“Calm down. Wimble is merely jesting.” Bram shot Wimble a noxious look before dragging his gaze back to the rocks. What were they to do? He’d never had a student caught in such a predicament before ... hold on. Not a student, maybe, but ... He turned to his uncle. “I realize this situation is a bit different than the wedged urn at Verulamium, but what do you think?”
Uncle Pendleton nodded. “Indeed. A pickax will be just the thing.”
“Wimble, fetch the pickax and a pry bar.”
Hammet’s brows shot to the now-sullen sky.
Barker pushed up as far as his jammed leg allowed, bits of gravel beneath him flying from the sudden movement. “What the blazes are you intending? How is mutilating my leg any better than amputation?”
“Be still.” Bram rested a light touch on the young man’s arm. “We shall have you out in no time with legs and feet attached.”
“Caw!” Hammet laughed. “If only the other lads were here to see you caught like a fat rat in a trap.”
“That’s enough ribbing.” Uncle Pendleton frowned. “Or Ishall have you write a ten-page essay on the proper manner of behaviour at a dig site—in Latin.”
Hammet’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
Despite his pain, Barker flashed a smile.
Wimble returned with the tools.
“Very good. I’ll take that pickax. Now, Wimble, stand opposite me with the pry bar. Hammet, hold my coat in front of Barker’s face and see that you do not watch what I am doing either. I will not have either of you taking a flying piece of granite to the eye.” He handed over his coat. “Ready?”
Everyone nodded.
With carefully aimed swings, Bram chipped at the compacted earth by the side of the rock, working his way down to find an edge. When he did, he straightened, breathing hard. “Try that pry bar, Wimble.”
Crouching, the young man planted the tip of the iron and gave a great heave. Nothing happened.
So Bram went at it again.
And again.
Increment by increment.
Until finally, the rock budged. Not much, but enough to notice. Bram gave it a few more swings. “All right, Hammet, I think I am finished chipping rock. Try gently easing out Barker’s leg on the next pry.” He nodded at Wimble. “Give it your all, lad.”
Wimble strained.
Hammet pulled steadily, Barker groaning as his leg slid out inch by inch until at last his foot cleared the hole.
“Oof.” Barker rubbed his ankle, colour draining from his normally ruddy cheeks.
Bram dropped to his side, as did the other students. Uncle Pendleton bent as far as he could with his sore back. All of them peppered Barker with questions.
“Have you any feeling in your foot?”
“Is anything broken?”
“Can you move?”
Slowly, Barker extended his leg and circled his foot. A little stiff, but it rotated, thank God! Bram hefted a huge sigh of relief.
Uncle Pendleton patted the young man on the shoulder.
The other two lads threw their hats in the air with a loud whoop.
“What sort of unorthodox site protocol is this?”
