A Room Full Of Bones

CHAPTER 31

Ruth doesn’t want to go home. She rings Sandra to say she won’t be bringing Kate in today, then she and Kate have breakfast in the hospital canteen, a dreamlike world of patients with drips attached and nurses coming off the nightshift. Ruth drinks black coffee and consumes eggs and bacon, Kate eats a piece of toast. Then Ruth drives to the university, taking Kate with her. She finds the place in uproar.

The science buildings have been sealed off and the grounds are full of students and lecturers standing around looking scared and intrigued in equal measure. Ruth hears talk of parcel bombs, of anthrax spores, of masked men scaling the walls at night. The students are all on their phones, updating their Facebook statuses. Bomb scare at the uni!!!

Phil, who is sitting under a tree eating a banana, tells Ruth a different story.

‘A snake?’

Ruth’s head feels like Medusa’s, swarming with snakes. She thinks of Bob Woonunga. The Snake’s my tribal emblem. She thinks of the poems about the Rainbow Serpent, of the stone grass-snake crushed under Bishop Augustine’s foot.

‘An adder, apparently,’ says Phil. ‘Just posted in a padded envelope. They think some animal rights group sent it.’

Kate points at the banana. ‘Want.’ Phil laughs and breaks off a piece. He is in high spirits and seems completely recovered from yesterday’s flu. Ruth is rather embarrassed by Kate’s forceful tendencies but impressed at her success with Phil. Ruth has never once succeeded in making her own wishes so clear to her head of department.

‘You’ll never guess who it was addressed to,’ says Phil.

The awful thing is that Ruth thinks she can guess.

‘Not Cathbad?’

‘Yes. The police have been trying to trace him all morning. Have you any idea where he is?’

‘No,’ says Ruth. She has no intention of telling Phil that Cathbad is currently in her spare room, sleeping off a drugs trip. ‘I expect he’ll turn up.’

‘He always does, doesn’t he?’ says Phil, standing up and brushing grass from his trousers. ‘Looks as if they’ve opened the doors at last.’

Lectures have been cancelled so Ruth takes Kate up to her office to collect some exam scripts. She has so far resisted the temptation to bring her daughter into the university. When Kate was born there were numerous invitations from female members of staff (and from Phil, of course) but Ruth had been wary about letting the two sides of her life overlap. But now, watching Kate toddle around her office, pulling books from the shelves, it feels oddly right to have her here. Because, whether she likes it or not, Ruth is both things now, archaeologist and mother. She smiles, moving a flint hand-axe out of Kate’s reach.

Debbie, the department secretary, offers to take Kate to the canteen. Ruth privately feels that Kate has had enough stimulation for one day but everyone is being so nice that she can’t refuse. There’s a febrile, unreal atmosphere about the university today. No one is doing any work; they are all just standing around talking about the poisonous snakes and parcel bombs. Elderly professors whom Ruth hasn’t seen for years have crawled out of the woodwork to enjoy pleasurable discussions about death, murder and mayhem. Phil is in his element, pressing shoulders reassuringly and talking about his contacts in the police force.

After Debbie has disappeared, carrying a thoroughly over-excited Kate, Ruth rifles through her desk collecting scripts and lecture notes. There, under a dissertation on Syphilis, Yaws and Diseases in Dry Bones, Ruth finds an article on Bishop Augustine, sent to her by Janet Meadows. She glances at the first lines and instantly is transported back to that Halloween afternoon: the empty room, the open window, the pages turning in the breeze.

She picks up her phone. ‘Hallo,’ she says. ‘It’s Ruth Galloway. Could we meet up? Yes, that would be fine.’

Ruth drives to a park in the centre of King’s Lynn, called The Walks. It’s very old and contains a fifteenth-century chapel, said to be haunted. There’s also a children’s playground and a river with ducks on it. It’s a bright afternoon so there are a few people wandering about, the sort of people who don’t have to be at work at two in the afternoon. Pensioners, mothers with pre-school children, a bird-watcher whom Ruth eyes with distrust. Predictably, Kate ignores the more picturesque birds in favour of staggering about after a mangy pigeon and is soon joined by two other yelling toddlers. Ruth watches them with pleasure, until it becomes too cold to stand still and she persuades Kate to move on. They pass Red Mount Chapel, a strange hexagonal building said to contain a relic of the Virgin Mary. Ruth thinks of Bishop Augustine and her visions. Really, religion is so strange – virgin births, the devil disguised as a snake, bread turning into flesh – if you believe all that you can believe anything. And maybe that’s the attraction.

