The Lie Tree by Frances Hardinge Read Free Book Online Page A

stayed open. His eyes widened with panic and concentration. Small noises issued from his throat. Some of them were trying to be words.
    ‘Li . . . li . . . li . . .’
    Faith recognized the signs, and knew that shyness and fear had choked off Howard’s voice in his throat. The more people stared at him, the worse it would become. She hurried over and
placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
    ‘Lions,’ she said quickly. ‘Howard has been shooting lions.’
    Lambent threw back his head and gave an enormous laugh. ‘Stout fellow! I daresay you are ready to travel the world like your father, eh?’
    Howard blinked nervously, staring at Lambent’s blond mane.
    ‘Crock!’ called Lambent.
    A tawny, broad-shouldered young man approached, and touched his forehead. He was almost as tall as Lambent, but kept his head a little ducked to make his height less intimidating. He moved with
the leisurely care of a big man in a flimsy world.
    ‘This is my foreman, Ben Crock. Crock, please look after the ladies while I show the gentlemen the section.’ He gave a smile and wink to show that the ‘stout fellow’
Howard was included among ‘gentlemen’.
    And that was that. A lamp containing a composite candle was fetched, and then Lambent led the way into the tunnel, followed by the Reverend, Uncle Miles and even little Howard, clinging to his
uncle’s sleeve. The ladies were left behind to be looked after. Faith felt as if a door had slammed in her face.
    Among the practical canvas tents, a wooden frame had been erected and draped with rich, red tasselled cloths, so that it looked a little like a Bedouin tent with the sides open. Within was a
divan, a small table and several chairs, two of which were hastily brushed down so that Faith and Myrtle could sit. An inch of amber tea lurked at the bottom of a bone china cup on the table, a
relic from another guest. Evidently this was where visiting ladies were stored.
    Faith was not ready to sit down yet, however. At long last, she was in an excavation! A real
scientific
excavation. She looked around her, fascinated by everything, even the barrows
piled with rubble.
    At the far end of the gorge she could see Clay, fixing a camera to a tripod, while a boy of about Faith’s age held it steady. She recalled that Clay had mentioned having a son.
    In the nearest tent Faith could see a long table, covered in shallow, wooden boxes.
    ‘Mr Crock, can I look?’ She pointed into the tent, too eager to be shy.
    ‘Faith, you should not bother Mr Crock!’ Myrtle gave her a silencing look, but Faith could not be silenced, not at this moment.
    ‘Please!’
    ‘I see no harm in it.’ Crock gave them both a gentle smile, and held aside the tent flap for them to enter. As she drew near the table, Faith found that the boxes were painted with
mysterious number sequences and contained tallow-brown lumps and shards of what looked like bone.
    ‘Better not to touch them, miss,’ Crock advised quietly. ‘They would make a mess of your gloves. They are still wet from . . .’
    ‘Seize,’ finished Faith reflexively, and looked up at him. ‘Boiled horses’ hoofs or something like that – to stop the ancient bones crumbling when they dry.’
She had read of ‘seize’ in her father’s books, but this was the first time she had smelt it, and seen it treacle-sticky on bones older than the pyramids.
    ‘Yes, miss.’ Ben Crock gave a slow blink. His patient brown eyes did not change expression, but Faith sensed him making a quiet mental adjustment.
    Faith looked over the shards of bone and noticed one bone sliver that was set apart from the rest. She could not help giving a small gasp. At one end it tapered to a point. The wider end had a
perfectly round hole bored through it.
    ‘Mr Crock! Is that a needle?’
    ‘That’s right, miss,’ answered Crock promptly. ‘Chiselled from reindeer antler using a stone tool, so the gentlemen think.’
    ‘Glacial era?’
    ‘Dr Jacklers says