Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) Page 12

  Cally and I put on our lab coats and buttoned them up, then we pulled on the plastic gloves. Without being asked, Cally produced a hairband from her pocket and tied her hair back. She looked very comfortable in her white coat, but I couldn’t help feeling faintly ridiculous.

  Audrey looked us up and down, inspecting us carefully. “Very good. Now, please wait by the bench here, and I will retrieve the artefacts for you.”

  “Wonderful,” Cally said. “I can’t wait to see them.”

  Audrey’s demure smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. She nodded to Cally then headed to another door at the back of the room. This door had an electronic combination lock, and Audrey tapped in the numbers rapidly then let herself in, closing the door firmly behind her.

  I looked around the lab. Every surface gleamed, and every shelf was free from clutter. “This is all very impressive,” I said. “Is this usual for a museum—to have a place like this?”

  “Yes,” Cally said. “Most museums do a lot of very important conservation work. Though the labs aren’t always so modern, and a lot of them are not very well equipped. You know how it is—government cutbacks.”

  The door behind us opened, and we turned to see a middle aged man holding the door open so that Gerard could come bumbling in with his aluminium cases. For a couple of minutes we watched him setting up the camera, but then the door at the other end of the lab opened, and Audrey came back in carrying a wide plastic box. “Voila,” she said as she picked her way carefully between the benches. “Now you will see for yourselves.” She set the box down on the bench in front of us then removed its lid. Inside, there were two layers of white foam packaging, and as Audrey gently peeled them away, Cally and I leaned forward, craning our necks to see what lay within.

  “As you see, there are 14 amulets, though there may have been more. We believe that they were bound together with a leather strap, although very few fragments of the strap survived.” She beamed at us. “They are unique, yes?”

  “They’re wonderful,” Cally said. “I’ve never seen such a beautifully preserved collection, and all in one find.” She looked at Audrey. “You must be thrilled.”

  Audrey shrugged modestly, but she was obviously very pleased with Cally’s remarks. I studied the collection of stone discs, trying to see what they were so excited about. It was clear that the small pieces of flat stone were very old: their edges had crumbled or been worn away by the passing of time. But I struggled to see their importance. They were chipped, dull and dusty, although each one had the remains of a few crude lines carved into its surface. But if these stones had been lying on a beach, or on the ground, I wouldn’t have looked at them twice.

  I ran my eyes over them again, trying to find something of interest. And then I realised something. “You said there were fourteen,” I said. “There are only thirteen here.”

  Cally gave me a sharp look.

  “Sorry,” I said. “But you did say fourteen, didn’t you?”

  Audrey raised her eyebrows. “Quite so.” She reached into the box and lifted the stones out on a plastic tray, revealing yet another layer of white foam packaging. “And here we have the pride of our collection.” She lifted the layer of protective packaging, and there was another piece of foam beneath, but this one had a round hole cut in its centre. From where I was standing, I couldn’t see what lay at the bottom of it. But Cally gasped.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said. “It’s just like it. Almost identical.”

  Audrey frowned. “I do not understand. You have seen something similar?”

  Cally stared at her. “Not just similar, but almost completely identical.”

  “Where?” Audrey demanded. “Is it in a museum? Where was it found? Here in France?”

  Cally shook her head. “I don’t know where it was found. It was in a private collection, belonging to my…belonging to one of the lecturers at Exeter University. Doctor Seaton.”

  Audrey began talking rapidly in French, waving her hands excitedly, and Cally seemed just as animated, answering Audrey’s questions in a bewildering combination of French and English. Even Gerard was watching them, his lip curled in disdain. He pulled out his phone and checked the screen then shook his head. “Cally,” he said, “there is no time. We must start work.”

  Cally was so engrossed in her conversation she didn’t even turn to acknowledge him. “Just a minute, Gerard. I need to talk to Audrey. I need to prepare.”

