Charlie and Nigel: The Lost Treasure of Devereux

By Jacey Randall

"Charlie and Nigel: The Lost Treasure of Devereux" encompasses literary aesthetics along with a quick 'British' sense of humor. This is a time-travel fantasy novel with a twist. Charlie, a young girl who uses a wheelchair, wishes that she could get out and have a real adventure more than anything. As if by magic, at Christmas, she receives Nigel, a finger-puppet monkey that changes her life forever. During a crabbing expedition with her siblings, Nigel is plucked off the gear-stick of Charlie's electric wheelchair by a hungry seagull, and all four of them fall off the jetty into the depths of waters unknown. After entering the magical world, they meet a fish called Albert, who informs them of the Devereux Quest, a journey that will change their lives forever. 'Captun Calico Jack' is also on the same quest, but . . . For different reasons. Will they be able to fight off this huge, irate pirate, solve the mystery, and find their way home, or will they be lost in time forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641382533

Book preview

Chapter 1

A White Christmas

I never really liked the snow, even though it was beautiful; already heavily falling, blanketing the trees with an umbrella whiteness. Uniformed icicles hung upon the garden gate, glistening in splendour of the afternoon sun. Zip! Zip! Stomp! Stomp! I could hear the bustling of my younger brother and sister coming from the hall closet. They were dressing themselves for the perils of outside. But I couldn’t share in their excitement; the slush would get into my wheels and make it difficult for me to manoeuvre my wheelchair. Yesterday, Aaron and Shelby had both seen on the six o’clock news that a heavy snow had been forecasted, and they were both so ready. A white Christmas had finally arrived. 

‘Hey, Charlie, you wanna go sledding?’ Shelby bellowed across the house.

It was the first time she had seen snow at Christmas. She was six years old, and did not quite understand the magnitude of pushing a wheelchair uphill in the snow. Yes! I wanted to scream at the top of my voice. Yes, I wanted to go sledding. Yes, I wanted to slide down from the top of the hill to the bottom in the snow. Oh how I wished, that just once, I could be like everyone else. To be without this wheelchair and get out, and yes, have an adventure, but alas that was not possible. So instead of loving the snow I had developed an intense dislike for it.

‘Hey, Charlie, did you hear me? I said did you wanna go sledding?’ Shelby shouted sarcastically.

‘No, it’s okay, you and Aaron go and have fun. Mum will be home soon, and I need to get a sense of order to my room, you know how she is.’

My mother had always taught me that everything should have its place, and I took great pride in my ability to organise. My attention to detail was amazing. My date-ordered letters, alphabetised books, and my many collections were something to be seen. I was a neat freak and proud of it.

‘Are you sure, Charlie?’ Aaron had popped his head around my bedroom door. ‘I could push you.’

‘No, I have things to do, I’ll be fine,’ I said, trying to mask the disappointment from my face. I appreciated my brother’s enthusiasm, but knew it would be wise for me to wait until my mother returned home. After all, I was in charge, and what good would it be if I got stuck waist-deep in a snowdrift. My mother would not be impressed. I can see it now, front page of the Bicester Advertiser, ‘Local girl in wheelchair rescued by fire brigade.’ That would not be good!

‘Bye, Charlie.’ The door slammed shut behind them, and once again I found myself alone. Tomorrow was Christmas and my room was ready. I wheeled over to the living room window and watched as the village children congregated in single file at the top of the hill, anxiously awaiting with their dustbin bags, cardboard boxes, and anything else that would propel them downhill at great speed. I smiled to myself. One day, I would be sledding down the side of a hill in snow. I didn’t know when, how, or where, I just knew.

My thoughts of getting ready for the toboggan run were rudely interrupted by bright yellow headlights ascending up the driveway, blinding me as I sat by the window, daydreaming of the ‘what ifs.’ Mum was finally home. She had gone to Oxford train station a few hours prior to pick up my grandma, great-grandma, and great-grandpa for the seasons festivities.

We had moved to the pictorial village of Ambrosden a few years before, after my stepfather had retired from the Army, but he was now gone, and now it was just my mother, Aaron, Shelby, and me. It truly was beautiful countryside with its rolling hills, horse-filled paddocks and nature trails. A great place to raise children according to my mother, but I wanted more; I wished that I lived in the city where everything was happening.

‘Hey, Charlie, we’re home. Where are Aaron and Shelby?’ Mum asked.

‘Oh they’re up on the top of the hill with the other children, they should be back soon,’ I replied.

‘But it’s getting dark,’ said my mother with a worried look upon her face.

‘Don’t worry, Mum, they’re okay. I told Aaron to be home at five o’clock sharp, and he still has ten minutes. He took my watch. He won’t be late, I promise.’

