Les Animeaux - Part X

Chapter Six
   
Back at the Loch
   
While the others were off on vacation, traveling around, spending money, taking pictures, putting on weight, being set upon by Pyrates and generally having a good time; the rest of the Animeaux population of Holmwood Avenue had been almost hard at work on the Treasure site. A difficult task what with the NFL season about to start, the leaves turning colour, the Nova at their disposal and tryouts for the National Theatre School about to commence. The October rains had flooded the storage room several times, and the boring machine had to be repaired three times after hitting especially hard rocks. Even worse, Haemish, during a midnight sprint from the Chinese take-out, had twisted a half-shaft, and now the new Testa Rossa was up on blocks, and they had to rely on the reliable but mundane Nova.

Beauregard had been doing his best to amuse them with his culinary expertise, but on sorely limited funds it was a thankless task. Everyone was getting a frustrated and a bit depressed. There had been no sign of treasure whatsoever, and even resolute Dugal was becoming a bit despondent.

LBP and the rest of the Queen’s Own decided that everyone needed a film festival, so they sat around one afternoon and decided that a Sean Connery retrospective was well worth staging, and would be very very “in”.

This seemed like a fabulous idea to the rest of the Animeaux and Craig’s collection of movies was searched exhaustively for appropriate films, then the video stores were scourged and a 15 hour extravaganza was unleashed amidst piles of caramel popcorn, and bowls of chili sauce, peanut-brittle floats, and chocolate pecan pie (with clotted cream naturally).

On the morning of the second day of the Festival, their spirits were high and the alka-seltzer supplies low—they discovered a map.

That evening about 6, just before he finished his shift and turned the boring machine off, ArchiBold McOinqle, of the dreaded Black McOinqles of Kinlochmoithre, and smallest of the Queen’s Own Pig Irregulars, found the map—stuffed in an almost human skull! He looked at it for some moments before trotting back to the basement entrance; a third of the way there, he changed his mind and screwing up his courage and his tail, he went back, wrapped the skull in the paisley towel he used to keep his hands clean while digging, and walked back the long slope to the basement whistling some porcine aria, to keep the evil shadows, or the Campbells of Argyle away. (It was often softly rumoured among knowledgeable Scots Animeaux that it seemed that many of the Campbells took a suspiciously long time between changes of socks!)

The excitement caused by the map was palpable. A general meeting was held that night and the map was photocopied for safety. Copies were distributed to each and everyone then the long process of interpretation and analysis began. This proved much more difficult then imagined. A lot had changed since the map had been scribbled. Then there were almost no houses in the area and the Loch was much grander. Map references were taken from trees that had long since vanished and stones that had been moved to provide better chairs on the banks of the Loch.

Unfortunately there was no “X Marks the Spot” to be seen. Dugal retired to cogitate on the problem—with a...., well several, small drams.

The next morning he got up early and went into the back yard. As usual there was Earnest, their neighbour busy as ever, tending the remnants of his famous vegetable garden. Dugal approached, and after they had exchanged some polite and mutual inquiries about goings on at the Mess and the state of the chutney reserves, he asked the Major if he had any old photos of the area, taken when he was young. (You see his uncle had built most of the houses in the area, and he, his brother and his sister had grown up just around the corner.)

Earnest leaned on his shovel for a while, “Well Colonel, I suppose that if I ever had them they have been strewn about from Sicily to Hanoi—I am the devil for misplacing things or leaving them behind. Now my sister is sure to have every thing about all this, and I am sure she would be pleased to show you the family albums.

Several hours later Dugal, Haemish-Mór, Beauregard, Albert, LB Pig and ArchiBold McOinqle, who had after all, discovered the map, climbed up the stairs to Mrs. McCagherty’s house. Naturally they had phoned ahead and made an appointment, and were now dressed in their very best, shoes polished, ties freshly tied, waist coats buttoned correctly, hats blocked and brushed, and artistically folded, real linen handkerchiefs in their breast pockets. In each of their hands was a bouquet of posies.