They cross the bridge and walk, through streets that become increasingly less green and pleasant, to the Smith Museum. To Ruth’s surprise, a woman is by the front steps, sweeping up leaves. Getting closer she sees that it’s Caroline Smith. She doesn’t think that Caroline will recognise her, but in answer to Ruth’s hesitant hallo, the other woman says, ‘It’s Ruth, isn’t it? Cathbad’s friend?’

Ruth cautiously admits that she’s Cathbad’s friend.

‘Have you heard?’ asks Caroline, pushing her dark hair back behind her ears. She seems very friendly, almost manic.

‘Heard what?’

‘The skulls are going back,’ says Caroline. ‘Randolph agreed last night. We’re going to have a repatriation ceremony. It’ll be wonderful. Bob’s here now.’

Ruth doesn’t quite know how she feels about seeing Bob. She doesn’t believe that Bob was responsible for Lord Smith’s death and Nelson’s illness but, all the same, thinking of the mysterious figure in her garden last night, she still doesn’t quite trust him. She remembers his face when he told her about the fate of the man with a skull on his mantelpiece. He’s dead now. The ancestors are powerful.

‘You must be pleased about the skulls,’ she says to Caroline.

‘Oh yes,’ Caroline grins at her. ‘The wrong will be righted. Mother Earth will be satisfied. Everything will be all right now.’

Ruth thinks of Mother Julian’s adage: All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well. Why is it so hard to believe this?

‘What’s going to happen to the museum?’ she asks.

‘Oh, I’m going to manage it,’ says Caroline, with another wide smile. ‘I’ve got great plans. It’ll be a different place.’

‘What about the stables?’

‘Well, after that drugs business…’

‘What drugs business?’ Ruth wants to scream, but she carries on standing there smiling, holding Kate by the hand. There’s too much going on here that she doesn’t understand.

Caroline switches the smile back on. ‘If the stables stay in business, Randolph will be in charge. It’s what he’s always wanted. He’s a genius with horses. And I’m going to make the museum a real success. We’re going to have proper local history exhibitions starting with “Augustine: the first woman bishop.”

‘Sounds great,’ says Ruth. ‘I’m meeting someone. Is it OK to go inside?’

‘Of course! She’s waiting for you.’

The museum seems deserted but benign in the afternoon light. There’s a room by the entrance lobby which Ruth hadn’t noticed before but which is full of butterflies, impaled upon pins and labelled with spidery Victorian writing. Kate loves the butterflies but her real enthusiasm is reserved for the stuffed animals. She runs delightedly from case to case shouting ‘Fox!’ ‘Dog!’ ‘Cat!’ Her range of animals may be limited but her enjoyment is not. Ruth finds herself looking at them all, even the murderous gulls, with a kinder eye.

Eventually Kate allows herself to be led through the study of Lord Percival Smith (‘Man!’) and into the long gallery. In the Local History Room, Janet Meadows is looking out of the window.

‘Hallo Ruth,’ says Janet.

‘Hi. Thanks for meeting me.’

‘No problem. Is this your little girl?’

‘Yes, this is Kate.’

‘Hallo Kate.’

‘Fox,’ says Kate.

Ruth looks at Janet and remembers her comment when Ruth had remarked flippantly that Augustine’s snake didn’t look very terrifying:

He’d subdued it. Evil has been defeated. He was a great saint.

She thinks of the room as she saw it that day: coffin, guidebook, grass snake and a single shoe.

‘You were here, weren’t you,’ she says, ‘the day Neil was found dead.’

Janet suddenly looks wary. ‘I told you I was. I came to see the opening of the coffin but the place was closed off.’

‘But you came earlier, didn’t you? You put the snake in here and a single shoe, to remind people about Augustine.’

Janet either brought a spare pair of shoes or she walked home barefoot. Ruth bets on the latter. Janet would have walked barefoot to emulate the man she called a ‘great saint’.

‘They had no right to desecrate his grave,’ says Janet. ‘He… she didn’t want anyone to open the coffin. That’s why it was buried where it was. So I put a snake there, a grass snake in a glass case, to remind them of Augustine’s warning. The shoe too. It was one of Jan’s shoes…’ For a second Ruth wonders who Jan is but then she remembers. Jan is, or was, Janet. Her old self, Jan Tomaschewski. ‘I dressed as Jan too,’ Janet is saying now, ‘in one of my old suits. The museum was deserted. I got the snake from the Natural History Room and carried it in here. The coffin was on a trestle in the middle of the room – open.’

