Albert continued digging with his new-found friend, Felix Brandt. Ensuring the boats that would soon call the canal home had enough water below their keels, an engineer carefully measured the depth.
The master engineer, Hank Worthington, then inspected the depth of the canal and informed them the canal would have to be dug a further foot deeper, before it could be successfully flooded.
With slow, purposeful movement of his shovel, Albert deepened the center of the canal. Water filled the spot where he dug as fast as he removed the wet soil. He continued, working harder now he knew who his slow and unwanted companion really was.
It was there that he found it.
A strange sound, like metal striking metal. It could have been another hard rock, but the sound didn’t quite match up. Albert kept digging, more out of curiosity than out of any desire to get somewhere.
His shovel struck it again.
That was when he first spotted its sparkle. Below the water, half a foot under the soil, Albert saw what had made the sound. It appeared like a strange mixture of red and orange metal, but brighter, almost like gold. He worked the small device with the tip of his shovel until it came free from the earth’s clasp. Pulling it out, he quickly washed it in the muddy water. It glowed red like a strange type of gold. He quickly examined his finding.
Built like a solid rod, it was nearly half a foot in length and no more than three inches thick. At the head of the device appeared something that resembled a telescope. Only there were no pieces of glass to be seen. Instead, its sharp rectangular angles rotated so that light reflected for no apparent purpose. Strange markings, completely foreign to him, covered the sides, making it appear old. At the base, he noticed something rotate. It had twelve different positions, and each one slightly changed the angle of the reflective metal at its head.
Olsen grinned as he shuffled the artifact in his hands.
It felt heavy. More like the weight of a large axe than an ornate looking glass. It was the first time he realized it was a strange red color, ruining his hope that it was gold.
All the same, it begged the question…
Where did it come from?
Albert bent down to wash it again. Over the hill, Felix approached, slow as ever. Terrified that someone might take it from him, Albert slid his finding inside his large jacket pocket, and continued to dig, if only a little hopeful of another such discovery. But he was not so rewarded. In the high tide of that afternoon the canal was opened to the ocean. Water flooded in, and with it, all hopes he held of finding more unique riches.
That night he visited his master, who was aboard Felix Brandt’s ship, preparing to return to Amsterdam in the spring.
The Delfland’s rigging had been stripped for winter. Even without it, Albert could see it was a grand sailing ship, befitting a very rich landowner. Hank met him on the upper deck.
“Hello Olsen. What can I help you with?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir.” He looked sheepish as he asked, “Can I come inside and talk privately?”
“Of course, young man. Come downstairs and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Olsen followed his master deep into the ship. Locked away since it had been stowed for the winter, the Defland still appeared fit for the King of Holland. Inside, the cold interior was expansive, more like a palace than a boat, which often required the use of every inch of her room. He was taken aft, where the master’s cabin rested.
Reassured that his master was the only person aboard the ship, Albert quickly told his master of the discovery and his worry that someone might steal it from him. When he was done, Hank lit a large candle. Then he smiled and said, “May I examine it?”
“Of course.” Albert took it out of his pocket and handed it to him.
Bringing the light of the candle over the metal device, Hank took a cloth covered in strong liquor and began cleaning the orange metal. It reflected the light as powerfully as any gold that either of them had ever seen. Hank polished the device until it became reflective like a mirror. On the side of the rod a strange marking could be seen.
Albert had never seen the shapes written anywhere. Hank looked at it, mesmerized, and gasped as he saw the writings.
“Have you seen it before?”
“No, never,” Hank answered, still polishing it reverently.
“Then what made you gasp when you saw the markings at its center?”
“It just looks very similar to something an old friend of mine once showed me from Africa. They were sketches of course, and clearly can have nothing to do with this… even so, the markings bear frightful similarities.”
“What was so interesting about your friend’s sketches?”
Hank looked torn. As though he were deciding how much to tell. Then replied, “My friend returned for a second expedition to Africa, but neither he nor any other member of his 22-man team returned.”
“Do you think the two places could be connected?”
“What, an old city in Africa and here?” Hank shook his head. “I doubt that very much.”
“So, can you deliver it to my fiancée? I have another 6 months of service, but I know that you are returning next month for a short while. I trust you. Can you take it for me?”
“Of course. If you trust me with something so valuable?” Hank replied, his voice reassuringly kind, like a father to a son.
“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t.”
“Then of course I’ll do it.”
Felix Brandt couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw it as he came over the hill. Albert Olsen had found the Arcane Stone!
The child had no idea of its purpose, but even a fool must have recognized its immediate value. And that would lead him to show it to someone, and before long, someone who knew about it, who had waited many generations to find it, would get access to its secrets.
No, Olsen was a good boy, with a bright future, but something had to be done.
Felix left his house after dark. He should have waited later, but he couldn’t afford the possibility that Olsen would be innocent to such an extent that he would show someone tonight. After debating the problem over and over, he walked out into the street.
Along the rocky edge of Pearl Street, his footsteps echoed quietly into the night until he reached its end. There he turned right and walked along the Heere Gracht, where the moon shined sympathetically on the first high tide, which flooded the newly deepened canal. Soon, he thought, ships would line it as they had in Amsterdam.
At the end of the canal he reached the wall, where many of the laborers took shelter. It was unusual for a man of his background to be seen at such a place in the early evening, but as the richest man in the new settlement, he had little to fear for his actions.
He knocked on the door. Albert Olsen answered immediately. His shoes were still on and it looked as though he’d only just arrived home from somewhere.
“Hello Mr. Brandt,” Olsen said, politely.
“May I come in?”
Olsen looked nervous. “Of course. Is something wrong?”
“It’s all right. I just wanted to talk to you.”
The room was small, with a bed at one end and a fireplace next to it. There was little more to it and nowhere to sit.
“I’m sorry I don’t have much to offer you, Mr. Brandt,” he said, while placing a small pot of water on the fire. “Would you like a warm drink? I’m afraid I don’t have anywhere for you to sit.”
“That’s not a problem. I don’t want to take up much of your time. I have a question for you.”