She grabbed his arm to still him. “What are you going to do?”
“Dig up the grave,” he said simply. “Sabine, do you suppose we’re to whack the Chosen One on the head with the tombstone?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Remember, you said yourself you’d bury something to hide it. And perhaps there is no Mr. Travers, and this is merely a false marker.”
The shovel hit the old earth, slicing through the ground as if it were nothing more than warmed butter. Sabine concentrated on holding the lantern to provide enough light for Max’s work, but she kept an ear out for any sounds around them. That deer had set her on edge and heightened her sensitivity to noise. But the only sounds were the wind, the hiss of the waves pounding the cliff below, and Max’s digging. Soil mixed with chalk as he turned the ground over in a pile opposite Sabine.
Max stepped on the shovel to leverage it deeper and hit wood. “Perhaps I was wrong, and this is an actual grave. I believe we’ve found Mr. Travers.” Max looked up at her and grinned. “Hope he didn’t die of the plague.”
Sabine eyed him. “You’re not amusing.” Though she smiled in spite of herself.
He flashed her a brilliant smile. “I think I am. And I’ll have you know many others do as well.” He kept digging, removing the dirt that covered the wooden coffin. “Particularly others of the female variety.”
“I don’t believe your sense of humor is what attracts them,” she said tartly.
“My rugged good looks then? My virility?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, that must be it. Watching you wield that shovel has me positively swooning.” With her hand, she pretended to fan herself.
“You were looking rather peaked.”
“Finish up,” she said.
It took him another five minutes to finish digging around the coffin, then he fell to his knees. “Get down here with me so I can see what I’m doing.”
Together they knelt above the grave. She held the lantern close as he scraped dirt away from the coffin. Sabine tried to ignore the thundering in her heart. She’d seen enough dead bodies in the last couple of days to last a lifetime. Yet here she was about to see another one, and this one without any skin. She shivered in trepidation. It seemed wrong to violate a man’s final resting place, despite their good reasons.
Max used the shovel as a pry bar to leverage the lid up off the coffin, and with several rusty creaks, he was able to pull it open. There wasn’t much left of Mr. Travers. The insects had cleaned off not only his bones but most of his clothes as well. Earth settled around his remains, telltale signs of worms using his final resting place as their new home.
“Perhaps the bird was merely decoration,” she said.
“Certainly you’re not ready to give up just yet.”
“You’re enjoying yourself,” she accused.
“Of course I am,” he said.
“No, I’m not ready to give up. I was just stating my observation.” Her hand hovered over the body. She had touched enough wounds, injuries, and infections that nothing should make her feel squeamish. Yet these lifeless bones gave her the shivers. Finally, she swallowed her fear and reached into the grave.
Often Atlanteans were buried with possessions from their lives—trinkets and treasures they’d valued. She searched first around the feet and legs, but found nothing.
“Have you done this before?” he asked.
She leaned back and eyed Max. “Desecrated a grave? Absolutely not.” She paused, considering him. “Why? Have you?”
“Let’s just say that the fine art of searching a grave is not unknown to me.” And then he had the impertinence to wink.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said.
The bones shifted and fell away from their previous position as they searched around the body. There were no pockets in what remained of his clothing. Mr. Travers had lived before that convenience. Max checked beneath the body’s torso. He found nothing until he moved Mr. Travers’s head. The skull turned toward her, the empty eye sockets locking onto hers, and the lifeless stare pierced her heart.
She swallowed, but could not look away.
“Here we go,” Max said. He leaned back, holding a small leather pouch. “Hold out your hand.”
Her hands instinctively fisted at her sides. But she forced herself to splay a hand out in front of him. He upturned the bag and poured seven rocks into her palm.
“Rocks,” Max said. He looked up at her, confusion furrowing his brow. “Rocks?”
Excitement dissolved in her gut, leaving in its wake the sting of disappointment. “That can’t be all,” she said.