‘Open?’

‘Yes, slightly open. I think the curator must have prised it open. I could hear him moving about in his office. So I put the snake and the shoe on the floor. I left the guidebook too, with a few words highlighted, just as a warning. Then I heard someone coming so I climbed out of the window. I don’t think anyone saw me and, if they did, they saw a man in a suit and a hat. Not a woman.’ She turns and does a mock twirl.

It must have been only seconds later that I came in and found Neil Topham dead, or nearly dead, thinks Ruth. Why on earth had he opened the coffin? But it was closed when she saw it. She remembers how easy it was for Phil to prise up the nails, far easier than it should have been. The coffin had already been opened, just days before.

Why would Neil open the coffin?’ asks Ruth.

Janet shrugs. ‘Search me. Perhaps he just wanted a look. Perhaps he just got impatient. Either way, it did for him, poor guy. Bishop Augustine had his – her – revenge.’

By afternoon Nelson is well enough to be moved to another ward. He enjoys the trip. It’s good to see a different view and, as the porters seem determined to take the longest route possible, he gets to see quite a lot of the hospital. Also, the move gave him an excuse to suggest to his mother that she go back to his house and get some rest. She agreed reluctantly, saying that she’d be back in the evening with a proper meal for him. ‘The muck they serve in these places is enough to kill you, so it is.’ As Michelle has also promised to bring him some food, Nelson foresees a clash of wills over the shepherd’s pie. Perhaps Michelle will be so tired that she’ll be happy to let Maureen do the honours. She’s good with his mum. Better than he is, anyway.

The new ward is much more relaxed. Nelson’s bed is by the window and the nurses’ station is right at the other end of the room. He guesses, correctly, that this means that he is considered to be out of danger. His recovery really has been remarkable. He has been able to eat, drink and have a pee – the three measures of achievement in a patient. No one really knows why he has got better so quickly or what was wrong with him in the first place. ‘Last night we thought you were a goner,’ one of the doctors tells him cheerfully. Nelson smiles faintly. He likes a near-death experience as much as the next man but it worries him that so much could have happened while he was out of the picture, asleep, unconscious. He has thought about the prospect of death, all policemen have, but he’d always thought that he’d have a leading role in the drama: negotiating the release of hostages, foiling a terrorist plot, saving children from a burning house. He never thought, when the Grim Reaper came knocking, that he’d be fast asleep.

Nelson’s first visitor of the afternoon is Clough. He comes bearing a bunch of flowers which he is told to leave in the lobby ‘due to health and safety regulations’. Nelson doesn’t know where to look. Cloughie bringing him flowers! He’ll be making him a friendship bracelet next. Still, he appreciates the chance to catch up. Clough tells him all about Operation Octopus, dwelling on his own heroism, and Nelson is suitably impressed. He always knew that there was something funny about the stables but he never thought that it would turn out to be the centre of an international drugs ring. That was smart detective work from Judy. Less smart, of course, to go skipping off in the middle of the night, alone, as a result of a text message. She was lucky that the whole thing turned out so well. Nelson particularly enjoys the bit about The Necromancer and the horse walker.

‘Honestly, boss, he was as big as an elephant. And his teeth! He attacked me but I managed to hold him off. I’m pretty strong when I’m roused. Bastard took a chunk out of my leg though. Do you want a look?’

‘No thanks.’

‘I think Johnson was pretty shaken by the whole thing.’

‘I bet she was.’

‘Some people thought I should have been put in charge but I don’t know…’ Clough trails off modestly. Nelson says nothing, though he would have put Clough in charge. Judy may be the better detective but Clough is senior and that counts for something. Nelson is a great believer in fairness; it comes of being the youngest of three.

No sooner has Clough disappeared through the swing doors than another figure appears, a figure wearing a rather crumpled purple cloak.

‘Hallo Cathbad.’

‘Hi Nelson. You’re looking better.’

‘You didn’t see me when I was ill. At death’s door I was, wasn’t I love?’ Nelson appeals to a passing nurse.

‘So I hear,’ she says, straightening his sheet. ‘They’d given him up for dead in ICU.’

‘Quite an experience,’ says Cathbad, when the nurse has gone.

‘I can’t remember any of it,’ says Nelson. ‘I had these weird dreams though. You were in some of them.’

‘I know,’ says Cathbad.

‘What do you mean you know?’ says Nelson. He’d forgotten how infuriating Cathbad could be.

