NOT JUST A LITTLE BLACK BOOK

I wake far earlier than usual. The suns rays that pierce through the drapes of my small window scorn my heavy eyelids, urging me to reposition my uncooperative body. Perhaps it was my grandfathers passing that had rendered me useless over the recent days, or perhaps It was that I’ve always been a late riser. Nevertheless, this morning was not going to defeat me, after all, today was a new start, a shift in direction. I’d sworn to uphold my grandfathers dying wish, “Be who you were born to be, not someone others think you should be.” These words, however generic, had burrowed deep into my soul, latching on to a part of me I didn’t know existed.

I’d always looked up my grandfather. His countless journeys across the world, to lands far from our small dusty hometown of Charleville, had always inspired a sense of adventure in me. I’ve never witnessed the beauty outside the imaginary boarder of Charleville, I’d never seen the possibilities as I do now. The furthest I’d travelled was to the local waterfall, which was about the only entertainment one could hope for in a town of this size.

Today was the reading of my grandfathers will. I’d been asked to attend, due to my name being at the top of the list of recipients of my his vast wealth. I hadn’t yet thought of what this could mean for me and my future, but I should certainly hope it would bring about a life that would make my grandad proud.

We arrive fashionably late, as per usual, and after the awkward pleasantries of family unbeknownst to me, second cousins of cousins and such, we are ushered into the enormous estate. A butler wearing a penguin suit and sporting a moustache fit for the twenties, guides us through to the book room. Now, this is no normal book room, it’s more a library that could support an entire city. A spiral staircase leads to an upper deck helping you reach the books closer to the three story high ceiling, while a ladder, connected to a railing, aids in fetching the books below the deck. I remember this room being out of bounds when I was a child, I think my parents feared I’d destroy the most treasured room on the estate. I don’t blame them, I wasn’t always a pleasure to have around. However, my grandad would sneak me into this room and read me tales of his incredible adventures and stories alike, his passion would always fuel my desire to escape and see the world and I guess he saw that within me.

Suddenly, from the upper deck, a large figure dressed in a lawyers suit appears. His polished brown leather shoes clunk as he strides ominously above. He then stops as he reaches the staircase, swivels robotically to meet the railing and descends rather slowly. Whether he doesn’t wish to slip and fall or he’s attempting to make a grand entrance, one can only wonder. Either way, the entire family is fixated on his arrival. He clutches to his chest an unravelled scroll, much like one you would find in a cave that only Indiana Jones would enter. Once he reaches the masterfully crafted dark wooden desk in the middle of the room, he unravels the scroll and sits with a straight back and an emotionless glare.

“Good morning. I’m sure you’re all aware of why you’ve been asked to attend?” He asks rhetorically with a posh British accent, before immediately continuing. “My name is Edmund Goosefield, I’m here to deliver the will to the family of Sir Joseph Steel Archer." He lowers his tiny circular spectacles only enough to scrutinise the seemingly unworthy family, then raises an eyebrow before finishing his introduction. “I will make this rather speedy as I am attending two more such events for the day.” The family glance at one another with a bemused look, but are soon snapped back to attention as he begins to read the first name.

“Katie May Archer, you and your family will receive one hundred and fifty thousand dollars each and the Rolls Royce.” They cheer loudly as they hear the news, but muffle their excitement as they look around to see the rest of the extended family eagerly awaiting their gifts.

“Andre James Archer, your family, including the Bollinger family, will be gifted fifty percent of the value of the entire estate, the other fifty percent going to allocated charities and carefully selected organisations.” Another cheer erupts, but this one isn’t as quick to fade. The sale of the estate, even at half of its earnings, could be upwards of two million dollars.

He rattles on for another several minutes allocating the will before he arrives at my family. My father has worked exceptionally hard his entire life as the manager of a small bank, while my mother has always been a dream parent. However, a few strokes of misfortune and the crash of 2008 saw my family's life savings dwindle to nothing. Nevertheless, our bond is unbreakable and we always stick together, even through the toughest of times. I’m hoping this will reading could be my parents redemption, an uprising to a life they could only dream of.

