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Authors: Jonathan Gash
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friends. Somebody brought me water. It tasted foul. I sipped, grimaced.
‘From our own healing pool, Lovejoy,’ the nun said with asperity. ‘People come on pilgrimages to drink it.’
The more fool them, I thought. I moved away, vigilantly followed by the sandalled soldiery. Gesso appeared, with the prior, who dismissed my guardians.
‘Hello, Lovejoy. Which is it?’ Gesso looked pleased. ‘Is it that pewter tankard?’
There was a tankard, a modem Spanish fake looking every day of its age - about four weeks. French forgers buy these pewters wholesale, and age them by either burying them in new-cut grass for a few weeks or giving them a black acid-stained patina. As genuine antique pewter pieces have soared in value, so has the number of fakes and their quality. No, it wasn’t the fake tankard.
‘What d’you mean?’ I asked, but the game was up.
Gesso pulled the plastic, left it crumpled.
‘Stand close, Lovejoy.’ Gesso was grinning, like traitors always do.
‘No.’ I nodded at the bronze handle. ‘That.’
‘This old handle?’ Prior Metivier lifted it down, truly amazed.
‘They used to make them in pairs. Chinese. There should be semi-precious stones for eyes. The fact they’re missing won’t lower the auction price much.’
‘How old, Lovejoy?’ Metivier stood. ‘We priced it at ten pounds.’
‘It will buy a new house.’
The bonny lady approached. She held a cigarette, determined to look out of place, and succeeding.
‘What is it?’ she rasped.
You know when two people look at each other and you know there’s something between them? Well, I felt exactly that. She and the prior were more than just good friends. Metivier determinedly kept his eyes averted. She had no such inhibitions. Her eyes were only for him.
‘Lovejoy’s identified an antique.’ He looked at me. ‘Chinese?’
‘Older than all you saints, Prior. Remarkable that it’s preserved.’
‘Indeed.’ He smiled at the lady. ‘And to think, Mrs Crucifex, that we were about to invoke Lovejoy’s assistance in a—’
‘Where do we sell it, Lovejoy?’ Mrs Crucifex cut in.
‘London auction, or a private broker-buyer.’ I shrugged. ‘Don’t let Gesso melt it down and make Christmas cracker brooches.’
That was nasty, because Gesso had once nicked some gold Roman staters from the castle museum. He’d melted the coins down to make pendants. That way, he changed rare ancient coins into cheap trinkets. He coloured in anger.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ Prior George placated. ‘Lovejoy, I
would like to thank you for coming. Mrs Crucifex, would you care to offer Lovejoy a lift home?’
‘Is that it?’ I said. ‘Can I go?’
Metivier smiled. ‘For now. We’ll need you later.’
8
IT was dark, leaves brushing my face. I wasn’t very old, maybe ten. I was scared, .but I had a flashlight. Somebody was among the bushes, I didn’t know who. I hadn’t been following them
but somehow I was there.
The ground was wet. In the air hung a strange cloying smell. I heard the person returning, so laid myself flat in the thick coarse grass. A beam cut the air but couldn’t get through the low-hanging trees. I could hear the strange sucking plop noises of the hot muddy pool. It was that that I’d come to see.
The moon shone on its surface when I raised my head to look. Odd scrubby reeds grew there. Nothing grew in its middle. It was some ten feet across, and was having one of its gurgling and spitting fits. Not spectacular, like those New Zealand geysers or the American volcanic spouts, but it was the best East Anglia’s undulating countryside could manage in the way of horror.
Every so often, it bubbled up enough to source a stream once the water cooled. The great thing was, fossils came up from deep under the earth. They had their original colours, too, unlike those that had been buried for millions of years. Rumours abounded of dinosaur bones, vertebrae and suchlike, still linked, being found in the stream bed,
‘From our own healing pool, Lovejoy,’ the nun said with asperity. ‘People come on pilgrimages to drink it.’
The more fool them, I thought. I moved away, vigilantly followed by the sandalled soldiery. Gesso appeared, with the prior, who dismissed my guardians.
‘Hello, Lovejoy. Which is it?’ Gesso looked pleased. ‘Is it that pewter tankard?’
There was a tankard, a modem Spanish fake looking every day of its age - about four weeks. French forgers buy these pewters wholesale, and age them by either burying them in new-cut grass for a few weeks or giving them a black acid-stained patina. As genuine antique pewter pieces have soared in value, so has the number of fakes and their quality. No, it wasn’t the fake tankard.
‘What d’you mean?’ I asked, but the game was up.
Gesso pulled the plastic, left it crumpled.
‘Stand close, Lovejoy.’ Gesso was grinning, like traitors always do.
‘No.’ I nodded at the bronze handle. ‘That.’
‘This old handle?’ Prior Metivier lifted it down, truly amazed.
‘They used to make them in pairs. Chinese. There should be semi-precious stones for eyes. The fact they’re missing won’t lower the auction price much.’
‘How old, Lovejoy?’ Metivier stood. ‘We priced it at ten pounds.’
‘It will buy a new house.’
The bonny lady approached. She held a cigarette, determined to look out of place, and succeeding.
‘What is it?’ she rasped.
You know when two people look at each other and you know there’s something between them? Well, I felt exactly that. She and the prior were more than just good friends. Metivier determinedly kept his eyes averted. She had no such inhibitions. Her eyes were only for him.
‘Lovejoy’s identified an antique.’ He looked at me. ‘Chinese?’
‘Older than all you saints, Prior. Remarkable that it’s preserved.’
‘Indeed.’ He smiled at the lady. ‘And to think, Mrs Crucifex, that we were about to invoke Lovejoy’s assistance in a—’
‘Where do we sell it, Lovejoy?’ Mrs Crucifex cut in.
‘London auction, or a private broker-buyer.’ I shrugged. ‘Don’t let Gesso melt it down and make Christmas cracker brooches.’
That was nasty, because Gesso had once nicked some gold Roman staters from the castle museum. He’d melted the coins down to make pendants. That way, he changed rare ancient coins into cheap trinkets. He coloured in anger.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ Prior George placated. ‘Lovejoy, I
would like to thank you for coming. Mrs Crucifex, would you care to offer Lovejoy a lift home?’
‘Is that it?’ I said. ‘Can I go?’
Metivier smiled. ‘For now. We’ll need you later.’
8
IT was dark, leaves brushing my face. I wasn’t very old, maybe ten. I was scared, .but I had a flashlight. Somebody was among the bushes, I didn’t know who. I hadn’t been following them
but somehow I was there.
The ground was wet. In the air hung a strange cloying smell. I heard the person returning, so laid myself flat in the thick coarse grass. A beam cut the air but couldn’t get through the low-hanging trees. I could hear the strange sucking plop noises of the hot muddy pool. It was that that I’d come to see.
The moon shone on its surface when I raised my head to look. Odd scrubby reeds grew there. Nothing grew in its middle. It was some ten feet across, and was having one of its gurgling and spitting fits. Not spectacular, like those New Zealand geysers or the American volcanic spouts, but it was the best East Anglia’s undulating countryside could manage in the way of horror.
Every so often, it bubbled up enough to source a stream once the water cooled. The great thing was, fossils came up from deep under the earth. They had their original colours, too, unlike those that had been buried for millions of years. Rumours abounded of dinosaur bones, vertebrae and suchlike, still linked, being found in the stream bed,
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