Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
LucasArts Fiction

CHAPTER 11: EVERYTHING CHANGES

We went out to the island the next day, at first light. The weather, just as it had been yesterday, was hot and balmy. The kind of day for sitting in palm trees, whistling reggae tunes.
Dad and Wendy were off on their own expeditions. Since neither of them had anything for me to do, I followed our path of yesterday. After an hour of walking I came to the skull. I looked closely all around it, but there was nothing else.
So I followed the path further up. It was hard going, and there were no further signs of habitation to spur me on. Soon the ground below had turned to rock and the jungle was thinning out, leaving me alone on the bare top of the mountain.
It rose above me, a jagged spire, thin but not especially tall. A few minutes of scrambling was enough to propel me to the top. I stood there, in the warm air, and looked around.
It was sea everywhere I looked. No other islands could be seen. Except... turning a second time, I saw a faint speck right at the edge of the horizon. That could be an island. If it was, it was either very small or a long way off.
I climbed back down, and was soon jogging down the mountain slope, leaping from stone to stone like a mountain goat. It was amazing how quickly my legs had readjusted to unmoving ground after months of sea travel.
There was nothing else to do, so like Wendy and Dad I spent the morning exploring the island. I came across a stream of fresh water, which ran into a shallow lagoon of blue-green seawater. Further along I came to a swamp of mangroves, and beyond that a grassy clearing.
At about lunchtime I caught up with Wendy, who was sitting down on the beach, taking a rest.
I suddenly had this great idea. She hadn't seen me yet, so I moved back into the jungle. I reached into my bag and took out a piece of paper, and some pencils. Quickly I began drawing my very own treasure map. For authenticity I singed the edges of the paper with a match, and rubbed it into the dirt.
I came out of the jungle bearing the map proudly before me. "Look at this, Wendy!" I said. "Look what I found!" And I gave her the map.
She took it, and smiled. I think she realised the ruse straightaway. But she played along. "Look! A treasure map!" she said.
"That's right!"
"Where did you find this?" she asked.
"Oh, back there," I said, pointing vaguely.
"Have you tried the directions?" she asked.
"No," I said. "I was afraid I'd get them wrong."
Wendy stood up. "Right." She peered down at the map. "It says here to start at the mouth of Freshwater Creek."
"I know where that is," I said. "At least, I found a stream, and it's fresh. It's this way." We walked through the jungle, Wendy reading the directions with that smile still on her face.
I brought her to the mouth of the lagoon. "Now where?" I said.
"It says to follow the stream's right bank for eighty paces," said Wendy.
We walked along the stream, Wendy counting under her breath to eighty. When she reached eighty, we'd climbed up a bit above the lagoon. There was jungle all around.
"What does it say now?" I asked. With directions made up on the spur of the moment, this was as new to me as it was to Wendy.
Wendy read. "It says to turn right and walk straight ahead until we see a large stone."
This would be interesting. Was there a large stone to be found? We walked straight ahead, Wendy leading the way. I think she was enjoying the game.
We were moving gradually uphill, and the soil was getting drier. No rocks, until we suddenly came to a gap in the jungle, where the ground suddenly rose up. Here, spearing up from the soil, was a spire of rock.
"We found the stone," said Wendy. "Now it says to turn counter-clockwise four and three-quarter times, then hop forward for twenty paces." We did this. The hopping felt a bit silly.
"What's the last direction?" I asked, although I remembered it fairly well.
"We have to turn right and walk one hundred paces," said Wendy. She started counting under her breath again. The path was leading us down into a circular valley. There was light ahead.
As Wendy took her final steps we broke clear of the jungle, and into a flat grassy clearing. Wendy stopped at the edge of the clearing. "We dig here," she said.
"But we haven't got a shovel," I said. Wendy was looking across the clearing and not really paying attention. "Hey, what are you looking at?" I said.
"Hmmm. This map is wrong," said Wendy.
"What do you mean? You haven't even dug yet!"
"No," she said, "but there's a huge red X on the ground over there." And she pointed at the far end of the clearing.
I ran over. She was right. In faded red paint, a huge X had been painted on the ground.
I pelted away to get Dad.

Wendy waited in the clearing. About half an hour later I'd managed to get Dad to follow me, bringing a shovel with him. He was a bit curious, but not much. I don't think he really believed us.
But he sure believed us when I showed him the huge X. "Wow," he said, breathing out slowly.
"Let's dig!" I said.
Dad raised a cautious hand. "Not just like that. It might be... booby trapped. I wonder who left this here?"
"Pirates," said Wendy.
Dad bent down to the ground, and listened. This was strange behaviour, even for Dad. He knelt up and cleared away the ground around the X, making sure nothing was hidden in the grass. Eventually, he was satisfied.
"Okay," said Dad. "Let's dig."
Dad dug into the soil for the next ten minutes, soon piling mounds of dirt around a steadily widening hole. Very quickly he'd fallen into an efficient digging rhythm, which was only upset when the shovel hit something solid.
Dad stopped. "I've hit something solid," he said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Could be stone," said Dad. "But it feels too soft." He dug away some more soil then knelt down and brushed away some more. A curved, horizontal surface was emerging.
It wasn't stone.
Dad brushed the last dirt away, revealing part of the lid of a wooden chest. Me and Wendy gathered around, breathless. Nobody spoke as Dad speeded up, widening the hole with his shovel, clearing away more dirt.
It was a chest about three feet long, and one foot wide. By now the whole lid was visible. It was curved, built from faded dark wood, and reinforced with metal straps.
Dad reached down and pulled on a handle on the side of the chest. He heaved. Whatever was in the chest, it was heavy. He pulled it up just enough to reveal a small gap underneath the chest. Dad jammed the shovel into this gap, holding the chest up. Now he let go of the shovel, and pulled the chest up onto the nearby dirt.
A three foot by one foot by one foot wooden box. What did it contain? Treasure? Papers? A whole new universe?
The lid was held shut by two metal straps. Dad fiddled with these for a bit, but couldn't open them. He wasn't in a mood for wasting time; he just picked up the shovel and hit the straps with full force.
One after they other, they popped open. Dad opened the lid of the chest.
He stuck one hand inside. When it came out, it was full of gold coins.
The whole chest was full of gold.