Haemish climbed onto the railing and rang the bell. A few moments later Mrs. McCagherty ushered them into the living room. They presented their flowers, one by one, along with the box of chocolate mints that Beauregard had been saving for Christmas eve. Then they all squeezed onto the red sofa across from their hostess, sat up straight, and folded their hands in their laps.

Beauregard, who was noted for his fine and elegant Southern ways, had been chosen to place their case for assistance. He swept off his hat, and said, “We thank you for taking this time from your busy schedule to meet with us. Dugal here, was talking to your brother, Mister Robertson about the state of the local environs about some sixty years ago. He said you might have some photographs of the park across the street, taken at the time. He said that you knew everyone who ever lived in Ottawa back then, worth knowing, that is.”

Mrs. McCagherty put down the tea pot, and said, “We used to play in the park as children, though my brothers always said not to walk through at night, as Pirates lived in the bushes, or some such non-sense.”

Excited glances were exchanged.

Albert said, “Well, as is customary, older brothers are a fountainhead of good sense and insight, and true to form, your brothers were as correct as could be, and undoubtedly saved you from spending the rest of your life working in an Antoalian Toys-R-Us store. Pyrates were unquestionably hiding in the bushes. We are most positive that they were in the process of hiding one of their treasures you see, and would have stopped at nothing, not even the kidnapping of yourself, to preserve its secret.”

“Are you quite certain?” asked Mrs. McCagherty somewhat shaken by the thought.

“Well nothing is ever for certain in this world, just look at the Green Bay Packers, but I think we can, in all conscience assume that Pyrates were in the park, and Lord knows what their fevered minds would have come up with.

“Now, what can my old picture albums have to do with all this, and how can it be of assistance to you after all these years?”

“Ahhh well, it’s a delicate point you raise to be sure. Not to make too long a story of it. We are looking for Pyrate treasure, probably even older then you.” said Albert. Who was promptly rewarded by a substantial pinch by LBP.

“Ow!, I didn’t mean it that way! What I meant, was that the Pyrate treasure our map purports to describe, was buried over a hundred years ago. The later day Pyrates were probably looking for it also. You know how dumb they are. More then likely forgot where they hid the real map.”

Mrs. McCagherty went to the oak and glass bookcase, and brought out several large wooden bound volumes; she put them on the floor beside the tea trolley. They all got down on the floor, being very careful with the tea and muffins, and began to see Ottawa, as it was well before the war, through her eyes. It must have been a beautiful city, and such a wonderful time the way she described it. She had lots of photos taken at skating parties on the canal, or scrumptious picnics with starched linen and dark blue blazers in their own park.

Dugal took out their pocket scanner and digitized each of the relevant photos, but it was the stories that made the afternoon pass so quickly, even the prospect of treasure could not have pried the Animeaux away from that afternoon tea party.

By the time the albums had been put away, and all joined in doing-up the dishes and vacuuming up the crumbs, (they had really tried their best but....) all the Animeaux felt that sometimes, though not often, it must have been quite nice to be a People.

Later that night Dugal and Haemish entered all the photos into the computer and asked, if it wasn’t busy, could it review the pictures and try to turn them into an overhead map of the Loch, as it was at the time the photos were taken.

The Printer announced they would try to be of assistance but that perhaps a big plotter would do them more service. Both the Animeaux were well aware of the Printer’s quiet concern that it was obsolete and quickly rushed to assure it that there was no need for speed, and that it could take its time. There is always plenty of time. The Printer thanked them and the two machines fell back into their serial conversations—digesting the remembrance of things past, and making them real.

The next morning when Dugal came into the dining room, it was overflowing with paper. The retrospective maps were done.

He called up stairs “Anyone awake up there? I have put the coffee on, and if you hurry, you might be able to peruse the maps before Beauregard’s scones are ready.” He heard the kerthuds of feet being unwillingly forced on to the floor and a frightful sound as they all tried to be first into the bathroom.

They were very careful not to get coffee cup stains on the new maps as they looked at them, spread over the dining room table.

