thought George. He looked at Chris whose sudden movement knocked a dry clay pellet loose. It tumbled silently into the abyss.

“You really want to go down there?” George asked. Looking into the chasm, both boys listened for the splash that seemed forever in coming. “That ditch is mighty deep and narrow, and those slick clay walls are straight up, way over our heads. It closes in up here, too. There’s no way to climb out once we’re down there; you can see that.”

George looked at Chris. He didn’t respond.

“It’s dark, wet, and slick everywhere,” George added. “You really think there’s something worth finding down there?”

“Oh, yeah,” Chris responded, his voice abrupt. He looked up at George. “We gotta explore down there. See that wash-out?” He pointed to an eroded slope. “You can only get down into the ditch from there. Like you said, it’s creepy. Nobody else is gonna go down there. From the bottom, we’ll be first to see stuff nobody’s ever seen from up here.” Chris poked George’s shoulder, “Come on, George, it’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

“I don’t know. We’ll be trapped underground. We can’t climb out if we get into trouble. We’d have to hike back here to get out,” George said, standing up and moving back from the edge.

Chris bounced around his friend, chattering reasons like a spider wrapping his victim in silk.

George stood as an unmovable rock at the ditch’s rim. He kept his gaze down in the ravine and waited for Chris to calm down-- or start shooting sparks from his fingertips.
As long as I’m looking down, Chris can’t read my face, he thought. If he does, that super-charged Daffy Duck will read me like a book and know I’m just messing with him. Probably knows already.

“Come on, George,” Chris coaxed. “We’ve planned this all week. We’re not gonna get hurt, and what’s a little muddy water? Once you slip in a couple of times, you won’t even notice anymore.”

George kept silent, staring down in the ditch. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chris’ fingers fidgeting, his arms held still against his swaying body, but his whole being like a volcano about to erupt.

The twitching, swaying, and jittery smiles are dead giveaways. He’s wound up, afraid I won’t go with him. He’s bonkers. Even his hair seems tense. I’ll say nothing, just keep looking over the gully’s edge.

Chris fidgeted silently with his watch.

George grinned. He can’t stand the suspense. I got him now. I know him better than myself. He’s almost as stubborn as me. His mind’s made up, ain’t no changing it. Still, it’s fun to watch him squirm before I give in. He knows I’ll go with him. Without me looking out for him, he’ll fall in and bust his butt. He’ll be super nice and give me millions of reasons why we have to go. Still, I can’t give in easily, or he’ll drag me to Hades and back.

“You backing out on me, George? We’ve been best friends since we were five. You going to make me go down there by myself?”

There’s the bluff, George thought. Saying nothing works best on this. Yep, there goes Daffy Duck coming unglued. His two seconds of patience just blew. Looks like he’s gonna take off any minute, he’s so excited. He thinks it’s Christmas down there with surprises stuck everywhere. George took a deep breath. Guess he’s suffered enough; he’s wilting.

George picked up a stick and snapped it. “Okay, but don’t blame me if you get bitten by a snake and die in the mud. I’m not sucking a snake bite.”

Chris shot upright, his flailing arms erupting in anticipation. “I knew I could count on you!” Even with his fine features, his smile swallowed his face beneath his short blond hair. His eyes sparkled, anxiety replaced now with warm, genuine appreciation and relief. Ungainly as he was, his bright green eyes revealed hidden strength. They were like emeralds in their source rock.

Chris turned and hurried down the crumbled clay slope before George could change his mind. “I can always count on you, George. Come on, we gotta hurry. We got a long ways to go. No telling what we’ll find down there.”

Shaking his curly-haired head, George calmly made his way over to the eroded bank and followed Chris down into the subterranean world. Each step in the loose clay was like riding an escalator down the ravine.

Bright sunlight gave way to the damp underground’s eerie light. The sunny dry, root-woven soil transitioned into the dank world of moist clay washed smooth by erosion. The ditch walls, at first patched with moss and still lower with algae, finally gave way to the yellow clay that plastered everything. The musty air was heavy with the scents of earth, moss, and scattered decaying litter that had fallen into the depths. Feral rams horn snails, freed from some abandoned fishbowl, concentrated in the occasional pools, grazing algae. Crayfish tunnels betrayed the fierce scavengers’ presence, hidden in their cool burrows during the day. For the most part, there were few signs of life at the bottom of the primeval ditch.

“Be careful,” Chris said. “Step on stones or the clay edges to stay out of the water. The stream is almost never this low and barely flowing. We’d have nothing to walk on if these rocks and ledges weren’t exposed. This is a rare chance to explore, this is.” He glanced back at George.

“What’s it look like up there?” George asked. He watched muddy water rise in Chris’s footprint. No telling what Chris is getting us into, he thought. When his imagination takes hold, hand in hand, they go off into another world. He gets in these moods and I might as well argue with a rock.

“Rats, Chris, you can wiggle through a worm tunnel, and I keep slipping into these mud holes. Probably snakes in ’-em too.”

Chris glanced back. “Not bad, a little slick.”

I hear that fake cheer. It’s bad, and he won’t tell me, George thought. Squish. “Yuck!”

“Watch the ledges, they crumble pretty easily,” Chris said. “Kinda funny how the water seeps into your footprints, ain't it?”

“Yeah, no wonder nobody comes down here. Now that you’ve mashed the ledge, what am I supposed to step on?” I’ll probably fall in and never be heard from again, George thought. Chris won’t even notice I’m gone; he’s on a mission. I’ll have to pull him out of some hole in a minute, but if I hear Chinese, he’s on his own.

“Sure looks dark up there, Chris.”

Man, the walls seem to be closing in. Looks spooky, even Chris’s gotten quiet.

