Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) Page 13
“No, not at all. You’re still on the books and you’ll still be paid, so there’s no need to worry about that.”
Cally shook her head slowly. “But…I don’t understand. Was it the recording we just did? Because we can do it again if—”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Simon interrupted. “It’s more to do with the break-in at your room. The insurance company are being awkward about paying up, and my boss says that the company won’t pay for another hotel room.”
“All right,” Cally said. “That’s fine. I’ll use Imogen’s room again, or I’ll just sleep on someone’s sofa until the end of the series.”
Simon muttered something under his breath.
“What did you say?” Cally demanded. “I didn’t catch it.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do,” Simon said. “It seems like you’ve been ruffling a few feathers among the local officials, Cally. The company wants you off the site, and quite frankly, they are your employers and they’re within their rights. They hold the purse strings and if they want to send you home then that’s the end of the matter.”
“No,” Cally muttered. “No. This is ridiculous.” She tilted her head back and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, there was an edge of determination in her voice. “This is wrong, Simon. You can’t just railroad me like this. You need me on the site. Without me, your program has no credibility whatsoever.”
“It’s no use venting your frustration on me, Cally. It’s done. The arrangements have all been made. Gerard will bring you back here. You can use Imogen’s room for one more night then I’ll send a driver to take you to the station first thing tomorrow morning.”
Cally closed her eyes. She needed to think straight. She needed to find the loophole in Simon’s logic. But all she could think of was Simon’s bland, expressionless face, and the hearty slap she’d like to give him right at that moment.
“I’m sorry, Cally,” Simon went on, “but to be honest, you don’t do yourself any favours. You’re not the easiest person to work with. You need to develop a bit more professional detachment if you’re going to survive in this game.”
Cally’s eyes flew open. “How dare you?” She demanded. “How dare you talk to me like that, when you’re having an affair with Imogen? Is that your idea of professional detachment?”
“Don’t fly off the handle, Cally. You’re just proving my point,” Simon said. “And don’t think you can use my relationship with Imogen against me—it won’t get you anywhere. Her stock is rising, and I have a lot of friends in this business. If you try to stir up trouble, you’ll only make things worse for yourself.”
Cally hesitated. There were a hundred harsh words on the tip of her tongue, but Simon was right about one thing: though she hated to admit it, she was beaten. “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll go. But you’d better not be bullshitting me about my payments. I have a contract, and I’ll be checking it very thoroughly as soon as I get home.”
“There’s no need for that, Cally. You’ll be paid. So if I were you, I’d take the money then keep my head down for a while until all this blows over. It will soon be forgotten. Trust me.”
“No, Simon,” Cally said. “I may be giving in for now, but I’ll never trust you again.”
She ended the call and stuffed the phone back into her pocket. She’d make her excuses with Audrey then head back to her hotel as soon as possible. I won’t tell Jake about this, she thought. Not yet. He already has too much on his mind. She did her best to force a thin smile then she breezed back into the staff room.
***
In the Portakabin that served as the dig’s office, Simon placed his phone down on the desk and slumped in his chair. He looked at the two men standing opposite. “There. She won’t be coming back to the site and she’ll be heading back to England first thing in the morning. Good enough for you?”
Bernard inclined his head. “You have been most helpful. Your co-operation will be noted in my recommendation to the Minister.”
Simon pushed out his bottom lip. “I think I’ll take that as a yes.” He hesitated then gestured toward Giles with a wave of his hand. “And what about him? Will he still be loitering around the place?”
“Would there be a problem with that?” Bernard asked.
Simon shook his head. “No, not as far as I’m concerned. But he makes people feel uncomfortable—especially our presenter. And I can’t have her upset. Some of the show is broadcast live and I need everything to go smoothly.”
“Of course,” Bernard said. He studied Simon for a moment, as if making his mind up. “You know, Simon, I had a very interesting discussion with the chief executive of your production company. Very interesting indeed.”
