Trouble & Treasure by Dave Moyer (robert munsch read aloud .txt) 📕

had a chance to go pick it up yet.”

I burst into laughter. Seriously? She had taken what could be one of the most valuable books in human history to the library by accident? I got the distinct impression that if you were to loan the Mona Lisa to Amanda, with explicit instructions to keep it safe, you would walk in the room five minutes later and find it ripped on the floor, Amanda playing with her fingers awkwardly by its side.

I grinned. Stupidity aside, this was pretty good news. It was at the library; it wasn't back at the house. Maratova wouldn't have had a chance to get his hands on it yet. He probably didn't even know it existed. And unless Amanda had written up on a message board with giant marker that she had to go back to the library to pick up the book that had the locations of the four Stargazer Globes in it, Maratova wasn’t going to find out any time soon.

At that point I did something brash, because fuck it if I wasn’t in a brash mood. I did a bootlegger turn on a tiny narrow country road. The library was in the other direction.

Amanda shrieked, sounding like some stereotypical soapy heroine who’d stepped on a mouse. “What are you doing?” She tried to keep herself steady as the car screeched around in an arc, smoke curling up from the tires. Her legs splayed out all over the place, her skirt rising up until it was several inches above her knees, her hat tumbling right off her head as her hair bunched up over her face.

“I'm going to the library,” I said in the coolest voice I could manage as I let go of the park brake and gunned the accelerator to speed out of the dangerous turn. My car scraped past a hedge, several leaves and twigs falling on Amanda through the partially opened window.

The look on her face was worth it. I could bet my own expression wasn’t anything but cool and calm as I straightened up the vehicle and continued down the road at a cracking pace.

She sat there with her mouth open, trying to rearrange her skirt as she picked the twigs and leaves from her hair and threw them out the window. “You mad bastard.” She grabbed the hat and shoved it on her head.

I offered a sweet smile in return. One hand on the steering wheel, one hand still resting on the gearstick, and with no other vehicles in sight, I turned to her. With a serious expression I tilted my head to the side. “Amanda Stanton, I need you to tell me what is in that book.”

She looked at me, mouth wide open, brow pressed with amazement at my antics. “Are you out of your mind?”

I shrugged. If doing a bootlegger turn on a narrow country lane in an effort to get to the library as quickly as I could in order to get a book that told me the location to some of the greatest treasure maps on earth was mad, then yes, I was mad.

She continued to stare at me, her mouth still wide, wide open. “I don't have my library card on me,” she pointed out primly.

I snapped my head to the side and gave a short, sharp laugh. “I hate to point this out, sweetie, but you own the book.”

“They don't know me, they're going to need some ID to ensure that I am who I say I am.”

I didn't bother answering, because I couldn't think of a statement that could show her how damn stupid she was. So I shook my head, ran a hand over the sharp stubble collecting on my chin, and hoped like hell I wouldn't have much more to do with this woman.

After a while a thick silence descended over us. Amanda sat tensely, her hands pressed over the hem of her skirt, her ankles locked neatly, her head turned towards the window, the massive brim of her hat hiding her face. For my part, I drove and thought about how much shit I was in. Chapter Nine

Sebastian Shaw

We made it to the library in good time, perhaps too good, as when Amanda pulled herself out of the passenger seat, she had to steady herself, one hand clutching the roof. She also gave me a mutinous stare. I cracked a grin. Though I thought there was little chance of finding Maratova tucked up in the library, possibly in the kiddies’ section with his men around him as he taught them to read from a picture book, I was still careful. I walked in first and told Amanda in no uncertain terms to keep her face hidden. Even cramming her hat further onto her head when I didn't think it was down far enough. Ha, you should have seen the look she gave me at that.

The library was small, unsurprisingly, considering the tiny size of the town. Along the main road I counted all of one coffee shop and several ridiculously expensive boutique stores that sold everything from thousand-pound scarves to those trinkets women seem to have everywhere once they pass the age of 40. There was also a police station. Though I thought the size of the town could hardly justify one, I had to remind myself it wasn’t population pressure that kept the boys in blue close at hand, it was relative wealth. A single well-equipped and well-trained team could easily blast their way through the country estates around these parts and retire after one night. While I'd taken perverse pleasure in teasing Amanda, and while I may have overstated a few things, I hadn’t been lying about Maratova. If the girl was dumb enough to go to the police, she would end up in his hands by the afternoon.

