A Gathering of Twine Page 10

  Coombes interrupted. “Professor Tate, you said ‘living men’. How do you know these are men?” The skeletons were approximations of three males, but Tate’s assumption had set off his Copper’s Nose.

  Tate felt an invisible noose tighten around his neck. “Slip of the tongue,” he said. “Call it a chauvinistic euphemism.”

  Gordon was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Professor. The calcium deposits do not come apart in the way you would expect to see. The concentration of iron and magnesium is thousands of times higher than in a human. I even tried some radio dating. There are no carbon fourteen traces, so I cannot accurately date them. And then, of course, there are the teeth – there is simply no wear on them. Despite the humanoid appearance, these are not real skeletons.”

  For a moment there was an awkward silence.

  “So what now?” Lincoln asked. “Can we resume the dig?”

  Coombes narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “You know Doctor, a sceptical person would say that the impossibly well-preserved skeletons of a disfigured family had been forged and buried here to raise the profile of a dig which had found very little and that was about to run into financial trouble.”

  The awkward silence returned, bringing its friend Tension with it.

  Tate eventually spoke. “I can assure you, Sergeant, that there has been no deliberate attempt to deceive on our part. We have no idea how those skeletons got there, who put them there, or why. We are as shocked as you are. We called you in good faith.”

  Coombes did not like Professor Tate. He was far too smooth, always saying the right things, at the right time, but with a complete lack of sincerity.

  “Professor, do you know what the punishment is for wasting police time?”

  Tate shook his head.

  “Six months. And a fine. For each individual involved.”

  Tate just nodded, looking at the table.

  Coombes could see the neither of the two men were going to offer up any more. “Pair of you. Get out.”

  Lincoln and Tate got up, neither of them meeting Coombes’ stare, and left.

  “What do you think?” Coombes said, turning to Gordon.

  “Difficult to say. If funding is as competitive as those two make it out to be, maybe a rival set them up. The forgery is very good. To the naked eye, it may not have been discernible. They did follow protocol, and maybe they just called you in ignorance. Then again, we know how these London types view the regions. Like we’ve all got twelve toes. Maybe they thought they could get away with it.”

  Coombes breathed out hard through his nose. “Got anything to link them directly to it?”

  Gordon shook his head. “I don’t even know how they made it. Best guess is they applied some calcium type paste over a mould. But it would have had to have been machined afterwards, and I cannot find a single groove or nick. Even under the microscope. These processes are seldom that perfect. Maybe in a Japanese or German plant, but here? I don’t know of any. I cannot even accurately date how long they’ve been there for. There’s been no water penetration, but with bone, it is always difficult to say.”

  Coombes folded his arms and thought.

  *

  [Maiden Castle Stele 26-30]

  The Lord of Dives, Master of Shole, was displeased that Greine knew the secrets of seasons everlasting.

  Entering from the sky, The Lord of Dives said to Greine “The Breath of Namlu shall not dwell within the shell of flesh forever. The time of Man shall be no more than seasons of six score.”

  “Reviler! Usurper!” railed Greine. “We are of Danu and shall be commanded by Her Word, and Her Word alone.”

  “The Children of Trees may be, but The Brood of Clay shall not. Lest I take all you know that you should wander alone, you will submit to Shole at the end of your time.”

  Danu consoled her offspring and spoke unto Greine the Secrets of the Light. With grim resolve, Greine accepted Heaven’s Visor from his Goddess that he might find the secret path to Shole and confront the Lord of Dives. Danu knew that Greine could not defeat the Lord of Dives, but gave him a Seed of Namlu. When cast into the waters of Shole, Danu’s arm would sprout forth and bind the Lord of Dives.

  The entrance to Shole was cut off from the mainland by the Waters of Nun. The only ferry was [text incomplete] by Shedu – the Ghazal who had recanted and knelt before Danu. Shedu divested Greine of all metallic substances but allowed him to keep The Horn of Dagda which was not metal.

  Greine beheld the mighty doors of Shole, locked and barred to the living. [text incomplete]

  “Then the doors are open to you,” said Cassandra.

