The Smugglers' Mine by Chris Mould Page B

grubby hands reached in and held the silver casket around its belly, retrieving it for one short moment. A moment that was long enough for him to
take out the ancient map that lay inside.
    This was the very map that he and Daisy had discovered was a plan of Crampton Rock, the island they were on.
    Daisy Grouse was Stanley’s closest friend. The niece of the lighthouse keeper, she lived a stone’s throw from Stanley when she was visiting her uncle, which seemed to be most of the time. Together they had seen the worst of pirate life, and right now they had business to attend to.

    The old map that lay in their possession had an “X marks the spot” that was aching to be discovered. They had found the whereabouts of the cross on the map. But frustratingly, its center lay in the Darkling house, down in the village.

    They had checked and double-checked, but each time they came back to the very same spot: the spooky, ramshackle old hut that Edmund Darkling had made his family home.
    â€œDaisy, I’ve made a decision,” announced Stanley.
    Daisy looked at him expectantly.
    â€œWell then …!” she prompted. “‘What is it? Are you going to cut your hair?” She laughed.
    He ignored her sense of humor. “We have to get into the cellar of the old Darkling place. We can go during the day because the Darklings sleep for most of it, we know that. As long as we aren’t seen by the villagers, we can have a snoop around.”
    â€œStanley, we’ve been in enough trouble lately,” Daisy pointed out.
    â€œI know, but this whole treasure-seeking
thing will grind to a halt unless we can get inside there. It must be under the floor,” he persisted.
    Daisy had to concede the point. Unless they found their way into the house, they would never get any further!
    â€œDon’t think of it as breaking into the house, Daisy. Think of it as taking a shortcut to where we’re going,” Stanley chirped, a big smile on his face.
    â€œOh, yes. Very good, Stanley. I’ll tell that to the court!” Daisy quipped.
    They set off to the village, map in hand, arguing as they went.
    Stanley reflected briefly on his previous actions. He had been forced to break into the Darkling home to retrieve vital evidence, something that had landed him in serious trouble. He knew that his good intentions
caused him to go astray at times, and that he must be careful not to get too carried away.
    And as they walked, a curtain twitched in a nearby window and an eye appeared through the netting. It watched them as they went, observing until they were out of sight.

3
    Seeking an Ally
    Daisy looked around, making sure no one was watching them. Stanley’s feet disappeared through the coalbin entrance as he slid headlong into the basement of the Darkling home. Daisy followed, pulling the door closed on its loose hinges.
    Fortunately, the entrance to the cellar through the coalbin was at the back of the
house, and it was not visible to the people steadily flowing in the village.
    Inside, the warmth of the sun disappeared and was replaced by a musty, damp cold. Only shafts of light pointed the way. The floor was empty and the walls were covered with poorly mounted shelving, home to bits of this and that.
    â€œNothing in here, Stanley,” whispered Daisy.
    â€œIt’s below ground that matters, Daisy. That map is old, very old. Older than this building, for sure. What’s here, if anything, is below us!” answered Stanley, forgetting where he was and raising his voice in excitement.

    â€œShhh!” urged Daisy. “They’ll hear us!”
    They felt the floor. It was wet and hard, with huge stone slabs laid from wall to wall. Too heavy to lift, thought Stanley, for either him or Daisy, or for that matter, both of them together.
    A click, click, clicking sound came from above. And then a sniff, sniff, sniff. Then more clicking. Movement of some kind. They both froze, then