The library was a small old building, with a stand of birch trees lined up behind it, their leaves brushing against the sandstone white-washed walls.

I strode ahead, opening the door briskly, the handle giving a pleasant crunch as I yanked on it. I heard Amanda mumble behind me; it seemed that woman mumbled at everything.

I strode up to the counter, sure to let my most charming of smiles widen the corners of my lips as I nodded at the middle-aged woman behind the desk. The effect was always the same: the lady’s cheeks flushed, she blinked, then she looked to the side, possibly to check it was indeed her I was smiling at. By the time I made it to the counter, placing a hand neatly on the clean bench top, she obviously had no illusion as to who had caught my attention, and dammit if she didn’t blush that bit harder.

“Hello, ma'am.” I kept that smile on my face and kept my hand flat on the bench top, the hint of my expensive gold watch peeking out from my expensive suit jacket.

The lady pushed her glasses up her nose with her thumb, one corner of her mouth curling, one cheek dimpling. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Well, I'm here to pick up a book.” I nodded gently.

Instead of the woman saying that this was a public library and everyone was here to pick up a book, so there was no need to state the bloody obvious, she smiled again, a second dimple pushing in at the other cheek.

“Sir, what book would that be?”

Amanda gave a strangled cough, pushed past me, whipped off her hat, and shook her head. “Hi, I'm not sure if you remember me, but you called me the other day to say that I had accidentally brought in one of my own books when I was returning my library books. My name is—”

I coughed loudly, slapping Amanda on her shoulder. She bounced forward, mumbling a terse swear word.

“It's a brown leather-bound book,” I smiled again, and I tried to make it as dazzling as I could, “You can't miss it.”

The woman nodded, smiling at me. She wasn't paying any attention to Amanda at all. She then disappeared to a side room, telling us she would return with it in a moment.

As soon as she was gone, I turned to Amanda, my teeth set hard. “Put your fucking hat back on and leave this to me like we agreed.”

If I’d thought she'd been mutinous before, I was wrong. Her eyebrows descended all the way down to her eyes, her lips drawing in so much I could only see a hint of pink flesh as she sucked them into her mouth. Her chin dimpled and hardened as if she’d turned to bloody stone.

An old woman in pearls and silk walked past, a book in her hand, which she clearly hadn’t checked through. I turned to her, offered her one of my smiles, and patted Amanda hard on the back to ensure my flighty charge's horrible expression didn't kill the old dame.

The lady behind the counter returned. She didn’t hand the book to Amanda; she handed it straight to me.

I dipped my head in a gentlemanly way. I even tried to keep my attention on the lady as I thanked her, though every part of me wanted to run to the car, ditch Amanda, and find out what was in the book. I controlled myself until we were out of the library and heading back towards the car. Then the temptation of what lay between the worn and aged leather-bound pages got too much for me. I untied the two leather strings holding the book in place reverently, and I opened it in my hands.

Jesus Christ, I thought to myself, sweat prickling over my brow and collecting between my fingers. This was... it was.... I flicked through the pages, my attention consumed by the possibilities that lay within. In meticulous cursive handwriting, with even more meticulous and detailed drawings interspersed from page to page, Arthur Stanton talked about the remaining four Stargazer Globes with all the authority and detail of a man who'd held them.

I shook my head, overcome by the realization of what I had in my hands. That would be when Amanda made a noise. It was halfway between a hiccup and the quietest of screams. I was ready to dismiss it as one of the numerous and annoying squeaks she made all the time, as if she was one of those children’s toys you squeeze to get them to make humorous high-pitched squeals.

“Um, do you think that guy wants something from us?” she asked, voice quiet and light.

I glanced up, and the first thing I saw was a middle-aged man in tweed with a fine woolen scarf. I snorted and didn’t bother to answer Amanda.

“Ah, Sebastian,” she tried again, this time her voice far higher and far tighter, “Are you going to do something?”

I snapped the book closed, ready to tell Amanda to grow up and stop being so pathetically paranoid. The only thing the man in tweed looked like he wanted to do was rationalize our finances and sell us stock in his company.

That would be when I saw the other man, the one walking across the road to us, the one who was about 6’5, with a stocky build, a thickset neck, and a face that looked like