Amanderella and the Ppockingstull Treasure Chapter 10

Chapter 10.

 

Clue Two.

 

Amanderella took the copper token from her satchel and held it up to the light one last time. Then she knelt on the grass, smoothing the map across her knee. Her boots gave a thoughtful little squeak as she uncapped her pencil.

“We must keep this accurate,” she said. “Explorers who don’t mark their maps end up wandering in circles, or falling into unexpected ponds.”

Maudline nodded vigorously. “I once fell into a pond because I was following a butterfly. Terrible business. Very wet.”

Amanderella ignored this. With neat, precise strokes she drew a tiny square where the paving stone had been, then added a small arrow pointing east from the boar statue.

“There,” she said. “That shows where we found the first token.”

Maudline leaned over her shoulder. “So, the next clue must be north?”

“Exactly.” Amanderella tapped the map. “If the clues form a square, then from this point we go straight up the page. North.”

She folded the map carefully. “If the next landmark is an oak, it ought to be easy to find. Oaks grow for three hundred years, live for three hundred years, and die for three hundred years. Unless someone cut it down, it should still be there.”

Maudline winced. “Ah. Well. About that.”

Amanderella looked up sharply. “What now?”

“All the oaks on the estate were taken down to build ships for the Royal Navy,” Maudline admitted. “Every single one. Except the ones they couldn’t reach, or couldn’t move, or couldn’t persuade to fall over politely.”

Amanderella’s boots gave a worried squeak. “So, the kneeling oak might not be standing at all.”

“It might be lying down,” Maudline said brightly. “Or sulking. Or half‑attached. Or mostly stump.”

Amanderella slipped the map back into her satchel. “Then we shall find whatever is left of it.”

Maudline opened her mouth, shut it again, then opened it once more like a hesitant goldfish. “There’s… something else I ought to mention.”

Amanderella’s boots gave a wary squeak. “Yes?”

“It’s about the picture on the token,” Maudline said, tapping her forehead as though trying to dislodge the memory. “That crooked lane. I think I’ve seen it before.”

Amanderella straightened. “Where?”

“Well,” Maudline said, brightening, “I’m not entirely sure. But it looks very much like the lane behind the old north field. The one that bends three times for no sensible reason.”

Amanderella considered this. “The lane that wanders about as if it’s lost?”

“That’s the one!” Maudline beamed. “It’s terribly crooked. It can’t go five yards without changing its mind.”

Amanderella’s eyes lit with interest. “And it’s north of here.”

“Exactly,” Maudline said proudly. “I knew it reminded me of something. I just had to let my brain rummage about for a bit.”

Amanderella’s boots gave an approving squeak. “Then that confirms it. The next clue lies somewhere near that lane.”

Maudline clapped her hands. “Splendid! I love it when things line up. Even crooked things.”

Amanderella took out her compass, the brass lid clicking open with a neat little snap. The needle quivered, then settled with quiet confidence.

“North is this way,” she said, angling the map to match the compass. Her boots gave a satisfied squeak. “If the kneeling oak is still anywhere on the estate, it will be along this line.”

Maudline peered over her shoulder. “Excellent. I like it when the needle does the thinking. Mine always points at my bicycle for some reason.”

“That’s because your bicycle is mostly iron,” Amanderella said, stepping forward. “Come on.”

They pushed into the undergrowth, Amanderella checking the compass every few steps. Brambles tugged at their sleeves. Ivy looped across their path like lazy green ropes. The ground rose steadily, the air growing cooler and stiller.

Amanderella paused to take another bearing. “We’re still on course. The crooked lane should be just ahead.”

Maudline nodded. “It used to be a proper lane. Then it sank. Or the ground rose. Or both. Hard to tell.”

They pushed through a final curtain of hazel branches—

—and the earth simply dropped away beneath them.

A steep bank fell sharply down into a narrow, shadowed trench. At the bottom lay the remains of the lane: a sunken track twisting left, then right, then left again, as though it had been laid out by someone who couldn’t walk in a straight line.

Amanderella knelt at the edge, compass still in hand. “This is it. The crooked lane from the token.”

Maudline beamed. “I knew it looked familiar. It’s even crookeder than I remember.”

They scrambled down the bank, boots sliding on loose soil. At the bottom, the lane felt cool and quiet, the high banks muffling the wind. Roots jutted out like knobbly elbows. Ferns unfurled in the dim light.

Amanderella checked her compass again. “North is still this way. We don’t need to follow the lane far, just enough to find a place where we can climb out again.”

They walked only a short distance, the lane bending sharply ahead like a question mark someone had dropped.

Amanderella stopped. “The kneeling oak should be somewhere beyond this point. North of the digging spot, north of the boar, and north of this lane.”

Maudline shaded her eyes, even though they were in a ditch. “Then we climb.”

