Chapter 1 My name is Tom Trelawney and I come from a long line of liars, cheats, crooks, bandits, thieves, and smugglers.
Thats what my uncle says, anyway.
Id like to believe him, but if our family consists entirely of criminals, what went wrong with my dad? Hes probably the most honest person on the planet.
“Hes not a real Trelawney,” says Uncle Harvey. “Not like you and me.”
According to my uncle, our family originally came from a small village in Cornwall, a rugged corner of England that sticks out into the Atlantic, pointing like a finger at America. The Trelawneys called themselves fishermen, but they actually made their living by piracy, smuggling illegal goods ashore and hiding them in the caves that riddle the Cornish coast.
My grandfather was a real Trelawney too.
He wasnt a pirate or a smuggler, but he never did an honest days work in his life. He was always running from someone, always searching for a place to hide, and he left a trail of enemies all around the world.
I never really knew him. I wish I had.
We only saw Grandpa once a year, sometimes even less. The last time he came to the States for Christmas, he drank too much wine and had a big argument with Dad.
Ten months later, he was dead.
He had a heart attack while watching TV, and that was that, kaput, he was gone.
“A good death,” my mom called it, and perhaps shes right, although its not exactly what Id call a good death. Whats wrong with being gnawed to pieces by piranhas? Or flung from a plane without a parachute? If Grandpa had died like that, I really would have been proud of him. But he died sitting in his recliner, slumped in front of the TV, according to the neighbor who found him, so maybe that really was a good death.
Grandpa had lived all over the world, but he spent the last few years of his life in a small village on the west coast of Ireland. We arrived in Shannon at dawn on the morning of the funeral. (By “we,” I mean me, my mom, my dad, my little bro, Jack, and my big sister, Grace.) Dad rented a bright blue Ford Focus at the airport and drove us across the country to Grandpas village.
Not many people came to the funeral: just us and a few neighbors.
Halfway through the service, the door squeaked open and Uncle Harvey stumbled down the aisle. “Sorry Im late,” he whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear. The vicar gave him a stern look and carried on with the sermon. Uncle Harvey grinned at us and slid into a pew on the other side of the church. I grinned back while Dad gave him a dirty look. They might be brothers, but they dont like each other much.
I was looking forward to talking to my uncle. Earlier in the year, we had traveled to Peru together, hunting down a stash of buried gold that had belonged to Sir Francis Drake. Later, back in the U.S., wed been given dinner at the Peruvian embassy, but I hadnt seen my uncle since. I wanted to know if hed had any more adventures. Had he been chased by crooks? Threatened by thugs? Or beat up? Had he stolen anything? Or cheated anyone? Even after spending a week with my uncle in Peru, I didnt know very much about his life, but I knew one thing for sure: it was a lot more interesting than mine.
The ceremony concluded with prayers, then we shuffled into the graveyard and stood in line to shake hands with the vicar. When my turn came, the vicar smiled down at me and said in his warm Irish accent, “So which of the grandsons are you? Are you Jack or are you Tom?”
“Im Tom.”
“Ah, the famous Tom. Your grandfather told me all about you. He said you were full of mischief. Is that true?”
“I suppose so.”
“He also said he saw himself in you. I can see what he meant.”
“Really?” I said. “What else did he say?”
“Oh, this and that. Maybe Ill tell you when youre a bit older.” Chuckling, the vicar let go of my hand and grabbed the next in line, which happened to belong to Uncle Harvey. “Your father was a lovely man,” the vicar said. “You must be missing his presence.”
“Ive heard him called a lot of things,” said Uncle Harvey. “But never lovely. Maybe he was lovelier to you than he was to us.”
The vicar looked a bit nervous, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “I didnt know your father well, but we thought of him as a valued member of the community.”
“Did you really?” Uncle Harvey sounded surprised. “So he didnt steal any of your silver? Or flog your hymn books on eBay?”
“Actually, we did have a few things go missing,” said the vicar. Then he noticed that my uncle was smiling. “Ah! Youre having a joke with me, arent you?”
“Im so sorry,” said Uncle Harvey. “I cant help myself.” “Even in times of trouble, its good to have a smile on
your face.” The vicar beamed and moved to talk to the next person in line.
As my uncle and I walked through the churchyard, he winked at me. I winked back. Now we knew how Grandpa had been supplementing his pension.
Uncle Harvey said, “Hows life, kid?”
“Its OK. A little boring. Hows yours?”
“I would say its good, but my dads just died so I probably shouldnt. How often did you see the old man?”
“Not very often,” I replied. “He sometimes visited us for Christmas. But he and Dad always ended up arguing.”
“He argued with everyone. That was just his way.” “Did you argue with him too?”
“All the time,” said Uncle Harvey. “But we always made up again. He was like that. Wed get drunk together and have a big row, then forget all about it the next day. Its a pity you wont get to know him better. Did you ever come and stay with him?”
“Dad wouldnt let me. I dont know why not.” “I do,” said Uncle Harvey.
“Yeah? Why?”
“He knows that as far as hes concerned, the Trelawney genes skipped a generation. Youre more like your grandfather than your father. He must have been worried about what would happen if the two of you ever got together. Just like hes worried about the two of us. And hes right, isnt he? Ah, hello, Simon. How are you?”
Simon is my dad. He didnt look particularly pleased to see his brother, but maybe he was just feeling sad. I guess you would feel sad if your father died, even if the two of you had furious arguments whenever you happened to be in the same room at the same time.
The brothers shook hands. Then Uncle Harvey kissed my mom on both cheeks and said hello to Jack and Grace.
“Ive invited the vicar to join us for lunch,” my father said to Harvey. “Can you give him a lift in your car? There isnt much room in ours.”
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“Ive booked a table at a restaurant on the coast. Apparently its very good. You can follow me there.”
“Great. Ill go and get the vicar.”
Once Uncle Harvey was striding across the churchyard, Dad turned to me. “Here are the keys to Grandpas house. Well see you there in a couple of hours.”
I took the keys and stared stupidly at my father. “Why are you giving me these?”
“Because youre going to go to the house.” “What am I supposed to do there?”
“Whatever you like. Read a book, play a game. Its up to you.”
“What about lunch?” “What about lunch?”
“Why cant I come to lunch?” “You know why not.” “Because Im grounded?” “Exactly.”
“But this is Grandpas funeral! Youve got to let me come to the lunch!”
“Im afraid not, Tom. Youre grounded.” “Thats so unfair!”
“You should have thought about that before you stole the golf cart. Well be a couple of hours. See you later.”
“Dad—”
“Dont ‘Dad me.” “But, Dad—”
“I said dont ‘Dad me.”
“But, Dad, its just not fair.”
“See you later,” said my father, showing not a trace of sympathy. “Go on. Go to the house.”
Grace tried to argue on my behalf, which was nice of her, and Jack said he wouldnt mind staying with me, which was nice of him, too, but Dad asked if they both wanted to be grounded as well, and of course they didnt. He told them to go to the car. Grace grinned at me and Jack gave me a thumbs-up, then they sloped away. Dad turned back to me. “Im sorry, Tom. I dont like doing this. I wish there were some other way. But youve really given me no choice.”
I looked at my dad for a moment. Then I said, “Youre an idiot.”
His face turned red and he told me never to talk to him like that, and Mom said I should remember where I was, but I didnt care. I turned my back on my parents and walked away, their angry voices following me out of the graveyard.