  Greine journeyed down through the seven levels of Shole. At the first level, he saw the souls of the recently departed, waiting for judgement.

  At the second level, Greine saw the Mists of The Hand, where unbelievers floundered without direction for all eternity. Greine prayed to Danu whose voice guided him through the mists.

  At the third level, he saw all tyrants and false prophets of the world.

  At the fourth level, Greine saw all the Shayatin and Ghazal who had turned from Danu to make the cosmos their own.

  At the fifth level, he saw all those who had falsely proclaimed themselves Danu’s heir.

  At the sixth level, Greine saw the prison of abominations, sinners, and those of false witness.

  At the seventh level, Greine challenged Jehoel, champion of The Lord of Dives and with the Words of Power defeated him. The Lord of Dives confronted Greine and beat him back. Greine threw the Seed of Namlu into the Waters of Shole, and there grew the Arm of Danu which bound The Lord of Dives and does still, turning as Shole still turns.

  *

  Tuther saw the two men leaving the cabin and nodded his head to bring them over.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Bloody skeletons are a fake!” exclaimed Lincoln.

  Tuther looked to Tate, a solitary eyebrow raised questioningly.

  Tate nodded but made no reply.

  “What do you mean?” Tuther said, turning back to Lincoln.

  “The pathologist says they aren’t human. That they’ve been made somehow. George, I tell you if this gets out it’s early baths for all of us. All of us!”

  “Alright Mike, it’ll be ok. No one has done anything wrong,” Tate said soothingly.

  “What happens now?” Tuther asked.

  Tate shrugged and nodded towards the portacabin. “I think that there is still a case to answer. The pathologist said the remains displayed signs of Marfan’s...”

  “Hasn’t Irene got Marfan’s?” Lincoln interrupted a realisation dawning on him. It seemed more than a coincidence that the head of the digs wife and these ‘fake’ skeletons had the same congenital defect. Lincoln remembered meeting her at department barbeque – she had given him the chills. And the daughter too... what was her name? Fiona, that was it. She had Marfan’s too. Those long spindly fingers. They reminded him of some aberrant spider. Both mother and daughter had a habit of clicking their joints when they were bored or unhappy.

  “Yes,” Tate said slowly, looking at Lincoln hard. “But hers is a minor case. Anyway, the Sergeant is deciding whether to charge us with wasting police time.”

  At that moment the door to the cabin opened, and Gordon stepped out.

  Tate waved to him. “Tea?” he called.

  Gordon started to make his way over. “Please.”

  “Mike,” Tate said under his breath. “Run and get some tea would you?”

  “What the bloody hell are you doing George?” Lincoln whispered back fiercely.

  “Keep your enemies closer, my Commanding Officer used to say,” he whispered, and then to Gordon, “How do you take it?”

  “Milk and two please.”

  Tate looked to Lincoln whose eyes blazed back at him for a moment before he turned and stomped off to the canteen tent.

  “Funny old business,” Tate said. “Never seen anything like
it. You?”

  Gordon knew the man was fishing. “Is this a fake too?” he asked, avoiding Tate’s question, and tossing a metal circlet at him.

  Tate caught it and turned it over in his hand. Tuther examined it as well.

  “Found it with the skeletons?” Tate asked.

  Gordon just nodded.

  The circlet was actually two concentric circles, with nine zigzagging lines connecting the outer to the inner. There was a ragged end of what was once a leather string.

  “I don’t recognise it as European,” said Tuther.

  “Me neither,” said Tate. “You should keep hold of this,” he continued, handing the pendant back to Gordon. “The Sergeant will want it treated as evidence.”

  Gordon accepted it back. “Gentlemen, what game are you playing here?”

  Tate shook his head. “I assure you, Doctor, there is no game.”

  “Professor, you have just handed me back what could be a very important archaeological find with no attempt at protest or to keep it.”