Simon sat up stiffly. “Yes. I’d gathered as much. He called me just before you arrived.”
“Good, good,” Bernard said smoothly. “Clear communication is so important.” He smiled. “So perhaps you know that I asked your employer for certain assurances.”
“No. He didn’t share the details of your conversation. That’s not his style.”
Bernard raised his eyebrows. “We discussed, for example, whether the legal framework of your work here is compliant with the guidelines laid out by the Ministry, but I understand that everything is in order.”
“That goes without saying.” Simon stood up. “Now, I think we’re done here, so I must get back to work.”
But Bernard showed no signs of having heard him. “I must confess that the behaviour of Doctor Freeman gave me some concern, but I was relieved to hear that all of you have strict morality clauses in your contracts. This guarantees a certain degree of good conduct, yes?” He gave Simon a questioning look.
Simon nodded warily. “Yes. That’s true.”
“Interesting,” Bernard said. “And I understand that these rules apply to you, also. And to your presenter, Imogen.”
Simon paled. “The details of my contract are confidential. And as for my private life, you have no business—”
“I have every right,” Bernard snapped. “I know how British journalists behave. If they find out about your affair with Imogen, they will make the most of it. There will be reporters outside your hotel, photographers everywhere.”
“But, I don’t understand,” Simon said. “You wouldn’t tell the press. Why would you do that?”
“I want to make something perfectly clear,” Bernard said. “Your continued presence here is only possible with the support of the French government. This project is a beacon of international cooperation, a flagship of French culture, and we will not see it reduced to scandal and gossip. Do you understand?”
Simon put his hands on the desk to steady himself. For a moment, he moved his lips wordlessly, then he nodded.
“And I will take that as a yes,” Bernard said. He looked Simon up and down then turned his attention to Giles. “We can go back to town now. And tomorrow, so long as Doctor Freeman does as she is told, I see no need for you to return.”
Giles raised his chin in acknowledgement then moved to the door and held it open.
Bernard took one last look around the office. “Goodbye, Simon. I don’t think I will be seeing you again, so I hope all goes well. And please give my regards to Imogen—she is very charming, but then, you know that already.” He gave Simon a wolfish smile then headed for the door.
Simon watched them leave, then he sat down heavily and ran his hands through his hair. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “What next? What else can bloody well go wrong?” He leaned his elbows on the desk and buried his head in his hands. And from outside, he heard the sound of Bernard’s car driving away.
Chapter 23
3550 BC
CLEOFAN STEPPED OUT FROM HIS HUT and stretched his back. The sun was just beginning to rise and the chill morning air refreshed him. He’d slept badly, disturbed by his dreams and plagued by worries about Glowan and her baby. He’d wanted to stay in his warm hut a little longer, but Odely had told him to go hunting at first light. And
she’d warned him that he’d better not come back until he’d caught something worth bringing to the feast.
She doesn’t understand, he thought. There are some things more important than a full belly. But he couldn’t explain that to his wife; she’d be furious if he even tried. It was easier to go out and try his luck, and perhaps, if he started straight away, he might even catch a rabbit while it was still at its morning feed.
He ducked back into his hut and fetched his bow and his quiver of arrows. He paused for a moment to check the bowstring was in reasonable condition, and he allowed himself a small smile as he ran his fingers over the smooth wood of his bow. It was beautifully made—a gift from his father—and Cleofan had always looked after it well.
He slung his quiver over his shoulder then checked that his spare bowstring was in his pouch. “Good,” he murmured. Besides the bowstring, he had a few strips of dried meat. He’d already eaten his first meal, but he could eat one of the strips if he had to stay out until nightfall. And the other pieces were for Glowan.
Cleofan glanced back at his hut. Inside, Odely was singing to herself and building up the fire. She was excited about the Feast of the Long Night, but if she knew he was going to give away even one piece of their precious dried meat, she would not be happy. Cleofan rubbed his chin. It was too late to make this right with Odely; it would be better if she never found out. All Odely really wanted was for him to bring home a rabbit or two to share at the feast. It would be hard for her to show her face in the village if her husband had not provided for her.