Cathbad leans forward. He looks tired, Nelson realises, and rather unhappy, but still has plenty of his old force.

‘I know what was wrong with you, Nelson. You were cursed. You got in the way of a curse meant for Danforth Smith. It killed him but you were too strong for it. You were lost in the Dreaming, between life and death. So I came to rescue you.’

‘You… came to…’ Nelson is speechless. He has always known that Cathbad is more or less mad but this? This seems to be pure delusion. He wonders if Cathbad is on drugs.

Cathbad’s next words don’t exactly put him at his ease. ‘I prepared a libation and took certain substances. I entered a dream state and I came to rescue you.’ He smiles kindly at Nelson.

‘Well I’m very grateful,’ says Nelson sarcastically. ‘I hope I said thank you at the time?’

‘You think you don’t remember,’ says Cathbad, ‘but you do. You remember the water and the darkness and Erik guarding the portal to the afterlife.’

Cathbad doesn’t seem to expect any answer to this, which is lucky because Nelson shows no sign of giving one. Instead, Cathbad leans over and takes a handful of the grapes that he has brought with him.

‘Did you know someone tried to kill me last night?’ he says chattily.

‘Is this something else that happened in your bloody dream world?’

‘No. Someone sent me a poisonous snake.’

‘What?’ Nelson struggles to sit up. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘A venomous snake was sent to the university, addressed to me. I got a call from the police as I was on my way here. I told them I was a friend of yours.’

Nelson groans inwardly. That’s all he needs. Head office thinking that he’s best mates with a warlock in a purple cloak. And what the hell’s this about another bloody snake? He thinks of the warnings in the letters about the Great Snake. Could this be the work of the Elginists? But Cathbad’s one of them, isn’t he?

‘Do they know who sent it?’

‘They think it’s some animal rights group but I have my doubts. I have a lot of enemies. The snake’s fine,’ he adds. ‘They’ve sent it to a zoo near Great Yarmouth.’

There’s not a lot Nelson can say to that. He looks at Cathbad, who is calmly finishing off the last of the grapes. The ward is quiet; all the other patients seem asleep. The afternoon sun makes squares on the worn lino floor. A very old woman is pushing a trolley laden with tea, coffee and squares of cake. Is Cathbad mad or is he?

One thing is certain: Nelson will never tell a living soul that he did see Erik.

Kate wants to see the stuffed animals again so Ruth is forced to run the gamut of the glass eyes. Kate stands for ages, breathing heavily on the glass, watching the foxes looking into their trompe l’oeil den. A squirrel teeters precariously on the branch above.

‘Fox,’ says Kate in ecstasy.

‘Yes, fox,’ says Ruth, who wants to get home. ‘Like Fantastic Mr Fox. Say goodbye to the fox, Kate. We’ve got to get home to Flint.’

‘Fox,’ says Kate, ignoring her. ‘Fox, box.’

‘She’s a poet,’ says a voice behind them. Ruth can see Bob Woonunga’s smile reflected in the cabinet doors. Ruth, instinctively, moves between him and Kate. Behind her, Kate starts making the didgeridoo sound.

‘Don’t be scared, Ruth.’ Bob sounds amused. ‘I’m your friend. Your friendly neighbour.’

Is he her friend? He has certainly always been friendly towards her. Didn’t he find Flint that first night? In fact, both Flint and Kate seem entranced by him. And Cathbad likes him, though Cathbad also seems believe that he was capable of casting a spell that killed a man.

‘I heard that the skulls are going back,’ says Ruth. ‘You must be pleased.’

Bob is playing peek-a-boo with Kate, but when he looks up to meet Ruth’s eyes his face isn’t playful in the least. ‘I’m pleased, of course,’ he says. ‘But I’ve just been down to the cellars. The way those bones were kept! There’s no respect, no reverence, not even an acknowledgement that they’re human. I tell you, Ruth, it turned my stomach.’

‘I did say in my report that they weren’t kept in appropriate conditions,’ says Ruth weakly.

‘I know you did,’ says Bob, his voice softening. ‘I knew all along that you were on our side.’

Is that why you put me under a circle of protection, thinks Ruth. But she doesn’t believe in the curse, does she? Surreptitiously, she takes Kate’s hand.

‘We’d better be going.’

‘I hope you’ll come to the repatriation ceremony. It’ll be something else, I promise you.’

‘I’d like to come. Thank you.’

‘Bye Ruth,’ Bob stands aside. ‘Bye Kate.’

