The Immortal Bind

By Traci Harding

The adventure of a lifetime... or two, or three

When Sara is gifted a beautiful antique chair as a wedding present, she is completely unaware that it is one of a unique pair.  On the other side of the world, the chair's twin is presented to a reclusive artist, Jon, as a birthday gift.

The two new owners are thrust into a mind-expanding adventure through the ages - medieval East Anglia, Scotland, France and India. In each instance they experience significant junctions in their lives past, to remember and redress ripples of karma they set in motion, and thwart an evil entity that still threatens their present day lives.

Their journey exposes a cursed love affair spanning one thousand years and ten thousand miles.  Only the full realisation of their own short comings will prevent the tragic reoccurring outcome of their immortal bind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Feb 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781460703168

Traci Harding

Traci Harding is one of Australia's best loved and most prolific authors. Her stories blend fantasy, fact, esoteric belief, time travel and quantum physics, into adventurous romps through history, alternative dimensions, universes and states of consciousness. She has published more than 20 bestselling books and been translated into several languages. 

Book preview

DEDICATION

For my Mother, watching over me from the celestial realms,

and to my Father watching over me on earth.

With love and gratitude for this life and all your guidance.

EPIGRAPH

A person consists of desires, and as is his desire, so is

his will; and as is his will, so is his deed; and whatever

deed he does, that he will reap.

— Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, 7th century BCE

CONTENTS

Dedication

Epigraph

Acknowledgements

List of Characters

The Eyes of Karma

London

Ten Thousand Miles Away

Aengla Land, North Sea Empire

Ten Hundred Years to Now

Scottish Highlands

The Great Witch of Balwearie

Four Hundred-odd Years Later

Pornic, France

Clear and Present Danger

Somnath, India

21st Century Fake

Foreshadowed

In Flight to India

Samsari

The Unknown Woman

The Chairs

Excerpt from The Storyteller’s Muse

About the Author

Also by Traci Harding

Copyright

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Immortal Bind was born of a film script entitled Chairs that I wrote before I penned my first novel. Back then, many people worked very hard towards seeing this epic story realised as a feature film, and although we never got there, it has never been forgotten. I have been asked numerous times since why I never penned Chairs as a novel. As this story was the first to embody my interest in the esoteric mysteries, history and fantasy, it seems only fitting that after writing nineteen books in the same vein, the story that started it all will be reborn as book number twenty. The Mayans believe in twenty-year cycles, so The Immortal Bind is a full circle moment for me.

This was without question my mother’s favourite story, and I regret that she will never get to read this version. Yet, I suspect her spirit is behind the new ending to this tale, which I never did get quite right in the film script.

I want to thank all my family and friends for all their support over the years, along with Selwa Anthony Management and my team at HarperCollins Publishers who do a fabulous job of producing my books for you all to enjoy.

I also want to say how grateful I am to all my readers, who keep buying my books, reviewing them and recommending them to others — you have no idea how much I appreciate all your support and encouragement — I am truly blessed.

I hope you enjoy this new adventure! Namaskar.

LIST OF CHARACTERS

Present Day

Jon Trustler — Artist

Simon Dobbs — Jon’s Agent

Sara Dash — Fashion Designer

Liz Whitely — Sara’s Business Partner

Robert Baxter — Sara’s Fiancé

Willie-Jay Perilli — Sara’s BFF

Tyrell — Willie’s Bodyguard

Selene Love — Antique Jeweller

Richard and Connie Brooks — Property Owners

The Old Woman

East Anglia

Tianna Marchard — Heiress of Marchard Imports & Docks

Lady Rosalind Marchard — Guardian of Tianna

Edwin Ryder of Huntingdon — Tianna’s betrothed

Thorkell — Jarl of East Anglia

Thomas de Moray — King’s Messenger

The Wanderer

Dasa

Scottish Highlands

Maggie Munro — Healer

Luke Hamilton — Messenger for the Commission

Stephen Douglas — Soldier of the Commission

Angus Mackenzie — Rival of Clan Munro

Alexander Bayne — Brother of the Baron of Tulloch

Margaret Aitken — The Great Witch of Balwearie

Jon Cowper — The Minister

Maccon — The Wolf

The Old Woman

Pornic, France

Marquis Clement Alexandre de Brie — Baron de Pornic

Isabelle de Brie — Niece of the Marquis

Jacques Delafonse — Master of the Horse, Pornic

Pirate/Captain Gaspard Lachance (Blackheart)