  “Doctor, the protocols are very clear. Even if we expect to find a body, we must always inform the authorities. When they decide that the matter is archaeological then we continue. But until then, it is your site, and we are absolutely forbidden from interfering, lobbying, or bringing any kind of pressure to bear. Absolutely forbidden.”

  “That is very... honest of you Professor.”

  “Doctor, my team is experienced with these sort of digs. But we all know chaps who have been less... scrupulous, who have been in a hurry, cut corners and come unstuck. In our experience, it is never worth it.”

  “So what were you expecting to find here?”

  “Outside? Well, Mike was working the burial tombs, so yes, we were hoping for bodies. But Maiden Castle has an odd history. From some of the artefacts we found, we thought there might be a royal or religious significance, although there is no mention of it in any records. To be honest, three complete skeletons is a good find – better than good, it’s excellent. But to be so rudely interred, and with no jewellery or finery... well, either the burial tombs are not where we thought they were, or the site is not as significant as we had hoped. Either way, it is a bit of blow.”

  Gordon listened to the man. He seemed sincere. But there was something about him. He knew the Sergeant felt it too but had not said anything yet. It was as though the Professor knew a great secret that he refused to impart.

  “So the skeletons are fake?” said Tuther after a pause. “Have you ever come across anything like this before?”

  Gordon looked at the man. He had taken an instant dislike to him when he had first met him, and that feeling had not gone away. He was fishing as well.

  “Once. Sort of. My father knew the Ashley-Coopers. They have an estate maybe an hour or so from here. Out near Wimborne. I used to play with the boys when I was a child. Both named Tony. Never got used to it. Of course, the War put all those friendships on hold. After the War, I saw the eldest once. He’d been in an Auxiliary Unit – and something extra special to boot. Lovely chap, but after a couple of drinks he would sing like a canary. He claimed to have been in Berlin at the fall. The Nazis were into all sorts at the end. Anyway, Tony brought back the skeleton of some worm-beast. At first, I thought it was the damnedest thing. It was perfectly circular, with a double row of teeth that looked more like razors. The jaw had no hinge and was about two, maybe two and half feet across. He also had a couple of vertebrae from what I would guess had been a spinal column, but it was incomplete.

  “Tony said that he had found it after the Allies had moved in, as he was coming back through Wewelsburg. He claimed that some SS sect had started worshipping sky-worms if you can believe that. Of course, when he eventually showed it to me, I recognised it for what it was – a well-made sculpture. It wasn’t bone at all, although it had been made to look like bone, with a bit of iron solution and chromic acid. It would have fooled the layman.”

  Tate and Tuther were silent for a moment.

  “What happened to this Tony?” Tate asked eventually.

  “Oh, he died. In forty-seven I think. Heart failure.”

  “We all die of heart failure Doctor. What caused it?” Tate persisted.

  Gordon took a breath. “Heroin. When he got back, his nerves were shot. I think he saw some of the concentration camps. He could barely sleep, and... well, you can imagine the rest.”

  Tate nodded respectfully.

  “Does his family still have it?” Tuther said, uncharacteristically brightly.

  “What?”

  “The sculpture of the skull that he brought back. Do they still have it?”

  “I have no idea. It was thirty years...”

  “Could you take us there? Maybe it’s similar to what Mike found.”

  “Celus, I really...” Tate interjected quietly.

  Gordon looked at the two men hard. Their relationship was not the normal sort he saw. Tate was clearly in charge of the site... but Tuther, although obviously younger, always came across as his equal. There was a depth to his eyes which unsettled Gordon, but at the same time made him feel as if there was a dark tale to be told. The man looked haunted.

  This little episode clearly had further to run and he was curious as to where it would lead.

  “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” mused Gordon. “The family is away in Belfast at the moment, but the housekeeper might be in. She’ll remember me.” His interest had been piqued. There was little chance of the jaws in any way being linked with the skeletons that had been found, but this case was so unusual that he wanted to spend some proper time with these men. See if they could slip up.

  “My car is parked over there,” Gordon continued. “Just let me tell the Sergeant where we are going, and we can be off.”

