Mr Odell frowned. ‘What would that be, sir?’
‘We ought to be calling him Georgina,’ quipped Mr Courtney. ‘The bone structure analysis indicates it - here, look. As does the DNA extract from the tooth from the boffins at Oxford.’ He tapped the clipboard, nodded sagely. ‘Our Viking warrior is a woman, Mr Odell. No doubt about it.’
‘How old, sir?’ Mr Odell asked, stroking his beard. The monitor-screen next to him showed the skull, bathed in its reddish glow from the lamps. Mr Odell stared at it, deep in thought, and put out a hand to touch the image.
Mr Courtney shrugged. ‘A thousand years, nine hundred at a pinch? You’re the university bod, sunshine. You know when the Vikings poured through Northern Europe.’
‘Actually, Mr Courtney,’ said Mr Odell, smiling apologetically, ‘I didn’t mean that. I mean how old was the... lady?’ He gestured at the screen. ‘The age of the body when she was inhumed?’
‘Oh, I, harrumph, see,’ said Mr Courtney, clearing his throat to hide his embarrassment. ‘Er, where are we now?... Yes, here. “Analysis of the tissue and the bone structures indicates that the subject would have been approximately thirty-five years old at time of burial.”’ He glanced up at Mr Odell. ‘Got an idea, have you, lad? Eh?’
Mr Odell tapped a finger against his teeth thoughtfully. ‘People didn’t live so long back then, right? Thirty-five would have been, well, middle-aged - probably past the expected child-bearing age, yeah?... Now, I mean, those Viking guys had pretty traditional ideas about the role of women. Kept them in the kitchen, sir, as far as I recall.’
Mr Courtney frowned, tapped him on the chest with the clipboard. ‘What are you getting at, lad, eh? Spell it out for me.’
‘Well, we know it’s bizarre for the tomb to be found under a Neolithic stone circle anyway. Not normal Viking burial methods either, right? They used to cremate their dead in a blazing boat. They’d put them in a jar and send the soul off to join Odin in Valhalla - their warriors’ heaven - for a load of feasting and general revelry, yeah?... Well, quite apart from that, wouldn’t you say it was pretty unusual for a woman in that time - a pretty affluent woman, to judge by the stuff they put in with her - not to be buried with her husband?’
‘Pah! So, the filly didn’t have a husband,’ Mr Courtney blustered. ‘Independent woman. Nothing wrong with that... Still, I see what you mean. Dashed unusual.’
‘But what kind of person,’ said Mr Odell softly, ‘would be deliberately buried in a fashion outside the normal customs of the age? And on ground which would have been sacred not to the Vikings, but to an older religion?’
‘You’ve been doing your homework, young man,’ said Mr Courtney approvingly, and clapped him on the shoulder. They both turned as one to look at the fragmented skeleton in the blood-red light, then looked back towards each other again.
‘I reckon,’ murmured Mr Odell, ‘that they were scared of her.’ He heard himself say the words, and couldn’t quite believe it.
Mr Courtney chewed the scraggy end of his moustache. ‘So, what made the Vikings so frightened of this woman, eh - even in death?’
‘I can only think of one possibility, Mr Courtney,’ said Mr Odell. ‘They were terrified she might come back.’ He looked up and gazed into space, the red lights reflecting in the lenses of his glasses. ‘Back from the dead.’
‘Oh, yeah. She came back. No problem.’
Jess could hear Aunt Gabi on the phone. She was eating chocolates and watching a TV soap while having her regular weekly gossip with her friend Paula.
‘She’d been out all night, though, the little madam,’ she went on. ‘With this new friend of hers, Emerald Greene.’
Paula’s voice twittered in Gabi’s ear.
‘Well, I don’t know what they were doing. Secret girls’ things. I’m not going to ask... What? Oh, yeah, I screamed blue murder! Told her she was a stupid, irresponsible child. I must have yelled myself hoarse. End of the day, though, I was just relieved to get her back here in one piece. You know how it is.’
Paula jabbered away for another few seconds.
