All admired the cauldron, the beauty of the silver and of the designs that graced its sides and bottom. Some said it was a cauldron fit for a king, or even for a god. They marveled even more at Bjarni’s tale of human sacrifice in the forest. Some were for going back to see if more silver was to be found and to put an end to these practices. Others, more cautious, told Bjarni to leave the cauldron behind, in order not to incur the wrath of the gods to whom it must surely belong. But now Bjarni was truly determined to go home, and to take the cauldron with him.
I was disappointed to learn that Percy wasn’t the grandson of the nice woman in the photograph, not the least because he was yet another person who’d lied to me, and the list of those who had was getting unpleasantly long. His reticence I could understand. I could even make allowances for not telling me his name. Maybe he didn’t like the name Magnus Budge. His bald-faced lie about his granny I couldn’t forgive, nor could I understand why he was always running away from me and refusing to answer my questions, at least right up until the end. What he wouldn’t tell me in life, I was determined to find out now. I just couldn’t figure out how to find his mother. Even I, who has been known to lie from time to time when I thought the occasion called for it, balked at the idea of going to St. Magnus Cathedral and fibbing to that nice clergyman who had come to the police station and worried about my cold hands.
As it turned out, it wasn’t a problem. I went to Percy’s funeral. The forensics expertise outwith Orkney having apparently completed its work, the police released the body. A very small ceremony was held in the very large St. Magnus Cathedral, which is a most extraordinary place, beautiful in red stone, dating to the first half of the twelfth century. Its sheer size and the centuries of history represented there, from St. Magnus himself, appropriately enough in this instance, to its builder St. Rognvald and the rest of the mighty of Orkney, rather overwhelmed the pathetic little group that came for the funeral. It also added some majesty you know, it’s kept me busy. Without Magnus’s help, I can’t manage all the expenses. It was hard enough when he quit his job, but at least he got part-time work, which brought in some cash. I’ve done what the girl on the telly, you know the one who organizes everybody, tells you to. Three groups, she said: keep, sell, and bin it. When I began, I put everything into the keep pile. I couldn’t bring myself to throw out anything belonging to my boy. But Sally down the street came to help me. You met Sally. She’s the girl in the pink jumper.“ I couldn’t remember what a jumper was here, maybe a sweater, and there were no girls in the room, none of them having seen fifty in a while. Still, I knew the woman she meant.
“I’m doing a bit better on the clearing up now that I’m resolved to rent the room. I’m going to send most of his clothes to charity. He only had one good suit, and he’s buried in it. I am sure I can sell his bicycle.”
“I thought the police had his bicycle,” I said.
“They have the one he rented while this one was being repaired. The police had a look at this one, but after all the repairs they said it wasn’t going to be much help. The rental place told me they’d collect the insurance on the one my boy had the day…” She took a lace handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. I patted her arm.
“It won’t be enough to keep me going,” she said, when she’d composed herself. “Selling the bicycle, I mean, but it’s a start. As you can see, the keep pile—that’s the one on the bed—is still the biggest. It’s all his favorite books, mainly, all about King Arthur and everything. He read everything he could find about King Arthur and the Round Table. He was fascinated by Arthur and the rest of the Knights, ever since he was a peedie-breeks.”
“Peedie-breeks?”
“Sorry. A little child. I should be proper spoken while you’re here. He loved King Arthur from the time he was a little boy in school.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m thinking that the library would like those. I’ll just take a look at them, shall I, and tell you what I think?”
“That would be lovely,” she said. I flipped through them quickly. Percy had highlighted the references to the Grail in all of them, which was hardly a surprise anymore, but as I opened one, a piece of paper fell out. It looked like doodling, but to my eyes, it also looked like the swirls on the bottom of the scroll currently in Willow and Kenny’s hands. “May I keep this?” I said.
Emily looked at it. “Of course you can,” she said. “What is it? A drawing? Magnus wasn’t very artistic, was he? But if you want it, I’d be happy for you to have it.”
“Thank you. Which pile is that one?” I said, pointing to one in the corner. The truth of the matter was that all three piles, keep, sell, and throw out, looked the same in all respects other than size, the “keep” one being the biggest, as Emily had already noted. The one I was pointing at had a collection of bicycle clips, various eyeglass frame parts, half-empty shampoo bottles, and some other stuff I didn’t recognize.
“That’s the pile for the dustbin,” she said. “Not much in it yet, but I’m trying. There are a couple of bicycle parts that are bent and I don’t think anybody could use them. My boy hardly ever threw anything out, as you can see.”
“What is that?” I said, pointing at a large object in the middle of the pile.
“I don’t know. It’s something Magnus brought home the day before he died. I don’t know what possessed him to bring such a dirty thing home. I didn’t even want to let him bring it into the house, but he insisted. That policeman, Cusiter I think he said his name was, said it was one of the least attractive pots he’d ever seen. I wondered if I could use it for a planter. I was thinking that I could put bulbs in it for the spring, but you know I think it’s too ugly even for that purpose.”
I picked it up. It was a very large and dirty flat-bottomed bowl, quite deep and maybe twenty- or twenty-two inches in diameter. It was heavy. I scratched the surface, and then started brushing away at it with my hand. Someone, presumably Percy, had already started that process before I got there. “What are you doing?” Emily asked.
“I’m trying to see what’s under the dirt,” I said.
“Would you like to have it?” she said. “I’d be happy if you’d take it, too.”
“No, Emily. You don’t want to give this away or throw it out. See here,” I said, pointing to an area I had scratched. “I think this might be a trace of silver, and I am going to find out about this for you. I’m an antique dealer, and I think this might be worth something.”
“Would you like to buy it?” she said in a hopeful tone. “I don’t know, would you pay maybe twenty pounds?”
“No, Emily. You don’t understand.”
“Ten pounds then?”
“Emily, you don’t want to give this to me, nor sell it to me either. I am going to rent it from you for a day or two. I will give you…” I stopped and got out my wallet. “I will give you fifty pounds if you’ll let me keep it for a few days. I’m also going to give you a receipt for it, and my business card, so there will be no question it’s yours. Okay?”
“Oh, my,” she said. “You must really think it’s worth something.”
“I think it might be,” I replied. “Although I’m not sure how much you’d get for it. I think a museum might want it.”