Undercurrent Read Free

the pubs hereabouts, asking more questions than any could answer. Wanted to know all the seafarer tales. She took up with a dark-skinned man that in earlier days the locals would’ve called a gypsy. Long about midsummer’s eve, the two of ’em rented a skiff and loaded it up with all her fancy cameras and such. She bragged on being the first to document the notorious isle of the Druids. Night and day passed, but the boat never returned.”
    “ I know.” He pulled out a stained white handkerchief and cleared his throat. Cassie bit her lip against what kind of disgusting noise might follow, but he only ran the fabric across his forehead and behind his neck before returning it to his pocket. “I know, y’see, because the skiff was mine. A search party went from island to island. They found nothing until rounding the breakers off Big Scarcar. An empty skiff washed up on shore, twelve cormorants perched on the bow. The bodies were never found. Some blamed the gypsy, and well it could be said. For a shape shifter, beast or man matters not at all.”
    Tammy whisked her inhaler out at record speed and sucked in deeply. Cassie feared she might choke down the whole device. How could a twenty-first century, twenty-something girl get so spooked by a silly ghost story? Definitely time to take that research position. She’d fill out the appropriate forms when she got back, patch things up with Drew, and leave her undergrad teaching days in the annals of history.
    “ C’mon, Tammy.” Cassie tugged the girl to her feet. “Let’s step outside and look for seals.”
    Salty Dog’s words followed them all the way to the door. “Aye, the Farnes are a fine place to visit, but beware on a midsummer’s eve—especially if ye be a young lady.”

 
     
    TWO
     
     
    “ The monks were hacked to pieces or dragged into the sea to drown out their last breath.” Cassie’s words echoed off the museum walls. She glanced up from her lecture outline, realizing she sounded as sensational as the horrible wannabe tour guide back on the ferry. Most students engrossed themselves in writing notes, so with any luck, they’d missed her last gory statement. All except for Tammy, who gawked with eyebrows raised above her plastic-framed lenses.
    Cassie directed a smile at her to avoid a repeat of the girl’s anxiety attack. “What the Vikings did or didn’t do to church officials isn’t really important to this discussion. What I’d like to point out is why they came. Gold crucifixes, silver plates and goblets, ivory chests, and an elaborately gilded manuscript bound by a cover encrusted with jewels—The Lindesfarne Gospels—this is why the northern raiders came. England was an untapped source of wealth.”
    She swept her hand toward the enlarged page replicas on the Visitor Centre’s wall. “This book of the writings of Saints Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John is the first translation from Latin to English. Penned sometime between 687 and 721, it’s the oldest surviving version of the gospels in any form of English. Though written right here on the island, the book is currently housed in the British Library of London.”
    Tammy let out an enormous yawn, starting a chain reaction. Cassie paused. Probably not a good time to go into depth on the intricate Celtic knot-work of the piece. “I’ll wrap up this portion of our visit to Holy Island by asking you to keep one thing in mind as you wander the priory ruins. Anglo-Saxon chroniclers gave Vikings the bad press we still believe about them today. One thing the chroniclers left out, however, is that they themselves invaded Britain two-and-a-half centuries earlier in much the same way. In reality, the barbarian baton was simply handed from one invading people group to another.”
    Cassie scooped up her notes. “Now, enjoy your free time. We’ll meet at the landing jetty in an hour. Don’t be late. Tides won’t wait for stragglers.”
    A toothy grin from Tammy ended with a snap of her gum. If