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‘Surprise!’ he yelled.
Max saw he was holding something in his hand.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing to the strange metal object Roland had salvaged from the bridge.
‘A sextant.’
Max raised his eyebrows. He had no idea what it was.
‘A sextant is a gadget that’s used to calculate your position in the sea,’ Roland explained, his voice faltering after the effort of holding his breath for almost a minute. ‘I’m going down again. Hold it for me.’
Max was about to protest but Roland plunged down before he could even open his mouth. He inhaled deeply and dipped his head below the surface to follow Roland’s dive. This time, his friend swam the whole length of the hull until he reached the stern. Max watched Roland swim up to a porthole and try to look inside the ship. Max held his breath until his lungs were burning, then let out all the air, ready to resurface and breathe again. But in that last second his eyes caught sight of something that chilled his blood.
Through the darkness he could see an old flag undulating in the water – rotten and ragged, it was fastened to a mast on the stern of the Orpheus. Max observed it carefully and recognised the faded symbol that was still visible: a six-pointed star within a circle. He felt a shiver course through his body. He had seen that symbol before, above the spear-shaped tips of the gate, in the garden of statues.
Roland’s sextant slipped from his fingers and sank down to the shadows below. Overcome by an inexplicable fear, Max swam back to the shore as fast as he could.
*
Half an hour later, sitting in the shade of the porch at the beach hut, Roland and Max watched Alicia as she collected seashells from among the pebbles on the shore.
‘Are you sure you’ve seen that symbol before, Max?’
Max nodded.
‘Sometimes, underwater, things are not what they seem—’ Roland began.
‘I know what I saw,’ Max butted in.
‘OK?’ ‘OK,’ Roland conceded. ‘You saw a symbol which, according to you, is also in that graveyard behind your house. So what?’
Max stood up and faced his friend.
‘So what? Do you want me to repeat the whole story?’
Max had spent the last twenty-five minutes telling Roland everything he knew about the walled garden, including Jacob Fleischmann’s film.
‘There’s no need,’ Roland replied dryly.
‘Then how can you possibly not believe me?’ snapped Max. ‘Do you think I’m inventing all this?’
‘I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Max,’ said Roland, smiling softly at Alicia, who had returned from her walk with a little bag of shells. ‘Any luck?’
‘This beach is a real treasure trove,’ Alicia repli
ed, jangling the bag containing her stash.
Max rolled his eyes impatiently.
‘You believe me, then?’ he retorted, staring at Roland insistently.
His friend returned his gaze but said nothing for a while.
‘I believe you, Max,’ he said eventually, turning to look at the horizon, unable to hide a shadow of sadness in his expression. Alicia noticed the change in Roland’s face.
‘Max told me your grandfather was travelling on the ship the night it sank,’ she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Roland nodded vaguely.