“.....Must say the ‘puters have done themselves proud, these are terribly good. Best get the other map out and compare them.” said Dugal. “Let’s wait till we have finished the scones, I don’t wish to be accused of getting jamy fingerprints on the maps, like the last time.” said Beauregard as he looked into the kitchen where his baking was coming to fruition.

That seemed reasonable, so they all retired to the living room where they amused themselves making lists of what they were going to buy first with their share of the treasure and waited for Beauregard’s Cajun scones with lavender jam. Four hours later they were all so overstuffed that they all had to retire for a siesta, coincidentally just as the Washington-Dallas game was about to start....

Craig, Zita, Callum, BT-McG and Douglas Furbanques arrived home that night—with Presents! A clan tie for Dugal, some inflatable attack rafts for the T-B Zouaves, new hats for almost everyone else, a huge pile of home-knit wool socks for the communal sock drawer, a couple of new cookbooks for the entire family, a English-Gaelic dictionary for the Queen’s Own Pigs; to settle the frequent linguistic disputes, maps of the entire trip for the den wall, lots of fabric for new clothes and rolls and rolls of film so that they could have slide shows and eat nachos.

Callum and BT-McG brought back, the menus from all the restaurants they ate in, the little bars of soap and the small bottles of shampoo from the hotels, memento rocks from Louisbourg and Oak Island and the results of their investigations.

As everyone was poking about in the presents and trying on mismatching socks, Zita turned off the stereo and announced “I never thought that I would say this, but I think I am ashamed of you!”

This brought all conversation to a halt. Haemish said “Goodness, what have we done? We would never make you, of all Peoples ashamed of us, whatever it is, we are very sorry and will immediately put it to rights, if you tell us what it is.”

“Well I am not standing here alone, and not one of you has even noticed our new and greatly appreciated friend, much less welcomed him to Ottawa. Even worse, Callum and BT-McG didn’t even introduce himself to all of you, and him going to all the trouble to clean his vest and borrow a new scarf from me! I am quite ashamed at your lack of hospitality, especially when he saved all our lives, and can get me quite large discounts at the House of Dior.”

They all put down the presents and looked at each other. Callum looked over towards McG and together they walked over to Douglas Furbanques, who was sitting rather forlornly on one of the dining room chairs, dangling his feet.

“We know that our actions are unforgivable, and even worse un-hospitable and ungrateful and we can only hope that you might give us the benefit of the doubt this once. If you would; we promise never to let our standards slip again, no matter how many new socks there are to be tried on. I am very sorry and ashamed, especially since it was one of the Peoples who had to draw the untoward behaviour to our attention.”

McG said that went double for him, and that if he wanted to, Douglas could share “The Lads” sleeping space atop the stereo receiver in their bookcase; if he was still inclined to accept their hospitality, tarnished as it was.

All the other Animeaux came over and formally introduced themselves and apologized most abjectly, thanking Douglas for saving the others and hoping that he would not tell anyone—just in case the news got back to their families of this monstrous lapse in manners and hospitality—and it adversely affected the Christmas present situation.

Douglas accepted the apologies with a wave of his hand saying that he quite understood, and there was no reason for them to be mortified; though later on, as he went up stairs to go to bed he stopped by Zita’s chair to thank her for assisting him to resolve such a delicate problem.



Chapter Seven

   
Archaeology or Anarchy?
   
The next day things had settled down considerably and the size of their tasks caused all the Animeaux to take a deep breath and to look the situation square in the eye. As soon as Craig and Zita left the house a general meeting was called. The living room was crowded, over twenty Animeaux were stuffed into various chairs, sofas and footstools, draped around cushions and atop the tartan rug. Dugal read the minutes and then asked Callum to read the report of the excursion to the East.

He approached the front windows and turned around so that they would all hear, “Well, I am sure that you have all heard of our adventures in the Mysterious East, and how we managed to gain three pounds even while we were discouraged.”

A throat was cleared across the room, “I were discouraged, he was petrified.”