Cleofan listened to her song for a moment then took a breath and started walking. He’d forget about Glowan for a while. He’d go hunting first, to satisfy Odely, and then he’d see if Glowan was still hiding in the pit. After all, there was a chance she might have slipped away in the night.
Cleofan checked the sky. It was growing lighter. Soon the rabbits would be heading back to the safety and warmth of their burrows, and the best hunting grounds were some distance away. He exhaled loudly, blowing out a plume of misty breath that caught the first rays of sunlight. Then he squared his shoulders, and he ran.
***
Glowan kept her eyes on the horizon as the sun rose. The spirits were silent at long last. She let out a weary sigh. The unseen demons had called to her all through the night, whispering in her ear, trying to draw her out from the corner of the ledge. But she hadn’t given in to them, and she hadn’t moved from her pathetic hiding place. She’d stayed awake, watching every shadow, listening to the small sounds of the night. Even Banain had stayed silent, as if he’d sensed the spirits and heard their evil curses.
Glowan parted the furs and stroked Banain’s forehead gently. His skin was barely warm, and he didn’t open his eyes, didn’t stir. He’s cold, she thought. Too cold to move. But now the sky was light, and it might be safe to light a fire.
She nodded to herself. She needed a fire too. Her bones ached and her arms and legs were stiff. If she didn’t have a fire soon, she would not live to see another nightfall. And a small fire should not give her away, so long as she tended to it carefully and made sure it didn’t give off too much smoke.
She laid Banain on the ground, checking he was wrapped tight in his bundle of furs, then she grunted and pushed herself up to her feet. A sharp pain raced along her back as she stood, and she grimaced. The fire will help, she thought. I’ll feel better when I have a fire going.
She moved slowly across the ledge, picking up as many sticks of dry wood as she could find and piling them in the corner near Banain. When she’d gathered enough, she took a few rocks from the mound in the corner and arranged them on the ground to form a round fireplace. She checked the direction of the breeze and built one side of the fire place higher; it would protect her small fire and prevent the wind from blowing it out.
It didn’t take her long, but by the time she’d finished, she was thirsty and hungry. She thought of the spring she’d drunk from the day before, but it was down below the ledge and it would be hard to climb down while holding Banain. Perhaps she’d go later, when she was feeling stronger. Or Cleofan might be persuaded to bring her some water. She’d told him that he wouldn’t get the striker until he’d brought food and water.
She glanced out toward the open space beyond the ledge. “He may not come at all,” she murmured. Had she been foolish to trust him? What if he’d already betrayed her to his tribe?
She crouched down by her fireplace and pictured Cleofan in her mind. If he returned alone, all would be well. But if he brought other men with him, it could only mean trouble. They’d drive her away or capture her, perhaps taking Banain from her. For all she knew, these villagers were just as bad as the Wandrian.
A shiver ran through her. The Wandrian could still be out there, looking for her. Even now, they could be nearby, sniffing at the air, following her trail.
She moaned softly and looked down at her little fireplace. “It’s too dangerous,” she murmured. “I dare not risk it.” She looked over to where Banain lay on the ground. “I’m sorry, little one. No fire to warm you. Not yet.” She stood and walked over to her baby then scooped him up in his bundle of furs. He opened his eyes slowly and squinted up at her, but then his eyes closed and he lay still again. “Oh no,” she said. “Don’t go to sleep, Banain. Don’t slip away from me. Don’t leave me here on my own.” Her throat tightened and a surge of anger swelled in her chest. She looked up to the sky and choked back a sob. Why had these things happened to her and Banain? Why had the spirits brought her this far, only to cast her aside when she needed them most? She closed her eyes and a hot tear ran down her cheek.
