Кейт Форсит - Relics, Wrecks and Ruins - Anthology of Speculative Fiction Short Works

The quantity of treasure was surprising, but not as much as the fact that the skeleton possessed all its appendages.

“It’s got both thumbs,” said Lawrence, unnecessarily.

“She,” said Jac quickly. “She’s a Norse warrior princess. Possibly Inga the Head-Gatherer.”

Mari stared down at the skeleton, thinking hard. Her working hypothesis that the thumb bone had to come from this site was shaken, particularly since she also had a strong suspicion of how it had got to Nether Warnstow.

Could there be some other explanation? If the shade wasn’t looking for its finger bone, could it be searching for something else?

She knelt down, drew her athame and held it horizontally over the skeleton’s hands, concentrating her witchy senses. Some of the skeleton’s treasures had once contained mighty magics, but there were only echoes and whispers now. Yet there had been something else present, something stronger, she could feel its absence.

“Jac,” she said, standing up and sheathing her knife. “May I call you Jac? Princess Inga has rings on each finger, except her left thumb. Was there something there when you first dug her… when you first excavated the skeleton?”

“Gosh,” said Jac. “Yes.”

He stared at the princess. His four students crept closer and gazed down. One muffled a worried cough, her neighbor looked like he was about to cry, and the other two simultaneously took out their notebooks. Jac produced his notebook as well and frantically searched through it.

“I’ll be defrocked,” he moaned as he turned the pages. “Losing a relic is practically a capital crime for a treasure-vigile.”

“Defrocked?” asked Mari.

“We have a ceremonial uniform,” replied Jac despairingly. “They cut your buttons off and break your trowel in a defrocking.” He jabbed a finger at his notebook, leaving a dirt smudge on the paper. “Here it is. Left thumb. A relic ring of red dragon bone, one-quarter-inch width, three-quarter-inch diameter, one sixteenth thick, carved with a depiction of serpents entwined… er… possibly mating. Here’s a drawing.”

He held up his notebook to Mari.

“I suppose one of my team must have taken it,” he said gloomily, turning so his back was to his young students. “Or you think I stole it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Mari encouragingly.

There was a general lessening of anxiety and a couple of sighs of relief, but also general signs of bafflement, particularly from Jac.

“But you said yourself the thief-wards are working,” he said. “Loathe as I am to say it, it has to be one of us.”

“Then why would the shade be looking for it in Nether Warnstow?” asked Mari. “It is certainly searching for the ring. I think I know where it might be, and how it got there, despite the thief-wards. We’ll have to work fast to get it back to the princess before nightfall though. Can you take me back to the village, Lawrence?”

“Certainly,” replied the vicar’s husband. “This is all terribly interesting.”

“Can I come too?” asked Jac. “It is my responsibility.”

“You’ll have to sit behind on the dicky seat,” warned Lawrence. “It won’t be comfortable.”

“I could follow in my car… no, I suppose not,” said Jac. “Even if I promise I won’t hare off to catch the Druppe ferry?”

“I really don’t think you’ve stolen the ring,” said Mari. “But it probably is better if you come with us.”

Mari did not mention the dicky seat would be no more uncomfortable than anywhere else in Lawrence’s car. There was also a chance she was wrong and the ring had been stolen by Jac or one of his students. To guard against that possibility, she delivered a witch’s glare from under the brim of her hat, encompassing all the students. If she needed to find any of them in the next few days, they would not be able to hide. A few of them winced as her eyes briefly flashed with green fire, but they did not protest.

The drive back passed largely in silence. Jac did not complain about the discomfort of the dicky seat, but he did keep moving, as if there was some chance of achieving a better position.

“Where to, exactly?” asked Lawrence, as they neared the village.

“Do you have a butcher’s? Or a general store?”

“Neither one,” replied Lawrence proudly. “But Mrs. Hobspawn at The Lamprey can usually spare a few chops or some sausages if anyone’s missed a delivery from Hawsey’s Meat or the Everything Stores.”

“The Lamprey to begin with, then to the village green,” said Mari.

“Do you really know where the relic ring’s got to?” asked Jac plaintively, as Mari emerged from the tempting interior of The Lamprey, bearing a brown-paper-wrapped parcel that was already stained with leaking blood.

She had taken longer than she’d hoped, having to several times decline Mrs. Hobspawn’s offer of “one for the road, witches drink on the house.” It had been much harder to decline a cup of tea and a massive ham sandwich. She hadn’t had lunch and her stomach hadn’t recognized the rock cake as food, but as an imposition.

“You’ll see,” replied Mari. She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. Her certainty had diminished a little now it was to be put to the test.

Her return to the village had been marked, and the stop at The Lamprey had allowed time for her original welcoming party to gather back at the green, with reinforcement by various other inhabitants of Nether Warnstow. Sergeant Breckon was making himself useful by ushering people back from the road, allowing Lawrence plenty of room to pull up. But they all rushed over again as soon as he turned the engine off.

“Now, now, make way, make way for the district witch!” roared the sergeant.

The crowd parted as Mari walked over to the war memorial, unwrapped her parcel and laid a nice chop on the bottom step. Turning around, she asked Lawrence, “Is your dog’s name just Bella?”

“In full it’s Isabella Bird, because she’s always off exploring the world,” said Lawrence, rather surprised. “Oh, her full pedigree name is Isabella Bird Dawn Fire Russet-Russet. Why?”

“You’ll see in a minute or two, I hope,” replied Mari. “And she’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“What—”

Mari drew a slim ivory and silver wand from her sleeve.

Lawrence swallowed his question and there was a general shuffling backward, away from the wand.

She tapped the chop with it, speaking a spell that fell from her lips with a noise like branches scraping across a window, a sound that was either comforting or unsettling depending on what you were expecting. At the end of this strange vocalization, the name “Isabella Bird Dawn Fire Russet-Russet” rang out.

A hushed silence fell. Mari took off her hat, wiped her brow, and put the hat firmly back on again.

There was an “ooh” from the crowd as Bella the russet Labrador ambled across the green, as muddy pawed as ever. Catching sight or scent of the chop, she accelerated, rushed to the step and ate the meat down in several gulps before anyone could think to stop her. Finished, Bella lay down on the step and pretended it hadn’t happened.

Mari tapped her on the head with the wand. Surprised, but not upset, Bella sat up on her haunches. A moment later, a slightly rueful expression came over the dog. Her big brown eyes widened, her jaw reluctantly opened and some nasty gagging sounds emanated.

Mari stepped back. Bella lowered her head and vomited profusely on the grass below the step. Chunks of barely chewed chop came out first, followed by more indistinguishable and longer digested mush, and then with another but much louder “ooh” from the crowd, out came a bright red ring of dragon bone, big enough to fit a thumb.