by Lucy Banks
“Let’s head back,” Miss Wellbeloved said. She glared at the Celtic stones, as though berating them for not giving up their secrets. “There’s nothing more we can do here, that’s for sure.”
“We could try digging up the graves,” Mike suggested, tugging at his shirt sleeves.
“What, with our bare hands?” Higgins scoffed. “Have you felt how cold it is? The ground will be hard as anything.”
“Also, what do you think you’ll find?” Serena said. “At best, you’ll just find a knackered old skeleton or two.”
Kester pushed his glasses further up his nose. “That’s not such a bad idea,” he said slowly, as he surveyed the surrounding area. “I mean, what have we got to lose? Plus,” he added, kicking at the ground, “it’s not so hard. Remember, the soil is sandy here. We’re by the sea.”
“You are kidding, surely?” Dimitri said. “We cannot just dig up ancient graves. That is not right! Such a thing would horrify my mother.” He crossed himself diligently and cast his eyes to the skies.
“Oh, poor dear mummy,” Mike muttered.
“And I’m certainly not dressed for it,” Serena said, emphatically pointing at her shoes. “I’m going back. You can have a go at digging up graves in the freezing cold if you want, but you can leave me right out of it.”
“Me too,” Dimitri said. “I think it is more sensible for me and Pamela to go to each of the murder locations and check the residual energy.”
“Yes, good idea,” Higgins said, brightening. “I can try phoning the victims’ partners, see if they’ll let us into the house. You never know, we might be able to get them to agree.”
Mike and Kester looked at one another and shrugged.
“I’m game for a bit of grave-digging if you are, mate,” Mike said.
“Hey, I’ll help too,” Lara offered and flexed her biceps in their direction. “I’m built for the job.”
“No offence love, but this is man’s work.” As soon as Mike finished his sentence and saw Lara’s furious expression, he realised his mistake.
“I’m as strong as any guy, you sexist moron. Now cut the BS and let’s get to work.”
Kester laughed. “Quite right,” he replied. Lara grinned at him and started looking around for a suitable stone or branch to use as a makeshift shovel. Watching her roving around the clearing like a big cat prowling for prey, he could fully see why she was well equipped for the task. She’s very muscly, he thought, looking down at his own paltry arms with a grimace. Perhaps I should join a gym when we get back. Or at least do some sort of exercise.
“We’ll leave you to it then and carry on with investigations in town,” Miss Wellbeloved said. She observed them in turn, concern wrinkling her brow. “Don’t push yourselves too hard, we don’t want you burning out before we’ve even got started.”
“Yes, especially as you’re probably wasting your time,” Serena added, delicately picking a bit of leaf off her shin.
Kester nodded. “We’ll just dig for a couple of hours. If we don’t find anything, we’ll head back.”
“Let’s arrange to meet back at the hotel at one o’clock then. Good luck.”
Kester watched them head off into the dense thicket of brambles until they were completely out of sight. A lone pigeon cooed mournfully in a neighbouring tree before flapping off in a clatter of feathers. He shivered.
“Are you joining us, or just watching while we do all the heavy work?” Mike brandished a large branch in his direction.
Spotting a particularly large, pointy-looking stone by the root of a tree, Kester scooped it up and held it aloft, mirroring Mike’s movements. “I’m with you. Let’s get going.”
As the others had predicted, the ground was fairly hard. However, once they’d broken through the top layers, the soil soon lost its firmness, becoming far looser and sandier. Worms and bugs writhed in the dirt, aggravated by the sudden exposure to light, and pale pebbles gleamed like tiny eggs against the darkness.
“We need to have a system here, guys,” Lara said finally. She wiped her forehead and observed their shallow hole with concern.
“Ah, sod systems, let’s just dig!” Mike said, accidentally flicking soil into Kester’s face.
“Nah, we need to be more organised, because as soon as I’m digging stuff up, you’re chucking more stuff back down,” Lara said firmly. “Trust me. Me and my brother, we used to dig holes all the time, out in the desert.”
Kester stood up and stretched his back. “That sounds a bit ominous.”
“It was a good way to catch lizards.”
“Not very fair on the lizards.”
She grinned, rolling up her sleeves. “Yup. I suppose that’s true. But we didn’t care much about that back then.”
“Does your brother still live in El Paso?” Kester asked, getting back to work. His shoulders were already starting to ache, and they’d only been doing it twenty minutes or so.
Lara shrugged. “Darned if I know. He ain’t spoken to me for years.”
Kester glanced at Mike, who shook his head slightly.
“Families, eh?” he said finally, not knowing what else to say. As an only child, he had no idea what having siblings was like, though he imagined having the company must be nice. His own childhood had been quiet, to say the least.
Lara nodded, tugged a flat rock from the soil, and tossed it to one side. “Yeah, families. You got that right.”
“My brother’s a complete moron,” Mike said conversationally.
Kester looked up. “You don’t really talk about him much, do you?”
“For good reason. He’s completely mental.”
“Where does he live?” Lara asked.
“London. He’s . . .” Mike paused for dramatic effect, “an investment banker.”
“Ouch.” Lara started to laugh. “I bet he’s a laugh-a-minute.”
