Free YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) by Beryl Darby Page B

doing?’
    ‘Washing the pottery I found.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You can see the differences between the pieces more easily,’ explained Yannis.
    ‘Can I see?’
    ‘It would be better in the morning when they’re dry.’
    Annita looked at Yannis speculatively. Was he trying to avoid showing her?
    Yannis guessed her thoughts. ‘It’s quite simple, really.’ He held up a thick, buff coloured shard and a thin, dark red piece. ‘Those two could hardly come from the same pot.’ Annita was forced to agree with him. ‘It’s more difficult when they’re all the same colour.’
    Annita fingered a few. ‘I don’t see how you can tell if they’re old or not.’
    ‘It’s something to do with the way they’re made. I’m going to ask Mr Pavlakis if there is a book I can read that will tell me.’
    Annita shook her head – Yannis and his books! She changed the subject. ‘Wasn’t Andreas odd today?’
    ‘Odd? When?’
    ‘When he said a prayer for Aga. He made me feel, well, all goose-pimply and embarrassed, like the priest does when you know you’ve done something wrong and then he talks about the same thing in his sermon.’
    Yannis smiled. ‘I thought it was rather nice. He sounded so grown up. I couldn’t have done it. Can you put those pieces on the wall for me, please?’
    Annita placed the pieces haphazardly along the low wall.
    ‘Can’t you put them straight and in some sort of order,’ admonished her cousin, pushing buff ones away from the red.
    Annita sighed. Her brother was acting strangely and Yannis had become obsessed with pieces of broken pottery. Thank goodness for Maria. Having finished laying out the pieces to his satisfaction, she sat on the wall and watched as he rubbed the mud off the remaining shards he had found. There was a tiny “ping” in the bucket.
    ‘What was that?’
    ‘A stone I expect.’
    ‘It didn’t sound like a stone.’
    Yannis began to grope amongst the mud at the bottom of the bucket, letting it run slowly through his fingers. He felt something hard settle in his hand and closed his fingers around it. When he withdrew his arm and opened his clenched fist there was a small, flat, circular piece of metal resting in his palm.
    ‘Annita!’ His voice was a hushed whisper. ‘It’s a coin.’
    ‘Let me see.’ Annita was suddenly excited.
    Yannis sat down beside her; his heart was racing. Annita scratched at the coin with her fingernail.
    ‘It’s so black you can’t see it properly.’ She turned the coin this way and that. ‘I think I can see a figure.’
    Yannis held out his hand and she returned it to him. He gazed at the round, black object with reverence and awe. ‘I know what I want to do,’ he said, somewhat shakily. ‘I want to go to University and then work with someone like Mr Evans and discover pottery and coins. That way I can find out about the past properly, not just by reading.’
    ‘What do you think your parents will say?’
    Yannis gave a grin. ‘Goodness knows, but it will stop Mamma keep trying to persuade me to be a doctor.’
    ‘A doctor?’ Annita’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why does she want you to be a doctor?’
    ‘So she can boast to all the villagers. Come on, it’s getting late. I’m going to ask Maria if I can put my coin in her needle-work box to keep it safe.’
    Mr Pavlakis arrived in Heraklion after his fortnight in Italy. He had been greatly impressed by the sights he had seen in Rome, vowing to return as soon as he had saved enough money. He decided to find some cheap lodgings for a few nights whilst he looked around for suitable rooms for Yannis and himself.
    He walked past the school where he was to teach. It looked small and dark, situated between high buildings at the back of the Venetian palace. He began to wonder if he had made the right decision. On reaching Eleftherias Square he entered a taverna and ordered an omelette, eating it slowly as he watched the people bustling by. He ordered a carafe of wine and invited the