Benchley, Peter by The Deep [txt] Read Free Book Online Page B

where we found it. David did. In the rocks.”
    “Ah well,” Treece said. “You do find them now and again. Sometimes they even kick up in the surf.”
    “Could there be more?” Gail asked.
    “Aye.” Treece smiled. “And beneath that could be Atlantis. You found one coin-not even a coin, a skeleton of one. Imagine: Suppose there was an earthquake right now that broke off this bloody cliff and plunged us into the sea. And suppose three hundred years from now some divers come across the wreckage, and the first thing they find is a penny that spilled out of my pocket. Now, they’d be fools to conclude that they’d come upon the treasure hoard of some Bermuda panjandrum.”
    Sanders said, “But there
    could
    be more.”
    “Possible, aye, I won’t deny it. There’s more mysteries hidden by the sea than you or I can fathom, and once in a while she unravels one, in her own time. But usually she just teases you, gives you trinkets to keep you interested. Then she spits in your eye.”
    “I read somewhere about a kid who was walking in the sand and scuffed up a fifty-thousand-dollar gold chain.”
    Treece nodded. “It happens. But if you wait around for it to happen to you, you’ll go mad.”
    “Should we look for more coins tomorrow?” Gail asked.
    “No. You wouldn’t recognize them if they fell on yonr foot. Don’t go picldng up every Christ lump of black rock you see.”
    Treece led the Sanderses out the back door and around to the front of the house. The dog followed, sniffing and wagging her tail.
    “How will we get in touch with you?” Sanders said.
    “As you did today. A long ride it may be, but it keeps visitors infrequent and sincere. In an emergency, you could ring my cousin Kevin.”
    “Not Kevin’s Lunch. We stopped for
    directions.”
    A hint of displeasure must have shown on Sanders’
    face, for Treece laughed and said, “How much did they cost you?”
    “Ten dollars.”
    “He is some kind of mercenary bastard, Kevin is.
    He’s all right, but if there’s a way to suck money from dirt, he’ll find it.”
    Gail said, “He seemed very … protective of you.”
    “He is. Most folks here are. It’s a tradition.”
    “To protect you?”
    “To shield whichever one of us Treeces is keeping the light. When the bloody bastards dumped us here as slaves in the eighteenth century, they put a sheriff and a band of thugs in charge of keeping us in line. But we didn’t take well to slavery, and after a bit we scalped the sheriff and threw him and his lot to the fish. Then they jolly well let us be.
    We set our own order. A Treece was elected chief, for two reasons: We were always bigger than anybody else, and there were more Treeces around than anybody else, so we always had ample blood kin to help put down any dust-ups. It’s been this way for over a century.”
    “You’re the chief now?” Gail said.
    “In a way. The job doesn’t amount to much. I arbitrate disputes, and I deal with the Bermudians whenever we have something to deal with them about, which is blessedly seldom. And I keep the light, which is the only part of the job that pays. But it’s not a bad job, especially in the years before you take it. It’s like being the bloody Prince of Wales. When my father was alive, the Islanders paid for
    my education in England. There’s a feeling that the chief should be educated. I don’t know why: a degree isn’t much help in thumping a rascal or returning a fellow’s stolen goat.”
    “There is crime here, then,” said Gail. “We were warned not to stay after dark.”
    “Not to speak of, at least not among St. David’s people. But the warning has merit: Off-islanders are fair game.”
    “And when you retire,” Gail said, “your son takes over?”
    “He would,” Treece said evenly, “if I had a son.”
    The flatness of Treece’s tone embarrassed Gail. Sanders noticed her discomfort, and he said, “We’ll leave the ampule with you?”
    “I would,” Treece said.