Chapter 3

Psycho Gerard stayed true to his word. Fred, Mai, and Grace remained with the tourists, digging for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon—all the while under his scrutiny.

They didn’t have much of a choice, really. If they left after saying that this was what they had come to do, it would have seemed suspicious. Gerard could still follow through on his threat and take them to security. And security would take Fred’s box.

When Gerard had refused to leave them at the site alone, the other soldier had grumbled something about Gerard getting fired if he didn’t watch it, and left.

The Parks Canada archaeologist was busy directing the site, and didn’t seem alarmed that they were so much younger than everyone else and had not arrived with the rest of the volunteers—or even that an eighteenth-century soldier was keeping watch over them.

Mai had said they were there for a school project and the archaeologist had nodded vaguely, waving them to a clear spot between an older man and woman. A few instructions on how to dig and screen the soil, and they were left to work away.

The volunteers were very curious about Gerard, though. They’d all arrived before official park hours, so the re-enactors hadn’t been on duty. He was the first “sighting” of a soldier for those that had never visited the fortress before.

“Are you in character? Do you talk like the soldiers at the fortress would have back when it was operating?” a woman asked.

“Yes, ma’am. But we only do that at our posts in the reconstructed part of the fortress.” He pointed up the hill to the buildings. “I have a shift up at the gate later.”

“So what’s your role?” the woman continued. “Can you tell us what it was like back then?”

Gerard seemed to love the attention. He answered endless questions about a soldier’s life—from living conditions, to what his uniform was made of, and the general history of the fortress.

Despite his overall lack of interest, some of the things Fred heard shocked him. Soldiers only made seven dollars a month and took a bath once a year? Gross! Several slept in a bunk and there were lice and fleas in the beds, their uniforms stank, and the soldiers all froze in the winter. On top of that, they almost starved and many took on extra jobs around the fortress to buy food—like fish heads to make soup. What kind of life was that?

As he pretended to dig, Fred noticed Gerard wasn’t the only one glaring at him. Grace was shooting daggers at him every few minutes. He didn’t get why she was so mad—she was usually the first one with her hands in the dirt when it came to caves and fossils. You’d think this would be right up her alley. She was probably ticked because it wasn’t her idea.

But Fred had worse problems than Gerard and Grace. By the middle of the afternoon, his right thigh felt like it had been shredded to hamburger by the edges of the metal box still hidden in his pants.

The situation was made even worse by the irritatingly cheery chatter around him.

“Isn’t this exciting, being part of uncovering the history of this place?” a middle-aged man said. He held up a broken piece of blue and white pottery. “See this, it’s French—the fleur-de-lis,” he added, pointing to the blue pattern. “That’s French for lily flower.”

“Cool,” Fred answered, carelessly flinging aside a scoop of dirt. Whoopee, more pottery. He swore under his breath as a metal edge dug a fresh trench in his leg. The box had given him nothing but pain so far. He wondered what that meant. Guess he didn’t have to wait for the prison after all—he was already there. The only things missing were leg irons and a uniform.

Time oozed by like a fat slug. The metal burned hot on Fred’s leg, the box taunting him with the secrets it held. He shivered, trying not to think about it. The waiting was worse than the pain. He now possessed the box he had been dreaming of for weeks and couldn’t look inside. It was driving him crazy!

A dull rhythm developed, digging interspersed with pauses to examine various nails and pieces of green and blue glass they discovered. There was a bit of excitement when one person found a weird-looking contraption that no one could identify. Gerard the soldier snatched it from her before the archaeologist had a chance.

He took his time examining it, holding it one way, then another. “Ah, yes, of course,” he smirked. “Quite a useful tool back in the day. An amazing discovery, madame!”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” gushed the woman. “Tell us.”

He waited another moment. The crowd leaned forward with anticipation. Holding it up for all to see, Gerard caught Fred’s eye. “Thumbscrews!”

“Oooh!” the crowd gasped.

Fred gulped.

A lively discussion of torture in the eighteenth century ensued, amid trowels full of dirt and the continued screening for artifacts.

