around them were similar to that one: scattered scrub along the sides and clearings of wind-brushed grass atop the flat bluffs. Most of the land was marked off as restricted sites, cordoned off at road level by twisted wire fences and red printed signs warning away trespassers. Theirs was the only one of the peaks which was unmarked and unfenced.
“This is not a terribly important site, but it is a nice one,” Crutchley continued. “Good, defensible location, but still reachable. As the population grew upriver, the shipping trade routes dealt with cities so much further inland. Wool and iron rejuvenated this area in the Middle Ages, so this site became obsolete. Lucky for us, since we can now investigate a stopped moment in time.”
The teacups were gathered up and washed in a tub behind the tent. Keith and the others picked their way down the hillside to wait for the Educatours coach. Everyone else was chattering excitedly about the day’s work. He sat next to Holl in the tall grass, playing with a straw between his fingers, gazing at nothing, and thinking about Dr. Crutchley’s lecture. To understand a site, you had to make up a story using what was there; artifacts, layout, weather patterns, and hope that nothing you excavated later made the story invalid. The work was backbreaking, but it was fun. He was fond of making up theories. If he was a better catalyst than a scientist, then he’d better come up with some good suggestions. To stimulate the others’ minds, of course.
“Doesn’t really tell you who they belong to, does it?” Keith asked. Holl followed his eyes, and read the Restricted signs swinging on the barbed wire across the road.
“Perhaps the owners want privacy,” Holl reasoned, peering up between the thick bushes and waist-high grass on one obscured hillside. “What could they possibly be building out here among all these private sites?”
“What?” Keith asked, not really paying attention. “Who?”
“Don’t you remember the reason they’re hurrying with this excavation? ‘Right in front of the bulldozer’ was the way Miss Anderson put it. Someone’s building something among all these unfriendly neighbors.”
Keith walked backward and squinted under the flat of his hand toward the crest of the hill across the road. “I don’t know. No buildings. Not even a tent. No one lives there, anyway. Maybe it’s a nature preserve of some kind. There’s a path leading up the hill. I’m going to have a look.” He started for the fence.
“A preserve, preserved one hill at a time? What has that to do with bulldozers? In any case, you shouldn’t touch, Keith Doyle,” Holl warned him. “I don’t know what they’ll do to you if you’re caught meddling over here. Think of me stranded here by myself in a strange place before you decide to get yourself tossed in jail.”
Keith grinned. “I guess you’re right. Hello, Mom?” he pantomimed a telephone receiver, “Can you send me five hundred pounds bail?”
“You’ll have to bailout later. Get up. The coach is coming.”
***
C HAPTER SIX
The dig was the exclusive topic of conversation in the coach all the way back to Glasgow. Miss Anderson circulated up and down the aisle among the tour group, chatting and asking questions. She gave Matthew hearty congratulations on his find, and discussed funerary customs with him. After a hasty dinner which no one really tasted, Keith and Holl joined the other young men for a celebratory pub crawl around Glasgow. Miss Anderson, the two schoolteachers and Narit stayed behind to talk quietly among themselves.
“And I vote for a good pudding, too,” Alistair suggested, as they emerged on the street.
“Huh? Oh, not custard: dessert,” Keith translated. “Sounds great to me. How about the rest of you?”
There was a chorus of approval, and Alistair nodded decisively.
“I know a place nearby with fine sweets and a cellar second to none.” He steered them out of the university complex and
“This is not a terribly important site, but it is a nice one,” Crutchley continued. “Good, defensible location, but still reachable. As the population grew upriver, the shipping trade routes dealt with cities so much further inland. Wool and iron rejuvenated this area in the Middle Ages, so this site became obsolete. Lucky for us, since we can now investigate a stopped moment in time.”
The teacups were gathered up and washed in a tub behind the tent. Keith and the others picked their way down the hillside to wait for the Educatours coach. Everyone else was chattering excitedly about the day’s work. He sat next to Holl in the tall grass, playing with a straw between his fingers, gazing at nothing, and thinking about Dr. Crutchley’s lecture. To understand a site, you had to make up a story using what was there; artifacts, layout, weather patterns, and hope that nothing you excavated later made the story invalid. The work was backbreaking, but it was fun. He was fond of making up theories. If he was a better catalyst than a scientist, then he’d better come up with some good suggestions. To stimulate the others’ minds, of course.
“Doesn’t really tell you who they belong to, does it?” Keith asked. Holl followed his eyes, and read the Restricted signs swinging on the barbed wire across the road.
“Perhaps the owners want privacy,” Holl reasoned, peering up between the thick bushes and waist-high grass on one obscured hillside. “What could they possibly be building out here among all these private sites?”
“What?” Keith asked, not really paying attention. “Who?”
“Don’t you remember the reason they’re hurrying with this excavation? ‘Right in front of the bulldozer’ was the way Miss Anderson put it. Someone’s building something among all these unfriendly neighbors.”
Keith walked backward and squinted under the flat of his hand toward the crest of the hill across the road. “I don’t know. No buildings. Not even a tent. No one lives there, anyway. Maybe it’s a nature preserve of some kind. There’s a path leading up the hill. I’m going to have a look.” He started for the fence.
“A preserve, preserved one hill at a time? What has that to do with bulldozers? In any case, you shouldn’t touch, Keith Doyle,” Holl warned him. “I don’t know what they’ll do to you if you’re caught meddling over here. Think of me stranded here by myself in a strange place before you decide to get yourself tossed in jail.”
Keith grinned. “I guess you’re right. Hello, Mom?” he pantomimed a telephone receiver, “Can you send me five hundred pounds bail?”
“You’ll have to bailout later. Get up. The coach is coming.”
***
C HAPTER SIX
The dig was the exclusive topic of conversation in the coach all the way back to Glasgow. Miss Anderson circulated up and down the aisle among the tour group, chatting and asking questions. She gave Matthew hearty congratulations on his find, and discussed funerary customs with him. After a hasty dinner which no one really tasted, Keith and Holl joined the other young men for a celebratory pub crawl around Glasgow. Miss Anderson, the two schoolteachers and Narit stayed behind to talk quietly among themselves.
“And I vote for a good pudding, too,” Alistair suggested, as they emerged on the street.
“Huh? Oh, not custard: dessert,” Keith translated. “Sounds great to me. How about the rest of you?”
There was a chorus of approval, and Alistair nodded decisively.
“I know a place nearby with fine sweets and a cellar second to none.” He steered them out of the university complex and
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