He went to the shed door, took what seemed an age to release two padlocks and then grabbed a holdall from inside. ‘Come with me.’
They walked in silence across the field. Edward was conscious, for a moment, of their steps in the mud falling perfectly into time, like soldiers.
At the far end, Marner showed them a solid oak. ‘Not an ash. I know you asked for an ash, but it makes no difference.’
Stevie stepped forwards. ‘I see the hole.’
‘I drilled it earlier from the photo sent to me by Kim. I estimate this opening at three-eighths of an inch. That’s the drill bit I used.’ He dropped to his haunches and picked up a battery drill half-covered by leaves on the forest floor. ‘Bit embarrassing, leaving it out like this, but it’s been so dry.’
Stevie said, ‘I think I know what you’re going to do.’
‘Haven’t you been briefed by the others?’
‘They wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘Well,’ said Marner, evidently warming to her, ‘it may wellbe that. This was a surprise,’ he said, ‘touching the vent on his neck. You do know what a ramrod injury is?’
Edward looked at his feet, embarrassed that they had all let the first reference go.
David Marner said, ‘It was eight years ago. I was using what they called a ramrod, or sometimes a “scouring stick” because it’s also used for cleaning. With muzzle-loading guns you push the gunpowder in and then the projectile. The projectile, the bullet, needs packing tight. There’s always the danger of a spark, and that’s what happened. Ram the projectile, compress the powder, create the spark and wham. I was stumbling around with a ramrod sticking in one side of my neck and coming out the other, like Lurch in the Addams family. Hence my trach vent, because there was so much trauma to the upper airways, they never worked properly again. Hence my voice. But I’m here.’
He turned to the tree. ‘So, the same hole you had in the photos. An oak not an ash. Same height. Young lady,’ he addressed Stevie, ‘you still don’t know what this is for?’
Stevie said, ‘We were looking at a murder in a forest, so no, I have no idea what the hole in the tree was for.’
‘A murder?’ said Marner. ‘How interesting.’
He opened the holdall by his feet and removed what looked like a black stick. He held it in front of him without speaking. ‘Old one, flights torn.’ His fist closed around the centre point of the crossbow bolt. ‘No barb at the front, instead just a snub point. Hold this, Temmis.’
Edward took the bolt. The three were silent. The wind picked up and the leaves above them shivered as if in expectation.
Marner said, ‘Black powder is what we use. These days, “gunpowder” tends to refer to the modern smokeless sort. For a re-enactment we muzzle-load rifles and pistols with powder first, then thick paper wadding. Nice effect, big bang and lots of smoke, no bullet, no danger, unless you manage to launch thedamned ramrod like I did. I’ll be careful now. Stand away from the exit.’
By ‘exit’ he meant the small hole he had drilled in the tree trunk. ‘A gun you turn barrel-up, and you just funnel the powder in. A hole like this is harder. So we use pellets. You’ve seen them?’
The other three shook their heads. Marner drew a pair of plastic goggles from his holdall. Then another three pairs. They put them on without speaking. ‘Stand clear. I don’t want to lose my hand. One muzzle-loading accident, it’s the muzzle’s fault. Two, it starts to look like mine.’
He pulled a tight leather glove onto his right hand. ‘Can I check, no one is wearing a wool jumper? Static I worry about.’
Edward looked around. All three said no. From the holdall, Marner produced a small black tin with a red-lettered WARNING on the front and carefully opened it, holding it away from his face. He pulled off a layer of cotton wool. ‘Hodgdon Pyrodex pellets,’ he said.
They were tiny, the shape of disposable ear defenders: smooth grey cylinders with a hole through the centre.
‘No one light a cigarette, no one strike a match, no one move a muscle. One spark and my fingers are gone.’
He placed a pellet inside the hole with a fingertip. Carefully, he took a second and used his fingers to push the pellet deeper. ‘Imagine doing this with fingers every time, how many must have been blown off.’ He straightened up gingerly, as if worried about a spark from his clothes. ‘Now, the ramrod. This is where it went wrong for me before, so I’ve learnt to stand away. Back off a little more, would you?’
He pushed the ramrod into the hole in the tree trunk like a surgeon carefully placing a syringe needle. Kim put her fingers in her ears. ‘Shouldn’t go off,’ he said. ‘No spark, you see.’
He stood back, stumbling a little on the uneven ground.
The three took a few paces to the right behind him, watching the tree as if they expected it to suddenly blow up.
‘At this point I do something very unsafe and very silly,’ he said. ‘Just let me tick off my checklist.’ He went back to the bag. ‘Lid back on the black powder tin. Glove carefully removed so no trace remains on myself. Edward, do you have the bolt? The next part is quick. Here …’
He had backed away from the holdall with a thick magazine in his hand. ‘Christmas edition ofVogue, gift of Barbara who has apparently now read it twice. Kim, hold it.’
They were now a good distance from the tree, perhaps twenty yards.