“Anyway - we managed to infiltrate the archives and made copies of lots of important documents. We borrowed the old Rollei camera that collapses and we think we have some invaluable information. Now we have dropped the film off to be processed and we must wait a day before we can go over the documents in any reasonable detail, but I thought that we, BT-McG and me that is, might tell you ‘bout some of the interesting and puzzling facts we discovered.

First of all Oak Island. Aside from missing a rather tasty desert, we could discover no immediate relevance of the exploration to our situation here. Now that is not to say that it isn’t quite something chaps. But its not Pyrate - far too well done and tidy for that. And we found no enlightenment at Louisbourg ether, though the fresh crab and honey salads were a highlight of the trip. I brought back the recipe for you Beauregard.”

The monologue was abruptly broken by the TeddyBear with GreenFeet, “You mean you guys traipsed all over the sea coast, on our money and didn’t find anything but a bunch of smelly Pyrates and more reason to exercise. I think we should take a vote of censure, right now! Put them on the night shift.”

Callum, stepped back into his report and ignored the interruption, “When we got to Halifax, we stopped by the Maritime Museum and pilfered their secrets. Now have any of you heard of Pig Island?”

A murmur strode through the crowd and one of the QOP’s said “None of us has, though it would be nice to have an Island. Did someone leave us one?”

“No”, he said with some exasperation, “it’s a place we found mentioned in the old papers. We were looking for the mention of excavations and tunnels. McG came across this note stuck inside some rather nasty eviction notices. It had a small map with a tunnel leading to its very centre, where sat a Pig Island. Now we thought and thought and looked at all the old maps they had, and no pig island.”

BT-McG stepped up to Callum’s side, “Suddenly I had a big idea. Last year when Mister Mac was teaching me how to sail the ocean-kayak, on the canal, we used to stop and have our coffee and chutney rolls on the little island across from the park. Its name was Pig Island. Now what if it is the same Pig Island?”

“Well what if it is? We all are over here, and here is where we found the clues and the map. You are trying to distract us from the fact that you had a vacation and we didn’t.” A silence spread through the room.” Well, it wasn’t a big vacation like theirs and it was very economical, as the Nova still gets pretty good mileage.”

The TeddyBear with the GreenFeet suddenly excused himself and went to get some fresh marshmallows. It was safer then being thrown out the window by BT-McG he thought.

They continued, “Perhaps there may be a tunnel from our Loch, over to the island.”

“Or perhaps there are two treasures.” said Douglas, commenting on the events for the first time.

Haemish said, “That would be nice. Though I think it unlikely to find two troves within sight of each other and still hidden.”

“Well I would too.” continued Douglas, “but I heard on the great Pyrate Rumour Mill, that because of the Free Trade Agreement that the Pyrates feel that they should recover all the treasure buried here over their long years of misbehaviour and transfer them to savings and loans in Florida, now that they don’t have to pay duty on ill gotten gains.”

“Just like Pyrates, no social responsibility at all. Who is going to pay for the roads, ski-lifts, cable car lines, and the dirigible landing fields if we don’t pay duty.” said Haemish, quite concerned—as his father made quite a lot of money collecting import and export duties on everything in their homeland.

“Douglas, do you have any other reason to suspect any unusual findings, or is it just great hopes for a mighty blow against Pyrates?” asked Beauregard.

Well aside from the rumours and some vaguely overheard remarks about a canal—though it could have been the Suez canal for all I know. The Pyrates were stocking up on red flannel underwear as they were going on a cold expedition, so I can only hopefully guess.”

“Which rather excludes the Suez I would guess.” said Beauregard rather to himself, and then addressing the room said, “Well—we can’t allow the Pyrates to set our agenda, and we still have not decided what to do next.

“Let us look at the maps.” said Albert, clearing a space on the floor with his tail, “All the maps; and the aerial photos that the Dragons took.” A certain amount of scurrying about took place. The aforementioned objects appeared and were laid out on the living room rug, with books securing their corners.

“Now everyone get up here on the back of the sofa, so we can gain some perspective.” Another bout of scurrying and the multitude was perched on the sofa gazing intently at the mass of lines and squiggles that defined the possibilities of Pyrate treasure.

