Seizure(105)

“Just open it,” Shelton said. “Show me the money!”

“Gentlemen,” I said formally. “May I present you with Anne Bonny’s booty?”

The boys chuckled, eyes riveted on the article in my lap.

I unhooked the latch and tried lifting the lid. The wax held firm.

“Ben.” I held out my hand.

Ben slapped his Swiss Army knife into my palm. Moving gingerly, I walked the blade around the edge of the lid. Bits of wax crumbled to the floor as I sliced through the ancient seal.

I handed the knife back and inhaled deeply, positioned my hands, and applied pressure. The wax gave. The lid rose.

Inside were two items. The first was a black velvet pouch secured by a leather cord. I handed it to Shelton, and he began working on the knot.

The second item was larger and wrapped in canvas.

“Why hasn’t this stuff rotted to dust?” Ben pointed to the canvas. “That fabric has been underground for three hundred years.”

“The hidey-hole was constructed of fitted stone,” I answered, “which shielded the box from bugs, soil, and the elements. The wax seal kept it airtight. Whoever hid this took the long view. These things could’ve lasted another hundred years.”

“This is it.” Hi’s voice quavered with excitement.

Unwinding the canvas halved the bundle’s size and revealed a small oilskin parcel tightly bound by metal wire.

“Booyah!” Shelton had conquered the knot and was emptying the pouch.

Gold coins trickled into his open palm.

The crowd went nuts.

“Gold, baby, gold!” Shelton sang.

Hi tried to high-five Ben, who ignored him and snatched a coin.

“One side has Latin words circling a cross,” he read excitedly. “The other has a crown and shield, with ‘1714’ and ‘Philip V’ stamped around it.”

“Give me a sec.” Shelton was already working his iPhone. A full minute passed, then, “Spanish doubloons! They’re called ‘eight escudos,’ or gold pieces of eight. Probably minted in Mexico.”

“How much are they worth?” Ben danced the coin across his knuckles, flipped, then caught it in midair.

Shelton kissed his iPhone. “In good condition, each can fetch thousands!”

“We did it!” Hi started raising the roof. “We’re filthy rich! All hail the genius, dog-powered, treasure-hunting, millionaire pimp squad of Morris Island!”

“Not millions.” Ben did a rough estimate. “We’ve got a few dozen here, tops.”

All eyes turned to the parcel in my lap.

“Enough with the appetizers.” Shelton gathered the coins back into the pouch. “Time for the main course!”

“Open the big boy!” Hi rubbed his hands. “I wanna see some diamond underpants.”

“Here.” Ben handed over the pocketknife.

Heart pounding, I severed the wire and unwrapped the oilskin.

And stared.

Outside, a gull squawked. Another answered. Somewhere, far off, a dog barked.

Hi reacted first. “What the hell?”

“Really?” Shelton buried his face in his hands. “Really?”

Ben said nothing.

I held a small bundle of pages.

“It looks religious.” Even I couldn’t feign enthusiasm.

“We’re cursed!” Hi moaned. “Pirate treasure is supposed to be cool. Valuable. Interesting. And we get a freaking medieval church magazine.”

“Let’s at least examine it,” I said. “We don’t even know what it is.”

“Have at it.” Shelton reached for the pouch. “I’ll count the gold coins.”

“I wanna hold one.” Hi sidled over to Shelton. “Gimme.”

“I’m watching you.” Ben raised V’ed fingers to his eyes, then pointed them at Hi and Shelton. “No funny stuff.”

“Sir,” Shelton replied. “You wound me.”

As the boys monkeyed with the doubloons, I inspected the pages.

“This is vellum,” I said. “The sheets are folded in half and then sewn together at the crease to form a small packet. Looks like ten pages total.”

“Uh huh.”

“Neat.”

Detecting their lack of interest, I proceeded in silence.

The first sheet was covered with Latin script decorated by stylized swirls and symbols. The lettering was elaborate and exquisitely detailed. The author had turned the words into art, singling out snippets of text with artistic embellishments.

The second sheet had a full-page depiction of angels surrounded by interlacing patterns. An ornamental knot filled the bottom corner.

Though slightly faded, the colors were breathtaking. Black. Yellow. Purple. Red. The complexity of detail boggled my mind.

As I leafed through the remainder of the manuscript, a paper dropped from the pages. I scooped it up.

A letter. I recognized the handwriting.

“Well, well.”

My change in tone caught the boys’ attention.

“What?” Hi asked.

“Nothing that would interest you guys.” I waggled the letter. “Just another note from our dear friend Anne Bonny, to her besty Mary Read.”

The boys scrambled over, the financial accounting momentarily suspended. We read the message in silence.