Marianna Paquet — Maid to Isabelle

Chisomo — Slave of Captain Lachance

Monsieur Bernard — House Steward, Pornic

The Old Woman

Somnath, India

Devi Chanda — Akashvani of the Devadasi

Bhimdev I of the Solanki Dynasty — Raj of Gujarat

Raja Bhaskara — Younger son of Raj

Raja Karandev — Older son of Raj

Devi Lochana — Great Mother of the Devadesa

Vasudahara — Vishayapathi of Somnath Patan

Damodara — Nadu of Somnath Patan

Jagdish — Gramapathi of Somnath

THE EYES OF KARMA

It is difficult to pinpoint where this story actually began. No tale truly has a start or an end — there is always that which went before, and more that shall follow after. Even birth is not the beginning, nor conception, for there are myriad lives and incarnations that preceded this, along with the forgotten karma that is carried forth from those experiences. Not all these lives are in human form as there are many paths a soul might take in an attempt to nullify the effects of past deeds and disentangle from the reincarnation cycle of the earthly realms that the Hindu and the Buddhist call Samsara. Sometimes it is not even our own actions that keep us embedded in the life, death, rebirth cycle. Yet we are glamoured by our entanglements with others — our desires and passions fate us to return for another round of experience.

However, if this story was to be traced all the way back to the beginning, then it would take us to an ancient temple on the western coast of Gujarat, India. This holy temple, one of many shrines erected to honour the Lord Shiva, was destroyed and rebuilt several times over by Islamic kings and Hindu kings respectively.

In one of this temple’s Hindu incarnations, there stood a large statue of the Lord Shiva, ‘The Supreme Being’, who, among his many attributes, is the dispenser of karmic law and justice. The eyes of the statue were inset with two large and very rare lilac diamonds, together known as the Eyes of Karma. Devoted Shaivites who paid homage at the temple would offer gifts to the grand effigy in the hope they would learn how to free themselves from the cycles of samsara and join the enlightened in the realm of Brahman. When an oracle of the temple gazed into the Eyes of Karma on behalf of an earnest querent, the oracle would be granted visions of lives past and upon learning of the querent’s misdeeds, would relate the cause of their current woes. Thus, the querent could, through right action, attempt to counteract their past wrongs and nullify, or at least lessen, their karmic debt.

In the statue’s forehead above the Eyes of Karma, was a third eye, inset with a larger white diamond, known as the Eye of Wisdom. For where the right and left eyes of Shiva represented the Lord’s activity in the physical realm, his third eye was focused on the spiritual realm, and had the power to annihilate evil. Wrong-doers of the Hindu faith feared the Lord’s third eye, and thus wisdom protected the holy secrets of karma from abuse by the uninitiated. Above the large sandalwood gates at the entrance to the temple was inscribed an additional warning in the form of a curse.

Whosoever should defy the Eye of Wisdom

to misuse or displace the Eyes of Karma,

his lifetime shall not exist on earth.

He shall be miserable and persecuted.

He will witness karma’s downward spiral

as his curse preys upon others unaware.

Until the eyes of the great Transformer

again reside in Somnath.

Late in the tenth century, the temple was raided by Afghans from across the Thar Desert; they were Muslims and, unperturbed by the curse, they destroyed the Hindu place of worship. Whether the Afghans took the treasures as spoils, the oracles of the temple secreted them away, or a third party seized the opportunity to steal the treasures during the chaos, is unknown. What became of the Eye of Wisdom is also unclear, but the Eyes of Karma resurfaced in Byzantium decades later, which is where I had the misfortune of being glamoured by their allure. As I was a famed oracle they must have seemed the ideal gift for me, and at the time no one knew the beautiful jewels carried a hefty curse. This was a fact that would take me the rest of that lifetime to deduce, by which time my fate was sealed by the wheels of harmful karma I had already set in motion.

LONDON

A storm raged outside the tall windows of the studio, battering the glass with frequent bursts of wind and rain. Even seated beneath the skylight, Jon was having difficulty seeing the effect of his brush strokes upon the canvas — although the almost constant flash of lightning was helping. As determined as he was to stay entranced in his creation, the natural daylight was diminishing rapidly and Jon was forced to lay down his brush to go switch a light on.

