Myth and I remained alert until the bandits passed from sight. Only then did we lower our weapons.
“Whew,” uttered Myth. “I’m glad they decided to leave.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I hate fighting.”
Bard stood up and dusted off his trousers. “Well, my sweet damsels, it was fortunate that I was here to protect you from those curs.”
“Is he serious?” I asked Myth.
She shook her head in disbelief. “He’s a lunatic.”
Myth picked up my pack and handed it to me. “Here you go, Iz.”
“Thank you,” I said.
As she retrieved her own pack, Myth added, “Come on. It’s time for us to leave.”
We started to walk away.
“A moment, if you please,” said Bard, following us. “I’d be remiss in my duties as a gentle bard if I failed to escort two such lovely ladies upon this treacherous road.”
“Oh, my gods,” Myth muttered. She placed her palm against her forehead and shook her head from side to side. “We’ll manage on our own.”
“But I insist,” replied Bard.
Myth huffed. Glaring at Bard, she said, “What is it with you humans? Why are you so determined to follow an elf around?”
“Hey!” I shouted. “Don’t lump me in with him.”
Myth turned to me. “Apologies, Izzy. But we don’t need this bard following us. He’s annoying and useless. Escort us! He probably wants us to protect him in case those bandits come back.”
“I agree,” I replied. “Just don’t compare me to him.”
“But I can make us all rich,” said Bard.
“Not interested,” replied Myth.
Bard refused to give up. “I know where to find buried treasure.”
My interest perked up when I heard, “buried treasure.” As a wee girl, I had dreamed of finding buried treasure. Oh! You would not believe the number of times I dug up Auntie’s garden in search of gold hidden by bandits or pirates. But I never found anything. That always disappointed me.
“Hold on, Myth,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Let’s hear him out. Searching for buried treasure sounds like an adventure.”
Myth looked at me, then at Bard, and then at me again. “Are you sure?” she asked me.
Beaming, I nodded my head.
“Okay,” Myth said to Bard. “Tell us about this treasure. I presume you have a map since those bandits were beating you up to get it.”
“Not a map, per se,” replied Bard. “It’s a clue that leads to the treasure. And I managed to conceal it from those curs despite their abusive behavior.”
Myth folded her arms. “If you hid this ‘clue’ down your trousers, we’re leaving.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Bard with a laugh. “That was the first place they looked.”
Throwing his arms into the air, Bard said dramatically, “Ahem! Barnaby, my good rat, it’s time for you to make an appearance.”
The tall grass bordering the road began to stir. Then Barnaby scurried onto the road. In his mouth was a rolled-up piece of parchment.
“To me, my little fellow,” said Bard. He kneeled down and placed his hand, palm up, upon the road.
Barnaby scampered over to Bard and deposited the parchment into his waiting hand.
Bard stood upright and brandished the piece of parchment. “I purchased this from a wizened old man—wrinkly, bald, and toothless, you know the sort—who—”
“Hold on,” said Myth. “What exactly do you think ‘wizened’ means?”
“Wise, of course,” replied Bard. “Now—”
“Um, no,” I said, shaking my head. “Wizened means ‘wrinkled with age.’ So wizened and wrinkly are the same thing.”
“Huh?” uttered Bard.
“I’m a bit concerned that you assumed this old man was wise because he was wizened,” said Myth. “Not every wrinkly old man is wise.”
Bard and Barnaby looked at each other. Then the rat shrugged—yes, shrugged.
“If one is wizened, then one must be wise,” replied Bard, laughing. “But that’s beside the point. This wizened old man assured me that this piece of parchment is genuine. Upon it is a clue written by Black Bart, the baleful pirate. It leads to a second clue. And that clue leads to a third clue. And the third clue leads to a fourth clue. And the fourth clue—”
“Leads to a fifth clue,” said Myth, shaking her head.
“No,” said Bard. “The fourth clue reveals the location of Black Bart’s treasure.”
“So why didn’t your wizened old man find the treasure himself?” said Myth. “Why did he sell the clue to you?”
Bard threw his arms into the air and laughed. “Wizened old men don’t need money,” he said, as if that was a fact that everyone knew.
“But you paid him for the clue, right?” said Myth.
Smiling eagerly, Bard nodded his head.
Myth looked at me. “Do you see the problem here, Iz? This bard certainly doesn’t.”
I thought for a moment before responding. “I think so. If the wizened old man doesn’t need money, then why did Bard have to pay him for the clue?”
Myth smiled at me and said, “Exactly.”
Bard tapped his finger against his lip for a while. I suppose he was trying to think of an answer that did not make him look like a fool. “Aha!” he shouted suddenly. “I had to show that I was pure of heart before he’d entrust the clue to me. What better way to prove that than by giving an old man some coins?”
