Lazar (5 page)

Jan looked at the spot Margaret indicated – the gap
between the trees where the lane met the dyke.

“That’s great. That’s exactly what we need to know. My cousin
Hal and I are recreating the old town…” She stopped. Margaret had turned back
and was looking straight at Jan, her single eye fixing her with an icy stare. Jan
tried to continue what she had been saying, but stumbled over her words.

“You know … the legend … the city drowned beneath the sea. We’re
trying to recreate it … on Hal’s computer …”

Margaret’s stare continued. She was still fiddling with her
hair, a habit which at first Jan had put down to shyness or insecurity, but
which was now beginning to really annoy her. She once again became aware of the
stilted nature of their conversation and tried to lighten the frigid
atmosphere.

“I wonder if Wickwich was as wicked as the legend says,” she
smiled. The smile froze on her face. She had never seen so much sadness and
despair in a single eye before. She had obviously unintentionally upset her
newfound friend.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jan started to explain. But it was
too late. Margaret turned and walked away, climbing the slope with the same
ease with which she had descended.

“She was really weird,” said Jan.

“So you keep saying.”

There was just the slightest hint of irritation in Hal’s
voice. He wanted to get back to entering contours and coordinates on his
computer. He had been making good progress before Jan burst breathless into his
room and started telling him about her meeting with the strange girl.

“But she
was
. She
was wearing exactly the same clothes as me.”

“That
is
weird.”

“No, I mean
exactly
the same. Really spooky.”

“Perhaps she was a ghost.”

“I didn’t think you believed in ghosts.”

“
I
don’t, but I
thought
you
did.”

“No,” Jan gently shook the notion out of her head. “No, like
I said, she was wearing modern clothes, and she gave me that ring.”

Hal handed Margaret’s gift back to his cousin and turned once
more to his computer screen.

“It’s quite heavy, isn’t it?” he said as he moved and clicked
his mouse. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was made of gold.”

“Do you really think so?” Jan slipped the ring on her finger
and held out her hand. “No, gold wouldn’t tarnish like this has.”

“What did she look like?”

“Why?”

“Oh, just wondered, that’s all.”

“Well, I couldn’t see her face. She kept pulling her hair
across it, like this…” Jan demonstrated Margaret’s mannerism, but Hal was too
engrossed in his computer to turn round.

“It’s a shame she ran away,” he said, as he briskly poked the
keyboard with his index fingers. “She might have been able to give us a few
more clues about old Wickwich.”

“She did tell us about the dyke and the city walls.”

“Yeah, but I’d already got that from the map. What I need to
know is whether the walls were made of stone or wood; was there water in the
dyke – that sort of thing.”

“How would she know?”

“Yeah, you’re right, she wouldn’t know.” Hal put his hands
together, as if in prayer, and rested them against his lips. He stared hard at
the screen. “Did you mention that they had a model of the old town in the
museum?”

“No.”

“Then I must have read something about it somewhere. It must
be in one of these.” Hal leant forward and shuffled through the pile of books
and leaflets on his desk. “I think it was in this one … Yeah, look, just there.”

He turned the open page toward his cousin. She peered down at
a small black-and-white photo of a scale model of the town surrounded by its
city wall.

“I don’t remember seeing that when I was there. But then I
didn’t go much further than the shop, there seemed to be everything we needed
in there.”

Hal put the book back on the pile then looked up at his
cousin.

“How do you fancy popping down there and taking some photos
on your phone? I need some close-ups, from all angles.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get on with this as soon as possible if
we’re to finish by the day after tomorrow.”

“The day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah, July 29th,” Hal confirmed in an offhand way. “It’s apparently
the day, every year, when Old Wickwich is supposed to rise up out of the sea at
midnight.”

Jan frowned in puzzlement, then laughed and smiled broadly at
her cousin.

“First ghosts, and now legends,” she teased. “What will you
believe in next?”

“I
don’t
believe in
ghosts,” Hal retorted, “or legends. It just seemed like a pretty neat idea to
take a virtual tour around Old Wickwich on the day it’s supposed to rise up out
of the sea. OK?”

Jan smiled, then leant forward and extracted
The Legends of Old Wickwich
from the
pile of books and leaflets.

“I wonder why July 29th?” she pondered. “Perhaps it’s a
special day – like Hallowe’en – you know, like a Holy Day or
Saint’s Day or something. Where are the other things I brought back from the
museum? They’ll probably have the answer.”

“I’ll race you.” Hal threw down the challenge. “Let’s see who
can find the answer first, me on the Internet or you in those books.”

Jan went over and sat down on the edge of Hal’s unmade bed,
where the other books and leaflets lay, and began thumbing through their pages
while her cousin began frantically searching through the web.

