Moose Knuckle and the Lion's Eye - Part 1

George Sumner walked briskly down the street in Richmond, a suburb of Vancouver, Canada. It was mid-September and the air was a touch chilly but nothing that would bother anyone who was born and raised in the north lands like George had been. He’d gone to high school in Richmond, but had tried everything to get out.

He’d done just that after he’d graduated. He’d spent two years at Columbia College in north Vancouver before flunking out. He’d accepted that college hadn’t been for him. After failing at school George had it in his head that he was only one good idea away from being rich and having all his wildest dreams come true.

From there it had been one get-rich-quick scheme after another. Finally, though, after years of trying everything from real estate investing to cryptocurrency he thought he’d found the one, treasure hunting. That was how George was going to make his fortune.

George moved aside his denim jacket and scratched at his belly under his white t-shirt. He then adjusted his brown leather belt that was holding up his jeans as his brisk pace had made them sag from his waist line and drape over the heel of his black work boots. He quickened his pace as he walked the nearly empty sidewalk.

As he moved through the small suburb’s streets all the thoughts of what he would do once he’d found his prize swirled in his head as he stared at the pavement in front of him. He looked up and saw a lone man leaning on the corner of the general store, it was David Ells, an old classmate of his. George muttered a prayer under his breath that David wouldn’t recognize him. Just as the thought had entered his head David looked up at the passing George and gave a sly smile. George nodded, trying to be polite as he passed, but he knew what was coming. He braced himself for it.

“Hey, Moose Knuckle, morning to yah.” David giggled as he said it, raising his coffee cup in a mocking gesture.

George rolled his eyes as he breezed past the man. ‘Moose Knuckle’ was an unfortunate nickname he’d earned while in school during the mid-aughts. He was trying to find himself, and fit in at the same time, as most teenagers are.

So, he had gone through an emo phase. Since all the emo kids at the time were wearing skinny jeans, he’d bought a pair. Unfortunately, it showed off his bulge just a little too much, and henceforth he was known as ‘Moose Knuckle’, and even to this day he couldn’t escape it.

He pushed the thoughts of his younger years from his mind and tried to focus on the task at hand. George, unfortunately, wasn’t in the best shape. So with his walking pace and the girth he carried he was starting to get a touch short on breath. So by the time he’d made it to Ken’s Antiques just a block from where he’d seen David, he was huffing so badly he could barely speak.

He’d arrived at the door of the store and took a second to compose himself and catch his breath. Once he felt sufficiently able to take in air without sounding like he was an asthmatic, he whipped open the door to the shop and stepped inside.

The smell of old must and freshly brewed coffee met him as he walked a few steps into the store. George peered around the isles of old nick-knacks, furniture and bric-a-brac searching for Ken, but saw no one manning the counter. Ran his hand through his short crop of curly red hair and wiped the sweat from his brow before he walked further into the establishment.

George was a touch surprised as it was Ken who’d called him down to the shop, and now seemingly was nowhere to be found. He walked past the shelves filled with old items from the turn of the century and up to the end of the nineteen eighties and then stood at the counter in front of the register.

George tried to peek into the back room, but to no avail, he couldn’t see a thing beyond the curtain that blocked the entrance way from view. Exasperated and growing impatient he rang the small bell on the counter three times. Finally Ken drew the curtain back and emerged from the back room.

“Oh, hey George,” the man smiled as he shook hands, “Didn’t think you’d be here this quick.”

“I ran right over,” George smiled back, “so, were you able to get it?”

Ken held up a finger before moving down the counter. He reached underneath the dark wood surface and came back with a framed map which he laid on the counter for George to inspect. George stared at the old parchment map.

It was flattened underneath the glass and the paper had browned over time. It had been pressed using copper plates in 1882 if this was indeed the map that George had requested. He wasn’t an expert in historical items, which is why he’d come to Ken.

“You’re sure this is it, it's real?” George asked without removing his gaze from the framed document.

“I was assured this had been authenticated.” Ken affirmed.

George smiled to himself. This was his winning lottery ticket. The map itself wasn’t that expensive, but the information contained within was the real prize. In 1882 the princess Louise of England and her husband had taken a ship along the west coast of the United States and into Canada to visit Victoria. What few people knew was that as they entered Canadian waters they’d been set upon by pirates who had stealthily climbed onboard in the dead of night.

It was rumored that the pirates had gotten word that the Princess carried with her the Lion’s Eye, a large yellow diamond so named for the lion crest of England’s royal family. This gem was to be presented to the Lieutenant Governor of British Columbia at the time, Clement Francis Cornwall, on loan from the royal family and to cement Victoria as the capital of British Columbia.

However, the pirates, once on board, made sure that never came to be. They stole the diamond and made it back to their ship. The princess’ husband was furious and had the ship he sailed on open fire on the pirates, and their ship sunk after briefly trying to flee the cannons of the mighty English royal navy.