She wanted to scream and shout. She wanted her husband to come running to her side to protect her. She wanted food and a good fire and a hut to lie down in. But she had nothing. Nothing. And it was more than she could bear.
She opened her eyes and looked down at her baby. “I’m sorry, my sweet child. I didn’t keep you safe, and now I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to do.”
But Banain lay still, and when she touched his forehead, his skin was cold.
***
Cleofan rose into a half crouch. He’d been hiding behind a clump of ferns for too long and his legs ached, but he couldn’t stand to stretch his muscles. Not yet. This was where rabbits came to feed at sunrise and sunset, and it was his favourite hunting ground. He knew the scents and sounds of this place; he knew its hiding places and where to go when the breeze changed direction. But so far, he hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of grey fur.
He tilted his head to one side. He’d heard something: the tiny crackle of a breaking twig. And then a gentle shushing sound came from the ferns as some small creature crept through the undergrowth. Cleofan held his position and raised his bow. He’d already fitted an arrow to the bowstring, and now he pulled it back. He let out a slow, silent breath and focused his attention on the patch of grass in front of him. And he was ready.
As he watched, a pair or rabbits loped onto the grass. They were a good size. Perhaps they were a doe and buck. It didn’t matter to Cleofan. He targeted the larger of the two and loosed his arrow.
The rabbits froze, as if sensing something was wrong, and then it was too late. Cleofan’s arrow found its target and bit deep into the rabbit’s flank. The creature rolled onto its side, writhing and screeching. Cleofan readied another arrow, but the second rabbit had already fled, hurtling into the undergrowth and disappearing from view.
Cleofan returned the arrow to his quiver and ran to retrieve his prize. The rabbit had stopped struggling but it was still alive. Cleofan bent down, muttering a few words of thanks to the Shades, then he took hold of the rabbit’s back legs. He pulled the bloodied arrow from its side then stood, and in one motion he swung the rabbit by its legs, dashing its head against the trunk of the nearest tree.
The rabbit’s muscles twitched once, twice, and then its warm body hung limp from Cleofan’s hand. He smiled as he inspected his kill. The rabbit was a l
ittle smaller than he’d first thought, but it was good enough. And the sun was still very low in the sky; he might still catch another rabbit if he was lucky.
He rewarded himself with a sip of water from his flask, and as he drank, he thought about Glowan. She would be cold and hungry. And thirsty too if she’d stayed up on the ledge all night. Should he break off his hunt and take her the flask and meat? He stared out into the forest, thinking. If he started walking straight away, it would be properly light by the time he got to the pit, and he would see no more rabbits. But there was always a chance he could shoot a bird or two in the forest on the way back to the village. And if not, he wouldn’t be going home empty-handed; the rabbit would be enough to please Odely. He nodded to himself then he put the stopper in his flask and made himself ready. He placed the rabbit carefully in his pouch, slung his bow over his shoulder then he set off, heading toward the pit.
***
Glowan laid her baby on the ground next to her unused fireplace. She stroked his cheek, his nose, his delicate eyebrows, but Banain did not stir. His spirit was leaving him, and all that remained for Glowan was to let her son’s spirit drift peacefully away. She tried to sing a song to soothe him, but her lips trembled and her voice shook, so she hummed it softly instead. It was a song she’d made up when she was small: a tale of a bird who dived into the water and caught a fish to feed its chicks. She thought of the sea, remembering the gentle sound of the waves, the dank smell of the wet seaweed, and the taste of the sea spray on her lips. She’d been happy in their old village by the sea. There’d always been shellfish to eat, and a rack of fish hanging over the fire to smoke. Banain would’ve grown into a fine young man, and her husband would’ve taken him to the place where the river ran into the sea and taught him how to lay a fish trap, and how to carve a spear for catching the bigger fish. And her father would’ve sat with Banain by the fire and made him wide-eyed with his tales of how the tribe had crossed the sea long ago. But all that had been snatched away when the Wandrian had come: her life, and Banain’s, destroyed in one savage night.