  Gerard stared at the back of Cally’s head for a moment until he realised I was watching him. He turned his gaze on me, and his stare was a cold challenge, an unspoken threat.

  I didn’t look away. Gerard was a bully, a pompous stuffed shirt, and I’d had my fill of his type. So I held my head high, squared my shoulders, and looked him in the eye.

  Gerard blinked slowly then dismissed me with an amused smile and went back to his camera.

  I took a breath and stood closer to Cally. “What’s so exciting? Can I have a look?” But Cally held up her hand to fend off my questions. “For god’s sake,” I muttered then I reached out and gently pulled the plastic box a little closer. And when I saw what they were looking at, a knot of raw fear drew itself tight in my gut.

  “Bloody hell!” I hissed. “Bloody hell!”

  Cally and Audrey stopped talking and stared at me in stunned silence.

  “It’s his,” I said. “It has to be. It belongs to the old man.”

  “Jake,” Cally said calmly, “you’d better sit down. You don’t look well.”

  “No!” I said, raising my voice. But I gripped the edge of the bench with both hands, squeezing it until my knuckles were white. “It’s his,” I said again, and there was nothing else to say. Because there, lying nestled in the white foam, was a perfect flat disc of pure black stone. Its surface still bore the delicate tracery of curving lines that I’d last seen when it had been thrust in front of my eyes and waved from side to side. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind. This amulet had belonged to the old man who’d sent me back to my own time. It had belonged to Morven.

  Chapter 21

  1919

  TREVOR PACED BACK AND FORTH across the entrance to the proposed quarry site, swinging his arms to ward off the early morning chill. It was the first day of the survey, and so far, Trevor had been the only one to arrive. He stopped walking and checked his watch. There was still a good quarter of an hour before the men were expected. “Come on, come on,” he muttered.

  He peered along the track for the hundredth time, but there was no sign of anyone approaching, so he thrust his hands deep into his pockets and stood still, looking up to the sky. It was a fine, crisp winter morning with no clouds in sight. A good day, he thought. A good day to be starting something new.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. I’ll show them, he thought. Matthews and Grigson may have removed his authority by effectively running the survey between them, but he was still going to do his damnedest to execute the plan to the best of his ability. He’d had a little time to lick his wounds and he was determined to make Matthews eat his words. There’d be no way the old man could go on ignoring him. You can’t keep a good man down, he told himself. He just had to make sure everything ran like clockwork: on time and under budget.

  He looked along the path again and ran his hand through his hair. “No mistakes,” he murmured then shook his head. Had he just said that out loud? He thought so, but it didn’t matter; there was no one to hear him muttering to himself. What’s got into me? He took another deep breath. He was tired, that was all. The truth was, he hadn’t been sleeping well—not since he’d run from the pit a couple of nights ago. Whenever he tried to get to sleep, he’d imagine those whispering voices, warning him away. He always managed to doze off eventually, but then he’d wake with a start in the middle of the night, imagining the terrible wails of a baby crying in the darkness.

  He recalled the sound now, and without thinking, he patted the jacket pocket where he used to keep his cigarettes. “Da
mn it!” he muttered. He really needed a smoke today. Perhaps he could call into the newsagent on the way home.

  Trevor nodded to himself, and at that moment he heard the murmur of distant male voices. It had to be the workmen, arriving at last. He stood up straight and smoothed down his jacket then he practised his authoritative smile.

  It’s time to get to work, he thought. Time to get the job done. And as the men came into view, he raised his hand to greet them.

