'Tales of a Treasure Duster' by Sarah Mooney

Tales of a Treasure Duster
by Sarah Mooney

Commissioned by the National Centre for Children's books; 1998

I am a treasure duster.

A woman from a world of beautiful buffing and dusting, when a cleaner was revered as a wonderful thing. We were trusted to be in charge. To touch priceless relics that were so sensitive they could crumble to dust in your hand. We were proud to be cleaners of treasure. We were treated with dignity and respect, not the way you treat scrubbers today.

I dusted the treasures of a great man, Commander Robert Hitchen. A ferocious pirate. Many argued about his exact identity but there were two things that everyone was in agreeance about. He had eyes of ice, and a gold tooth. It is said that he could cut a man in half with that tooth. And his eyes, if you could see them, they were so bright and blue that he could shatter glass with a glance.

Captain Robert Hitchen’s reputation spread far and wide. He was known by all as a vagabond of the waves. He caused so much havoc on the mighty ocean that there was a bounty on his head for 700 gold coins for anyone who could capture him alive.

I never believed they would catch him. Not my Robert. He would slip in and out of here like moonlight. The only clues to his presence would be a crate of Heather Ale (he knew I liked it) and a new treasure winking in the morning sun.

One day the castle's triumphant trumpets tore through the air. It ripped into my heart and I knew they’d caught him.

They stormed his boat at Dreamer’s Yard, it was said. Burst on to that magical vessel like animals, tearing it apart with their grunts and their rage.

It was not enough to capture him. They had to humiliate him. Celebrate their prize.

Cowards they were, waiting for him to go Dreamers Yard, for that is the place where your imagination leaves your body and whistles around the air picking up stories, colour and ideas with which to regenerate the body. But if you disturb a man at Dreamers Yard he is as defenseless a child, without his imagination he is crippled and dare not move.

So they took their chance and swooped onto the boat. Grabbing their prize hungrily and dragging him through the streets. When they arrived at the town square there was a crowd gathered, desperate for a chance to see such evil in human form. I was there - not chanting and jeering like the others - my stomach turning as I saw the fetters around his ankles, crying the tears he did not shed. In front of them all ripped out his gold tooth and held it high in air. The barbarians. "Stolen treasure", they called it, property of the state. The crowd cheered and whistled. I felt sick.

Silent he was, when they broke apart his precious boat, strewing the parts across the queendom.

Mute, when they found a mermaid's hand on the boat and cried “Butcher must die!”

He hummed a fractured lullaby when they strung up his crew, his faithful familiars dangling in cages around the edge of the city.

He dropped his face in defeat when they slung him in a dungeon at the bottom of the castle, where he was to rot until he died.

What I am going to tell you, know I heard a long time later, and I heard it bit by bit, saving it up and piecing it together like scraps for a patchwork quilt.

I will begin with the Queen. The ruler of that Queendom. She was a brave, fair woman who ruled with grace and imagination. By day the walls of the castle were thronged with subjects from the district with their questions and their concerns. She was a queen in the true sense of the word; a listener, healer and alchemist. Each person would come to her troubled, and each person would go away hopeful. She loved her job. She knew it was her destiny to wrap her arms around this land and shield it from harm. 

Sometimes, as she sat down in her magnificent chamber, shielded from the day’s trial by sumptuous velvet curtains... 

Sometimes, as she sat on cushions, which were so soft, and fine it was like sitting on a cloud of lullabies... 

Sometimes, as the soft rainbow of her room reflected in the roaring fire, in her rich, royal surroundings... she heard a whisper that seemed to come in on the wind but way down inside her, her heartbeat giving it an insistent rhythm: 

“There’s more” It said, like a whisper you are sure you have misunderstood. 

“There’s more” It urged, dancing through the fire reflected in her eyes. 

“More” 

One night this pounding whisper moved her to leave her chamber; quietly she trod across the jeweled boards of the palace. Inhaling the whisper, as she pushed open a door that she had not opened since she played hide and seek as a child. As she nursed it open, the murmur turned into the laughter of a child and led down dark, uneven steps, to an uncertain passageway.

The castle had Seven Stories. The Queen's residence was on the Amethyst level - the shell of authority and direction. She trembled as she went deeper into the castle. Down to the Lapis level, which housed the halls of worship and wonder. The music they played there was so sublime that angels crept to the windows at night to listen to the evensong. Down she crept, to the throat of the castle: the Artist’s Chamber, where expression and creativity occurred. When she reached the Emerald level, the heart of the castle, the open gates of love... she nearly stopped, her rib cage opening as if it were a pair of wings, allowing her heart to expand. And still she went down. Past the Citrine chamber, where the power of the sun is tuned, into energy that feeds the whole palace. Down. Heady she was in the Amber belly, where foods so divine were being prepared, morsels that fed the soul so kindly one mouthful was enough to sate you for a lifetime. And then: at the root of the castle. Deep in its bowels... a door, which she dare not open but could only peek inside. There sat the pirate Hitchen. The dark and dangerous man who had seen so much. Sailed across so many worlds. Worlds she had only dreamed of. How she longed to see the world through those bold, blue eyes. But she dare not.

The Queen jumped as she heard a sound. He stirred, that great ferocious creature - and the Queen, startled, ran through the passageway, tripping up the judging steps and back to the safety of luxury, her chamber. Did she dare to go down again? Yes! 

The next evening the same echo led her down to that damp dangerous place, where she stayed just long enough, and her courage took her just close enough to hear the breathe of the caged man. 

Did she go again? Of course! On the third night, as the Queen rested her head on the prison door a voice barked: “I hear you” 

The hulking beast that skulked in the corner of the dark cave roared: “What do you want?” 

The Queen sank, sliding slowly down the door of the peat prison. At last she found the courage to speak, not daring to get up, but watching through a tiny knothole in the wood. 