‘Yeah, she’s stubborn. Her father was always the same, you know. She gets it from him... Mmm, I was going to ground her for a week, but I haven’t really got the heart... Oh, she’s fine. Seems really happy. Back eating me out of house and home - ’
Paula made another comment in a quizzical tone. Gabi cradled the phone under her chin as she started to unwrap a chocolate.
‘Well, actually,’ Gabi said, ‘she’s been spending hours on the Internet these past few days. It’s for school, though, so I don’t really mind. A local history project. Yeah, it sounds interesting, actually... Something to do with Meresbury’s history of witchcraft...’
The Darkwater fizzed and bubbled. Mist steamed from the shining lake, drifted across the surface like phantoms.
A kingfisher came in to land with a bright flash of orange and sky-blue, churning the water. It splashed about uncertainly, looking this way and that for a few seconds, before flapping its wings in agitation and taking off in a state of some distress.
At least, it tried to take off. In mid-flight, about a metre above the lake, the kingfisher appeared to slow the beat of its wings, hanging in mid-air, defying gravity.
Its feathers drained of their orange and blue. The bird was, momentarily, a grey image of itself, like a picture on a monochrome screen. Its body turned in on itself, shrinking, until it was no more than a line of greyness - and then, with a fizzing, buzzing sound, the line shrank to a dot.
Rolling mist filled the blank space where the kingfisher had been.
Xanthë had seen the door to the Earthworld.
They knew, the other members of the Ten. They had nodded their twisted, warty heads as she flickered across the land, not quite in phase, conveying the news to them.
Xanthë sat on the steps of the moss-covered war memorial in the Black - the burned Green. She was a ragged grey figure, cradling the blue and orange bird in her arms. Although she had no real sense of touch, she could still imagine the smoothness of its plumage.
The bird was dead, of course - the shock of the phase transfer had killed it instantly. Their own bodies, she hoped, would be more resilient. The others, flickering like candles around her, nodded their agreement.
She looked around the village, tried to see if any were recognisable still. Martha’s twisted form was there, at the door of the ale-house, her straggly white hair pulled tightly over her shrunken head. Over in the churchyard, shivering, leaning on her staff - could that, once, have been Róisín? And there, in the garden of a ruined cottage across the Black, there was the spindly, cracked body and skeletal face belonging to Bethan, who had been the most beautiful of them all.
Xanthë squinted through crusty, yellowing eyes at the place around her. A sign swung above the gawping, windowless wall of the ale-house. Down the street, tendrils embraced the church spire. All was decay, entropy.
The village was submerged under a hundred fathoms, but she and the others could visit here, slightly out of time-phase, for a limited period. The occasional glimpse of the Darkwater cracked through into the air here and there - ripples, weeds, fish poking themselves through the fragmenting reality, reminding them that this village lay beneath a lake in the real, physical world of the 21st Century.
Another figure flickered in front of her, and she sighed in exasperation. Here he was, plaguing them again, the one who had slipped through by accident - that fool of a scholar. Tall, male, white-haired, wearing a broad smile, dressed in some striped two-piece garb like that of a rich trader. He flickered in and out of phase, beaming at her.
‘Ull-Verr-Stone,’ she said, pronouncing each syllable of his name with transparent contempt. ‘What do you want?’
‘You’re not still set on this absurd scheme, are you, my dear?’ he asked. ‘Passing th
rough into the Earthworld again? You’ll never do it. Why can’t you just accept your spectral situation? After all, I have done.’
‘You? You have accepted being a ghost?’
‘Weeell, yes... I must admit I’m quite enjoying it, actually, frightening old ladies in tea-shops. Admit it, my dear ladies - your plan is ridiculous!’
‘The plan is not ridiculous,’ answered Xanthë patiently. ‘We will survive.’
‘Oh, come now. Look, what is there for you to go back to? I found myself pulled through to this dimension at the high-point of my life. Had I remained, I would have been rich - I would have been adored!’ He pulled a face. ‘I would have been the world-famous Professor Edwin Ulverston. But, no, it wasn’t to be, and you know what? I’ve accepted that.’
‘Will you cease your prattling and be gone, Ull-Verr-Stone?’ she replied. ‘You are not a witch. Please stop associating with us.’