  *

  [Maiden Castle Stele 31-33]

  The Adversary saw the triumph of Greine over Jehoel, and His soul was as black as red with jealousy.

  “No more shall the Tribes of Tuatha be blessed by the Word,” and with this, the Adversary stroked the Heavens with His hammer until the stars rung as oceans and tongues.

  And all was silent for none could behold The Word of Danu.

  “Lament!” cried Greine, “for no longer can we be guided! See how what was once one is now twelve, and they turn from the path.”

  “Be not frail,” replied Celus, “For Our Goddess moves amongst us still.”

  And Greine and Celus beheld the Portents of Danu, and they foretold that the Goddess would send a mighty dragon that the land would be purified of all the Fallen and non-believers.

  So it was at the behest of the Portents, and with the help of the Coraniad, Greine, and his army built a fogou. The followers of Danu observed well, and as foretold, ninety-two days passed, and the ground rumbled and broke as with the beat of mighty wings above. Greine and the Coraniad retreated into the fogou, and there the huddled clan could feel the heat of a thousand suns against the walls and ceiling. Almost as quickly came the sound as of the landing of mighty feet and an ocean covered the fogou. So was all darkness as dust, and grave as violet. After thirty-two days and thirty-two nights the waters receded and Greine and the Coraniad emerged to find all non-believers had been smashed into pieces of iron.

  *

  St Giles House loomed over the three men, like a demanding elder patriarch, its numerous chimney stacks casting long shadows.

  “Some money here,” muttered Tuther.

  “It’s been in the family since the seventeenth century,” said Gordon. “About fourteen hundred acres in all. Most of it farmed.”

  As they got out of the car, the main door swung open. A small but upright grey haired lady greeted them on the steps.

  “Mrs Torinelli? I’m not sure if you remember me. My name is...”

  “Little Harry Gordon!” Mrs Torinelli exclaimed in a thick Italian accent. “Let me look at you.”

  “Well, not so little any more Mrs Torinelli,” said Gordon, blushing slightly.

&nb
sp; Tate and Tuther stood slightly back, waiting to be introduced.

  “My! You have grown. And a doctor I hear! Your mama would be so proud! And you have brought friends I see.”

  “Ah yes, this is Professor Tate and Mr Tuther.”

  They each shook Mrs Torinelli’s hand, nodding and saying “How do you do?”

  “Ah, but Lord Ashley is not here. He is away in Belfast.”

  “Yes. Mrs Torinelli, my friends are archaeologists, working at Maiden Castle... over Dorchester way. We were wondering if we could see Tony’s room. He had a skeleton we’d like to look at.”

  “The jaw? It is an evil thing!” Mrs Torinelli spat on the ground. “Drove the Major mad!” she exclaimed, crossing herself.

  “Yes. But could my friends have a quick look at it?”

  Mrs Torinelli harrumphed loudly, turned and entered the grand old house, bidding them to follow.

  “How old is she?” muttered Tuther, admiring the feisty housekeeper.

  “No one knows,” replied Gordon, crossing the threshold. “I was here as a boy in the late twenties, and she was part of the furniture then. She’s got to be eighty, maybe more.”

  The small group congregated at the bottom of a large and imposing staircase.

  “You remember where the Major’s room is?” said Mrs Torinelli.

  “Third on the right?”

  Mrs Torinelli nodded. “I get you tea. I not go in there.” The old lady retreated to the back of the house, where Tate assumed the kitchens were.

  “Well,” said Tuther to Gordon, “after you.”

  The three men climbed the staircase and presently found themselves inside the late Anthony Ashley-Cooper’s bedroom. Tate noted it was almost a caricature of his expectations. A large double bed faced an equally grand fireplace, and the room was mostly wood panelled. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked westwards and Tate fancied he could just make out the outline of both Yeovil and Dorchester.

  Mahogany wardrobes flanked the internal wall, and a small writing desk was positioned in the window bay. A chest of drawers was next to the wardrobe and above it shelves with an array of leather bound books. The room was spotless, with no indication that its occupant had been deceased for nearly thirty years.