  ***

  Trevor chose a suitable boulder and sat down with his clipboard to study the figures: his record of the work completed so far. It was late morning and the survey was going well. Just as Grigson had said, the men knew their business and they worked well as a team. At first, Trevor had been surprised at their industrious attitude, but then one of the men had let the cat out of the bag: Grigson had offered them all a generous bonus if they finished the job on time. It also turned out that Grigson had issued them with a comprehensive set of instructions. So while Trevor was supposed to be supervising the men, whenever he told them to do anything, their replies always began with, “But, Mr. Grigson told us…”

  I shouldn’t complain, Trevor thought. The men were working hard and willingly: hacking down the undergrowth, drilling out samples of stone, hammering pegs into the rock and rolling out the tape measures. On the face of it, everything was going well. But it wasn’t right. Trevor tossed the clipboard to the ground and stared into space. This is my project, he thought. Mine. He should be in charge of it. The men should be answering to him directly. But instead, he was reduced to the role of a useless bystander. “Useless,” he murmured. And he didn’t worry that the men might hear him talking to himself; they were making enough noise to drown out a town crier.

  Trevor scraped his hand across his face. His skin was gritty, and when he licked his dry lips, he tasted rock dust. Three days until Christmas, he thought. It didn’t sound like a long time, on the face of it, but it would be three days of hard slog with little relief. And they couldn’t afford any mistakes or hold-ups, so he’d have to be on site all day and every day in case any problems cropped up.

  But what could he do to make the time more bearable? There was no site office, nowhere to make a cup of tea, not even a toilet. There was nothing except for an increasingly barren and desolate pit. What little natural beauty there had been, was being systematically torn apart in front of his eyes. Trevor took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. He could scarcely breathe. Was it just the dust or was he coming down with a cold? Just my luck to catch a cold over Christmas, he thought bitterly. Every time he put his best foot forward, someone was ready to trip him up. His aspirations were like the rocks around him—destined to be pulverised into dust.

  “Mr. Marley!”

  Trevor looked up with a start. One of the workmen was walking toward him looking agitated.

  “Mr. Marley, sir, come quick. I was…you see, I…I’ve found something. I can’t…it’s no good. Please—you’ve got to come and see for yourself.”

  Trevor eyed the workman up and down. The chap was a dark haired, stocky little fellow who always looked worried. What was his name? Brian, wasn’t it? Or something like that. At any rate, he’d better not be playing a joke. Some of the lads had a peculiar sense of humour. Trevor was still smarting from the time they’d reported the loss of all the left-handed drills. They might well have sent Brian along with some similar nonsense. But when he looked at the man carefully, Trevor had to admit he felt sorry for him. Brian was probably younger than Trevor, but he looked so much older, every line on his face emphasised by dust and sweat. He had a serious, vulnerable look about him, as though he’d had a hard life: certainly harder than Trevor’s. He was probably the butt of jokes rather than the one who made them. Still, it was always best to be on the safe side.

  Trevor looked away as though deep in thought—just to keep the man waiting—then he turned his attention back to Brian, studying his expression. The poor man could scarcely stand still. He seemed genuinely worried about something. “All right, Brian,” Trevor said. He stood and straightened his coat. “Lead the way.”

  Brian nodded then turned and hurried away.

  Trevor smiled. Brian’s boots were at least a size too large for him, and he cut a comical figure as he hurried across the uneven ground.

  It’s probably nothing, Trevor thought. But at least it’ll help to pass the time. He followed Brian toward the far end of the site. It would be best to deal with this quickly and without involving anyone else. He didn’t want Grigson thinking that he couldn’t be trusted; that wouldn’t do at all.

  Trevor held his head high and strode confidently across the site. Whatever the problem was, he’d deal with it himself.

  Chapter 22

  2021

  CALLY HAD NEVER FELT SO SELF-CONSCIOUS, but the camera was on her and she did her best to smile warmly, trying desperately to imagine she was talking to just one person like Gerard had told her. It wasn’t easy; the only audience she could imagine was Simon, and he could be a harsh critic. But she had to carry on.

  “I’m sure you’ll agree,” she said brightly, “that this is a truly fascinating find, and in my experience, it’s unique. And that wraps it up for us here at Grand-Pressigny. Now, back to Imogen at the dig.” She held her smile, waiting for Gerard to lower his camera. “Everything all right?” she asked Gerard. “Do I need to do any of it again?”