He shrugged, began to fade. ‘All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ The echo of his words boomed around the Black after he had disappeared.
Before, she remembered, when they had been young and beautiful, they had lived in this abandoned village all the time, their bodies immune to that plague which ravaged the humans. It was the only place they had been allowed to live.
Hexbrook, the place was called.
The name stank of contempt and fear - but, given the choice of exile or death, they had each chosen exile, and they had lived here undisturbed for years. Undisturbed until the waters had come, flooding and drowning the only real home they had ever known.
But now they were to have another home.
Thanks to the foolish scholar Ulverston and his meddling, the power of the Fracture was growing. They had to muster their force, slip through when the psychic energy was at its height.
They knew that it was almost time for the Becoming.
6
In the Cathedral
‘It is vital,’ said Emerald, pacing up and down in Jess’s room with her hands behind her back, ‘that we maintain alertness. Sooner or later, the Enemy will try to break through the frayed threads of Time, and we must be alert.’
It was Saturday afternoon. People were hanging up their scarves for another week after seeing Meresbury Rovers draw 1-1 at home to York, or unpacking their shopping, or hauling pushchairs and picnic-hampers from their cars after days out with their families. The citizens of Meresbury brewed their pots of tea, toasted their crumpets and settled down in front of their televisions as the shadows grew longer and the day grew cooler.
Jess had been bursting with questions ever since the revelations in Rubicon House. But Emerald Greene knew how to be elusive. She would give answers which left Jess none the wiser, sometimes answers to different questions entirely. But facing Emerald now, up in her own bedroom at Chadwick Road, Jess got a sense of importance, of urgency. Emerald was going to tell them something.
Emerald paused by Jess’s notice-board and for a second she peered at the picture which was pinned there next to the oddments. It was the one thirteen-year-old photo of her parents which Jessica kept out. Emerald gave a brief, curt nod at the photo, and Jess felt her face flush hot and red.
‘Yes,’ said Emerald again, ‘we must be ready!’ She whirled round, narrowing her eyes.
‘We? You’re taking us on as assistants, then?’ Jess was being facetious to hide her discomfort and nervousness, but Emerald nodded, taking her seriously.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘if you like. You, for some unknown reason, appear to be slightly Time-intuitive. You can help me, Jessica Mathieson.’ Emerald swung round to stare at Richie. ‘And you, Richard Fanshawe? Well, you seem to be of above average intelligence. We will find a way for you to help.’
‘Thanks a bunch,’ said Richie sardonically.
‘You are welcome.’ Emerald Greene gave a brief, formal nod of her head and (rather rudely, Jess thought) continued to prowl around her room, staring at the posters and photos on the wall.
‘Back in Rubicon House,’ Jess said tentatively, brushing crumbs off her skirt, ‘you were talking about witches. Well, I’ve no idea what a witch should look like. And as for the ghost of a witch...’
‘You will know when you see it,’ said Emerald, swinging round from looking at Jess’s framed swimming certificates.
Richie blinked. ‘But they’re not actually there, are they?’ he said. ‘These... ghosts?’
Emerald sighed. ‘People see what they want to see, and disregard the rest!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is so easy to miss important points when you are looking for the wrong thing.’
There was silence in the bedroom. Outside, somewhere, a dog barked and one of Jess’s neighbours revved a lawnmower.
Richie shook his head and pulled his fingers down over his eyes. ‘If I’d only gone to King Ethelred’s, none of this would be my problem,’ he said gloomily.
‘Now, please listen. Here, we may be safe. The enemy must have no inkling of our plans. For the moment you must carry on as normal - go to school, and pretend that you know nothing. Can you?’
Jess took a deep breath. ‘I’ll try,’ she said.
Richie shrugged. ‘It won’t be difficult, will it? I don’t have a clue anyway.’
‘Good,’ said Emerald Greene. ‘You are both very brave.’
‘So what next?’ Jess asked. ‘We take another look at the stones?’