They spent several hours staring at the hieroglyphics, occasionally changing positions or rearranging one of the maps. As the sun started to set, and a chill began to seep into the house, Osgoode Small, climbed down the sofa’s arm and pulled two of the maps to one side. The newly reconstructed map on the right and the other older map of ArchiBold’s on the left. He studied them for awhile, pushing and pulling them here and there, until he sat down and said, “I think we just might have found it.”

Once More Unto The Breech Dear Friends....

“If we assume that this line here, is not part of the obscene doodle it appears, but is the true centre line of the map and if we ignore the road, which wasn’t there at the time, and extend that line to the end of the map to where to other rather disgusting representation of a pig is drawn and match that line to the compass line on the Pig Island map, placing the island over the offending scribble we can see that a long straight line joins the centre of our Loch to the south west corner of Pig Island. I suspect that if we dig our tunnel over to that point we will intersect the secret tunnel connecting Loch Brown to the treasure chamber under Pig Island. I propose we aim our tunnel 30 degrees to the left and push forward with haste. Treasure here we come!

There was a pause as they all peered at the maps and started pounding each other on the back. There ensued a mad scramble down the basement stairs to their excavation and a pushing match as they pulled on the wrong Wellingtons on the wrong foot - it was a grand melee.

Upstairs Haemish and Dugal stared at the maps, “It is not pitifully clear to me.” said Dugal, “Nor I” responded Haemish, who between them had many years experience reading maps.

Osgoode stuck his head around the corner, “It is just a guess. But everyone was getting so dispirited and forlorn I had to do something. I’d rather they be disappointed at not finding the tunnel than lose their confidence in treasure. You could see how even my friend with the green feet was losing his composure, and his humour. We’re not like that, you know. I recognize that it is wrong to over-state my opinions but I was getting so worried about all of us.” He stopped and dropped his head.

Haemish-Mór walked over and offered him the last of the rum-caramel fudge, “Not to worry yourself. It’s quite alright I am sure that the enthusiasm itself will be enough to find a treasure somewhere.”

He and Dugal took a rather metaphysical view of treasure hunting you see.

When Craig got home the whole lot of them were in the basement encouraging each other. Dugal and Haemish briefed him on the day’s events and he went to bed hoping that none would be disappointed.

The boring machine was put into 24 hour service and what small conversation the tired Animeaux were capable of cantered about the chances of hitting the Pyrate tunnel first time.

It was the first Tuesday in November, about 3:45, when they broke into the high vaulted Pyrate tunnel.

“It is very dark indeed.” said Beauregard, as he and Albert peered down into the dank interior, “Perhaps we should get some torches before we enter, otherwise we might miss a clue, or fall down or stumble over something important and break it.”

“Or Some -Thing might grab us.” said Albert

“Good idea, let’s go back to the house, discuss the best way to scrutinize these works, and make some hot coffee, it is very damp down here.”

They turned off the boring machine, after blocking the entrance to the old tunnel with it. No point taking chances they agreed.

A few moments later they and other crew members, a couple of the Imperious TeddyBears, walked up the long slope into the house, whistling rather smugly - they thought.

The news had proceeded them and the whole crew, including Craig and Zita were sitting in the living room waiting to hear the report. The feeling was not one of excitement, rather a suspension of doubt that had rather stilled their hopes. Craig went into the kitchen and made his usual fuss about making coffee, half Arabic, half mocha, and while the coffee poured forth, Albert said, “Now I am as brave as the next, but I don’t wish to explore a Pyrate tunnel completely in the dark. I think we should get a bunch of flashlights or electric lanterns before we enter the hole.”

Beauregard suggested that they use some of the fireplace wood as torches, but it was vetoed as being too dangerous and awfully messy. And the electric motion carried the day. Craig naturally handed over some more money to pay for a dozen flashlights and two large electric torches.

