Free Remarkable Creatures by Tracy Chevalier Page B

Captain Cury glared at me. No one likes to have their curies wasted like that. It’s like throwing coins in the sea. “What a nasty girl you become,” he said. “Must’ve been that lightning shook you up and made you that way. You should’ve carried a thunderbolt to keep from getting hit. Instead you’re so mean you’ll grow up into a sour old spinster no man will look at.”
    I opened my mouth to respond, but Miss Elizabeth got there before me. “It’s time you moved on, Mr. Lock,” she said.
    Captain Cury’s glittery eyes shifted from me to her. “Next time I won’t bother to pick up your glove, ma’am,” he sneered. By now Joe had come back, so he said no more, but swung his spade onto his shoulder and carried on down the beach towards Charmouth, glancing back now and then.
    “Mary, you were very rude to him,” Miss Elizabeth said. “I’m ashamed of you.”
    “He was ruder to me! And to you!”
    “Nevertheless, you should show respect to your elders, else they will think the worse of you.”
    “Sorry, Miss Philpot.” I didn’t feel at all sorry.
    “You two stay here until the tide comes in,” Miss Elizabeth commanded, “in sight of the creature, to make sure William Lock doesn’t come back and discover it. I will go to the Cobb to see about engaging the men to dig out the crocodile tomorrow—if it is a crocodile. Though what else could it be?”
    I shrugged. Her question made me uneasy, though I couldn’t say why.
    “It be one of God’s creatures, of course,” Joe said.
    “Sometimes I wonder . . .”
    “Wonder what, ma’am?” I asked.
    Miss Elizabeth looked at me and Joe and seemed to come to her senses, like she just realized it was us she was with. She shook her head. “Nothing. It is just an odd-looking crocodile.” She glanced at the skull once more before she left.
     
     
     
    TWIN BROTHERS, DAVY AND Billy Day, come the next afternoon to dig. It was a shame the tide was lowest in the early afternoon, for it was a busier time upon beach than the early morning or evening. We would rather have done the digging when no one was about, at least until we knew what we had and had it secure.
    The Days were quarrymen who built roads and did repairs on the Cobb. They had blocklike chests and massive arms and short stocky legs, and they walked with their chests thrust forward and their arses pinched. They didn’t say much nor show any surprise when they come to the crocodile staring at them from the cliff face with its saucer eye. They treated it as the work it was, for all the world like they were cutting a block of stone to be used as paving or for a wall, and didn’t have a monster locked in it.
    They ran their hands over the stone round the skull, feeling for natural fissures they could hammer wedges into. I kept quiet, for they had more experience than me with cutting rock. I would learn much from them over the years, once my hunting begun to include cutting large specimens from the cliff face or stone ledges that were uncovered at low tide. The Days were to cut many monsters for me when I couldn’t do it myself.
    They took their time, despite the short afternoon light and the tide creeping up and them only given half a day off for the work. Before each blow, they studied the rock surface. Once deciding on where to place the iron wedge, they then talked about the angle and force needed before at last using the hammer. At times, each tap was delicate and seemed to have no effect on the rock. Then Billy or Davy—I could never tell which was which—used all his might to strike the blow that brought out another chunk of cliff.
    As they worked, a crowd gathered, both people who had been out upon beach already and children who seemed to know we were there almost before we arrived—including Fanny Miller, who would not look at me but hung back with her friends. It’s impossible to keep secrets in Lyme—the place is too small and the need for amusement too great. Even a freezing winter