The Bone Jar

Начало книги

The tide was in. The Ouse River swirled round the small island of rock on which stood a solitary hut fashioned from bits of flotsam and jetsam, crowned by a much patched, no longer seaworthy Viking longboat from York’s past. Owen Archer folded his long legs into the coracle left for him on the muddy bank. The back of his neck tingled, as if someone was watching him, but he turned too late to see clearly the dark figure that disappeared into the smoke of the cooking fires. He told himself it meant nothing, the man had no doubt been staring at the water, not him. But why had he then dropped out of sight when Owen turned? He was uneasy as he fought his way across the rushing current.

On the other side, Owen pulled the coracle onto the rock, tied it up, passed under the dragon that leered upside down from the prow of the longboat, and knocked on Magda Digby’s door. When he received no answer, he opened the door gingerly, peered round it. As he had thought, Magda Digby, midwife and healer, was bent over a patient.

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