The next morning at 7am there were nearly a dozen Animeaux leaning against the wall, who rushed into Home Hardware the moment it opened. Fifteen minutes later the entire group assembled in the basement, minus the dragons, who were quite uneasy underground and stayed in the air, looking out for suspicious sailing ships on the canal. Two sleds had been made up to carry back the treasure, if it was still there.

Naturally the quickly formed Advance Guard were the first to enter. Dugal lightly carried Claidgh-Mór-dubh, his great-great-great-great-grandfather’s double-handed broad sword, slung over his back. BT-McG carried his best dress cutlass, presented to him by a grateful Port of Hong Kong, while Callum and Haemish each carried their favorite Winchester Model 97 shotguns—with the useful 18 inch barrel.

Beauregard and Albert had each opted for the six foot, two-handed Lochabar axe. Always useful for cutting Pyrates down to size they said.

Zita had supplied Douglas with a large pump garden sprayer that she used in the summer to keep the bugs at bay. She had filled it to the brim with diluted Giorgio Armani perfume. They thought that if the group was surprised by Pyrates he could lay down a protective fog under which they could regroup—no-one ever dared use the word retreat around Colonel Dugal and Haemish-Mór.

By 10:22 the last glimmer from the flash lights had dimmed into the tunnel’s gloom and the remaining Animeaux sat down and waited for the all clear signal.

At 11:15 Callum appeared, “We need a couple of pickaxes and a shovel, as there has been a slight cave-in, which needs to be disposed of.” The implements and a thermos of fresh hot chocolate were quickly put on a small wagon and Callum strode off into the dark, singing “Men of Harlech”.

“So far so good.” said Zita, and the rest went back to the inter-mural Go championship or took turns guessing prices from the latest “Christies” catalogue.

At 1:30 Beauregard and Haemish showed up, dusty and with red-rimmed eyes, “The treasure must be much further away than we thought. We think we will be at it for a while yet. Any chance of some hot victuals, and some assistance? BT-McG has unfortunately dropped a large rock on his foot and is a bit “non compus menti” but won’t leave. Any good ideas?” He sat down with a sigh and Beauregard said “BT is being a bit stubborn about it, and it is quite cold out there especially if you are a bit immobile.”

Zita ran upstairs to get her new down jacket and the battery powered socks; the QOP’s trooped up the stairs and started to get the chili makings together. The two Dragons came down and sent small streams of flames into the tunnel, after shouting a warning of course, in an attempt to take away the damp. They were afraid to let loose a great blast least they ignite some noxious gases and cause an implosion.

Three quarters of an hour later, much refreshed, Beauregard and Haemish accompanied by the full body of The Imperious TeddyBear Zouaves—in their Dress Regimental Blues—sent off, loaded with vats of Chili, apricot, cinnamon and nutmeg Chutney, fresh batteries for the luminators, and all the scarves, gloves and warm jackets that could be found. The skirl of the pipes floated back to the basement for the next half hour.

At 9:30 the TeddyBear with the GreenFeet puffed his way into the basement, “We are almost there.” Dugal said to invite one and all to the breakthrough. The rest of the Animeaux quickly slipped on their Mackinaws and boots and picked up the reserve flashlights and started off in great anticipation into the tunnel. LBP stopped and looked back, “Better hurry” he said to Craig and Zita who were straightening things up, “You don’t want to fall behind.”

Craig replied “Listen old friend, if it’s all the same, we think that this is your success and we would feel a bit like interlopers, if you know what I mean. Don’t say anything to the guys, they won’t notice our absence. After all it is completely due to the Animeaux efforts, and faith that this day has been won and you should enjoy it together; without having to restrain yourselves because of us. It’s quite alright with us, but give them our best, and if by some mischance the treasure chamber turns out to be empty, please don’t let them get discouraged, Zita and I have discussed it and I am sure we can figure out a way to finance another expedition. New Wellingtons, a bigger boring machine—whatever they need. We’ll wait here and set the fireplace to work, and make some hot chocolate for the celebration.”

“Spike” gave him a “thumbs up” sign and blew Zita a kiss and then ran down the tunnel after the rest of his friends.