Legend had it that the pirate ship didn’t sink, but instead was scuttled after the attack on a beach of one of the small islands near the Victoria coast line. Most had been searched but no one really knew which island or even where to start as the log book from the ship the Princess had been on never said anything about the pirates or the diamond. Most thought this was the Royals trying to save face as the Lion’s Eye has only been mentioned in legend and rumor.

George, though, believed he now held the key to finding that diamond and becoming more rich than even he could imagine. The map showed the exact route the princess and her ship took to get to Victoria, and from what he’d learned, George believed that it would show him the island the pirates had crashed their ship into while trying to escape.

“How much?” George muttered, still transfixed on the details printed into the parchment.

“Five hundred,” Ken responded, also still looking at the map, “What are you hoping to do with this anyway?”

“Find fortune and glory, Ken, fortune and glory.” George responded, handing the proprietor the money from his pocket.

Ken placed the framed item into a large paper bag and handed it over to George. The two men said their goodbyes and George left the store as happy as could be. George made sure to cross the street before going back the way he came. He had no wish to hear David Ells taunt him a second time.

George finally reached the small lot where he’d parked his Toyota Corolla. It was an older car, its sky blue paint was chipped and worn, but it still drove well and that was all that mattered to George. He gently placed the map in the back seat before getting in himself and driving off.

He was headed to the ferry just South of Richmond near Port Roberts. It would take him across the Georgia Straight and over to Lighthouse Point. From there it was roughly a two hour drive even further South into Victoria.

There he had set up a meeting with a member of the Victoria History Museum. George hoped the man he’d talked to over the phone would then be able to narrow down the location of the small island the pirates had crashed onto. If that were the case, it would then be up to him to search for the Lion’s Eye.

George had made it onto the ferry just in time for departure. He got out of the car, locking the doors tight, and then strolled to the back of the Corolla and popped the trunk open. He had everything he needed, or at least he thought he did. Shovels, wading boots and metal detector were all there, just as he had packed them that morning.

He closed the trunk and began to walk up to the observation deck. As he moved through the parking lot of the large transport vessel he noticed a man out of the corner of his eye watching him. The man had black hair and wore a simple gray suit and black tie.

George shook his head. It was paranoia, he thought to himself. Nothing more than that. He’d never done anything like this and having the map was making him edgy. Besides, no one beside Ken knew he even had the map, and not even Ken knew why.

George made his way to the observation deck. He took in a deep breath of the salty sea air as the ferry cut through the waters of the Georgia Strait. He squinted at the horizon and could just make out the sprawling coastline that would take him to Victoria. As he stood with his arms resting against the yellow railing of the deck looking out over the churning, frothing waters of the sea he couldn’t shake the prickly feeling running up the back of his spine that he was being watched, but he again chucked it up to nerves.

Once the ferry had docked George had driven the two hours into Victoria, taking in the scenic forest lined roads set against the nearly cloudless blue sky. It was a little after three o’clock in the afternoon and he hadn’t eaten a thing all day so his stomach was beginning to rumble as he parked his car in the museum lot.

He grabbed the framed map, still in the paper bag Ken had packed it in, from the back seat as he exited the car. He marched up to the sidewalk and past the main museum office with the map under his left arm. He looked down the alley between the office and the main building, it was empty save for a few wooden crates and some garbage bags that looked to have been placed there before they would be taken out to the dumpster.

George opened the main doors to the Museum and the wall of cold air hit him. He strolled through the museum past artifacts of Canadian history and documents that pre-dated the founding of the city. Mountains of culture surrounded him as he walked yet his gaze never wavered from the path in front of him, his boots thumping heavily against the marble floors and echoing around the nearly silent room.

George made it through the cavernous main hall of the museum and into the back rooms. He turned right down the hall until he came to a two way split and then he made left until he came to the third door on the right. It was red with the number 16 beveled at eye level. He knocked on the door and then opened it almost immediately and without waiting for an invitation.

As he walked into the small room cluttered with shelves along each wall that were loaded with poster tubes and flat frames, each holding documents or maps of some kind. As he moved further into the space he spotted an older man sitting at a desk to the back of the room, his bald head shining in the fluorescent lights. The man had thick glasses and was bent over the desk examining a piece of parchment with a circular magnifier attached to an arm that was fastened to the wood table.

George made his way around the large desk and stood just behind the man and peered over his shoulder at the old document he was examining. The man shifted in his seat recognizing that someone had entered his space. He seemed a touch uncomfortable with the situation, and his body language had changed and seemed more tense.

“George, if you don’t stop acting like a parrot on my shoulder I’m going to elbow you in the gut.” The man grunted.

George chuckled at the threat and moved back a few steps and then to the man’s right. The man swiveled in his chair and looked up at George’s face through his thick glasses with a smile on his face. He tugged at the bottom of the brown vest he wore over a light gray button up shirt.  He extended his hand to George, and they shook before the man returned to his piece of parchment.

“So what have you brought me today, Red?” The man questioned his visitor.

“I got it, Henry, I actually got it.” George proclaimed, his excitement was evident.

“Well then, my friend, let’s have a look shall we?” The older man smiled as he turned back to George.