“Here you are,” she said, at exactly the same time as Hal
yelled, “Yes!” Their pronouncements caught each other by surprise.

“What have you found, then?” Hal asked indignantly.

“There was a great storm on July 29th,” Jan said, “in 1286. Three
parishes in the city were completely washed away in a single night. What have you
found?”

“I Googled it. According to Wikipedia,” Hal read from the
screen, “‘Lazarus is commemorated in the Calendar of Saints on July 29’.”

“So? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, wasn’t he the bloke that Christ raised from the dead? Seems
sort of appropriate, don’t you think? – the city rising from its watery
grave on
his
Saint’s Day.”

“Goodness,” Jan smiled ironically, “are you beginning to show
signs of an imagination?” As soon as she said it she wished that she had not. A
momentary frown creased her cousin’s brow and his lips parted as if to protest.

“It
is
an
interesting idea, though,” Jan conceded swiftly, “but will we be able to
collect all the data you need to feed into your CAD program in so short a
time?”

“Goodness,” Hal retaliated, “are you beginning to show signs
of nerdiness?”

“No such word.”

“Bet there is,” he said and turned to Google the word.

“Come on,” there was a hint of exasperation in Jan’s voice,
“we haven’t got time to waste on stupid words. If we’re going to get the whole of
Old Wickwich on your computer by the day after tomorrow we’ve got a lot more
research and typing in to do.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Hal stopped what he was doing and
switched over to the program he had been working on. “Are you OK to go back to
the museum to take the photos?” he asked distractedly as he stared hard at the
screen. “Please?” he added.

“No problem,” Jan smiled. “But I must get changed first. Look,
I’m covered in mud and grass.”

Jan half twisted round and stretched out her leg to show a
slick of green running from her hip down to her ankle. Hal took his eyes off
the screen and turned to take a look.

Jan’s photographs were exactly what they wanted, sharply focused
images of the model of medieval Wickwich. Jan scrutinised their detail. There were
hundreds and hundreds of houses, their rooftops threading along the streets
that formed the seams within the patchwork of graveyards, allotments, market
squares and quays. How much of it was conjecture, and how much based upon sound
archaeological evidence, she could not say. But it was just what she and Hal
needed to begin work on recreating the town.

Where was she?

Jan stopped and looked around. She had been so engrossed in
her smartphone that she’d become completely oblivious to her whereabouts as she
walked back from the museum. She found herself to be standing by St James’
churchyard wall.

Why there?

Jan was conscious that she hadn’t stopped next to the ancient
chapel by chance. Something had broken her concentration and attracted her
attention. But what? Had it been a sound? A movement? A sudden breeze? Or had
someone called her name? She looked hard into the graveyard – her eyes
searching for something, though she had no idea what. The sun-bleached shapes
and their shadows shimmered in the heat. The silence was absolute. The only
movement was the occasional speck of an insect dancing lightly in and out of
the shade.

“Hello, Jan.”

The voice came from behind. Jan span round so quickly that
she fell back against the wall. Her draw dropped. It was Margaret. But it was
not her presence that had taken Jan aback – somehow she had already known
that she was there – it was the clothes she was wearing.

“You – you’ve changed your clothes,” Jan stammered.

“So have you,” Margaret replied without expression.

“Yes, but…” Jan’s voice faded away, but her open mouth
expressed her complete and utter surprise more eloquently than any words it
might have uttered.

“You like my clothes, don’t you?” Margaret appeared to be
discomforted by Jan’s reaction. Her thin white fingers toyed agitatedly with
the lock of hair that she had pulled across her face.

“Yes, but…” Jan attempted to restart her sentence. “You were
wearing the same as me this morning, and now we’re wearing the same again.” Jan
looked at Margaret, then down at herself, holding out the hem of her brightly
coloured shorts to emphasise the matching patterns. “This morning I thought it
was just an odd coincidence, but this afternoon…” Her words dried up in spite
of the torrent of thoughts flooding through her brain. Had Margaret been spying
on her? Had she followed her back to her aunt and uncle’s house? How had she
got hold of a matching set of clothes so quickly? Was Hal in on it – was
this another one of his jokes?

“I wore these clothes because I thought you liked them,” Jan
heard Margaret explain.

Jan looked up immediately and stared straight into the face
of this strange, unnerving girl. Half of it was obscured by the curtain of tousled
hair, but out of the other shone an eye of fragile blue. Jan’s look of interrogating
puzzlement met one of uncertainty and fear. A tear welled up in Margaret’s eye.

“I wore these clothes because I thought you liked them,” she
repeated quietly, then turned to walk away.

“No, no, don’t go,” Jan cried, and reached out and touched
her elbow. She’s real enough, she thought. What nonsense Hal had been talking
– ghosts indeed.