“Hey, there’s a bunch of big old cypress trees up here. They’re hanging over the ditch, making it cool and shady. Lot of roots, but they make good hand-holds.”

“Sounds creepy.” He’s trying to convince us both it’s okay. It’s bad and he’s trying to keep me from turning back. Even the moss is gone down here, and these dern roots are poking out everywhere. He frowned as his thoughts raced on. Chris is hurrying so he can stay far enough ahead to keep me coming.

“These roots aren’t too bad.”

He’s shameless, thought George. “Sure looks like it goes underground up there, mighty dark. You sure you want to keep going?” George was watching the stream’s clear trickle give way to billowing fingers of cloudy water working their way toward him.

“It’s just a little narrow, not to worry. Would I lead you into trouble?” Grinning, Chris turned and nearly lost his balance. “Keep up with me, now. It’s hard to keep my balance on these slick rocks, but I need to cross over to the other side. Hope these old, dried roots don’t break.”

Snap! … Splash!

George’s head jerked up and his foot slipped off a rock into the pool he was trying to avoid. “What was that? You fall in?”

“No, darn root I was holding onto broke off. Yanked out half the ditch wall. Looks like the start of a good dam,” Chris said. He was looking down at the water building up behind the fallen clay. “Bout busted my butt, though. It’s dark up under this ledge. I can’t see diddlysquat with all these roots poking out like long, bony fingers pointing at me.

“If I slip in the water one more time, we’re going back,” George said. I know he's not listening; it’s useless to tell him we’re going back. I can hardly walk for all the mud stuck on my sneakers. The gooshing sound when I pull them out of the mud is kinda neat.
“What’s that you looking at? Did you find something in the wall?”

“Yeah, can’t tell what it is, something green back in the clay,” Chris said. “When the root broke off, the clay came with it. I want to dig this thing out and see what it is.”

“Probably some old car part, not worth the trouble of getting it out,” George said, hoping to discourage further investigation. He’s going after whatever it is, he thought.

“No, really, this is weird. Sort of a crusty, milky-green thing, can’t tell what it is. Mighty far down for car parts. Maybe somebody killed someone and buried the body in the car to hide it.”

“Can’t be a car buried down that deep,” George said as he came up, squishing in the mud, to have a look. “That cypress above it must be at least a thousand years old. Nobody’s dug down through these roots to bury that.”

“Help me dig it out. It’s really hard, like a metal box. Let’s take it to the tree house where nobody will bug us,” Chris said.

Focused on the green box, neither boy noticed the strange, white-haired old man watching them from the wooded shadows beyond the ditch.

* * *

“What you make of it?” George asked. Holding tightly to the tree house rail, he looked out over the town through the waving branches. He was standing on the platform high in the willow oak looking back at Chris, fumbling with the box. “You need my knife to get into it?”

“Yeah, looks like it’s metal, but there’s no opening,” Chris said, probing the crusty little box. “It must have been there a mighty long time to be all cruddy and moldy green. It’s not mold though, kinda flaky.” He poked George with the knife tip and, grinning, added, “Like you.”

“You sure it’s worth messing with?” George asked, ignoring the poke. “We could’ve been fishing on the river.”

“Well, there’s something in there; hear it rattle when I shake it? Let’s see if your knife can cut through this green stuff. It looks like that really old penny I found at the beach last year. Maybe the outside is real old copper.”

“Don’t be messing up my knife blade cutting metal.”

“I’ll be careful,” Chris said, looking up for an instant, flashing a reassuring smile. “See, the knife is slipping through this outer stuff … it peels off. Hey, look at this!”

George stopped surveying the city and moved over to the container.

“There’s a wooden box inside and there’s some sort of symbols carved on the top and sides,” Chris said. “I know there’s something in there from the rattling, but I don’t see an opening.”

“Here, let me see,” said the undaunted George, working with the box like an otter opening a clam. I better find the opening fast;
the bell just rang on his patience meter. “There you go,” he replied, slipping his knife blade in a nearly invisible slit to pry off the lid. “Here’s your box.”

“Oh, man, look at these!” Chris exclaimed, staring into the cypress box. “Three scrolls. They’re some sort of books. I’ve seen stuff like this in old movies about Greeks, and Romans, and stuff. They wrote on a long sheet of paper and rolled it up on these stick things back in olden times … Am I seeing things? It looks like there’s some sorta light coming from ’-em.  Man, they must be really old.”

“Better watch it. No telling what’s causin’ ‘-em to glow.”

“This thing is warm,” Chris said, picking up the first scroll. “There’s more of those markings, like the chest carvings, on the ribbon tying the things together.” Holding the first book in his hand, the writing began to transform and he could read it.
The Crown of Yensupov,
that’s what it says. Here, look at it.”

“I don’t see anything, but that same chicken scratch. Can you read that? Thought you said it was warm, it’s cold.”

Chris took back the scroll, “No, it’s still warm.” He unrolled it and read aloud a single opening line.
Icksthornac bornadak belthendor setrovnick!”
Chris said in a deep voice that was not his own. A blue haze rose from the scroll and suspended above it.

“
Upronsig wedra ditz timorlecktra
!

“You having a fit?” George asked. “Stop messing around, you’re giving me the willies! That’s some strange voice you made up. You had me going for a minute.” George looked at Chris for a laugh, but Chris stared off in the distance as if he were listening to something. “Come on, quit with the dumb face, Chris.”

Chris said nothing, but stared into the distance.

George shivered. The words had seemed to pass through Chris as if coming from the scroll itself. Chris has gone weird and said that stuff as though he knew what the gibberish sounded like. It’s like the thing’s taken over him, joined with him somehow, the spell he spoke taking him over.