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

The sound of the thunder shook through the building, the plates and cutlery shaking around in their cupboards, a picture on the wall behind Sebastian falling off.

“You picked it,” Mark added once the thunder had subsided.

Mark was friendly with Sebastian, and though Sebastian was still withdrawn, I got the distinct impression they were friends. So why had Sebastian never told me about Mark, but had spent all of his time painting Maratova as some evil monster? Mark was clearly the one in charge. That, or Maratova was a strong, silent, and overbearing leader who let others do all the talking and planning while he covered the evil-glaring side of things.

Had Mark been there last night? I wasn’t sure, but I doubted it; I got the impression that if he’d been there, things would’ve turned out differently. He was the kind of guy who thought about things before he did them, something Sebastian wasn’t capable of.

“We’ll be fine here. The storm will probably blow itself out in the next half-hour or so.” Mark shrugged. “Is this place secure?”

Sebastian shook his head. “You need someone down by the door. I can't guarantee no one will come through. We barricaded it, but you probably need someone to watch it.”

Maratova growled. “You should have told us that first, Shaw.”

Perhaps there was one thing Sebastian had been honest about: Maratova had true enmity for him, and as I watched Sebastian turn to gaze at the man, I realized the feeling was mutual.

“Anderson,” Mark spoke to the other soldier with a flick of his head, “Get downstairs to check the door.”

Anderson replied with a short nod, turned, and half jogged to the stairs and out of sight.

“What about the roof?” Sebastian asked. “Do you think anyone can come in the same way you did?”

“Rappel down from a helicopter in a violent storm? I wouldn't put it past them,” Mark nodded. “Maratova.” Mark flicked his head upwards.

Maratova grunted and headed off towards the stairs. Not before he shot me a look, and it wasn’t the kindest of looks. It made me swallow. What was this guy's problem?

“Are you okay?” Mark asked. “We didn't get a chance to....” He stopped speaking, obviously unsure of how to say what he wanted. “Um, in the woods,” he tried.

I knew what he meant, I also knew why he was dodging around his words. I’d been running like a mad woman from them, and it wasn’t a fond memory.

I shrugged, playing with my hands. “I'm fine.”

“Your feet?” he said, voice awkward.

I was starting to get the impression that although he had the genuine dignity and loyalty of a soldier, he wasn't all that good at speaking to women, or maybe not women he’d been chasing through the woods with a gun.

I shrugged again, a smile playing at my lips. “They hurt like hell,” I said honestly.

He winced and nodded. “Sorry about that.”

It wasn't his fault; it was my fault. My fault for being so damn stupid. My fault for being so damn paranoid. My fault for letting Sebastian make me think that letting the army capture me would be a one-way ticket to prison or death.

“I shouldn't have taken my shoes off,” I replied weakly.

It was enough to draw a bare smile. It was awkward as it inched its way across Mark's face; he clearly wasn't sure if that was the kind of thing you were meant to smile at.

Sebastian cleared his throat.

“You’ve had a hell of day,” Mark turned to him. “I have to say, I wasn't expecting your call.”

I shivered, it was involuntary, and they both looked my way. I rubbed my arms and pretended I was cold.

Mark leaned over to the seat near him, grabbed the throw that was over the back, and handed it to me.

“I didn't want...” Sebastian trailed off.

Mark frowned. “What happened? How did you two end up here? How did you find her?” Mark angled his head towards me. “Last we saw her she was in the woods by Stanton's estate. How did she end up here?”

I blinked and cleared my throat. What was going on here?

Mark turned my way, the beginnings of a guilty look crumpling his face. “I apologize, ma'am, I didn’t mean to talk about you in third person while you are still in the room. It was rude of me.”

“You're okay,” I replied with a stutter.

“Can you tell me how you got here, Amanda?” He turned to me.

I opened my mouth wide, confused. Wouldn’t he know? He was working with Sebastian, clearly, and it had been Sebastian who’d brought me here.

“His car,” I replied, dumbly.

“I found her,” Sebastian cut in.

Mark nodded, looking confused, but not suspicious. “That's lucky,” he said with a nod.

Sebastian stared down at the floor. “Lucky,” he repeated, voice dull.

Mark nodded. “I have to be honest with you, ma'am, there are some...” he trailed off, looking awkward again as he searched for the right words, “Not so nice guys after you at the moment.”

“Yeah, they ruined my drawing room.”

Mark nodded sagely. He took a large breath, chest puffing out. “Did they get the globes, Amanda?”

It was the first time he'd mentioned them, and god, it was the first time I’d thought about them in ages.

I shook my head.

“Where are they? You can tell me, I will keep you safe and I will keep them safe,” Mark said, and he sounded genuine. A promise from Mark was worth 1000 from Sebastian.

“I don't have them,” I croaked.

“Where are they?”

“I—” I began.

“They’re in a safe place,” Sebastian cut in.

What was Sebastian doing?

I turned to him, brow drawing down as my lips widened in a confused move.

Mark nodded. “Well that's a relief, you would have no idea how many mercenaries and criminals you have after you,” he added with a sharp chuckle, and he sliced his eyes towards me, “But you don’t have to worry, Amanda, everything is under control.”