He returned to sit before the canvas resting on its easel and smiled, pleased with how the piece was progressing. It was unusual for him to paint a portrait, especially one of a fictitious subject — the other pieces he’d painted for his forthcoming exhibition were far more avant-garde. The unknown woman taking form on his canvas was very beautiful. If she were of flesh and blood, Jon considered he’d rather fancy her.

‘You’ve come rather a long way since yesterday,’ he commented. ‘Although from whence you came is something of a mystery—’

‘Are you chatting to the timbers again, Trustler?’

Jon’s attention was diverted to the entrance of the studio where his agent, Simon Dobbs, now stood, appearing concerned. ‘I think you need to get out more . . . mingle with some living matter for a change.’

The volume of the storm was such that Jon hadn’t heard his agent enter the building — Simon had his own key to Jon’s apartment as the studio was located on the third and top floor of the city terrace and this arrangement saved disturbing Jon from his work to answer the door located two flights of stairs below.

Simon looked every bit the stylish man about town in his expensive designer suit and shoes, his slicked-back blond hair and twinkling blue eyes.

‘I’m surprised you braved coming out in this deluge; you’ll ruin your pretty threads.’ Jon felt fortunate to have such representation as his ripped old jeans and paint-splattered sweatshirt weren’t going to impress anyone.

‘The suit is fine.’ Simon turned about to model it. ‘The coat I left downstairs is going to need a good dry-clean though.’ He placed his briefcase aside on a chair ahead of approaching his client. ‘On the subject of mingling—’

‘Ah.’ Jon raised a finger to caution against proceeding. ‘I detest that subject.’

‘But you’re turning thirty this week,’ Simon appealed. ‘You can’t just let a milestone like that slip by unheralded.’

‘Just watch me,’ Jon said. ‘This exhibition is less than a month away. The last thing I need right now is a party.’

‘The last thing . . . really?’ Simon screwed up his nose, unconvinced.

‘It’s your job to head off distractions,’ Jon insisted, picking paint off his hands so that he didn’t have to observe his friend’s disappointment. ‘So it will prove to your advantage not to create any.’ Not wanting to hear any more on the matter, Jon headed for the sink to wash the paint splatter off properly.

He realised Simon meant well — his agent was a social creature and although he, like Jon, was still a bachelor at thirty, Simon never lacked for female company or a date. Jon, on the other hand, rarely dated, preferring to nurture his craft, which was a solitary art that left little time or scope for a serious relationship. As difficult as it was for Simon to understand, Jon rather enjoyed his own company, and was becoming more and more reclusive as the years rolled on.

‘This piece is rather left of centre for you, isn’t it, Jon?’

Jon continued scrubbing his hands with a rag, as he wandered back to find Simon staring at the portrait.

‘You’re not turning conventional on me, I hope . . . abstract pays much better.’

‘She’s beautiful, don’t you think?’ Jon admired his work anew from beside his agent.

‘I guess so.’ Simon eyed the good-looking blonde. ‘Who is she?’

‘I have no idea.’ The statement came out sounding rather more intrigued than Jon would have liked, and looking to his agent, he found that Simon’s concerned expression had returned. ‘It’s just a painting.’

‘But why a portrait?’

That was actually a good question. ‘I just felt like painting it.’ He blew it off as a creative whim; which was exactly what it was. ‘I don’t question my muses, I just go where they lead.’

Simon, who did not have a creative bone in his entire body, was clearly still perplexed.

‘It’s not a concern,’ Jon concluded — he liked the work and really wasn’t interested in anyone else’s thoughts. ‘I’m sure you didn’t brave that storm just to check on my progress.’

‘Ah yes!’ Simon slapped his hands together, glad of a change in subject. ‘I’ve just come from a meeting with the general manager of the gallery, and she is so impressed with the works you’ve completed thus far. I can’t tell you how excited they are to be hosting this event . . .’

When Simon began talking promotion, Jon’s mind tuned out. He really did appreciate all Simon’s efforts on his behalf, but he paid him to take care of the business side of things because Jon didn’t have the slightest interest in it. His sights had drifted back to the half-finished portrait, which he found far more fascinating.

* * *

As Liz emerged from the bathroom, having soaked off the day’s chill in a hot bath, she was drawn to the view from her twelfth floor hotel room window, which afforded a stunning outlook of the city still being lashed by the storm. ‘Now I remember why I relocated to Australia.’