As they go out of the room, Ruth sees the case containing the grass snake, its glass eyes winking in the afternoon sunlight.

Up next is Judy. She hasn’t brought flowers or grapes. Instead she dumps a couple of lurid-looking paperbacks on his locker.

‘Thought you might want something to read.’

Nelson isn’t much of a reader. One of the books has a skull on the cover, the other a swastika. He squints at the blurbs: conspiracy… war… torture… blackmail… death. Judy really has him down as the sensitive type, doesn’t she?

‘I heard all about last night,’ he says.

‘Who from? Oh, Clough’s been in has he? What did he tell you?’

‘Just that you solved Operation Octopus.’

Judy seems to relax slightly. ‘It was a lucky guess. A series of lucky guesses.’

‘Sounded like good police work to me.’

Judy looks away. ‘I messed up. Clough had to save me.’

‘He saved me once,’ says Nelson. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘I should never have gone there without back-up but I wanted to solve it on my own.’

‘Policing’s about teamwork,’ says Nelson, who has never waited for back-up in his life.

‘You’re right,’ says Judy, fiddling with a hand sanitiser. ‘Clough’s a better team player than me.’

‘I hear he wrestled a mad horse to the ground.’

Judy laughs. ‘He was scared stiff. Did he tell you that? Mind you, it was terrifying, shut in a small space with a horse like that. I like horses but I’m not sure I ever want to see one again.’

‘So you’re not going to go back and see Randolph Smith?’

‘Did Clough tell you I fancied him? I don’t. He was brilliant last night though. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t turned up when he did.’

‘So the older sister turned out to be the black sheep?’

‘Yes. She was the clever one, despised the other two. Hated the dad too, by all accounts. Mind you, Caroline, the younger sister, is a bit mad too.’

She tells Nelson about the dead snakes and the men dancing in the woods.

‘Snakes again,’ says Nelson.

‘Yes, turns out that Danforth Smith was terrified of them.’

With reason, thinks Nelson. Aloud he says, ‘And this Caroline’s a friend of Cathbad’s? Figures.’

‘She wanted her father to give back the Aborigine bones. It sounds like she was obsessed with them.’

‘Do you think she wrote the letters to the curator? And there was a snake found in the room with the body. Maybe that was her too.’

‘I don’t know. She didn’t mention the curator. It seemed to be all about her dad. Like it was all his fault.’

‘It’s always the dad’s fault,’ says Nelson.

Judy thinks of her own genial, horse-loving father. ‘I think dads are OK,’ she says.

She sounds so like her old self that Nelson begins to hope that the silent, withdrawn Judy has gone for good. Maybe now they can get back to police work. He’ll give her some more responsibility. She didn’t do so badly with Operation Octopus, after all. Then she spoils everything by telling him that she’s pregnant.

Flint is delighted to see Ruth and Kate. He has been alone all day, he tells them, purring sinuously about their ankles, starving and neglected. He has, in fact, been asleep in the airing cupboard. Ruth feeds her cat and starts making some pasta. It’s only five o’clock but it’s dark outside. Kate must be tired, she has only had a tiny sleep in the car. Maybe last night will herald a wonderful new era of sleeping through the night. They’ll have supper at six, Kate will be in bed at seven and Ruth can have all evening watching television and drinking white wine. Heaven.

She has almost forgotten Cathbad and the horrors of last night. Nelson is going to be all right. Michelle let her see him, perhaps she might even allow Nelson to have regular contact with Kate. She admitted that he wants to see her. Ruth knows how much that admission cost Michelle, how much it cost Michelle to come to her house and beg her to visit her husband. She would do anything for him, she said. Ruth doesn’t know if she’s ever loved anyone that much. Except Kate, of course.

She half expects Max to ring but he doesn’t. After the last few days, it seems strange to have no one knocking on the door demanding help or babbling about the Dreaming. After supper, Ruth tries to read a Percy the Park-Keeper book to Kate but she’s more interested in charging around the room with her plastic vegetables. Ruth is determined not to switch on the TV but Kate does it for her (she loves the remote) and soon they are both dozing in front of In the Night Garden. Ruth forces herself to her feet. She’s got to keep Kate awake for a little longer. Routine, she tells herself sternly, it’s all about routine. She puts Kate in her cot while she runs the bath and they both have a strenuous half-hour playing with water. Kate’s eyes start drooping as soon as Ruth puts her into bed. She is asleep before Ruth has read two pages of After the Storm. Ruth finishes the book anyway. She loves it that all the animals find a home in the big tree. She doubts that Norfolk Social Services will be so efficient after last night’s high winds.