“He’s an absolute prat of the highest order. My parents love him. They’re always saying ‘ooh Mike, I wish you’d be more like Crispian.’ It drives me mad.”
“With a name like Crispian, he was destined to go into banking though, really, wasn’t he?” Kester said. His finger slipped off the rock, and he scraped his nail against a shard of stone. “Ouch! This is lethal work.”
“Yeah, I bashed my fingers too,” Lara said, rubbing her shorn head and glaring at the hole with dislike. “But we gotta get on with it. I doubt we’re gonna find much, but we have to give it our best shot, right?”
“S’pose,” Mike said reluctantly.
“You’re the one who suggested doing this in the first place!” Kester pointed out, nudging him.
Mike scratched his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on the idea though, did I? Mind you, the soil’s looser than I thought it would be.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Kester agreed. It reminded him of freshly ploughed soil in the farmer’s field near his old house in Cambridge, which was strange, given how long the ground must have remained undisturbed for. I wonder if someone’s tried to dig it up before? he thought, then remembered how old the Ancient History Club members were and changed his mind. Surely nobody would bother doing this unless they had to.
They continued in silence. After a while, the sun rose higher in the sky, warming the air just a little. The wind also began to dip, and the dead leaves hung eerily still on the branches in its absence. It was an unusually quiet spot. Aside from the occasional bird, it was completely silent. No other people passed them, which was fortunate, given that they were effectively digging up someone’s grave. It probably wasn’t a popular place to walk, Kester thought. Because it’s so overgrown. Obviously, they all stick to the beach instead. Or perhaps they’re sensibly staying indoors in the warm, rather than freezing to death like us.
After an hour, they stopped digging simultaneously: an unspoken, unani
mous agreement. The hole was now about three-feet deep, but still looked frustratingly shallow. Kester surveyed his watch with dismay. It was already past eleven, and they only had an hour at most to continue with the task.
“Whadd’ya think, guys?” Lara scuffed her boot across the top of the pile of soil, studying the hole with disappointment.
“I personally think we’re wasting our time,” Mike said with a contemplative rub at his beard. “Look at it. We’re never going to get down deep enough. We need proper shovels.”
“So what do you propose we do?” Kester asked, a note of testiness creeping into his voice. His arms ached, his back hurt, and he felt unbearably frustrated with it all. He also suspected they weren’t going to achieve anything, but the last thing he wanted to do was admit it. “Do you think we should give up?”
Mike raised his hands. “Hey, it’s your call, mate.”
Kester looked at Lara. “What’re your thoughts on the matter?”
Lara swilled her mouth thoughtfully before spitting on the ground. “I say we give it a bit longer. Truth is, I don’t much like the idea of telling Larry that we came up with diddly-squat.”
“You and me both,” Kester agreed. He crouched down and peered intently into the gloom of the hole. “Mike, are you in for another hour’s digging or so?”
“Or are you getting a bit too old for this sort of thing?” Lara said, slapping him on the back.
“Less of that, thank you,” Mike grumbled as he massaged his shoulders. With a sigh, he scooped up his branch again. “Go on then. You talked me into it. Let’s get it over with.”
Lara chuckled. “Let’s rock and roll, folks.”
They dug in grim silence. The blisters on Kester’s hands started to burn, but he steeled himself against the pain, dragging his jacket sleeves further over his palms to provide some protection. As he dug, he started to chant a mantra in his head. This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous. A glance at Mike’s face indicated that he was feeling exactly the same.
Why did I even think this would be a good idea? He ploughed the rock deeper into the soil and flicked it behind him with irate abandon. Now I’m going to have to return and admit to Larry that yet again, we’ve come up with nothing. It isn’t fair!
Grunting with exertion, his mother’s face swam before his eyes—how she’d looked when he’d been a boy, with brown curls and rosy cheeks, before the cancer took hold. Clapping fervently as he came last in the 100 metre race. Hugging him when he’d got his GCSE results. Consoling him when his pet hamster had died. She’d always been there, every time he felt like giving up. Every time he thought he wouldn’t make it. Although she’d been dead for close to five months now, he felt like she was suddenly there with him, if only in his head.
Perhaps it’s all this hard labour, he thought, muscles burning with exertion. It’s making me go delirious. His rock slammed into something hard, and he yelped.
“You alright there, partner?” Lara looked over, pausing her digging.
Kester wiped his nose. “Yes. I just hit another stone I think.” He massaged his wrists, which were starting to swell up with the effort of digging for so long. Deep in the hole, there was something jutting out of the soil, which didn’t look like it should be there at all. Kester looked away and rubbed his eyes. Then looked back again. His mouth dropped open. “Hang on a minute.”
Leaning over, he reached into the hole, nearly pitching forward into it as he did so. A gleam of metal poked out, a smooth, perfectly round edge of dull silver. It’s probably the top of a tin can or something, he thought and issued himself a stern order not to get excited. Surely it can’t be anything useful. Can it?
Gently, he dug around the sides of the metal object until he could wriggle it free. Then he gasped.
“Look!”
Mike raised his eyebrows, then let out a laugh. “Well, well, well. Is that what I think it is?”
