Nose Uncle Read online

  ‘Wow,’ said Ram again.

  ‘It’s pretty,’ said Nisha.

  Nose Uncle snorted. ‘Pretty? I suppose it is. Now let’s go inside and wait until it’s really dark and there’s no one about.’

  Nisha and Ram felt a mixture of excitement and fear as they settled down to play some games, while Nose Uncle sat working in his study.

  ‘I need to catch up on some paperwork,’ he said. ‘You two rummage in that cupboard over there and see what you can find. I seem to remember that there are some old games there, games that I had when I was a child.’

  Neither of them could really imagine Nose Uncle as a child, although his habit of sometimes wearing khaki shorts and sandals did make him resemble an overgrown Boy Scout. They opened the cupboard, and a huge pile of board games fell out on to the polished wooden floor.

  Nose Uncle looked up at the noise, pushed back his chair and left his desk to join the children. He knelt down beside them and picked up one box, blowing dust off the top as he did so.

  ‘Snakes and ladders,’ he said, ‘I haven’t played this for years. Well, if you live on your own, it’s difficult to play board games. What colour do you take, Ram?’ He laid out the counters, sat back on his heels and shook the dice in its blue plastic cup to see who would begin. ‘A three. Nisha, your throw.’

  Nose Uncle never did finish his paperwork that evening. They played game after game, mainly because Nose Uncle did not win a single game and wanted to play until he did. Eventually, he looked at his watch and gave a start.

  ‘Gracious,’ he announced. ‘How time passes. Come on, we must get ready. For a start, we have to wear dark clothes so it is difficult for anyone to see us.’

  Ten minutes later, clothed from head to toe in dark clothes, they crept out of the back door and made their way to the shed. Ram thought Nose Uncle’s nose seemed to glow in the dark, but he was not sure.

  ‘Keep as quiet as you can,’ whispered Nose Uncle. ‘If we disturb animals or birds, they could start an awful racket that would alarm anyone around.’

  As stealthy as any burglar, he unlocked the shed door and wheeled out the pedal rickshaw.

  ‘We can’t use the lights,’ he whispered, ‘they might be seen by someone in the area. Anyway, we’re in luck, it’s almost a full moon. We’ll be able to find our way except under the trees. That’s when I’ll use the torch. Right, hop on.’

  Nose Uncle, with a little effort, clambered on to the saddle at the front of the rickshaw while Nisha and Ram climbed on to the back and sat down. Nose Uncle stepped on the pedals until the rickshaw began to move and, slowly, with a slight creaking noise, they set off down the path.

  By the light of the moon, the children were able to see the path ahead, but the bushes along the path seemed larger than they did in the daylight, and the shadows cast by the trees loomed over them.

  ‘It’s spooky,’ whispered Ram.

  ‘Shh!’ said Nisha.

  ‘Quiet, you two,’ hissed Nose Uncle.

  Once or twice, they caught sight of a fire under the trees.

  ‘That’s the fire at the camp set up by Preeti and her friends,’ said Nisha in Ram’s ear.

  ‘No one is moving, they’re all asleep,’ said Ram.

  Further on, a jackal yelped in the distance and once some kind of night bird fluttered in the dark. Nothing stopped Nose Uncle, although the children could hear him panting a little. He was no doubt relieved, thought Nisha, when at last they reached the edge of the field that contained the archaeological site.

  Nose Uncle halted.

  ‘Right,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘Get down. Quickly! Wait for me here.’

  He dismounted and pushed the rickshaw into some bushes beside the path. Then, moving with great care, he approached the field.

  It was bathed in the moonlight and clearly revealed the work of the previous day. The trenches lay like giant shadows, and the diggers that had made them stood still and vast like mechanical dinosaurs.

  Nose Uncle waved to Nisha and Ram to join him.

  ‘It seems deserted,’ he whispered. ‘But we must be as quiet as possible. And watch your step; there may be some holes that we can’t see. Now, follow me.’

  But before they could move, they heard the snap of a twig being stepped on.