‘No! You will not get close, not with the authorities there,’ said Emerald. ‘But there is one place on the pattern we have not investigated. If we want to be ahead of the game, we should make sure we do so at the earliest opportunity.’
‘Where’s that?’ Richie asked.
Emerald drew back the curtain of Jess’s bedroom window and pointed down the valley into Meresbury. They followed her finger.
‘The Cathedral!’ exclaimed Jess, her eyes alighting on the tall, jagged tower.
‘Yes. Perhaps you two could see if anything unusual is happening there? Meanwhile, I shall - ’
There was a sudden scream from downstairs, and a sound of tins and bottles suddenly being dropped on the floor. Jess, who was off like a shot, got downstairs first, with Richie close behind. Emerald Greene hung back on the stairs, watching from a distance as usual.
In the kitchen, Aunt Gabi was backed up against the fridge, covering her beetroot-red face with her hands and breathing deeply.
As Jess ran into the kitchen, noticing the supermarket bags spilling their contents on to the floor, Aunt Gabi pointed with a wavering finger to the contented black cat which was perched on her pine dining table, licking the last remnants of milk from one of her bowls.
‘What - is - that - doing here?’ she gasped, and then let out a sneeze which made the crockery on the dresser vibrate. ‘Aaah-CHOO!’
‘Her allergy!’ exclaimed Richie in dismay.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jess said, scooping up Anoushka in her arms and heading for the back door. ‘I’ll ask Emerald not to bring him again...’ She opened the back door and let Anoushka out, murmuring softly in the cat’s ear, ‘Please don’t speak in front of Gabi - she’d never get over it.’ Not waiting around for the cat to show his wounded dignity, Jess slammed the door shut and spun round to face Aunt Gabi with a contrite expression. ‘Aunt Gabi,’ she said, ‘I’m really sorry!’
Gabi was simultaneously blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, so most of her face was obscured behind two large wads of tissues. She waved a hand, as if trying to say something, and sank slowly on to a chair. After a few seconds she regained her composure, and she looked up with watery eyes from a pink face. ‘Don’t do that to me, Jess,’ she gasped. ‘Please don’t do that!’ She reached instinctively for her cigarettes and was about to light one.
‘Not in the house!’ said Jessica sternly, plucking Gabi’s lighter from her fingers and throwing it to Emerald i
n the doorway, who caught it instinctively.
‘Fascinating,’ said Emerald. ‘A genuine allergic reaction! I have never seen that happen before.’ She looked down at the lighter in her hands, doing a double take as if noticing it for the first time. ‘What is this?’ she demanded, holding it up with some distaste and clicking it on, her eyes widening as the flame leapt up. ‘Astonishing! A simple flint mechanism, fuelled by...’ She sniffed. ‘Propane? No, butane! How quaintly primitive. What is it for?’
‘Never you mind, madam,’ said Gabi, and snatched it from her hand. She stared at her, blinking several times and dabbing at her eyes. ‘So, you must be the famous Emerald Greene,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you at last. Even if I wasn’t so pleased to meet your cat.’ They shook hands, awkwardly. ‘You know,’ Gabi added, ‘I’d like to ask you a few things.’
Emerald cleared her throat and scooped up her school-books in one hand. ‘Must go. Homework.’ And with a nod, she had bolted out of the back door.
Gabi blinked again and shook her head. ‘There’s something very odd about that girl,’ she murmured. ‘Still, she seems polite enough.’ She gathered her things together and headed for the stairs. ‘I’ve got a college assignment to do. Supper’s fish and chips, okay?’
Richie was still pensively looking out of the window, trying to see which way Emerald Greene had gone. ‘You know what?’ he muttered. ‘I think she’s just too smug for her own good.’
A tousled head of tomato-red hair popped back round the door, making Richie jump.
‘By the way,’ said Emerald, ‘I forgot to add - I would draw your attention to the curious factor of Professor Ulverston’s body.’
Richie and Jess exchanged puzzled glances.
‘But... they never found Professor Ulverston’s body,’ said Jess slowly.
Emerald flashed a broad grin at them. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That is the curious factor.’
And then she was gone.
Emerald Greene and the Witch Stones Page 9