Kester looked again at the object in his hands. Although age and dirt had mottled and warped it, it was undoubtedly some form of ancient brooch or necklace—complete with an intricate Celtic pattern. He delicately dusted it down, pushing the dirt from the metalwork, then held it up to the light.
Lara squealed. “Aw man, I don’t believe it! Do you think it’s genuine?”
Kester shrugged, studying it intently. The circular side was crusty and dented, though the dimpled metal still gleamed in the weak daylight. “Who knows? But it’s certainly worth getting someone to check it.”
Mike roared and waved his arms towards the sky. “Come on then!” he said. “Keep digging!”
“Really?”
“Yes, if we’ve found an ancient brooch, I guess there’s every chance there’s an equally ancient skeleton not too far away!”
Kester’s eyes widened. “Gosh. You could be right.”
Breathlessly, they tore into the soil, energy renewed by the discovery. For fifteen minutes, they dug in silence, a trio of ceaseless grave-robbers, with eyes focused firmly on the soil in front of them. Then, after another five minutes, Lara gasped.
“I definitely hit something,” she said and clambered into the hole to gain better access. Mike and Kester stood back, giving her room. After a while, she threw her branch out and got to work with her bare hands.
“Well?” Mike asked finally, unable to contain himself. “Found anything?”
“Jeez, Mike, give me a minute, would you?”
They waited impatiently, hopping from foot to foot, trying to see better over Lara’s shoulder. Finally she straightened and grinned back up at them.
“Bingo.”
Kester and Mike looked at one another with widening eyes. They helped Lara clamber out, then crouched by the hole, scanning the disrupted soil. There, poking out like a piece of dead wood, was a yellowed piece of bone.
Kester steadied himself. He felt rather faint. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe we’ve actually found it.
With a thump, Mike leapt into the grave and began digging at the sides of the bone.
“Be careful!” Kester croaked. “If this skeleton is as old as we suspect it might be, it’s probably very fragile.”
Mike dug in silence. They waited, hardly able to contain their excitement, before Mike finally turned around and gave them a thumbs-up. He clicked his fingers to Kester and Lara, who pulled him out of the hole. “Check that out,” he said, pointing behind him.
Now that Mike’s shadow wasn’t obscuring the view, Kester strained to get a better look. His glasses were filthy, which wasn’t helping. However, after he gave them a quick rub on his shirt, he could clearly see the bones on display, in all their ancient, mossy glory. A ribcage. Broken and pock-marked, filthy with centuries of underground imprisonment, but a ribcage nonetheless. And protruding from the centre, about where the heart must have once been, a rusted knife.
Now we’re on to something, Kester realised, heart beating faster. Now we’re finally on the right track.
Chapter 14: The House at Smuggler’s Path
After locating the skeleton, they’d replaced the soil, even though it was frustrating after their hours of hard work. However, as Lara rationally pointed out, the last thing they needed was an innocent passer-by falling into the grave and injuring themselves on the skeleton’s ribcage. Now, that would give the government something to complain about, Kester realised with a dry chuckle. A lawsuit in addition to the rest of our problems.
Once the hole was properly covered up, they trudged back down the headland, muscles aching from the exertion, and found the others at the hotel, who had been ecstatic at their news. Larry had immediately got in contact with Curtis Philpot, who had given him the number of a local archaeologist who had been involved in a few projects in the past. With astonishing speed, the archaeologist had arrived—with an associate to help him dig—only a couple of hours later.
That night
, Kester slept incredibly well, especially considering that another spring had gone in his mattress and was now poking directly into his already sore back. The labours of the day had completely exhausted him, and within a few minutes, he was fast asleep.
Despite getting eight hours’ solid sleep, he still found it difficult to climb out of bed the following morning. His clothes were starting to look distinctly rumpled and dirty, and the stubble on his chin was threatening to burgeon into a bristly beard. Kester had never missed a day of shaving since he’d first started growing facial hair, and it felt distinctly alien under his fingers. Almost like I’m turning into a different person, he thought, hoping he’d be able to buy a razor soon.
Whilst the others were getting dressed, he flicked his laptop on. Amazingly, there was Wi-Fi in the hotel, which meant Kester didn’t have to rely on his faulty dongle to pick up a signal. Opening his inbox, he surveyed the contents. An email from Anya. That was good. Well, hopefully. An email from Ribero. Potentially not so good. And last, an email from the SSFE. The School of Supernatural Education. Yikes, he thought, eyeing the screen with trepidation. Now’s the time to find out whether they’ve thrown out my application form in disgust.
He opened Anya’s first. It was a strange, rambling tome, telling him about the latest story in the Exeter Herald, about an eagle owl on the loose, and that she’d found a book on secret agents in the library, and would he like to read it. He didn’t think so, somehow. She’s a bit barmy, he thought, but vowed to reply to her later, when he’d had a chance to wake up properly. After all, she might be slightly mad, but she was equally lovely, not to mention the prettiest girl who’d ever shown any interest in him whatsoever. Actually, he thought stoically, she’s the only girl who’s ever shown me any interest. So I’d better not mess it up.