  ‘Hold it!’ said Nose Uncle. ‘Someone’s coming.’

  Chapter 7

  Nose Uncle and the children crouched down and held their breath. For a while, nothing happened. The moon continued to cast its light and shadows over the deserted field but not a thing moved. Had they imagined that sound? Was it just excitement playing on their nerves? Then there was another cracking sound and the rustling of bushes and, suddenly, the field was no longer empty.

  From the direction of the coast road, a trail of figures made its way across the field towards the deserted archaeological dig. They were, like Nose Uncle and the children, dressed in dark clothes, but in the moonlight one could clearly see their faces.

  ‘No one I know,’ whispered Nose Uncle. ‘They’re not from around here. They must have been brought in from outside. Whoever they’re working for must be paying them well to come out at night in a place like this.’

  Ram and Nisha saw that many of the figures were looking about them nervously.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Nisha.

  ‘Just watch,’ replied Nose Uncle. ‘For the moment, anyway. There are far too many of them, at least ten. Let’s see what they are up to.’

  Most of the dark figures were carrying picks and spades and it was clear that they were going to continue to dig in the field. Soon they were all gathered at one spot, by the trench where the skeleton had been discovered, and started to dig the ground.

  ‘What are they after?’ said Nisha.

  ‘Are they looking for treasure?’ said Ram.

  ‘Keep your voices down,’ ordered Nose Uncle. ‘The only way to find out is to watch and wait. Whatever you do, move as little as possible.’

  Watching was torment for Ram and Nisha. Crouching and keeping still had its effect on their legs in particular.

  ‘My foot’s gone all fizzy,’ said Ram. ‘I can’t feel my toes.’

  ‘Then wiggle them,’ suggested Nisha. ‘It’s your blood circulation; you must keep it going.’

  ‘Shh,’ said Nose Uncle just as Nisha felt something creepy crawl over her arm. With great difficulty, she stopped herself from jumping up into the air and brushing herself down. Instead, she slowly shook her arm until whatever it was fell off.

  ‘It’s no good,’ said Nose Uncle at last. ‘We can’t see anything from here. It’s clear that they are digging, but what they are looking for is impossible to tell.’

  ‘I suppose we’ll have to go back,’ murmured Ram.

  ‘Certainly not! I’m blowed if we’ll give up as easily. There must be a way to get closer.’

  ‘They look like ghosts out there,’ said Nisha. ‘Ghosts dressed in black.’

  Nose Uncle started. ‘I think you’ve just given me an idea!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never you mind. Now, I want you two to stay here. If anything happens to me, I want you to go to Preeti and ask for help; she’ll know what to do.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Ram, frightened at the thought of being left alone in the dark with only Nisha to keep him company.

  ‘Wait and see,’ said Nose Uncle, and his nose shone in the moonlight. He pushed the pedal rickshaw until he regained the path, then mounted it and was soon out of sight.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ said Ram.

  ‘I’ve no idea, but he’s not going towards the field. That path leads away from the village and towards the salt ponds. What is he up to?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s gone home,’ said Ram. He wished he was there himself, playing snakes and ladders with Nisha.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘He’d never leave us. No, he has some plan in mind. I just wish I knew what it was.’

  They wait
ed for what seemed like ages. The men in the field continued to work silently in the moonlight. They dug for a long time until there were small mounds of sandy soil around the trench where the skeleton had been found.

  Suddenly, the silence of the night was shattered by a series of screams that caused Ram and Nisha to shiver with fear. The men in the field were also affected. For a few seconds they stopped digging, and then one or two of them threw down their picks and spades and started running in the direction of the coast road. Others soon followed and suddenly a general retreat had begun. As if that was not enough, a white figure, almost six feet tall, appeared out of nowhere, screaming at the top of its voice and flailing its arms at the workers. That was the final straw, and soon the field was empty except for the ghostly figure.

  Nisha heard the sound of a lorry starting and then being driven off at high speed.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ she said. ‘We can stand up now.’