He didn’t dare look up again. Gerard was watching his every move. He could feel it. Fred was sure Gerard would love to try the thumbscrews out on him. The crazy soldier no doubt knew exactly how to crush someone’s thumbs and fingers in the simple vice.

Hunger chewed at his insides. He must have played pretend archaeologist long enough to take a break without rousing suspicion. Fred stood up and stretched, only to almost cry out in pain as the box slipped, digging into his leg.

It slipped again.

He lurched forward and grabbed it as it slid and scraped down his thigh.

“What’s wrong with you, kid?”

Gerard didn’t miss a trick.

“Leg cramp,” Fred wheezed, holding the box against his thigh and limping away from the crowd. He continued about twenty metres, as far as he could get from Gerard, and collapsed on a low stone wall.

The box slid down his calf. He shook it out of his pant leg, quickly shoving it behind him. Had he been seen? Luckily, Gerard was busy enthusiastically demonstrating the thumbscrews to some of the awestricken volunteers.

Grace and Mai hurried over.

“Are you okay?” Mai’s eyes were filled with concern.

He nodded.

“You don’t look okay,” she said. “What’s wrong, muscle still cramped?”

He nodded again, but this time with a small smile. Nurse Mai’s attention—he liked that.

“You probably need water. Have some of mine.” She held out her insulated water bottle.

“Thanks.” Fred grabbed it, his heart skipping a beat as his fingers brushed hers. He tilted his head back and guzzled a mouthful.

“I’m sick of this. Talk about boring—it’s nothing like looking for fossils.” Grace tugged off her Dalhousie baseball cap and rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Besides, it’s a gazillion degrees out here.”

“What’s going on, Fred?” Mai asked.

“Yeah, and it better be worth it.” Grace flopped down on the ground beside him, stretching out her legs.

Fred stared up at the sky. He’d found the box. So it wouldn’t be jinxing anything to talk about it now, would it? His problems were over. He could tell them. He wanted to.

“Fred!”

“Gimme a minute, Grace.”

“We almost got arrested for you today,” she griped. “You owe us.”

“Owe you?” Fred said. “How many times did we almost get arrested for you just a few months ago?”

“Enough, you two!” Mai said. “Fred, we’re your best friends. You can tell us anything.” She reached over and gave his arm a squeeze.

Mai’s slender hand on his arm made his mouth go dry. “Sorry I’ve been kind of mysterious. It’s…well…complicated.”

“It’s you, Fred,” Grace joked. “How complicated can it be?”

“See?” he protested. “You never take me seriously. That’s why I didn’t tell you in the first place.”

“Sorry.” She grinned. “I couldn’t resist.”

“You’ll be taking that back,” he said, gulping another swig of water.

“Wait. I need chocolate,” Grace said. “Break out your stash.”

“Don’t mention chocolate,” Fred groaned. “I’m starving, too.”

“Well, where is it?” Grace asked.

“No stash.”

Mai and Grace had identical shocked expressions on their faces. “No stash?” Mai said. “But you always have chocolate. Loads of chocolate. You don’t go anywhere without it.”

He squirmed, not willing to share that much of his story. “Didn’t have time,” he lied.

“Great, Fred,” Grace complained. “I didn’t bring anything to eat because you always do.”

“Don’t worry, I have food,” Mai said. She zipped open a side compartment. Fred swore he’d never seen a backpack with so many pouches.

Grace rolled her eyes at him. Ick, she mouthed, pointing to Mai’s pack.

Fred nodded, making a face. Anything Mai had brought hadn’t come from the junk food section at the corner store, that was for sure.

“Voila!” Mai said. “High-fibre meal bars. I keep them for emergencies.”

Fred unwrapped one and took an unenthusiastic bite. Nuts and birdseed weren’t much of a substitute for chocolate, but his growling stomach wasn’t so choosy.

Sighing and chomping off another bite, he settled back to tell his tale. “It all started over two hundred and fifty years ago at this very place…” He paused, lowering his voice. “With a stolen identity, a fortune in jewels, and a murder!”