No, I very much doubted that, but I could appreciate things were a lot safer now the cavalry was here and I was no longer at the whims of the mercurial Sebastian.

“I- I don't have the globes,” I repeated again.

Sebastian put a hand up, turning to me, his expression odd. “It's okay, Amanda,” he used a careful and condescending tone, “They will be safe for the time being.”

What was he playing at?

“One of the boys said that Maratova’s team pistol-whipped you last night,” Mark interrupted.

Sebastian swallowed uncomfortably. “Yes, they did, got me right between the shoulders.”

Mark blinked and let out a pressured sigh. He appeared ready to say something, but when he looked at me he pressed his lips closed.

Though I couldn't be sure, I had a suspicion Mark was Maratova’s superior, and Mark wasn't that fond of the man’s brutish nature.

“I take it the army is not about to suspend my contract?” Sebastian asked, turning from me and looking like he had zero intention of ever turning back.

Mark shook his head. “We appreciate your service, Sebastian,” he left it at that.

There was another enormous clap of thunder, but this time it was accompanied by a far greater shake, the kitchen erupting in a cacophony of clattering cutlery and crockery. Though the clap of thunder was loud, I fancied I heard something shatter upstairs; the faintest tinkle of glass and a snap of wood.

Both Mark and Sebastian obviously heard it too, because they raised their heads to the ceiling, both of their expressions pressed with confusion and concern.

Mark put a hand on his gun, face still turned up to the ceiling above, lips parted gently in obvious concentration.

I swallowed again, a simple and slow move, but the only thing I was capable of.

I watched both of them as they tensed, obviously waiting to see if they heard any more suspicious sounds from upstairs. Frankly, the sound of the storm outside was horrendous, and through the reverberations from the waves below and the roar of the sea and wind, I doubted they would be able to hear much at all.

I heard footsteps descending the stairs, heavy footsteps.

I watched Mark raise his gun. Before anything could happen, I heard a gruff call from up the stairs. “It’s just me,” I recognized Maratova's voice.

Despite the fact it was obviously not a new horde of criminals descending from above, I couldn't say I was comforted much. I couldn't shake the cold and dead feeling Maratova gave me.

He descended all the way onto our floor, walking around to us, his footsteps only somewhat muffled when his big heavy boots came in contact with the lush carpet of this small lounge room.

He looked wetter than he had before; his hair slick against his face and his collar saturated.

Mark looked confused. “What? Why are you—” he began.

Before Mark had a chance to finish, Maratova did something unexpected: he lifted his gun, pointing it right at Mark's chest.

“Put it down,” Maratova growled.

“What the hell?” Mark snapped.

Mark couldn’t do anything, and before he could press an answer from Maratova, I heard several more steps descending from above, and this time they were far louder and far more pressing. I gave an enormous shudder as I heard them descend onto our level, but it wasn't anything like the shake I gave when I saw several balaclava-clad, gun-toting men in black turn the corner to face us.

“Change of plan,” Maratova snapped, “Hands behind your head, turn around, on your knees.” Maratova wasn’t joking.

I stood there, lips limp and half open, cheeks slack, jaw drawn down – too shocked, surprised, and overcome to know what to do next. If indeed there was anything I could do next other than be shot.

The look on Mark’s face was horribly compelling; his skin was a sallow white, the muscles in his face slack from surprise.

“On your knees, turn around,” Maratova repeated.

Silently Mark put his hands behind his head and did as Maratova said.

A moment of exquisite fear caught me, my body seizing with the horrible realization that Mark was about to get shot. It was as if my heart stopped beating altogether, and I didn't draw a single breath.

Then Maratova lashed out at the back of Mark's head with the butt of his rifle, a sickening crack sounding out as the gun met his skull.

I jumped and gave a frightened yelp at the sound, shaking as I watched Mark fall unconscious to the ground, body limp, head turned to the side.

Maratova turned to me. I had no idea what the expression on his face meant. There was a tension to his brow, and it was pulled smooth, his eyebrows flat and low over his eyes.

“You asshole,” Sebastian growled.

Maratova turned to Sebastian and waggled a finger at him. “What makes you think it's a good idea to piss me off? You think there’s anything stopping me from shooting you?”

“Don't, please don’t hurt him.” I stuttered. Honest to god, I may hate Sebastian right now, but I didn’t want to see him killed. “Don't, I'll go with you, I will get you the globes, you don't have to hurt anyone.”

Maratova, ignoring Sebastian, turned to me. He nodded once, stiff and low. “Yes, you will.”

I wanted to close my eyes, see if I could try and wake up. I forced myself to rivet them open, and I stared back at Maratova. I might have been shaking, it might have been damn obvious to everyone that I was frightened and overcome, but I still stood there and I still met his gaze. I didn’t close my eyes and I didn’t turn away.

Pressing my teeth closed, my lips still open around them, I gave another swallow. “Let's go,” I said, something suspiciously close to bravado tingling in my stomach. “We need to go now… because you don't have much time.”

Maratova at least was no longer looking at Sebastian; he was looking at me, his eyes pressed together, his nose crumpled, his brow pressed down. “Oh? Why is that?”

I needed to keep Maratova's attention off Sebastian. “The… the other men will be here soon.”

Maratova narrowed his eyes further. “What other men?”

With one more enormous