  Gerard pursed his lips and focused his attention on the camera. “Non,” he said. “It’s all good.” He hesitated as if searching for the right words. “I need to check. I will send the, erm, the recording to Simon. We might have to do it again.”

  Cally exhaled noisily. “Seriously?”

  “We can’t go until Simon is happy,” Gerard said. He looked up from his camera to give Cally a smug grin.

  “All right, you talk to Simon,” she said. “I’m going to take a break.” She looked at Jake. “That was the longest two minutes of my life. Honestly, it’s much harder than it looks.”

  Jake nodded unhappily. He still looked pale, and his brow was furrowed.

  “Still, it seems like I’m free for a little while,” Cally said. “We should get you some air, and maybe a glass of water or a cup of coffee or something.”

  Audrey stepped forward. “Yes. I’ll show you to the staff room and get you a drink. And I’d very much like to talk to you about the other artefact that you have seen.”

  Cally looked doubtful. “There’s not much I can tell you, but I’ll try.”

  Audrey looked at Jake. “And you? You have seen something like this yourself?”

  Jake shook his head then looked away from her. “No. I’m sorry. I…I made a mistake. Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”

  Audrey’s expression hardened. “If you know something about this artefact then surely you must share it.” She turned sharply to Cally. “I was assured that your visit was approved by the Ministry of Culture. I would expect a certain level of professional courtesy. We do not have time for this…” she waved her hands in the air, “sensationalism.”

  “Of course,” Cally said, keeping her voice light and her tone sympathetic. “Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  ***

  In the museum’s bright and modern staff room, Cally downed the last of her coffee then examined the empty cup. Audrey had been very kind in making the coffee to their taste, but since she’d been in France Cally had yet to find someone who would provide her with a decent sized mug.

  Jake was sitting quietly, sipping a strong black coffee. The drink seemed to have brought the colour back to his cheeks, but he was still very quiet: his shoulders hunched, his expression pinched.

  Audrey cast an anxious glance in Jake’s direction then leaned in closer to Cally. “Your assistant—he is feeling better?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Cally said. “He’s just a little overwhelmed with everything.” She looked at Jake. His eyes had glazed over, and he was staring into t
he distance, as though seeing something that she could not. Cover for him, she thought. Change the subject. “So, how did you find these wonderful pieces, Audrey? You must tell me the whole story.”

  Audrey’s green eyes flashed with pride. “It’s an interesting story,” she began.

  Cally tilted her head on one side and tried to focus on Audrey’s rambling explanation, but as she watched Audrey’s lips move, she found herself tuning out. Cally suppressed a yawn. I need a hot bath and eight hours sleep, she thought. Maybe it’s time I went back home—back to England.

  Audrey was saying something about an ancient river bed, and Cally was doing her best to look interested, when the shrill ringtone of a mobile phone snapped her out of her daze.

  Cally sat up straight. “Oh! Sorry that’s me.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the screen. The number was Simon’s. “Sorry. I’ve got to take this.”

  Audrey smiled politely. “Bien sûr.”

  Cally stood and walked toward the staff room door, answering the call as she went. “Hello, Simon,” she said. “Give me a second.” She let herself out into the corridor and closed the door behind her. “Is everything all right? Have you seen the recording? I thought it went OK.”

  Simon didn’t reply.

  “Hello?” Cally said. “Can you hear me?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line and then a theatrical sigh. “Darling, the film was fine—first rate. It can go out this afternoon. But, Cally, we need to talk.”

  Cally leaned back against the wall. “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s complicated,” Simon said. “But it looks like we’ll have to manage without you from now on.”

  Cally froze. She stared at the blank wall opposite, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  “I’m sorry, Cally, but there’s nothing I can do about it. The production company don’t want you back on the dig.”

  “What are you saying? Are you giving me the sack?”