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Authors: Shirley McKay
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Hew.’
‘Should I? Of what?’
‘This business of the hawthorn tree. I see it draw you in.’
‘As I confess, it does,’ Hew smiled, ‘and I am not afraid of it.’
‘You never did attend to a better man’s advice. But I would urge you heartily, to seek no further answer here, but leave it well alone.’ The pigeons had returned, to peck at Bartie’s feet. ‘So young and plump and sweet. And what would I not give, for two squabs in a pie. Yet we may be the pigeons here.’ Bartie ended, briskly, ‘Well now, dinner time!’
‘You must hold your promise not to tell a soul.’
The mathematician groaned, ‘Ah, but that is cruel! You have snuffed the heartbeat from an old man’s life, stealing from his pleasure that one precious chink of light. Not speak of it! Not dine on it! You demand too much.’
‘But for one day,’ Hew insisted. ‘I pray you will not speak of it, least of all to Giles. I would have him test the samples I have taken without prejudice, for which it is essential that he has not been forewarned. A dinner in it, Bartie, if you keep your word.’
‘I shall hold you to the dinner,’ Bartie snuffled off. ‘But you should be aware you break an old man’s heart.’
Hew found Andrew Melville standing by the hawthorn tree.
‘I have sent Dod Auchinleck up to his chamber,’ the principal confided. ‘He was a little distressed. He is not a bad man, as I think, though at times he is a weak one. He wants a little shaping, that is all. With a little shaping, he may turn out for the good.’
Melville glanced up at the tower-loft. ‘The dows have returned. I wonder if that means we are no longer under threat. You found something, I think, lying on the ground. May I ask you what it was?’
He was sharp, Hew noticed, fishing out the stone. ‘This is what I found. Tell me what you see.’
The centre of the stone had been worn through to a hollow, weathered to a hole
Andrew Melville frowned, ‘A seeing stone. Then this maun explain it.’
‘What does it explain?’
‘It confirms our fears. The stone is a charm. I have seen one before. It was tied upon a riband, round an infant’s neck, to keep it from the faerie folk till it received the sacrament. The silly midwife was found out, and sorely did repent of it.’
Hew pointed out, ‘There are no midwives here. Then what do you conclude?’
‘That the stone is emblematic of a kind of witchcraft, and is certain proof that there is magic here,’ Melville answered sadly. He did not show signs of faltering, prepared to face the devil if and when he must. His sorrow was to find that the devil came so close to him, and had taken root among people he had trusted.
Hew held up the pebble, squinting through the hole in it, to see the clear blue sky. ‘It is a seeing stone.’ For a moment, without thinking, he had thought of Nicholas. He swept the thought aside. ‘And shall I tell you what I see? I see an endless sky, of depth and possibility; the whole world closed and captured in a winking eye. A small stone with a hole in it, sucked out by the sea, like a succar candie, on a small boy’s tongue. What do I conclude from that? That this little stone did not come here by chance, but someone must have brought it here. Of faeries, witches, devils, charms, I read nothing in a hollow, worn out by the sea. This stone is out of place. And that is all I see. I will take the samples I have taken to Giles Locke. He will show us with his science what secrets are contained in it, and, if he cannot, we shall look again. For we must keep inquiring, with a searching mind. So ready we may be to keek through narrow stones, and see a world of darkness and of terrors ranged against us, when what we are looking at is mirrored from our selves. We cry censure at the midwife who pins charms upon the babby. I pray we do not fall into that same class of mistake.’
Andrew’s view was clear, ‘For certain, we shall not. For God is on our side. Yet I am content to
‘Should I? Of what?’
‘This business of the hawthorn tree. I see it draw you in.’
‘As I confess, it does,’ Hew smiled, ‘and I am not afraid of it.’
‘You never did attend to a better man’s advice. But I would urge you heartily, to seek no further answer here, but leave it well alone.’ The pigeons had returned, to peck at Bartie’s feet. ‘So young and plump and sweet. And what would I not give, for two squabs in a pie. Yet we may be the pigeons here.’ Bartie ended, briskly, ‘Well now, dinner time!’
‘You must hold your promise not to tell a soul.’
The mathematician groaned, ‘Ah, but that is cruel! You have snuffed the heartbeat from an old man’s life, stealing from his pleasure that one precious chink of light. Not speak of it! Not dine on it! You demand too much.’
‘But for one day,’ Hew insisted. ‘I pray you will not speak of it, least of all to Giles. I would have him test the samples I have taken without prejudice, for which it is essential that he has not been forewarned. A dinner in it, Bartie, if you keep your word.’
‘I shall hold you to the dinner,’ Bartie snuffled off. ‘But you should be aware you break an old man’s heart.’
Hew found Andrew Melville standing by the hawthorn tree.
‘I have sent Dod Auchinleck up to his chamber,’ the principal confided. ‘He was a little distressed. He is not a bad man, as I think, though at times he is a weak one. He wants a little shaping, that is all. With a little shaping, he may turn out for the good.’
Melville glanced up at the tower-loft. ‘The dows have returned. I wonder if that means we are no longer under threat. You found something, I think, lying on the ground. May I ask you what it was?’
He was sharp, Hew noticed, fishing out the stone. ‘This is what I found. Tell me what you see.’
The centre of the stone had been worn through to a hollow, weathered to a hole
Andrew Melville frowned, ‘A seeing stone. Then this maun explain it.’
‘What does it explain?’
‘It confirms our fears. The stone is a charm. I have seen one before. It was tied upon a riband, round an infant’s neck, to keep it from the faerie folk till it received the sacrament. The silly midwife was found out, and sorely did repent of it.’
Hew pointed out, ‘There are no midwives here. Then what do you conclude?’
‘That the stone is emblematic of a kind of witchcraft, and is certain proof that there is magic here,’ Melville answered sadly. He did not show signs of faltering, prepared to face the devil if and when he must. His sorrow was to find that the devil came so close to him, and had taken root among people he had trusted.
Hew held up the pebble, squinting through the hole in it, to see the clear blue sky. ‘It is a seeing stone.’ For a moment, without thinking, he had thought of Nicholas. He swept the thought aside. ‘And shall I tell you what I see? I see an endless sky, of depth and possibility; the whole world closed and captured in a winking eye. A small stone with a hole in it, sucked out by the sea, like a succar candie, on a small boy’s tongue. What do I conclude from that? That this little stone did not come here by chance, but someone must have brought it here. Of faeries, witches, devils, charms, I read nothing in a hollow, worn out by the sea. This stone is out of place. And that is all I see. I will take the samples I have taken to Giles Locke. He will show us with his science what secrets are contained in it, and, if he cannot, we shall look again. For we must keep inquiring, with a searching mind. So ready we may be to keek through narrow stones, and see a world of darkness and of terrors ranged against us, when what we are looking at is mirrored from our selves. We cry censure at the midwife who pins charms upon the babby. I pray we do not fall into that same class of mistake.’
Andrew’s view was clear, ‘For certain, we shall not. For God is on our side. Yet I am content to
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