The Island House (52 page)

“You’re doing well—that’s it—brilliant!” Too close to the edge, Katherine leaned over the trench.

Dan managed a grin. “Thanks, Coach. Careful, though. Watch your step.”

Freya bit back a groan. “How far to go?”

From a safer distance, Katherine peered down. “You’re about a third of the way.”

“We can do it.” Even Dan was panting.

“Yes.” Freya’s teeth were clenched.

“Nearly there—nearly—you’ve done it!” Katherine stood back as the gray slab rose out of the ground and into the sunlight. And she remembered, finally, to breathe.

The stone lay on the grass, the slings collapsed around it. Out of its resting place it seemed diminished, less formidable.

“And now?” Dan eyed the compressed earth where the stone had lain.

“Guess.” Freya handed him a shovel.

Katherine held out a hand. “Me too. I like digging.”

“Okay, I’ll do the buckets.” Freya braced Dan as he clambered into the trench.

Katherine liked the easy way they had with one another now; both seemed so much happier—in themselves and with each other; she’d have to pick her time to tell them.

Freya leaned down over the lip of the excavation. “So, what do you think?”

There was a quiet moment when Dan stared into her eyes until he closed his own.

Katherine watched silently. What was happening here?

“I think . . .” He limped halfway along the trench and measured out one further pace. “Here.”

“Like me to start?”

“Back there, Katherine, a pace away from the center on your side.” Dan sank his spade.

By the middle of the afternoon, Dan and Katherine were a meter below the former level of the slab. Freya had bucketed the soil away and sifted it—slow work for, so far, no result—but she wasn’t discouraged; she was in the zone. And if her arms ached, so did the backs of her thighs and the base of her spine—in fact, she was aching all over. Situation normal.

“Freya.”

She dropped the bucket and hobbled to the trench.

“Listen.” Dan pushed the shovel blade down.
Thack.
A bit farther along,
thack.
He stared at her.

Katherine said, “Same here.” She demonstrated.

“Stone?”

Dan nodded. “Hand me a bucket.”

Freya dropped four empty buckets down. They were quickly filled, and an edge became visible—definitely a piece of stone.

“Not as big as the slab or as thick, not remotely.” Dan wiped his sweating palms on his trousers.

Katherine brushed loose soil away from her end. She peered closer. “Could this be a lid?” She tapped with a trowel handle.

Freya slid down beside Dan. “Maybe it’s a box.” There was a buzzing at the back of her skull, insistent as an insect. She bent, touched what they’d found, and the buzz worked up to a cutting whine.

“May I?” Freya picked up a long trowel.

“Of course. It’s yours.”

It cost Freya an effort to smile, but she picked along the underside of the rectangle with the point of the trowel. “You’re right, Katherine. This could be the lid on a cist.”

“A cist?” Daniel frowned.

“A stone cist, not a medical problem.” Freya eased the trowel deeper and wriggled the point around. “It’s a box made of pieces of stone.” She squeezed her eyes half-shut against the pain in her head.

“You all right?” Dan was concerned.

“A headache, that’s all—not much sleep last night.” Freya waved vaguely. “Just give me a minute.” She clambered out and sat on the grass, watching as the trench within a trench began to widen and Katherine revealed the form of the cist. They cleared three sides, leaving the fourth embedded in the wall of the trench. Katherine could bear the suspense no longer. “What now?”

White pain pulsed behind Freya’s eyes. It was hard to speak. “Lift the lid.”

Dan was worried. “You stay there, give yourself a break.”

“No!” Freya winced. “Sorry, I want to do this, Dan.”

He stepped away reluctantly, giving her room as she slid back into the trench. She took a steadying breath and nudged a crowbar under the covering stone. “I’ll try to lever. When I say go, slide your shovels into the gap. Ready?”

Dan and Katherine nodded.

Something hot stung behind her eyes, but with each breath Freya pushed the distraction farther away as she allowed her being, her mind, to sink into the task. Even if she’d had X-ray vision, her sight could not have been clearer now, her hand steadier, as the point of the steel bar found just the correct place—an irregularity where the lid met the wall of the box. As if she were playing an instrument, as if there were a rhythm to all of this, Freya’s hand and the steel became one device. She lifted her arm, and dropped it. Lifted again, and down. And . . . the point went in. Again. Farther; the stone began to move.

