The Hand of Justice

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The bones were stored in a sumptuous wooden casket, which was studded with semiprecious stones and inlaid with gold. With great care, Father William of Michaelhouse opened the lid and took out the satin-clad parcel that lay inside. He even removed his gloves for the task, as a sign of his respect – no small sacrifice in the frigid winter weather, when the cold bit deep and hard, even inside a fine building like the Church of St Mary the Great. He laid the bundle on the table and, with infinite reverence, began to lift away the folds of cloth to reveal the object inside. His lips moved as he worked, offering silent prayers to the relic that was said to be imbued with such great power. He stood back when he had finished, so the man who had paid handsomely for the privilege could appreciate its full glory.

‘Is that it?’ asked Thomas Deschalers the grocer, acutely disappointed. ‘It looks … ordinary. And a bit dirty, if the truth be known.’

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