George produced the bagged map from under his arm as Henry moved the artifact he’d been examining off to the side. He removed the bag and laid the framed map flat on his work surface. He grabbed the magnifier and moved it over the pressed surface of the browning parchment underneath the glass. He muttered to himself as he went about his work.

George nervously watched as the man studied the map. He rubbed his hands together as he tried to figure out what Henry might be looking for. Finally, Henry moved the magnifier off to the side and turned back to George.

“Well, it's the original right? It's not fake?” George inquired with tension in his voice.

“Well,” Henry started, "It's hard to tell, but I think so. You think you could leave it with me for tonight?”

“Henry, you’re the only man I’d trust with it.” George said flatly, “I can come back tomorrow, that sound ok?”

“Absolutely.” Henry confirmed, ”I’ll see you tomorrow then, drive safe George.”

“Have a good day, Henry, I’ll see you soon.” George made his goodbyes and left the man to work.

George walked out of Henry’s office and moved through the halls. He was certain that if anyone could figure out if the map was indeed real and had the location of the ship it would be Henry. It wasn't that George didn't trust Ken, he did, but he also knew that sometimes Ken's sources weren't the most reliable. Trust but verify was the policy George had to adopt in these situations, even if this was different from his past dealings. As for Henry, he’d known the man since he was a boy as Henry had been a friend of George’s father. 

Henry had been at the museum for decades and had a master’s degree in archival studies and Victorian history. If there were any clues George was sure his old friend would dig them up and give him the best place to start looking. It was then that George remembered he was starving as his stomach began to rumble again. He’d be sure to stop somewhere on his way home.

George walked out of the building and into the warmth of the sun. He was nearly skipping as he walked back down the sidewalk and towards the lot where he’d parked his car. He was just passing the alley between the man building and the museum office when he heard a voice call out.

“Excuse me, might I have a word.” A man said with a British accent.

George squinted in the direction of the voice and saw a man with black hair wearing a simple gray suit standing in the alley leaning up against the wall of the building. He recognized the man almost immediately. He’d been on the ferry with George on the ride over. Had he been following him? George didn’t know what to make of the man.

“Aren’t you the guy from the ferry?” George asked even though he already knew.

“George, why don’t you step over here so we can have a chat?” The man half inquired.

“Well I kinda have somewhere else I need to be.” George explained.

The stranger shook his head and then pulled a small automatic pistol from under his jacket and pointed at George. George raised his hands and then moved into the alley as the man waved him over. As George stepped into the alley the man pushed him up against the wall of the office building and then quickly patted him down before stepping back.

“Where’s the map, George?” The man pressed him with an aggressive tone.

“What map?” George feigned ignorance.

“First, put your hands down you giant idiot,” the British man said, “Second, do you really think I’m that stupid?”

“Well, mister,” George started as he lowered his hands, “We just met so I have no idea how stupid you are.”

“Bold words for a man with a gun on him.” The man's expression was now one of annoyance.

“Look, all I did was make a delivery to the museum and then I was headed to lunch. I have no idea what map you’re looking for.” George lied.

“You know what, George?” The man put his gun back into its holster, “I’m going to let you go for now, but if you’ve lied to me I’m going to come back and put a bullet in your kneecap.”

With that the man left George standing in the alley. As soon as he was out of sight George bent over placing his hands on his thighs and breathed heavily. His heart was pounding in his chest and sweat had started to drip down his brow. George was so panicked his hands were shaking.

“Oh boy, what have I gotten into?” he asked himself.

After he had composed himself George had gotten into his car and driven back to the ferry immediately. He decided he needed to head back to Richmond as quickly as he could. He had to talk to Ken and see if anyone had asked about the map or about George purchasing it.

After the long trip back across the Georgia Strait and into town the sun was beginning to set. As he pulled into the lot just two blocks down from Ken’s Antique shop he remembered again that he still hadn’t eaten. He pushed the thought of food out of his mind. Information was more important at this moment and George was beginning to think he might have gotten in over his head this time.

As he began to walk down the street he smelled smoke in the air. His eyes rose up from the pavement and he saw black clouds billowing in the sky and the flashing red lights of fire trucks just down the street. George started to walk more quickly and then broke out into half a jog and then stopped about a block from Ken’s store.

“Hey, Moose Knuckle, you missed all the excitement.” David Ells said from his perch at the corner of the block.

“What the hell happened?” George asked with his eyes on the charred building just a block from where he stood.

“Don’t really know.” David responded, “Fire broke out and the place was engulfed almost immediately.”

“Ken?”, George half whispered.

“I saw them carry something out.” David replied, shaking his head, " I couldn't make out what though."

“Oh, no.” George breathed.

The two men stood on the corner watching the scene against the setting sun in the Canadian sky. The shock of it all started to set in for George and his hands began to shake again. He knew two things. First, at least two people were looking for the map he’d purchased because the British man who accosted him couldn’t have made it back in time to burn down Ken’s shop. The second was that the fortune and glory he’d sought was going to be more costly than he’d ever imagined.