The Silver Witch(44)

‘I’ll save some for you, I promise,’ she says, handing her a chip to keep hunger pangs at bay.

Dylan watches. ‘She’s looking better. You’ve done a good job of getting her right.’

Tilda considers the corner-shop diet she has been feeding the dog, the irregular hours of sleep and the erratic exercise patterns she has been subjected to. ‘I think she pretty much got better by herself,’ she says. ‘Though I can see why the men who had her gave up. No way is she ever going to catch a hare.’

‘She looks built for it.’

‘Maybe so, but when we came across one the other day she bounced after it and then just played with it. Had no intention of catching the thing. And the hare knew it too.’

‘Really?’ Dylan raises his eyebrows.

‘I swear, it just sat there, washing its face. It knew it wasn’t in any danger. Thistle didn’t even bark.’

‘Well, she wouldn’t. Proper coursers don’t. They hunt silently. That’s why they make rubbish guard dogs. They don’t track by scent either—they’re sight hounds. Though yours is probably just shy ’cause she’s embarrassed about wearing that collar.’

Much as it irks her to admit it, the pink band does look all wrong around Thistle’s neck. Tilda leans forward and unbuckles it. ‘I don’t think you really need this, do you, girl?’

‘Much better,’ Dylan says.

Tilda looks at him. ‘Why are you helping with the dig, if you really don’t like what they’re doing? And don’t tell me it’s for the money. Your uncle said you go all over the world diving for people. Doesn’t sound like you’re short of work.’

He smiles, shaking his head. ‘To be honest, I jumped at the chance of an excuse to come home for a while. I miss the place. ‘Away’ is not always all it’s cracked up to be.’

‘So you’re okay with them opening a grave?’

‘I can’t really disapprove, can I? It is more or less what I poke around in too, a lot of the time. Not formal graves, maybe, but wrecks often end up being the final resting places for many people. Some of them have been there a very long time too.’

‘You’re surely not expecting to find a wreck in the lake?’

He laughs. ‘No. This is more of an exploratory bit of diving. The lake has been fairly thoroughly searched over the years, but now they’ve found something new so near to the water, well, it’s worth having another look. The changing levels of the water, particularly if there have been floods as well as droughts, can shift things. New stuff becomes visible. Just! It’s pretty murky down there.’

‘I read that the lake has its own water horse.’

‘Gorsie, you mean?’

‘Gorsie?’

‘That’s what the locals call it. Nessie in Lock Ness: Gorsie in Llangors. Everyone around here has heard about our very own deep-water monster.’

‘Have there ever been any … sightings?’

‘A few claim to have seen it, mostly after a late night in the pub. I think there are a couple of dodgy-looking pictures circulating’ He grins. ‘I’ll let you know if I find it.’

Tilda forces herself to return to her list of reasons for venturing out. Despite Lucas’s insistence that it is too early to be certain about the find, she feels there may be something there which will provide answers to what she feared were unanswerable questions. Something connecting the body in the grave to her frightening visions. Even if those answers do involve words like ghost and murderer, and the terrible idea of burying someone alive. It is a start. She glances over at the professor. He is sitting next to Molly, and they are all very busy with something on the laptop. She had been going to ask him for his help, but the thought of fusing that computer, with everyone there, so close. Just because she fixed the lights doesn’t mean she can be certain she won’t adversely affect things again. Instead she turns to Dylan.

‘I wonder, could you do something for me?’

‘Bring you the head of the water horse, perhaps?’

‘Ha ha,’ she responds mirthlessly. ‘A bit simpler than that. My … my computer isn’t working, and I need a couple of books. Any chance you could order them for me online? Here, I’ve written down the sort of thing I’m after. I need to build a wood-fired kiln. That is, I want to build one. I’m trying out a new technique. And new glazes. That’s the name of a ceramicist who works this way. If you search his name, other potters and authors should come up. I did build something similar years ago, at art school, but, well, I could do with more information. I was going to ask the professor…’