She towel-dried her long auburn hair, while considering herself lucky not to be one of the poor unfortunates still braving the weather on the street down below. She tossed the towel aside to retrieve a cigarette from her gold case, which she lit with the matching lighter, and took a deep, satisfying drag. After savouring the moment, Liz exhaled the smoke, and collapsed into a chair.

This was just to be a fleeting visit to London to shop for fabrics, visit a few potential buyers, and check out the latest and greatest at fashion week. But the plan had changed somewhat in the past few days, and her business partner was going to be both ecstatic and devastated when she informed her of the altered agenda.

‘Well, there’s no point delaying.’ She placed her cigarette in the ashtray and opened her laptop to video chat with her partner, Sara Dash, back in Oz.

It must have been 2 a.m. in Australia, so Liz was rather surprised to find that Sara was still online. Her partner took a while to answer and was a little bleary-eyed when she did. ‘Hey Liz.’

‘Didn’t wake you, did I?’

‘Nope, I’m still up . . . trying to get this range ready by our deadline.’ Sara pulled her long fair hair back into a ponytail and bound it up with a band. ‘You’ve landed more clients than I ever dreamed possible! With the wedding and all, I can’t keep up.’ She yawned in conclusion. ‘It’s a good thing Willie is making my dress.’ As she rubbed her eyes, Liz noted the dark liquid dripping from her partner’s finger.

‘Sara . . . is that blood?’

‘Oh yeah . . .’ She reached off-screen and grabbed a tissue to bind it with. ‘I nearly sewed it into a garment . . . oops.’

‘Well, I think you need to hire yourself some help, my girl. Retro Chic magazine want to do a full spread on Dashing Design this month to coincide with the release of the label in London. Do you believe it?’

Sara squealed when she heard the news. ‘Oh my God! How on earth did you swing that?’

‘A little expensive bubbly goes a long way,’ Liz joked. ‘But seriously, I didn’t have to do much, the portfolio of the clothes we put together is doing all the hard work for me. Everybody loves your kind of retro, romantic, steampunk flavour . . . it makes for great photographs.’

‘Well hopefully it makes for great sales as well.’ Sara bit her lip — Liz was the confidence in this partnership.

‘There is no doubt in my mind that it will.’ Liz poured herself a straight Scotch from the mini-bar. ‘There’s just one problem.’

‘What is it?’ Sara’s excitement waned as Liz took a swig of her Scotch.

‘This means I’m going to have to be here in London taking care of business, instead of being a bridesmaid at your wedding.’

Sara groaned and collapsed onto the desk. She didn’t have many close female friends, most of the kindred spirits she’d met through her love of avant-garde fashion were gay men.

‘I’m so sorry, Sara. I know the timing is awful, but we need the publicity now.’

‘I know we do.’ Sara held up both hands in resignation, then slapped them onto her face to hide her pained expression. ‘Not to worry, I’ll figure something out.’

‘You could always ask Willie to take my place.’

Sara burst out laughing at the suggestion. ‘Amusing idea . . . but I rather doubt Robert would see the humour.’

‘You can ask whomever you want,’ Liz encouraged, hating how conservative Sara’s betrothed was; actually Liz couldn’t stand him, period. ‘No man has the right to dictate to a woman on her wedding day.’

There was a knock at Liz’s door. ‘Room service.’

‘One moment.’ Liz called in response, overjoyed, as she was absolutely starving. ‘That’s my dinner, so I should leave you to it. But come Monday I shall be back in Sydney for a couple of days, so we’ll talk more then. Goodbye, my sweet.’ Liz blew her a kiss. ‘Get some sleep. And give my regards to Willie.’

‘I will.’ Sara waved and blew kisses back. ‘Enjoy your dinner and thanks for the news.’

‘My pleasure! Cheers.’ Liz ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief, before making a dash for the door to claim her much-needed meal.

Although Sara had taken the news rather well, Liz still felt like a complete heel for letting her down on her big day — especially since her parents would not be present. But in all honesty she was glad not to have to stand by and watch her dearest friend marry a guy so ill-suited for her. Liz couldn’t understand the attraction, but then she was not the one marrying the guy. She decided she was going to have to find Sara an extra special wedding gift, she’d go hunting first thing in the morning.

