The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,72
the tent.
Michael, Luis, and Thomas met him halfway to the dig. “Part of the wall must have broken down overnight,” Michael reported. “We’ll have to shore it up before we can continue working.”
Dustin jogged up to join them. “Becky’s gone. Has anyone seen her since last night?”
Flintrop rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “She has to have radioed for a ferry to Unst or something. Michael, I want you to go to the dock and see if the boat’s still there. The rest of us will do what we can with the dig site until you get back.”
“What about Faith and Sara?” Dustin asked.
“Sara’s not feeling well. Faith’s watching her. Luis, call my office and see if Becky’s checked in. Eurocon, too. Let’s get moving before the rain starts again.”
Michael nodded, then hurried away. Flintrop looked up to watch him go, and found Ian approaching. “Start work,” he barked. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
He intercepted Ian at the edge of camp. “What in hell are you doing here, Waverly?”
“I didn’t come to see you, for starters.”
Flintrop blocked his progress. “You’ve been warned to stay away from this dig site. I didn’t think you needed reminding.”
Ian’s eyes flared. He stepped forward until he stood inches from Flintrop’s nose. “I’ll bet it just burns you that she might rather be up there with me than spend every waking minute with you, doesn’t it? Tough guy like yourself with loads of money could probably buy almost any woman he wants. Almost.” He veered around Flintrop. Before Flintrop could stop him, Ian headed, not for Sara’s tent, but Faith’s.
Faith looked up when Ian appeared in her doorway. “Hey.”
He stepped inside.
Flintrop barged in right behind, seething. “Get him out of here, Faith.”
She sighed. “Will you two stop bickering?”
“These are not my orders. They’re Lambertson’s,” Flintrop spat.
Faith surged out of her chair. “And Gemini is in charge until he comes back. Since Sara’s not functional, that leaves just me. He stays. Get over it. May I take care of my sister now?”
Flintrop shot Ian a look that should have knocked him over—and he wished it had done worse—and then stormed out.
****
“Arrogant bastard.” Faith turned back to her sister, and replaced the dry towel in her hands with a damp one.
“What’s the matter with Sara?”
She heard the urgency in Ian’s voice and looked up. “She has a fever. Nothing I can’t take care of.”
He started toward the cot, worry in his eyes, but stopped. “Faith, I need you to listen to this.”
She frowned at the way he balanced on his feet—light, edgy. Just his posture was enough to send pinpricks of unease skittering down her back. “What is it?”
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and withdrew a rolled sheet of paper, then spread it out on her camp table. “Shut the door.” He took a pencil out and clamped it between his teeth long enough to grab a pair of binoculars, a bottle of water, and two glasses to weight the corners of the curling sheet. He took the pencil from his teeth and sketched furiously without bothering to sit.
The unease on her skin multiplied. Faith zipped her door shut and hurried back to the table.
The large sheet of graph paper hung off the edges of her table. In the right margin, Faith recognized a drawing of the outline of Hvitmar, criss-crossed with penciled lines that met, if the hand-sketched map was right, exactly at the dig site. One line, bolder than the others, made her cringe just looking at it. It ran from the dig straight down the island through Ian’s camp. “You had another dream, didn’t you? You saw the ley line.”
“I saw ley lines,” he corrected her, still drawing with reckless speed. “There used to be more. They faded and died out.”
Faith followed the sweeps of his hand in the center of the sheet. He’d drawn a large rectangle with interrupted lines at the top and bottom ends. Other lines had been sketched inside it, as well as a rough circle in its center. Outside the bottom end of the rectangle were four bold Xs. “What is this?”
“This is your ruin.”
“Come again?”
“Your Viking house. I saw it, the whole thing.” He tapped his finger on the circle. “This is where they killed her.”
“Killed who?”
“The Viking’s wife. The druids slit her throat when he wasn’t home, while she was cooking at the hearth.” Ian’s gaze traveled up and down her figure as if to ascertain who he was seeing. “She