A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [647]
Ian seized on this with gratitude and, sprinkling a quick pinch of black, dusty grains on the back of his hand, hastily inhaled it.
For an instant, all three of us held breathless—and then it came, a sneeze of gargantuan proportions that rocked Ian’s body back on its stool, even as his head flew forward—and a small, hard object struck the table with a ping! and bounced off into the hearth.
Ian went on sneezing, in a fusillade of hapless snorts and explosions, but Jamie and I were both on our knees, scrabbling in the ashes, heedless of filth.
“I’ve got it! I think,” I added, sitting back on my heels and peering at the handful of ashes I held, in the midst of which was a small, round, dust-covered object.
“Aye, that’s it.” Jamie seized my neglected forceps from the table, plucked the object delicately from my hand, and dropped it into my glass of water. A delicate plume of ash and soot floated up through the water to form a dusty gray film on the surface. Below, the object glittered up at us, serene and glowing, its beauty at last revealed. A faceted clear stone, the color of golden sherry, half the size of my thumbnail.
“Chrysoberyl,” Jamie said softly, a hand on my back. He looked at Mandy’s basket, the silky black curls lifting gently in the breeze. “D’ye think it will serve?”
Ian, still wheezing and watery-eyed, and with a red-stained handkerchief pressed to his much-abused proboscis, came to look over my other shoulder.
“Half-wit, is it?” he said in tones of deep satisfaction. “Ha!”
“Wherever did you get that? Or rather,” I corrected myself, “who did you steal it from?”
“Neil Forbes.” Jamie picked the gem up, turning it gently over in his fingers. “There were a good deal more o’ the Chowder Society than there were of us, so we ran down the street and round the corner, down between the warehouses there.”
“I kent Forbes’s place, aye, because I’d been there before,” Ian put in. One of Mandy’s feet was sticking up out of the basket; he touched the sole of it with a fingertip, and smiled to see her toes extend in reflex. “There was a great hole in the back where someone had broken down the wall, just covered over with a sheet of canvas, nailed over it, like. So we pulled it loose and ducked inside.”
Where they had found themselves standing next to the small enclosed space Forbes used for an office—and for the moment, deserted.
“It was sitting in a bittie wee box on the desk,” Ian said, coming to look proprietorially at the chrysoberyl. “Just sitting there! I’d just picked it up to look at, when we hear the watchman coming. So—” He shrugged and smiled at me, happiness momentarily transforming his homely features.
“And you think the watchman won’t tell him you were there?” I asked skeptically. The two of them could scarcely be more conspicuous.
“Oh, I imagine he will.” Jamie bent over Mandy’s basket, holding the chrysoberyl between thumb and forefinger. “Look what Grandda and Uncle Ian have brought ye, a muirninn,” he said softly.
“We decided that it was a small enough ransom to pay for what he did to Brianna,” Ian said, sobering somewhat. “I expect Mr. Forbes may feel it reasonable, too. And if not—” He smiled again, though not with happiness, and put his hand to his knife. “He’s got another ear, after all.”
Very slowly, a tiny fist rose through the netting, fingers flexing as they grasped at the stone.
“Is she still asleep?” I whispered. Jamie nodded, and gently withdrew the stone.
On the far side of the table, the fish stared austerely at the ceiling, ignoring everything.
116
THE NINTH EARL
OF ELLESMERE
July 9, 1776
THE WATER WON’T BE COLD.”
She’d spoken automatically, without thinking.
“I shouldn’t think that will matter much.” A nerve jumped in Roger’s cheek, and he turned away abruptly. She reached out, touching him delicately, as though he were a bomb that might explode if jarred. He