“Your torque; it’s gone!” he observed.
One hand flew to her neck. It was then Lee noticed that somehow what appeared to be a tattoo of the torque had been etched into her skin, almost as a permanent reminder of the item.
She stood for a moment with abject panic on her face. Then, as clearly nothing was happening to her, she relaxed. More tears appeared from her eyes, but her beatific smile told him that she was not unhappy.
“It’s over,” she said. “I’m finally free!”
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
Tamsyn smiled.
“Everything that should have happened.”
“Which was?” he persisted.
“I’ll tell you later, once I’ve got my head around it.”
The fire was out, and there was nothing save some soot around the mouth of the forge that told anyone that anything happened today.
Mitchell moaned as he fought back to consciousness. He looked up to see the girl and the young guy staring down at him.
“What the fuck just happened?” he asked, remaining on the ground.
“You’ve a lot of courage,” the girl said. “I’m Tamsyn and this is Lee. You’re Mitchell Hobbs. MR Brand paid you to steal back the sword, didn’t he?”
“How did you know?”
The girl smiled, touching the tattoo on her neck.
“Oh, there’s a good question. The sword is gone, so you can go back to the Saxon and tell him it is where it belongs.”
“Saxon?”
Lee looked bemused as Tamsyn replied.
“The sword was never his. His ancestor was a Saxon warlord called Brandt. He defeated the Celts in a battle down near where Falmouth now stands. He stole the sword from … let’s just say from a young relative of mine. He was a barbaric and very cruel man. The sword was never his to take, and over the centuries, the spirits have been restless. They are all now at peace.”
Lee held his hand out to the man on the ground.
Mitchell thought about it, and then took his hand so to be assisted to his feet.
“So, the sword is destroyed?” he asked.
“It is no more,” Tamsyn said.
Mitchell walked over to the blackened forge and peered into the gloom. Then he turned round and regarded Tamsyn.
“Who were they?”
“The boy was my son and the man my friend.”
“You’re not old enough to have a ten year old son,” he said.
Tamsyn smiled indulgently.
“He is not of this life.”
“The man told me his name, but it meant nothing.”
“You would know him as the Mage Merlin. His home had been the islands in the Atlantic that are now known as Atlantis. They were destroyed by the shifting of the continental shelf, and so, earthquakes and eruptions destroyed the archipelago. He came here with others of his civilisation to start over. Their race was far in advance of those who lived here then.”
Mitchell shook his head.
“What do I tell him?”
“Simply that you were unsuccessful.”
He nodded, scratching his head.
“You are a brave man, Mitchell Hobbs. Many would have run when given the chance.”
“I saw you change into something, no, someone else.”
“The essence of the torque came through. It has gone now as well, so I am now who I am.”
“I don’t understand any of this. Is it magic?”
“What is magic but what we cannot explain or fully comprehend? It is not pure magic, as there is an explanation, only you would not understand it.”
“Do you?”
The girl smiled and nodded.
“I never used to, but I now hold the wisdom of the torque.”
Mitchell brushed the vegetation from his clothes; then, he straightened up.
“If ever you need a hand, I’m sure you could find me. I’m not a bad bloke; I hope you understand that?”
“I know you’re not. Go in peace and good luck.”
“One thing?” he said.
“Yes?”
“The big man – the Russian or American; what happened to him?”
“Who?” asked Tamsyn, a picture of innocence.
“Really?” Mitchell asked.
“Truly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay.”
Mitchell shook their hands; a strangely surreal experience, and then walked away.
“Can we go now?” Lee asked as the ex SAS man disappeared from view.
“Not quite.”
Tamsyn went to the old forge and reached in with one hand. When she withdrew her hand, Lee saw she was holding some twisted metal.
“What the heck?” he asked.
She wiped the metal on the grass and he looked closer.
They were two torques, slender and very similar to the one she had been wearing.
She looked up and smiled.
“For the children,” she said, taking his hand.
Epilogue
It was raining as PC John Lindsay fought his way through the crowd on the dock. It’s not every day that a lobster boat caught a human body. There was an ambulance parked along the quayside, and he met the two, green-clad paramedics as they returned to their vehicle.
“Not one for us, John. He’s been in the water a long time. You’ll need a bucket or two for him,” said the older one.
“Not that we’re that upset, it’s bloody freezing out there,” said the other paramedic – a younger woman.
The crowds were mainly locals, as it was December. The crowds of tourist that came through in the summer were absent.
He arrived at the boat to see a tarpaulin covered form on the damp deck. Old John Coombes, the skipper of the Mayfly, looked relieved that someone was going to arrange removal of the blessed thing. John clambered aboard and joined the crew on the deck. Several local journalists and photographers joined the crowd, so he used his radio to ask for an ETA of the Police Surgeon and the CID. They couldn’t remove the body until the doctor certified life extinct and the CID were satisfied that no further evidence would be lost by moving it.
There was no suggestion that this was a crime scene, so if the paramedic’s verdict was correct, only a post mortem would establish likely cause of death.
John arranged for a large tarpaulin be erected to screen the body from the crowd on the quayside. Only then did he lift the covering.
Then he wished he hadn’t, replacing it rapidly.
“Bit nasty, ain’t it?” said John Coombs.
“Just a bit. He’s been in there a while judging how bloated he is.”
“Any idea who he is?”
John shook his head.
“They’ll have to go to DNA, dental and possibly fingerprints, if there are any left. The only missing person we have outstanding is the American who disappeared in the summer.”
“I remember that; had a nasty wife, didn’t he?”
John smiled at the accuracy of the local gossips.
“Can’t say, sorry.”
Just then, Detective Constable Ray Brown arrived and joined him on the deck. He wore a thick coat and a ski hat.
“Hi, John; has the doc been yet?”
“Not yet, ten minutes apparently.”
“Checked it?” he asked, nodding towards the body.
“I think it’s dead.”
“Any suspicious circumstances?”
“Not immediately apparent, but I’m not rummaging around in there, I can tell you. There are no obvious holes or knives sticking out of him.”
“Him?”
“Definitely a male, yes.”
“Could he be that American that jumped off the cliff?”
“No idea, but he is naked.”
Ray lifted the cover, wrinkled his nose and dropped it again.
“I see what you mean. Let’s leave that for the pathologist. Have you taken statements from the crew?”
“Not yet, I just got here.”
“Okay, speak to the skipper and get a statement as to who did what. Any idea where it was found?”
“Not yet,” said John, as he approached the skipper.
Despite it being a few weeks ago now, Matthew was still smouldering with anger and disappointment. When he came back, Mitchell had returned what was left of the four thousand, claiming that the sword was now destroyed, so he couldn’t have retrieved it even if he’d been able to get his hands on it.