“I have come to hear tales of lands afar,” cried the courage inside her. “Tell me of your journeys and your trials” 

Silence...

The captain smiled, his eyes blazed with blue fire. “You have come to hear stories of murder and treachery, I suppose... Of places where the trees bleed when you fell them, and real life is lived in bubbles of magic that float on the air..." 

Silence. 

The voice that had found its way past the Queen’s lips had disappeared.

He began.

He began to tell his stories, stories of unicorns, and kindness that made him weep, of lands where your thoughts become your dreams. For, although he looked as angry as a dragon and as spiky as a cactus, he was as peaceful as the moon. These were not the stories that the queen was expecting, these were stories of a brave man who gave and helped when he could. As he talked, his tongue jabbed the space where his gold tooth had once been. “Me tooth!” he lamented, “You’ve even taken me bloomin tooth…” 

“sssstate property” she stammered. The captain shook his head with pity for the Queen, who held so much and knew so little. 

“Snake Island!" 

"I am not stupid enough to be bitten myself, the garlic keeps them away” Robert explained, sniffing the air self-consciously. “I go there sometimes, it is where the finest herbs grow. I was collecting Damiana and Motherwort when I heard a cry.” Commander Robert softened as he spoke. “It was a mother’s cry, unmistakable in its pain. I followed the sound and there they were, two parents mourning their child, a tiny baby bitten by a snake. That pathetic vial of poison lay in their arms, so small and beautiful. It was time to use the magic I had learnt from the ancient ones. I made a circle of chalk and placed the baby inside. Humming the lost words I sucked the poison from the wound. It was bitter. Bitter.” He grimaced at the memory. “ I broke the rules, and put one foot outside the circle as I spat the revolting resin out. The last drop of poison sizzled on my tooth. I was in agony and had to pull the tooth out with my bare hands before the rest of me got infected. Through my agony I heard a different cry, the cry of a baby that has been without the comfort of their parents for too long.” The commander smiled at the memory “ grateful they was to have their little treasure back. So grateful that they each took off their wedding rings and melted these precious tokens of love into a gold tooth for me”

The Queen had been enthralled by this story. But was confused. Where were the stories of violence and deceit?

“The mermaid's hand” the Queen urged, she had heard the stories, of the withered mermaids hand that had been found in a box on his boat, proof of his butchery.

“She was my love!” The pirate cried. He told of how he had fallen in love with a moon-mermaid. Their love was as vast as the sea itself. As everyone knows, moon-mermaids must bathe their bodies in water before the moon reaches its fullest shine. If the shine of a full moon hits the dry skin of a mermaid it will freeze solid. The captain would sail out to their secret meeting place. When he was there, his nerves had settled, and he knew he was looking his best, he rang the boat bell. That crystal sound that said; “I am here and I love you and will be with you forever.” The mermaid would burst out of the waves, iridescent and spectacular. And they would love each other. But she loved the captain so completely she stared into his cobalt eyes for too long. The moon was rising. And still she stayed. It got bigger and still she did seek protection in the water. In the last moments of safety, she dived for cover - but her heart could not say good-bye and she turned, lifting her hand out of the water and waving to the commander. She hurried to submerge herself in the water but as she waved goodbye the moon burst into its fattest self and shone on her hand. The rest of her shimmering body was safe... but her hand lay lifeless and separate on the floating waves. The captain scooped up the hand; holding it, loving it, saving it... knowing he had the magic to melt it back to her wrist. He did not know if it was through shame, death or law - but the mermaid never returned. As the pirate told this story, the light in his eyes dimmed a little. Time wore on, and there were great silences between the stories, and the light in his eyes grew dimmer and dimmer. One day the queen, her courage in full bloom, nurtured by the stories of the pirate, came to the prison and stared through the window of the prison door. The captain could not see her. 

“You're blind!” she gasped. 

“What is there to see?’ he sighed, “without the roll of blue and green, the comfort of the sea, my eyes have given up seeing... My eyes have always been alive, searching for the place where the sea began, but now……….” His face looked dull and empty and she thought he might die that night. 

“Tell me about your boat,” the queen urged. And with a sigh, Robert remembered the beauty of his ship. He described every part of it to her, from the emerald hull to the silver chimney crown. He told her about his faithful familiars who he trusted with his life.

And the queen listened, and she acted upon what she had heard. When she was ready she stole down to the prison and opened the door. 

“It is time,” she said. 

“Execution,” he said, with a weary nod - "I knew when my stories dried up you would have me executed." The queen said nothing, but led him out of the stone mansion to her private harbour. As the salt air brushed past his face it began to wake up his senses, and stir his desire to live.

“The sea” was all he could utter. 

She led him to the craft she had been working on so secretly -  retrieving anchor and sail, repairing dodgers and boom. She had even released his beloved crew who had pined without him. She placed his hands upon the ship. He touched the helm. Absorbing the vibration of the curved loving wood filled his head once again with possibility and adventure and the light in his eyes began to ignite. As he ran his fingers along the sun catcher, so that the boat could move silently with the energy of sun or moon, he began to see again. When he placed his hands delicately on the silver chimney crown, his eyes were alive, the sea soothing the soreness. “I decree,” faltered the Queen, “that you find the place where the ocean begins, and when your heart is full of treasure, come back and tell me your stories”

And so the adventures began again. Robert Hitchen’s mouth fumbled with thanks. Out of the thanks came a song - a song only he knew the words to. The secret song that worked as a key to the boat's engine. The engine roared, the sails fluttered and the course was set to the sweet music of his song. So more journeys began, and in that beginning is our end.

This is the end of this story, but not of the captain’s travels. He sailed the ocean for many years, returning to the queen with stories and gifts but always leaving to search again for the place where the ocean starts.