Myth and I looked at one another. I believe that both of us were wondering if Bard was a lunatic, an imbecile, or both. I know I was wondering that.
“O-kay,” said Myth slowly. “Let’s see this clue.”
Bard clutched the piece of parchment and backed away from her.
“Oh, for the love of…” Myth snapped. “I’m not going to steal your precious clue.”
Reluctantly, Bard handed the piece of parchment to Myth.
She unrolled the parchment and read its message aloud:
“Yargh! ’Tis I, Black Bart, the baleful pirate. If ye seek me bountiful booty, then away with ye to Boyle’s Mountain. The next clue be hidden beneath Braddock’s Statue. Yargh!”
I giggled. “That was so adorable, Myth.”
Myth looked at me. Her face was scrunched up, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“The way you added, ‘Yargh!’ to the message,” I replied. “You were really getting into the role of Black Bart.”
“I didn’t add that,” said Myth. She handed the piece of parchment to me. “See, Black Bart actually wrote, ‘Yargh!’ ”
A glance at the parchment confirmed that the pirate had indeed written, “Yargh!”
“What sort of pirate literally writes, ‘Yargh!’ ” said Myth. “And what sort of pirate robs and murders people but doesn’t spend his ill-gotten loot? Why on Nisse Cul Tairna would he cart his treasure hundreds of miles inland and then bury it? And why would he create a series of clues that will guide anyone—and everyone—to his buried treasure?”
“Because that’s what pirates do,” said Bard.
“I doubt that,” replied Myth.
“Look,” said Bard, “Boyle’s Mountain is a three-day journey from here. And Braddock’s Statue is atop the mountain. What would be the harm in traveling there together? If the next clue doesn’t exist, then we can part ways.”
“Three days spent in your company,” said Myth. “No treasure is worth that. Especially since those bandits are probably waiting to ambush you.”
I did not agree with her. Hunting for buried treasure sounded like such a great time that I was willing to endure Bard’s company. Rubbing Myth’s elbow, I said, “Now, Myth, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. We can search for buried treasure—together!”
Myth raised an eyebrow. “You want to travel with him?”
“No,” I replied, bouncing up and down excitedly. “I want to look for this treasure with you. He’s just a bit of luggage we have to take along.”
“I can hear you, you know,” said Bard.
Myth and I ignored him.
“What about the Beet Festival?” Myth asked me. “We may not have time to search for buried treasure and go to the festival.”
That comment made me pause. I had been looking forward to the Beet Festival ever since I had heard about it. Missing it would be awful. But finding buried treasure was a girlhood dream of mine. And finding that treasure with Myth would be even better.
A fantasy rushed through my mind: Myth and I have found Black Bart’s treasure. Elated, we embrace. Then we look at one another. I brush that strand of hair off Myth’s forehead. She lifts me up, setting me atop a boulder so that our eyes are level. I place my hands on the back of Myth’s head and gently pull her closer towards me. Our lips touch—
No, no, no, I told myself. Izzy, you must not let your imagination run wild like that.
Myth and I were friends—nothing more. Yes, that fantasy had made my heart flutter. But I still was not sure if I wanted us to be more than just friends. Maybe I could figure that out as we searched for the treasure. And maybe—just maybe—Myth would realize that she felt the same about me.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I jumped, startled to realize that Myth was a-tapping upon my shoulder.
“Hello. Izzy,” said Myth. “Are you okay? You drifted off.”
“Huh?” I uttered. “Oh. I’m fine. I was just… thinking.”
“Well,” said Myth, “Beet Festival or buried treasure?”
After taking a deep breath, I said, “Buried treasure.”
“Are you sure?” said Myth. “I know the Beet Festival is important to you.”
Beaming at her, I nodded.
“Okay then,” said Myth. She turned towards Bard. “Well, it looks like we’ll be your partners.”
“As delighted as I am to hear that,” said Bard, “there is an issue we must settle before we depart. Let’s discuss how we’ll split the treasure once we’ve found it. I propose a fifty-fifty split: half for the two of you and half for Barnaby and me.”
Myth sighed. Kneeling beside Barnaby, she studied the rat. “What is a rat going to do with a load of treasure?”
“Anything he likes,” replied Bard. “He might even bequeath it to me.”
Barnaby glowered at Bard and said, “Squeak.”
“Look,” said Myth as she stood up, “I really don’t care about the treasure. I’m going along with this because Izzy wants to. So if she’s happy with a fifty-fifty split, then so am I.”
All I cared about was searching for buried treasure with Myth. The treasure itself did not matter.
“Fifty-fifty sounds fine,” I said. Grabbing hold of Myth’s hand, I jumped up and down and said, “Now, that’s enough talk. There’s a treasure we need to find!”