‘Okay, sweetie, you know how I worry.’

‘Yes, I know, believe me, I know.’

‘Hey, Charlie, come into the kitchen I have something to show you,’ my mother said, smiling.

Oh no! What now? I thought. My mother would go through this ritual every time she would get a good deal. She was the master shopper; clipping coupons and finding the best sales. I turned my wheelchair around and proceeded slowly towards the kitchen. I was in no great hurry. I could hear the kettle whistling upon the stove, another cup of tea. What is it with English people? Tea with everything! After being showered with kisses from my grandparents, my chin nearly hit the floor, for there, sitting on the kitchen table was the strangest looking turkey I had ever seen.

‘25 percent off, Charlie, what do you think of that?’

What did I think? I was gobsmacked. Who in their right mind would buy a three-legged turkey? My mother! I guess this eccentric behaviour is catching. Mental note to one’s self. Stay away from grandparents!

Chapter 2

The Voice in the Darkness

Knock, knock! Tap, tap! What was that?

My eyes focused on the ceiling, adjusting to the darkness, stopping at each illuminating star my mother had precisely placed the year before. What time was it? I knew that it had to be early. Aaron and Shelby were still sleeping upstairs, tucked up in their beds. The previous Christmas they had woke me up at five o’clock to open presents, and yesterday I had overheard them conspiring to camp out and wait for Father Christmas. The house was deathly quiet, apart from the tapping noise that had rudely woken me from sleep.

Knock, knock! There it was again. By now my heart was pounding in my chest, and I was wishing my mother had not tucked me in so tight. She says it’s for my own protection, so I don’t fall out of bed in the dark. I guess she knows what she’s doing.

Knock, knock!

‘Who’s there?’ I whispered.

‘Bonjour mon ami,’ a faint voice came from deep within the darkness.

The fact that someone had actually answered my question took me quite by surprise. Perhaps it was Father Christmas? No, the last time I checked he did not have a French accent. Perhaps it was Great-Grandma, talking in her sleep, dreaming of sipping café au lait on the terrace of some quaint little restaurant in Paris. She had been learning French for many years in anticipation that one day she would become a global traveller. No, she was upstairs, and the voice had definitely come from the direction of the living room.

‘It’s me, Nigel!’

Nigel? Who in the heck was Nigel? I didn’t know anyone with that name and especially not anyone with a French accent.

‘Hello, are you there, are you there?’ I whispered back into the darkness with a cautious tone.

No answer. Perhaps I was hearing things. Was it my overactive imagination? Oh well, I would have to figure it out tomorrow, for now there nothing I could do, I needed to sleep; tomorrow would be a busy day. 

Chapter 3

The Arrival of Nigel

I was woken the next morning by the cockerel from next door, singing his praises of ‘Cock-a-doodle-do.’ Any other day, I would have rolled over and gone back to sleep, but today was different; it was Christmas. Had I been dreaming? The voice, who was Nigel? So many questions left unanswered.

My great-grandma was busy in the kitchen making the first ‘cuppa’ of the day, jovially singing ‘Jingle bells.’ Christmas was such a special holiday in our house.

‘Morning sweetie,’ she said as she ventured into my bedroom. ‘Are you ready to get up?’

I pulled my head back under the blankets, much like a tortoise going into hibernation, trying to erase the vision of my great-grandma standing at the foot of my bed, rubber gloves pulled up to her elbows, awaiting the operation of the day; stuffing the turkey! Where does one put the stuffing on a turkey with three legs? Her recipe was sworn to secrecy. I don’t think even the Queen of England could extract that vital information from her. The previous Christmas she had left the turkey on the number thirty-seven bus, and we had eaten spaghetti for Christmas lunch, so, she was obviously keen to get started.

The house was beginning to wake. Aaron and Shelby had now climbed up onto my bed; they were excited.

‘Come on Charlie, time to get up.’

‘Okay, okay, just quit jumping.’

They both knew that they would have to wait for me to get out of bed before they could open their presents. Ten minutes later the entire family had reported to the living room. What a sight we all were! All of us sat in our pyjamas, sipping tea, anxiously waiting for our Christmas attire; a wardrobe tradition my great-grandma had insisted upon. She said that we needed to look our best for the Christmas broadcast of the queen’s speech at three o’clock. Only then, after fifteen minutes of complete silence, would we be able to proceed with Christmas lunch. I glanced behind me, catching my reflection in the mirror by the hall closet. Good grief! What had happened to my hair? It looked as if a bird’s nest had been assembled during the night. Why had no one told me? I considered the possibility of borrowing one of my grandma’s hats to calm things down, but decided that was not a good idea. After all, I recalled from her last visit, her placing one on the teapot, and I didn’t want her to think that I actually liked her hats, and receive hats from this day forward.