“Go!” The shovels were in and under, and in unison they lifted as Freya’s crowbar slid into the opening. There was a void behind—no resistance—and the bar almost slid from her fingers. “No!”

“We’ve got it.” Dan was straining to hold the lid. Katherine winced. “If it drops, you’ll trap your fingers.”

But Freya wedged a rock in the gap. “It won’t. I promise you.” She spoke softly, for she’d seen what lay in the box.
There you are.

And the pain blinked out.

The skeleton was huddled knees to chin with the hands and arms squashed against the chest. Poignantly, a few dark curls were attached to the skull still, and a scattering of blue beads lay beneath the collarbones.

Freya picked a bead from the dust. “Faience. Valuable. Someone thought she was worth it.”

Dan peered at the tiny object in her palm. “She, because of the beads?”

Freya squatted down. “Not just that.” She pointed at the skull. “No brow ridges, like the other skeleton. And this is a young adult, too, though older I’d say. At least this girl wasn’t murdered.”

Katherine stared at the collection of slender bones. This had
once been a living, breathing person. “Could be just a large child—the skeleton’s small enough.”

“But no milk teeth, and the wisdom teeth have erupted too.” Freya pointed to the jaw. “They descend any time from the late teens; the rest of the teeth are in good condition though—little wear and none missing—so not old.” She peered more closely at the skull. “The sutures are well closed, but they’re not obliterated—that happens as you age.”

“The body must have been a very tight fit when it was buried, almost squashed in.” Dan frowned.

“The fetal position; you see that from time to time . . .” Her voice trailed away as she bent to brush dust from the delicate skull. The skeleton was touching, huddled like a baby.

“Returned to the womb of the earth.” Katherine spoke softly, a benediction for the unknown girl.

“Is it a Christian grave?” Dan leaned forward.

Freya shook her head. “No. Wrong orientation, and she was buried inside the standing stones. Not very likely for a Christian woman.”

Katherine pointed; there were pottery shards among the bones. “A Pagan grave would explain this, then. A bowl with food for the final journey? A kind gesture.” Kindness was important to Katherine.

“But she was buried under a stone slab,” Dan said. “That’s a lot of effort. They could have just covered the cist with earth and walked away.”

Freya looked at him thoughtfully. “You’re right, Dan. That is odd.”

Katherine glanced at the slab lying in the meadow. “But that stone is marked with a cross; it’s all very confusing.”

“Another Pagan-Christian grave.” Freya shook her head. “This place. Rip up the rule books and start again.”

“I’m starved.” Freya climbed out of the cist trench with Dan’s help. She was filthy; they all were.

“So, I’ll cook then.” He grinned.

“Again?” They eyed each other, smiling.

“We’re putting this back?” Katherine bustled toward the pair carrying the folded tarpaulin.

“Er, yes. Should be okay overnight; it seems fine—at least for the moment—but just for safety.” Freya glanced up. It was a perfect evening. Wisps of cloud caught by the declining sun shone pink and gold as the sky slowly changed from peacock blue to milky indigo, the strange half-light of high summer.

She took the tarpaulin and shook it out. “We should be able to empty the grave tomorrow, though. That is, if you’d like to stay, Katherine.” She did not look at Dan.

“That would be delightful, if you can lend me a T-shirt.” The twinkle faltered.

Freya said, warmly, “I’m sure we’ll find you something.”

The wander back toward Compline was slow and easy, voices rising and falling in the soft air.

Freya scanned the east. “I haven’t seen the comet in a few nights.”

Katherine said, lightly, “Been rather wild weather to see anything recently, wouldn’t you say?”

“Mild as milk now.” Dan stared out over the calm strait. In the faltering light, a lone dinghy chugged past the Portsolly breakwater in the far distance. Someone returning late to Port. Good luck to them.

He caught Freya’s glance; he knew where he’d rather be.

“Freya?” Outside the bathroom door, Katherine could hear the water swirling down the plughole.

“Sorry to have taken so long. There’s still plenty of hot water.”
Freya pushed the door open. She was wrapped in a bathrobe, and her hair, freshly washed, was twisted into a towel. “Your turn.”