Amanderella snapped the compass shut. “We climb.”

Amanderella checked her compass again, the needle steady and sure. “North is still this way,” she said, snapping the lid shut. “We climb out here.”

The bank was steeper than it looked. Maudline scrambled up first, using roots as handholds and sending a small avalanche of soil pattering down behind her. The faux fox slid sideways, its glassy eyes full of silent reproach.

Amanderella followed more neatly, as she tested each foothold. At the top, she paused, brushing leaf mould from her gloves.

The ground beyond the lane felt different, older, quieter, as though fewer feet had passed this way in the last hundred years. The trees grew closer together, their branches knitting overhead in a tangle of green and shadow. Brambles looped across the path like ropes left behind by a careless giant.

Maudline pushed aside a curtain of hazel. “This part of the estate was never much used,” she said. “Too uneven. Too windy. Too full of things that fall on your head.”

Amanderella stepped forward, consulting her compass again. “The kneeling oak should be somewhere ahead.

They walked on a little further, the ground rising gently beneath their feet. The trees thinned. The wind picked up. Somewhere ahead, something creaked.

"Did you hear that?" Amanderella whispered.

Maudline poked her head through a thicket of overgrown ferns, a stray leaf clinging to her hair. "It sounds like my Aunt Agatha’s corset," she remarked thoughtfully. "Or a very old door that doesn't want to be opened."

They stepped into a small, bowl-shaped clearing where the wind seemed to trapped, circling restlessly. In the centre stood a shape that defied the usual upright logic of a forest.

It wasn't a stump, and it wasn't a fallen log. It was a ruin of timber. The great oak had once been magnificent, but centuries of storms, or perhaps the very Navy axe-men Maudline had mentioned, had forced it into a strange, permanent shape. The main trunk didn't go up; it lunged forward, parallel to the mossy earth for ten feet before twisting upward again in a gnarled, defiant sweep of grey bark.

It looked exactly like a giant wooden figure kneeling in prayer.

"The Kneeling Oak," Amanderella breathed, her precision momentarily replaced by awe. She stepped closer, noting how the moss had upholstered the horizontal trunk in a thick, emerald velvet.

Maudline trotted up beside her, poking the bark with a cautious finger. "See? I told you it might be sulking. It looks like it’s waiting for someone to apologise to it."

Amanderella didn't answer. She was already circling the 'knee' of the tree, her eyes scanning the deep, diamond-shaped ridges of the bark. "If the copper token matches the landmark, then the landmark must hold the secret to the next stage.

Amanderella knelt by the crook where the trunk met the roots. Protruding from a knot in the wood, partially swallowed by years of growth, was a dull glint of metal. Not copper this time.

"Maudline," Amanderella said, her voice tight with excitement. "Hand me the trowel. I think the tree has been holding onto something for a very long time."

          Maudline handed over the trowel at once, though she did so with the air of someone passing a surgical instrument during a very delicate operation. “Careful,” she whispered. “It might bite. Or creak. Or complain.”

Amanderella ignored her. She pressed the blade gently into the mossy wood, easing away the softened bark that had grown around the metal. The tree groaned, a long, low sound like an elderly wardrobe shifting in its sleep.

“There it is again,” Maudline breathed. “Definitely Aunt Agatha’s corset.”

Amanderella worked slowly, her movements precise. Flakes of bark fell away, revealing more of the dull metal. It was wedged deep, as though someone had hammered it into the oak when the tree was young and upright, long before it had bowed to storms and centuries.

At last, with a soft crack, the object came free.

Amanderella held it up.

It wasn’t a token this time. It was a small iron ring, rusted but still strong, attached to a short length of chain. The end of the chain had snapped long ago, leaving only a jagged link.

Maudline leaned in, eyes wide. “Oh! A chain! That’s very dramatic. Do you think the tree was chained up? Or trying to escape?”

Amanderella turned the ring over in her hand. “No. This was fixed here deliberately. Someone wanted this to stay hidden.”

She brushed away the last of the bark, revealing a faint engraving on the iron ring,  worn, but still readable if one squinted.

A crooked line. A tiny arrow. And beneath it, the words, ‘WEST. Beneath the stone that remembers.’ 

Amanderella’s boots gave a triumphant squeak. “There’s our next direction.”

Maudline clapped her hands. “Wonderful! I love it when clues behave themselves.”

Amanderella slipped the ring into her satchel. “Then the next landmark lies west of here. If the clues form a square, this is the top corner.”

She carefully marked the spot on the map.

Maudline shaded her eyes, even though the clearing was perfectly shaded. “West it is. I hope whatever’s over there isn’t sulking too.”

Amanderella took out her compass, the needle swinging decisively. “Only one way to find out.”

They turned toward the west, the wind circling the kneeling oak as though reluctant to let them go.