Ruth tiptoes out onto the landing. All evening she has avoided looking into the spare room but now she opens the door quietly. The bed is neatly made but lying on the cover is a single feather, long and beautiful, a pheasant’s perhaps. Ruth stays looking at it for a long time.

Nelson’s last visitor is the most surprising. Chris Stephenson, swaggering through the doors as if he’s paying a state visit. Disappointingly, two of the nurses recognise him and flutter around calling him ‘Doctor’ Stephenson. They even offer to get him a cup of tea, although the old woman with the trolley is long gone.

‘Hi Nelson,’ Stephenson greets him. ‘Not dead yet?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Bet you can’t guess why I’m here.’

‘Was it to bring me flowers?’

‘Not allowed. Health and safety.’ Stephenson hasn’t brought any sort of present, not even grapes. Nelson guesses that this call is about business rather than concern for his well-being.

The nurses bring tea in chipped green cups. Stephenson makes a big thing about not needing sugar because he’s sweet enough already. For the first time that day, Nelson feels sick.

‘Your friend Ruth Galloway,’ says Stephenson by way of introduction, slurping his tea.

‘What about her?’ asks Nelson cautiously. He doesn’t know how much his colleagues know about his relationship with Ruth. He thinks that Judy has suspicions about Kate’s parentage; Clough has probably never given it a thought.

‘Remember the bishop? The one that turned out to be a tranny? Well, Ruth sent off some of the material to be analysed. The silk stuff that was wrapped round the bones. Results came back today and guess what they found?’

‘Surprise me.’

‘Traces of a fungus called aspergillus.’

He leans back as if expecting a reaction. Nelson looks at him coldly. ‘That doesn’t mean a lot to me, Chris.’

‘They’re spores, incredibly toxic. They can stay alive for hundreds, thousands, of years. As soon as the spores come into contact with the air, they enter the nose, mouth and mucous membranes. They can cause headaches, vomiting and fever. In people with a weakened immune system, it can result in organ failure and death.’

Nelson looks at him, ‘Danforth Smith.’

‘Yes. He was diabetic, you say. That would have compromised his immune system. He died from heart failure. Could have been brought on by contact with these spores. If we’d done an autopsy, we’d have known.’ He sounds regretful.

‘And the curator,’ says Nelson, ‘Neil Topham. If he’d opened the coffin…’ He thinks of the DIY tools in Topham’s office, of the open window and the curtains blowing. If the spores had got into the air and into Topham’s mouth and nose…

‘He was a druggy,’ says Stephenson, with his usual sensitivity. ‘Immune system would have been shot to pieces. One whiff of aspergillus and he’d have been out like a light. Cause of death was lung failure. Spores would have gone straight onto the lungs.’

‘Is this asperthing, this spore, what made me ill?’

‘I think so. You were next to Lord Smith when the coffin was opened. You would have got a direct hit but you’re healthy, you were able to fight it off.’

Only just, thinks Nelson. Another thought strikes him. ‘What about Ruth? She was right there too.’

Stephenson laughs. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. She was about to look into the coffin when she got a phone call. She moved away and you and Lord Smith were the first to look inside. Whoever phoned Ruth probably saved her life.’

Nelson would be willing to place a large bet on the identity of Ruth’s caller. There’s only one person it could have been. Cathbad to the rescue again.

‘Would these spores… could they give you nightmares, delusions?’

Stephenson looks at him curiously. ‘I suppose so. One of the symptoms is a high fever. Why do you ask?’

‘Lord Smith’s wife mentioned that he had a terrible fever before he died, was seeing things, shouting out in his sleep.’

‘That was probably the aspergillus. Of course, we’ll never really know.’

Did the poison spores give Danforth Smith nightmares about snakes and ghostly horsemen? Did they plunge Nelson into a shadow world of sea and sky and a man calling from a stone boat? As Stephenson says, he’ll probably never know. But it seems that the Aborigines are innocent; it was the bishop who did it, after all.

‘I’m going to ask the docs to do a chest radiograph on you,’ says Stephenson cheerily. ‘Something might show up.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Why should you worry? It’s a rest cure in here.’

Rest? This feels like the busiest day Nelson has ever had in his life. And as Stephenson saunters out of the ward, he sees Michelle and Maureen on their way in, both carrying covered bowls full of nourishing food.