Dialogues of the Dead

307 really raining, not this soft breath of god stuff. And it occurred to me that I would find it really useful to have a place like this where I could store some gear and work inside when the weather was inclement. So I made enquiries, discovered that it all belonged to the Stang estate, that's the Pyke-Strengler family property, and I was able to use my slight acquaintance with the Hon. Geoffrey to persuade them to let me take out a lease on the place for a nominal rent. I take care of basic upkeep, it's in my own interest of course, and everyone's happy.' 'Do you actually stay here?' asked Rye. 'I occasionally camp out overnight,' he admitted. 'I've got a sleeping bag and a camping stove and various bits and pieces. I've tried to avoid nest-building. I don't want a rural retreat, just a workshop. But it's amazing how the stuff builds up! And, as you can see, I am nesh enough to like a fire when things get a little too chilly or damp.' 'But a place like this on the open market would surely bring a good price,' said Hat. 'Oh yes. And Geoffrey's father, the famous absentee, would have dearly loved such a good price. He sold off everything he could, but the bulk of the estate land and its properties are entailed. The revenue comes from letting. Now Stangcreek Cottage refurbished and modernized would be a desirable holiday rental, but that costs money and the late lord wasn't about to spend hard cash on anything but his own interests. What Geoffrey will decide to do remains to be seen, but I think that on the whole he so loves this bit of the estate for his own activities, whether artistic or atavistic, that he won't want to encourage trippers.' 'Like us, you mean?' said Hat. 'Genuine bird-watchers he doesn't mind, though it must come as a shock to some of them to see the duck they were just admiring through their glasses explode before their eyes. More tea?' Hat glanced at Rye, trying desperately not to look too eager to be up and off. She put her mug down and said, 'No thanks, Dick. Not for me. I came out to enjoy the fresh air and see some birds, though Hat here might like to hang around in the dry for the rest of the day. He seems to be allergic to water.' Dick Dee smiled at him. The fact that there was more of sympathy than mockery in the smile didn't help. He stood up and said brightly, 'Ready when you are.' Outside the rain was no longer dismissable as romantic mist. Dee said, 'Going back along the track, are you?' 'No,' said Hat firmly. 'All the way round.' 'Oh. Bit wet along there, you'll find. And there's a lot of water in the Creek. You know the crossing, do you?' 'Yes,' said Hat shortly. 'No problem.' 'Good. I'll get back to trying to put an edge on that damn axe. See you tomorrow, Rye.' 'Can't wait,' grinned Rye, giving him a peck on the cheek. Hat turned away and set off at a rapid pace. Male chivalry didn't seem to cut much ice with her so let's see what a bit of physical equal opportunity did! Behind him he heard the screel of the axe-grinding resume but it was soon drowned in the noise of running waters. The curve of steep hills to the west formed a natural watershed, funnelling rapid becks down through narrow gills with enough force to continue carving deep passages through the peaty ground levelling off to the tarn. The smaller streams were easily crossable, often with a single step or at most a bit of help from some natural stepping stone, but he deliberately chose a route which required maximum strength and agility. From time to time he glanced back to check Rye's progress and always found she was matching him stride for stride, so he tried smiling encouragingly in an attempt to imply that he was holding himself in check for her benefit. His reward for such silent braggadocio was just. His foot slipped off a greasy rock into a tumult of icy water and, as his boot filled, she swept past him, laughing, and took the lead. If anything, her chosen route was more difficult than his and soon she'd opened up a gap between them. Eventually, however, not without satisfaction he saw her come to a halt as she reached the bank of Stang Creek itself, the most significant of the many water courses running into the mere. Crossing it was a problem if you didn't know the exact location of the stepping stones, which weren't easy to spot, most of them hiding beneath a couple of inches of water, except at times of greatest drought. Your first sight of someone crossing probably got you as close as modem agnosticism could manage to what the disciples felt on the Sea of Galilee after the feeding of the five thousand.