Dialogues of the Dead

3°3 the lake water in the reeds was more a foil against which to measure silence than a noise in its own right. After a while Hat let his hand brush Rye's and she took it and locked her fingers in his, and so they walked on, hand in hand. Neither spoke. It felt to Hat that there was a spell on them which words could only break and if it remained unbroken, they might walk on like this forever. Was it possible to make vows without speaking? he wondered. And the strangely unconstabulary thought flitted across his mind that perhaps it was the vows made without words that were kept forever. In fact a wordless world might in many respects be a better place. Men name things to have power over them. Leave them nameless and we cannot dominate but may still love them. Part of his mind thought with horror of the reaction among his peers of the CID if he tried enunciating any of these ideas in the nick. Another part wanted to tumble them all out in front of Rye and invite her reaction. But to do so would require words. And words in this silence were sacrilege. ' And then came a sound unholier than any words, a sound that ripped through the silence, whirring and grating, now harsh, now edgy, rising and falling, now metal, now stone. 'What kind of bird is thaff asked Rye in a hushed and fearful tone. 'No bird that I've ever heard,' said Hat. 'It sounds more like ...' He hesitated, not at all sure what it did sound more like. Then, so sudden it was almost as if the sound had taken shape ; before them, the squat black shape of Stangcreek Cottage leapt, out of the mist a few yards ahead. ' The sound was coming from behind the cottage. They went , round the side and saw a mud-spattered Fiesta parked outside a timber-framed lean-to which rested against the building's rear wall like a drunk against a charity worker. I Under the minimal shelter of the lean-to a man stooped over | a foot-driven grinding wheel against which he held the head of | an axe. The wheel turned, sparks flew, the metal screamed. I 'Goodness me,' said Rye. 'It's Dick. Dick, hello! Dick'.' I At the sound of her raised voice, Dick Dee turned and stood i| still for a moment, the axe held tight in both hands, regarding! them blankly. Then the slow rejuvenating smile spread across his face and he said, 'Well, this is a pleasant surprise.' In a surprisingly fluent movement for one whose comfortable shape gave little promise of athleticism, he swung the axe high in the air, letting his hands slide from the head to the shaft, then brought it down with sufficient force to bury it in one of several heavy logs scattered around the lean-to floor. 'So here you are. How wise I was to light a fire. But let's not hang around out here. As we say in rural Yorkshire, won't you step in-by, you'll have had your tea?'

3°5 Chapter Thirty-five