This year it was my mother’s turn to play the role of Father Christmas. She sat by the humongous Christmas tree dressed in her red pyjamas, high heels, and red and white hat. My mother would wear high heels for every occasion, even mowing the lawn. I guess the years of her being a gymnast in her youth had helped her to stay in an upright position. The family tradition was to have the most spectacular tree with colour-coordinated ornaments. Something my mother was most proud of. Her artistic abilities were something to be seen. Many times, I would come home from school with projects, only for her to start making paper maché. My mother could make anything out of paper maché. I had several first place ribbons pined upon my bedroom wall to prove it.

Shelby could no longer contain her excitement.

‘Me first!’

I had no objection to her going first, for I knew that I would probably have some hideous outfit to wear; I always did, no doubt, something with frills, lace, and bows. Enough was enough! My wardrobe could not stand yet another outfit. Did they not understand that I was twelve years old and that the ribbons and bows were no longer attire I looked good in? I guess not!

It was my turn; my mother passed me a small red package with a beautiful gold bow stuck neatly in the centre. It was too small to be the dreaded outfit, so instead I found myself being overwhelmed with excitement. My fingers awkwardly peeled back the tape and I was in. Much to my surprise it was a wooden box. Hand carved, very ornate, was it an antique?

‘Open it up, Charlie, open it!’ squealed Shelby.

She was just as eager as I was to see the contents inside. My great-grandma immediately got up, placed her cup of tea on the table, and approached me.

‘Here, let me take a look.’

She proceeded to take the box, turn it upside down, and began to wind a key on the underside. It was a music box. Frères Jacques played its sweet melody. Oh, how I loved that song. My mother had sung it to me every night as a baby to lull me to sleep. I lifted the lid and there tucked inside, was a white satin pillowcase cocooning the most delightful six-inch stuffed monkey. Brown and white with a red beret perched over his left ear.

‘His name is Nigel,’ my great-grandma whispered into my ear.

‘Nigel?’

How could that be? Was it this little monkey that had tried to reach out to me the night before? Surely not! After all, this was a stuffed animal and stuffed animals could not talk. Everyone knew that, didn’t they?

‘Oh Great-Grandma he’s adorable,’ I squealed ‘Where did he come from?’

‘Oh Charlie, he’s special, if you know what I mean, you take good care of him.’

She planted a kiss on my forehead and gave me a wink.

‘Yes, Great-Grandma, I certainly will.’

Nigel now had his place in the family; he was my very special friend. Eyes front, beret pulled over his left ear, tied to the gear-stick of my electric wheelchair, he would go everywhere with me, and my life would never be the same again.

Chapter 4

Last Day of School

The months that followed that wonderful Christmas and the arrival of Nigel flew by fast, and summer had finally arrived. Nigel and I would often sit on the back porch talking and reminiscing that first encounter. How my life had changed. I no longer felt angry for being in a wheelchair; those memories were locked in my past where they belonged. It’s amazing to think that a six-inch monkey would have such an effect on my life. Oh, how I loved having a best friend, one that wouldn’t desert me upon realizing, that sometimes I could not do the activities that other children took for granted. No one knew of Nigel’s ability to talk except for Aaron and Shelby, and they had been sworn to secrecy since Nigel’s arrival. I thought it was for the best. After all, I didn’t want anyone to think that I had lost my mind. Grownups would never understand. Wherever I went, Nigel went too, and that included school.

Tick! Tick! Tick! One hour to go. Why did the time move so slowly on the last day of school? Why? When all I wanted to do was get out of the geometry class. Tomorrow was the beginning of the summer holidays, and boy was I ready! Back at the house our suitcases were packed, waiting at the front door. We were off to great-grandma’s house. Off to the beach. Hooray!

I turned to look at Nigel but he had fallen asleep. Beret pulled over his eyes, quietly snoring, no doubt, dreaming of faraway places and eating monkey nuts. Guess he doesn’t have much enthusiasm for geometry either. I nudged him, which in turn started the domino effect, of me slamming into the desk in front of me, turning a chair upside down and disrupting the class. Mister Andrews peered over his horn-rimmed spectacles.

‘Charlie, everything okay?’

‘Yes, sir, I just fell on my gear-stick, it was an accident, I’m sorry.’

‘Well then, let’s just settle down then, shall we?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Mr. Andrews had been teaching geometry at the high school for many years, and his personality certainly reflected this. His knowledge of isosceles and right-angled triangles was remarkable. I wondered if indeed he was married,