Primitive: A Bones Bonebrake Adventure

Chapter 9

Of all the various parts of the galleon, the cargo hold had suffered the most from the intrusion of soil and water. Toward the bow of the ship, where the hull had been split when the ship ran aground, the dark mud lay knee deep, descending to a depth of several inches toward the stern. But it did little to cover the crates that lay all around, scattered and broken by the wreck so many centuries ago.

Carly clapped her hands and Dave let out a whoop of triumph as the beam of Bones’ light glinted off blocks of gold and silver bullion and scattered gold chains. Here and there, jewels sparkled like stars in the dark mire. Trying but failing to suppress a grin, Slater discussed the find at length for the benefit of the camera.

“Why so many gold chains?” Dave asked.

Bones knew the answer to this one. “Tax evasion. The Spanish crown placed a tariff on precious metals, but jewelry was exempt. Europeans didn’t do much in the way of fine craftsmanship in the New World, but they could make rough chains and rings like what you see here, and that was good enough to get around the law.”

“Why not make it all into jewelry?” Carly asked.

“I guess it’s one of those things you can only take so far. The crown would look past a certain amount of circumvention as long as it made its share from the transportation of New World treasure, but if it got out of hand, they’d have eliminated the exemption. Nobody wanted to be the one that killed the goose that laid the golden egg.”

“Speaking of eggs,” Slater said. “Have you seen anything like this before?” She pointed to a small crate filled with dirt, straw, and mud-encrusted egg-shaped objects caked in mud.

“I’ve never seen one up close, but I’ve read about them.” He knelt beside the crate, took out his recon knife, and scraped away the mud that encased one of the strange objects. “These are bezoars.”

“You’re kidding,” Dave and Carly said in unison.

“What are bezoars?” Slater asked.

“Somebody hasn’t read Harry Potter,” Dave said.

“A bezoar is a sort of stone formed from material found in the digestive tracts of two-stomached animals. Given that this is a Spanish ship, we’re probably looking at stones from a llama or alpaca since those were found in the major Spanish colonies. And, just like in Harry Potter, people believed a bezoar could absorb poison. Somebody rich enough to buy one would dip it in his cup of wine before drinking it, just in case his enemies had tried to poison his cup.”

“I take it they were pretty valuable?” Slater asked.

“Very, and not just because of their supposed properties. Being able to afford one was a status symbol. People would have them carved, mounted in a gold setting, and would wear them as jewelry.”

“Did they work?” Dave asked. “I mean, do they really absorb poison?”

Bones chuckled. “Tell you what. When we get back to town, we’ll put rat poison in a beer, drop one of these in, and you can drink it. Sound good?”’

Dave laughed. “I’ll pass.” With that pronouncement, he cut the camera. “Does this mean we get, I don’t know, salvage rights or whatever?”

They all looked at Bones, the only treasure hunter in the group.

“If we were three leagues out in the gulf waters or three miles off the Atlantic coast, things would be a lot simpler. On land it’s a little more complicated.”

“But, finders keepers, right?” Carly asked.

“Not necessarily. A lot depends on who owns the property. If we’re still inside the state park, Florida treasure trove law says that whatever we find belongs to the state.”

“That’s not fair,” Dave said.

“That’s just the way it is. The good news is, the common practice here is for the government to keep everything of historical value and give the finder seventy-five percent of the intrinsic value of the find.”

“What if we’re on private property?” Carly asked.

“It probably goes to the owner. There would definitely be a legal battle.”

“And since we’re doing this under the auspices of the television show, there are other ownership angles to consider,” Slater said. “This could be a mess.”

“So, maybe we’re rich and maybe we’re not,” Dave said. “It’s Schrödinger’s treasure.”

“I’m sure this will sort itself out eventually,” Slater said. “But for now, I say we cover up the holes where you two klutzes fell through, and get back to the job at hand.”

Bones nodded. “I want to track down whatever it was that attacked us.”

“You think it was a ‘what’ and not a ‘who’?” Carly asked.

Bones merely nodded.

They made their way back up to the crew deck and Bones helped Slater and then Carly climb out. Both were light and agile so it required little effort. Getting himself and Dave out would take a little more creativity.

“Let’s gather all the boards and crates we can. We’ll pile them up and climb out that way. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to dig up enough dirt to make a mound that we can get up on, and hope it isn’t so heavy that it causes the floor beneath it to collapse.”

He waited for Dave to reply, but no response was forthcoming. The young cameraman knelt by the old fire pit, poking at the bones that lay there. “Take a look at this.” He held up a thick leg bone — a femur if Bones didn’t miss his guess. “It’s got cuts all over it — signs that the meat was butchered. We’ve seen this before on the show. Cannibalism.”

Frowning, Bones took the femur from Dave and gave it a close look. “Maybe not cannibalism.”

“But the cuts…”

“You’re not wrong about the cuts,” he said. “But I don’t think this is human. At least not human as we know it.”