Hidden Treasure

Oliver Wells frowned as his doorbell chimed. He didn’t recall having any appointments for the day, though that had never stopped one from popping up on him before. Surely Carson would had let him know to expect visitors had that been the case. Oliver marked his place in his book. He heard the distant sound of the door being opened, followed by faint pleasantries as Carson greeted the visitor. Judging by the tone of Carson’s voice, it was at least a familiar visitor, if an unannounced one.

He stood as the door was open and paused mid bow, any last lingering trace of annoyance at being interrupted vanishing as his guest strode in. Oliver’s eyebrows rose as he straightened. “Captain Sparrow. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Gabriella Sparrow was an imposing figure of a woman, though her gender was only obvious if one knew where to look. Her heavy woolen overcoat was bulky enough and tailored well enough that it hid the curve of her hips. He wasn’t quite sure how she managed to compress her ample breasts – which he knew she had due to one very unfortunate incident with a faulty door lock – and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. The less known about Sparrow’s breasts the better.

She swung a document case off her shoulder and popped off the cap of the tube. A roll of brown paper slid out. It crinkled as she spread it out across his desk, the paper protesting with age. Sparrow weighed down the corners with books and grinned across the table at him. “It’s a map.”

He raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the paper. “Yes, that’s quite obvious.” There was marked terrain laid out and a compass rose in the corner, though it was more ornate than standard maps usually called for. He pushed his glasses further up his nose as he bent over the desk, his chair momentarily forgotten in favor of getting an up-close look. His fingers ached to touch the paper but he refrained. The less handling the map saw, the better. It looked a little fragile.

“Here.” He pointed to the bottom left corner of the map where a line of French was scribbled. “This is meant as your starting point. La Nouvelle Ville. That’s a reference to Georgetown.” He frowned at the map. The lay of the land was all wrong. Oliver circled the table until he stood next to Sparrow. There. That was better. He traced the line of the coast, his finger hovering just above the paper. “The rose is backwards. It’s a common misdirection technique.”