“Noah Everett Archer?” He studies the room to find a face to match the name. I raise my hand sheepishly. His expression turns to one of concern as he reaches the end of the will, the only human expression to make an appearance on his worn wrinkled face. “Noah, you and your family are to receive your grandfathers most valuable possession.” He reaches below the desk and slides a drawer open to reveal a small black book with rounded corners, an elastic closure and a single black bookmark ribbon. I’d seen my grandad with this book many times, it seemed everywhere he went he would take it with him, almost as though it was a loving companion. “There is a small note that I am to read before handing this over.” He clears his throat, then reads on with careful articulation. “To my dear Jack and Sally, you mean the world to me, you have endured so much undeserved hardship, far more than a father could ever bare to witness for his son. I wish the world for you, and thus, have given Noah my most prized possession. This book will bring to you riches beyond your wildest imagination, so use it wisely. To my beloved Noah, take care on your adventures and guard the book with your life. You will know what to do when the time comes."

My parents share a look of bewilderment. The rest of the extended family have been given substantial wealth, while we’re only to receive his diary. Regardless of its significance, I’m unsure of how a small black book could bring me all I’ve ever hoped and dreamed of. Not wanting to be ungrateful, I fake a smile and reach forward to receive the book, then plunk myself back onto my chair and immediately begin to inspect it. Opening the hard black cover, I reveal the beautiful cream interior with eight small dots in a square formation and the letter M, positioned at the top left corner. Somehow it still holds a fresh smell, as though it was newly purchased, while its exterior seems almost untouched. I’m overwhelmed with suspicion and flick through the pages as the lawyer wraps up his speech. Just as I suspected, it’s empty, this book couldn’t possibly be my grandfathers. Although I never witnessed him reading the book, I was well aware that it was always by his side and it wouldn’t make sense for him to have carried an empty book.

“Excuse me sir, I... I believe you’ve given me the wrong book?” I say as I hold it high in the air. “This book is empty.”

He scoffs at such an accusation. “I rarely make mistakes, young boy. Your grandfather personally handed that diary to me with the expressed intent that it was to be delivered directly to you.” There is a brief standoff before he snaps his chin up and surveys the room, judging the ecstasy emanating from the family. "Thank you all for your attendance, I bid you farewell.” With that, he stands and strides purposefully out of the room.

An explosion of happiness breaks out as the extended family cries with elation. Though, amongst the joy, my parents and I are still frozen with confusion. I frantically search the pages for an explanation as to why I was given the book, yet I find nothing. There isn’t a single written word in the entire book.

After our brief goodbyes, my parents argue in the car as to why my father hadn’t been given a bigger share of the wealth like his siblings. He wishes he could ask his father that very question, and wonders if he had even been loved as dearly as he did his late father. I try my best to console his sorrow but he assures me that his upset is purely material and he just misses his father. As good as he was a grandfather, it doesn’t compare to the compassion he gave his children. He truly was a fascinating man.

Nighttime arrives and there’s a deafening silence over the dinner table. The news plays quietly on the television in the background as we eat, and the anchor mentions something of a pink super moon tonight, the largest of the year. We finish our meals without a word said and eventually make our way to our rooms for an early sleep. After I’ve finished my nightly routine I flop defeatedly onto my soft bed and browse the book one more time, ensuring I hadn’t missed something important. Alas, I still find nothing. Placing the little black book upon my bedside table, I’m rather demoralised at my lack of clues and decide to retire for the night. Maybe the morning will bring a little more understanding. It’s not long before my eyelids meet one another and, after wrapping myself up in my heavy blanket, I’m fast asleep within minutes.

A bright white light violently awakens me and I shoot out of bed in a fit of anxiety. Suddenly, I realise I’m standing in the middle of my room with my eyes fixated on the window. However, the light doesn’t seem to be coming through the window, it appears to aluminate the room from the inside. My head turns slowly as I intently search for the source of my rude awakening. Eventually, my eyes reach the bedside table and it’s there that I discover the little black book glowing with sheer intensity. I’m shaken momentarily by the oddity of such a sight and pinch myself in hopes that it’s just a dream. Though, I seem to be more awake than I’ve ever been. I manage to persuade my legs into walking towards the book, but the rest of my body doesn’t agree with the decision and leans slightly backward, just in case I need to exit with hast.

I arrive at the bedside table and cautiously extend my arm, my hands tremble as I clutch the book and raise it to my face. Ever so carefully, I unlatch the elastic closure and pull at the bookmark ribbon. Like magic, the book bursts open to page twenty two and it’s there that a cryptic rhyme, written in glowing ink, is suddenly revealed. It reads, “Riches old, like a coin of Mayan gold, are rare to sight. Meet at the London Bridge - nine thirty, Thursday night.”

“Mayan gold?” I'm shocked to say the least. Could this be how my grandfather was able to accrue such wealth? After all, one Mayan coin could easily be some twenty thousand dollars.

Being a Saturday night, this only gives me five days to travel to London to discover its meaning.

Well then, I’d better pack my bags...