* * *

When Liz considered shopping for something unique in London, the place to begin was Portobello Road Market. Sara was not a Bond Street kind of girl. Her taste ran more towards shabby-chic — she adored antiques and recycled furniture. Sara longed to live in some long-forgotten romantic era that never really existed, and her design style, from her clothes to her home, was the perfect reflection of this. For Liz, this made Sara’s choice of husband even more perplexing as Robert’s taste ran to the slick, sparse, modern side of things. This fact gave Liz all the more impetus to buy Sara a grand period piece — the more antique the better.

Even though Liz was up and out early, the famed market was crowded. After two hours of walking about in heels — Liz didn’t own a pair of flat-soled shoes and had no desire to — she failed to find anything that truly excited her. At this point, she felt the need to escape the throng of bargain hunters for a while and wandered off down a little laneway.

Maybe I should try Grey’s Antique Market. She pulled her cigarette case and lighter from her bag, but just as she was about to light up, she spotted a store of interest and refrained.

Across the road stood a large terrace and on the stair railing leading down to the basement level, there was a tiny sign that read Antiques, with an arrow pointing down the stairs.

Worth a look, she decided, placing her smoking paraphernalia back in her bag as she headed across the street and down the stairs.

The basement store was dimly lit. Beyond the door, a few more stone stairs led into the store proper, where the counter was located. The shop was filled to capacity with strange and obscure artefacts, there was a light smoky haze that smelled of pipe tobacco — even as a smoker Liz found the aroma pungent — but there didn’t appear to be anyone about. There were so many items crammed in the little store that the selection was overwhelming, and Liz considered you could get lost in there for days. She inched towards the counter, careful to keep her lovely suit from brushing against any of the dusty items for sale. Nothing appeared to have been cleaned in years, but that didn’t deter Liz; this store was exactly what she’d been seeking. Amid the treasures on the counter was a hand-carved wooden wand with a large terminated quartz crystal protruding from the top, which Liz lifted up to examine.

Sara’s kind of place. She grinned, excited, but deciding the piece was too small to really annoy Robert, she placed it back on the counter and rang the service bell.

Beside her was a tainted suit of armour that felt as though it was leering at her. ‘How are you?’ She flipped open the face mask to view the void within. ‘Completely transparent . . . like a few other men I know.’ She flipped the face cover down and looked back to ring the bell again, startled to find an old woman smiling at her as she puffed away on a pipe.

‘Can I help you?’ the proprietor asked. She appeared as aged as the items in her store; her attire and her hairstyle were rather old-fashioned.

Liz held her chest briefly to recover from the shock, but smiled meekly to cover how spooked she was by the woman’s sudden appearance. ‘I’m looking for a gift, a wedding gift as a matter of fact. I wanted something unusual, unique, you know?’

The old woman raised her brows, and puffed away, the smoke billowing out into the still air of the room. ‘Why don’t you take a look around . . .’ She motioned towards the main body of the store with her pipe. ‘See if anything jumps out and grabs you.’ The woman chuckled in response to her own invitation, which Liz actually found a little creepy.

‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’ Liz moved off to explore — clearly the old woman wasn’t of a mind to play salesperson.

As she moved further into the store, Liz scrutinised different trinkets, removing dust, and in some cases cobwebs, before putting the pieces back in the display. One piece, an old pistol, Liz liked very much. If it doesn’t work out, she could shoot him, Liz amused herself, but she set aside the pistol as she caught sight of something interesting, right at the back of the store. Hold everything!

The item that caught her eye was a large, throne-like chair. It was dark wood, carved with an intricate motif of Eastern design, maybe Indian or Turkish. The chair itself was huge, high-backed and upholstered in the finest deep burgundy velvet that appeared brand new. There was a very large lilac jewel set into the centre of the headrest that looked like a magnificent diamond — although common sense told Liz that it was a glass replica, as who in their right mind would waste such a jewel on a piece of furniture? Oddly, unlike everything else in the store, the item was perfectly clean — no doubt it was a new acquisition.

After caressing the soft velvet seat, naturally she had to try it out. It was comfortable, but rather too large just to sit upright in. With its lush padded armrests and wide seat, Liz kicked off her heels and tucked both legs up beside her quite comfortably. She rested her folded arms down on the armrest and lay her head down, finding the experience blissfully comfortable.

‘Perfect.’ She sat up and replaced her shoes, then headed back down the main aisle towards the counter in search of the proprietor. ‘Hello?’ she called, once she’d reached the counter and the old woman was nowhere to be seen.

‘You have made your selection?’

