Wild Fiction

Chapter 20

While he slept the author dreamt about working. In his dream, he sat in front of the keyboard pounding away at each word and each paragraph without breaks or nourishment. By the time he awoke in the morning, he was exhausted. He swept his arm across the empty space where Genevieve should have been sleeping. For the second morning in a row, she had disappeared without him noticing. Groggily, he got up and went downstairs with the intention of stimulating his tired and aching body with caffeine. The three fictionals were sitting at the breakfast counter in the kitchen. The author immediately forgot his fatigue and became all excited as he remembered his discovery.
‘You look like shit,’ James said.
‘Thanks,’ the author replied. ‘So what do you think of my find?’
‘What find?’ James asked.
‘Sorry, I forgot to tell them,’ Conrad said.
The author looked at Conrad with a drawn sullen expression on his face. ‘Do you know how important this could be?’ he asked Conrad in a patronising tone.
‘What is it?’ Rebecca said bouncing up and down like a five-year-old about to receive a surprise.
‘I found a map in the secret passage,’ the author replied.
Rebecca sat up straight and looked at him. ‘Where?’
‘Behind the door. You have to close the door to see it,’ the author said.
‘What’s it a map of?’ Rebecca asked. Her eyes wide and glowing in excitement.
‘It’s an island. I think it’s in the Caribbean.’
Rebecca had a big smile on her face. ‘Come on, I want to see it. This is the turning point. I know it is.’ She grabbed the author by the hand and dragged him up the stairs. James and Conrad followed.
In the secret passage Rebecca examined the map. She ordered the author to fetch a camera with slide film and had it photographed from every angle. James and Conrad examined how the door was attached and how it formed part of the bookshelves. They determined that it would be too difficult to remove.
Rebecca sent the author to town to get the film developed and organised the boys in setting up a slide projector in the study. The author was back within a couple of hours and soon the men were watching Rebecca taking down every detail of the map onto transparency and A3 sheets. Her hand held firm and accurately traced each contour using coloured pencils. The replica looked sharper and more accurate than the original. They crowded around the table and studied it. Co-ordinates showing the degrees of latitude and longitude within which the island lay ran along the edges of the map. The map was titled:
Isla Angelitos (87º 51’W 17º 33’N)
The island was roughly the shape of a funnel with an L shaped harbour half way along the north side. At the end of the harbour was a mark with the words plaza de descanso written next to it. ‘That means resting place in Spanish,’ Rebecca said pointing at it. ‘And that,’ she said pointing at the words perro con un ojo means dog with one eye.’ The words referred to a point on the most southern tip of the island.
‘Where’s this island?’ James asked.
The author pulled a large atlas from the bookshelf and opened it at Central America. ‘Those co-ordinates place the island right here,’ he said stabbing his finger into the middle of the page. ‘Just off the north-east coast of Belize.’
They drew their noses closer to the page looking for the island. ‘I can’t see any island marked there,’ the author said. ‘I don’t think there’s enough detail on this map.’
‘Let’s look it up on the Internet,’ Rebecca suggested.
The search on the Internet produced seven hits. They examined the contents of each one and came up with four pornographic sites, two network marketers of food supplements and an advert for a Chinese takeaway in Rickmansworth. Despondent but not beaten, Rebecca picked up the phone and called the local library. While she chatted to the librarian Conrad continued searching the Internet. James and the author paged through reference and travel books and old copies of National Geographic. The author’s office had become the nerve centre of a research project. A low hum filled the room as they talked quietly, sometimes to themselves, pages turned and keys clicked.
‘Right,’ Rebecca said hanging up the receiver. ‘It’s a privately owned island belonging to a Sir Betelgeuse Fullroy.’
‘He used to own all the land around here,’ the author said.
‘There’s a Fullroy House at the end of Possum Lane,’ Conrad said.
‘And I think I saw a plaque with his name on it on the church in Gardener Square,’ James said.
Rebecca looked surprised at all this information. She had forgotten how long James and Conrad had been around.