The Watch Within the Wall

The mortar gave before the brick did.

Lieven eased the chisel out and brushed the loosened grit from the joint with his thumb. Behind him, a cart rattled across the prison yard. Someone called for a length of timber. Ordinary sounds, belonging to an ordinary morning’s work.

He set the chisel again. The little wall had been built across a recess in the older stonework, badly enough to offend him and firmly enough to have lasted. Whoever had closed it had cared more about finishing than making a good job of it.

The first brick came free in his hand.

Cold air touched his fingers.

He leaned nearer, waiting for his eyes to make something of the dark. There was a cellar space beyond the opening. He could see the lower edge of an arch, a scatter of fallen plaster, something pale against the earth.

Lieven put the brick down.

He took out another, then a third. He did not strike so hard now.

The thing he had mistaken for a piece of plaster had fingers.

For a while he remained on his knees with the hammer resting across his thigh. The cart had stopped. Somewhere beyond the yard, a bell began to sound, and he counted two strokes before losing the number.

Near the bones lay a round, dark object. He reached for it through the opening and felt the weight settle into his palm.

A watch. Silver beneath the tarnish.

He unfolded the cloth he used to wipe his tools. Grit had worked into the rim of the case. He cleaned it carefully, turning it toward the light, and found the small catch with his thumbnail.

The lid resisted. Then it opened.

Inside was a swallow, its wings spread in a shape he knew.

He had been small enough to fit upon a knee. There had been a waistcoat under his cheek, the warmth of a hand around his own, and the ticking he could hear better when he held perfectly still.

Lieven rubbed the cloth once across the engraved wings. His hand had begun to shake.

“Papa?”