The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) by Ron Sewell

unsmiling. “Where’s Papa?”
    “In the top field. Why?”
    Yannis turned on his heel, marched out of the house and up the hill to where his father laboured. “Papa, I need to talk.”
    His father remained silent while he finished pruning a vine.
    “Come,” he said at last. “Sit in the shade and drink your mama’s lemonade.”
    They sat side by side on a large log under the canopy of an aged olive tree.
    “Yannis, this tree we are under, my father planted the seed before I was born. I love the shade it gives when I’m hot. It will outlive me and you.” He sipped his lemonade. “Tell me your news.”
    “Papa, Alexis and l discovered a tunnel.”
    “You walked all the way here to tell me that?”
    “Papa, you don’t understand.”
    “This island is littered with ancient graves and artefacts. You must have explored it and found nothing.”
    “So far, nothing, but imagine if I unearthed gold and jewellery? I’d like you to come with us.”
    His father stood. “My son, you are a dreamer, but who will ready these vines for next year?”
    For a minute Yannis did not answer. “Papa, I’ll work in your fields now, until it is dark. Tomorrow, will you come with us?”
    “Well,” said Tasos, “why are you doing nothing?”
    Yannis began to cut and tie the vines, a task that often made tender hands bleed. But he soon became bored, for his calloused hands allowed him to prune his father’s vines with ease.
    The pink-tinged sky signalled the end of the working day. Through a break in the vines, Yannis considered the long straight lines that vanished into the valley. Every year of his adult life his father, like his father before him, had tended the vines, picked the crop, and sold it. A good harvest meant they lived well for a year. Even so, his parents had struggled to scrape together the fees for his education. He decided the first monies he accrued would go to them.
    He followed his father home. The aroma of moussaka greeted them. The two men washed their hands and joined Alexis for dinner.
    His mother placed the large steaming tray on the table and served her husband, then Alexis, and finally Yannis.
    From a fresh loaf, Yannis tore a large chunk and ate eagerly. With his appetite sated he turned to his father. “What time in the morning, Papa?”
    “When the sun hits your pillow.”
    “Thank you. Alexis, set your alarm – Papa’s coming with us. I’m going to bed now.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    The next morning on the kitchen table, covered by a cloth, were the remains of the loaf, fresh Halloumi cheese, and tomatoes.
    “Mama has left us breakfast,” said Tasos. “Eat. There will only be warm water until we return.” The three men ate in silence.
    Ropes, kerosene lamps, torches and tools filled the back of the truck. Yannis and Alexis clambered into the cab and waited for their father.
    Tasos leaned closer to Alexis. “Today is a misused day but tomorrow you can clean out the carob store. It’s a complete mess in there. Your brother’s done his bit to help me.”
    Alexis frowned. “If you say so, Papa.”
    Tasos turned the ignition. The old engine started in a wheeze of smoke but once warmed, settled into its rhythmic beat. The battered truck dragged its way across the fields and onto a rough concrete covered road. Here it rattled and screamed along at a top speed of forty kilometres an hour. When the road petered out the condition of the track became appalling. Although the truck coped with every obstacle, Yannis and Alexis had to hold on tight when the wheels bounced over rough ground. They passed men and boys in the fields tending their goats, despite the land being burnt brown by the sun.
    Yannis directed his father. “Over there, Papa.”
    The three men left the truck and walked towards the deep hole.
    “So you found an old well,” said Tasos.
    “Papa, it’s Roman, over two thousand years old. This,” he pointed, “ this on its own is a fabulous find.”
    Tasos faced him with a grim