  ‘What about the ghost?’ Ram quavered, trembling slightly and clutching his sister’s arm.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘That was Nose Uncle.’

  ‘But it didn’t look like him at all.’

  ‘Look, here he comes now.’

  Sure enough, the white figure, now reduced to human height, was wheeling the rickshaw across the field to where the children had been hiding. When it had reached them, Ram was relieved to see that it was indeed Nose Uncle with his face whitened.

  ‘What’s that on your face?’ asked Ram.

  ‘Salt,’ said Nose Uncle, a little out of breath. ‘Just ordinary sea salt, from the salt pans.’

  ‘And how did you make yourself grow so tall?’

  Nose Uncle sniffed and grinned. ‘I just stood on my rickshaw seat,’ he said. ‘And it worked a treat; did you see them run? I wish I had a camera.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We take a look and see what they were up to. We’ll have to hurry. The braver souls among them might persuade the others to turn back and carry on where they left off. Come on.’

  The moon was beginning to go down as they picked their way across the field towards where the men had been digging.

  All they could see was the deep gash of the trench and little piles of soil nearby. Nose Uncle bent down and examined a smaller, almost square hole that they had not noticed before.

  ‘That’s strange,’ he said. ‘This hole was dug earlier, during the day. You can see how the soil is different from the stuff taken out just now. I wonder …’

  His voice trailed away as he moved on to the piles of soil. He examined them very carefully and then gave a sudden intake of breath.

  ‘That’s very peculiar,’ he muttered. ‘Very peculiar indeed.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Nisha.

  ‘Well, no wonder the soil is different; it didn’t come from this field at all. They must have brought it with them.’

  Suddenly, in the night air, they heard the sound of a lorry on the coast road.

  ‘Quick,’ said Nose Uncle, ‘that could be them returning to finish the job and, this time, we’d better make ourselves scarce. They’ll now be on their guard. Come on, let’s get back to bed.’

  Back in the house, as they were cleaning their teeth and washing their faces, they went over the events of the night.

  ‘Why did they bring the soil with them?’ Ram wondered.

  Nose Uncle paused as he made the cocoa. He scratched his chin and pushed his half-moon glasses up on to his forehead.

  ‘It seems to me,’ he said slowly, ‘as if these fellows weren’t after all digging things up.’

  ‘Then what were they doing there,’ said Nisha, ‘if they weren’t looking for remains left by the Romans?’

  ‘I think,’ said Nose Uncle slowly, putting three mugs of cocoa on the table, ‘that they were not intending to dig anything up. I believe they had come to bury something.’

  Chapter 8

  ‘Bury something?’ repeated Nisha. ‘What could they be burying?’

  ‘Treasure!’ said Ram.

  ‘You might be right,’ agreed Nose Uncle. ‘Now drink up your cocoa. It’s well past your bedtime—and mine, too. Let’s think it over in our sleep. The brain carries on working, you know, even if you’re fast asleep. We’ll talk it over in the morning. Now, good night!’

  The children thought they would find it difficult to sleep.

  ‘What a holiday,’ said Nisha.

  ‘Buried treasure!’ exclaimed Ram. ‘Wow!’

  Their heads hit the pillow and immediately they were fast asleep, dreaming of what the next day would bring. It did not exactly bring what they had hoped for.

  Breakfast, slightly later than usual, was rudely interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Nose Uncle brushed a few crumbs of masala dosa from his mouth, threw down his napkin on the table and went to open the door. His mood was not improved when the face he saw at the door was that of Lentil Brain.

  The official, accompanied by his assistant, shuffled his feet and avoided looking Nose Uncle in the eye.

  ‘Good morning, Professor,’ he began. ‘I’d like a word, if I may.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Chandrasekar. Humph. I might have known you’d have no misgivings about disturbing a fellow’s breakfast. You’d better come in and have some coffee.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Lentil Brain, nervously stroking his thin moustache. ‘I’m here on official business.’