Liz was surprised to note that the old woman was behind her, in the direction she’d just come from.

‘It’s lovely, don’t you think?’ The old woman turned her back on Liz and moved towards the chair in question.

‘Yes.’ Liz trailed her, looking about for where the old woman might have come from. She could see no clear point of entry, other than the front door or the door to the rear of the counter, both of which were behind her — a fact that was a little disconcerting. Was the old lady aware that her creepy modus operandi was probably the reason her store was devoid of patronage?

‘They have a certain aura, these chairs, that makes you feel rather honoured just to be in their presence, don’t you find?’ She turned to face Liz.

‘These chairs, you say?’ Liz reached the back of the store, most interested to know. ‘Is there more than one of these?’

A rather odd smile crossed the old woman’s lips. ‘Not at present.’ ‘Oh well.’ Liz shrugged. ‘Good excuse not to buy the groom anything. Does it have a history?’

‘In a store like this, everything has a history.’ The old woman smiled.

This was the part where Liz expected to get some extravagant story about famous people who had owned the chair and a tragic tale of how it had come to be homeless in this place. But the piece really looked too pristine to be truly antique. Maybe that was why the old woman was not forthcoming with its history. Be that as it may, that would make bargaining for a price a lot easier.

‘So, how much do you want for it?’

‘You were meant to have this chair, so for you a good price,’ she assured with a smile. ‘A very good price indeed.’

That was a good thing, as the piece was going to cost a fortune to transport home. Still, Liz considered it worth the expense just to see the look of delight on Sara’s face, and the look of horror on Robert’s.

* * *

Simon had walked down this laneway many times before, but he’d never noticed the little basement antique shop before. Normally, he wouldn’t be caught dead shopping in a marketplace, even one as famous as Portobello Road, but today he was not shopping for himself. He was in search of something truly amazing to gift Jon for his birthday, and his friend’s tastes were distinctly different to his own. Jon’s works of art may have been contemporary, but as far as decor went, he liked things that were weathered and worn — ‘old stuff’. When Simon thought ‘old stuff’ he thought of this part of London, and the store he was descending the stairs to appeared ideal.

Upon opening the door, he was delighted to be greeted by a stylish and very attractive redhead, who gasped when the door suddenly swung open before her. Upon sighting him, however, she breathed easy once more.

‘Good morning,’ he said, rather surprised to find such classy clientele emerging from the ramshackle store.

‘Isn’t it just.’ She served him an amiable smile as she moved past him.

Simon couldn’t resist watching her scale the stairs, which she did masterfully in high heels, and he couldn’t help but admire her expensive suit, of pale lemonade pink, that fitted her lovely figure like a glove. He was very tempted to abandon his quest and go see if he could interest her in a lunch date; still, this morning was really the only time he had free before the event to find a gift. As she left his line of sight, he stopped procrastinating and entered the store.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in attendance, but Simon found the suit of armour standing by the service counter rather curious. He’d never realised how many straps and belts were needed to secure such a get-up. ‘Sex must be hell.’ The mental image of attempting to remove the hefty suit in a heated hurry amused him; the notion of negotiating around all the metal plating to perform the act was downright scary.

‘Hello?’ He wandered further into the store; perhaps the proprietor was at the rear.

This place would be a treasure trove in Jon’s eyes and Simon decided he must drag his friend down here at some point; it had been ages since they’d gone anywhere together that wasn’t work-related.

A sheathed sword caught his interest, sitting point-down in a large pot. Upon partially pulling the weapon from its sheath, he caught sight of something even more interesting reflected in the steel, and he replaced the weapon to move towards the back of the store and take a closer look.

As he observed the huge throne-like chair, Simon had the oddest feeling he’d seen it before, yet he could not for the life of him remember where he might recognise it from.

‘Can I help you?’

Simon swung about to find that an old woman had crept up behind him. He was amazed, as she was puffing away on a pipe and the smoke stank to high heaven.

‘Ah yes.’ Simon maintained a cheery demeanour. ‘I’m looking for a gift, something rather like this.’ He motioned to the intriguing piece. ‘How much do you want for it?’

‘You have a good eye for quality.’ She continued to puff away madly.

Simon waved his hand about in the hope of escaping the reek of smoke. ‘How much?’ He had neither the time nor the patience to haggle.

‘For you.’ The shopkeeper served him an odd grin. ‘A very good price.’

* *