  ‘And that means you can’t drink coffee? What about tea? Last time I went to one of your places, it was full of people drinking tea and doing precious little else.’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Then for goodness’ sake, take a chair and relax. You look like a jawan on parade. And your assistant, too.’

  The two officials sat down cautiously, as if they expected the chairs to collapse beneath them.

  ‘Dosa? Idli?’ offered Nose Uncle, while the two children, as still as mice, watched and listened in apprehension. What did Lentil Brain want? Were they in trouble?

  Chandrasekar and his assistant, who gave his name as Balu, politely declined any food. They grimly held on to their briefcases to underline the official nature of their visit.

  ‘So?’ said Nose Uncle, glowering over his glasses at the two visitors and scratching his nose. ‘What words of wisdom have you brought with you?’

  ‘I have received a complaint,’ started Lentil Brain. ‘About you.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Nose Uncle. ‘Bring some more sunshine into my day. Who has been throwing mud at me and why?’

  ‘It’s about the archaeological dig. I have been informed that you have been interfering with the work there, against my instructions. You have been digging without my permission.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Nose Uncle. ‘I haven’t been digging anywhere since you came along with that Rigolet fellow and stole my site. Who has been feeding you this rubbish?’

  The official coughed. ‘That is not important,’ he said. ‘The point is that when the archaeological team went to the site this morning, they found that someone had been digging there during the night without permission. Was that you?’

  ‘I would never be there without the permission of the owner,’ announced Nose Uncle. ‘I can assure you that I was not digging there last night. Now, are you satisfied?’

  ‘If it wasn’t you,’ said Lentil Brain, looking at Balu, who was already perspiring heavily although the morning was still quite cool, ‘then who was it?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask the police?’ suggested Nose Uncle. ‘That’s their job, surely.’

  ‘Mr Rigolet prefers not to,’ said Lentil Brain. ‘But in any case, he hopes you will leave him alone to get on with his work.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ assured Nose Uncle. ‘We have something else to do. There’s another valuable site I mean to investigate. We’ll be taking my green rickshaw and I’ll tell you if I find anything of value. Does that make you happy?’

  The official again fiddled with his moustache and nodded, though he looke
d far from happy.

  ‘Thank you, Professor,’ he said. ‘Come, Balu. We have work to do.’

  ‘Enjoy your tea at the office,’ said Nose Uncle as they departed. He returned to the table and poured himself another cup of coffee.

  ‘Are we really going to start another dig?’ asked Nisha.

  ‘Have you ever heard me tell a lie?’ growled Nose Uncle.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Very well, yes. We’re off in half an hour. It’s only a short way down the coast.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Ram, finishing the last dosa.

  ‘Alamparai,’ answered Nose Uncle. ‘You’ll like it; it has a ruined fort.’

  Once they were ready, they collected the rickshaw from the shed and made their way down the track leading to the coast road. Ram and Nisha were enjoying the ride, although Nisha was concerned that Nose Uncle might make himself too hot pedalling the rickshaw.

  ‘Shall I take your place for a while?’ she offered. But before Nose Uncle could answer, he swerved off the path and cycled through the bushes into a small clearing that was invisible from the road.

  ‘Are we there already?’ said Ram.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Nisha. ‘We haven’t reached the Coast Road yet.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Nose Uncle.

  ‘So why have we stopped?’

  ‘You ask far too many questions,’ growled Nose Uncle. ‘Just watch and listen, for once.’

  He had barely finished speaking when they heard the tinkle of bells.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s our transport,’ said Nose Uncle.

  ‘Aren’t we taking the rickshaw?’

  ‘Good gracious me, no. Do you expect me to risk your lives and mine by cycling among all those lorries and oil tankers? Your parents would never forgive me if anything happened to you. No, we are going by some other transport and here it comes.’

  The tinkling of bells had been growing louder as they had been talking. The children were surprised to see, entering from the other side of the clearing, a bullock cart, driven by Siva. The source of the tinkling sound was now clear. On the horns of the white bullock, one painted blue and the other red, hung shiny brass bells.