Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) Read online

  “To take you back to the hotel?”

  “Yes. But I’m not sure what time. Can you give me your phone number?”

  “Bien sûr.” He plucked a card from a plastic holder and offered it to me. “But you pay for this trip now, yes?”

  “Yes. No problem.” I took his card and stowed it in my wallet, then I paid him and climbed out into the sunshine. The taxi somehow managed to perform a U-turn in the narrow road, and then it sped away.

  “OK,” I murmured. “It’s time.” I squared my shoulders, stepped onto the path and started walking.

  Chapter 6

  3550 BC

  “USELESS!” ELDRIDE SPAT. “You’re no good to anybody.”

  Cleofan stared at his mother. He said nothing.

  “You’re no use to me, you’re no use to your poor wife.” She paused to look him up and down, scowling. “And you come in here and tell me you’ve been out to gather firewood—and this is all you’ve got to show for it.”

  Cleofan took a breath. “I brought firewood,” he said. “I brought all the wood I could find.”

  “That’s no good,” Eldride said. “It’s the Feast of the Long Night tomorrow. Everyone else is bringing whole stacks of wood for the great fire. I’d be ashamed to bring those poor scraps of kindling.”

  Cleofan looked down at the wood pile. It was the best he could do. It was all he could carry, all he could find. But it was no use telling his mother that. It would only make her more angry.

  “And where’s your meat?” she demanded. “We must have meat for the feast.”

  Cleofan did not look up. “I tried,” he mumbled. “It’s a hard winter. Hard for everyone.”

  Eldride sucked in a loud breath. “Your father brought home three rabbits. Three.” She took a step toward Cleofan. “Go back out there and bring some more wood. Make sure this pile is bigger by nightfall of you’ll get no meat from us.”

  Cleofan’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, mother,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

  “No,” she said. “You’ll do better.”

  ***

  At the edge of the village, Cleofan bent down to pick up a piece of dead wood from the ground. It was damp and mouldering, but it would have to do. He dropped it onto his pathetic pile of sticks and moved on, searching the ground. “It’s no use,” he muttered. “There’s nothing here.” He tilted his head back and looked up into the sky. There was one place where he could find more wood, and quickly. But it would mean going into the woods around the pit. He checked the position of the sun in the sky. The sun was not yet at its highest. So though the days were short, there was still plenty of daylight left. No reason not to go into the pit. The Shades would not venture out in daylight—would they?

  He shook his head. It would be safe. And there was plenty of wood near the pit. And some of it would be dry, sheltered from the rain by the rocks. Dry wood, he thought, just waiting to be gathered from the ground.

  Cleofan looked back toward his mother’s hut, then glanced at the smaller hut he shared with his wife, Odely. She’ll be expecting a stack of firewood as well, he thought bitterly.

  But it was all right. He had plenty of time. He could walk to the pit and be back with an armful of firewood before the sky began to darken.

  He checked his knife was at his waist, and then he turned away from the village and set off toward the pit.

  Chapter 7

  2021

  CALLY BARGED INTO THE PORTAKABIN they were using as a site office, and slammed the door behind her. “Simon! I’ve just seen the script, and it’s no good at all.”

  The cabin’s only occupant stood up and came out from behind his desk, a clipboard in his hand. “Calm down, love. It’s all fine.”

  “No, it is not all fine,” Cally insisted. “How many times do I have to tell you? There is simply no way those menhirs could be some sort of astrological calendar. I get tired of all this pseudoscience—it’s just nonsense. You may as well say the whole thing was built by aliens.”

  Simon frowned and pressed his clipboard against his chest. “Listen, love, as long as I’m the producer, I say what goes. This isn’t just some dry documentary. No one wants to be lectured. They want to be entertained.”

  Cally rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean you can say anything you want. You can’t just make this stuff up.”

  “No, perhaps not,” Simon said. “But people don’t mind a bit of speculation. They like a bit of mysticism.”

  Cally folded her arms. “If you’re not dealing in facts then what the hell do you need me for?”

  “That is a very good question, Ms. Freeman.”

  “That’s Doctor Freeman to you,” she said. “Unlike your pretty little star, I’m actually qualified to be here.”

  Simon shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. We’re recording this piece in half an hour, and the script is already written.” He pointed toward the door. “Now, I suggest you get out there, find a corner where you’ll be out of everyone’s way and look busy. It may have escaped your notice, but we are not stuck out in the middle of nowhere just to satisfy your academic interest. We are here to make a TV programme, and that’s all that matters.”

  Cally stared at him for a moment, her chin held high, then she turned around and marched out, leaving the door wide open.

  “Shut the door,” Simon called. But Cally took no notice. She walked across the site until she reached the trench where she’d been working then she climbed down carefully, making certain she didn’t disturb anything. Her tools were where she’d left them in the bottom of the trench. She picked up her trowel, let out a sigh then crouched down and began working.

  “Stupid man,” she muttered. But she pushed her angry thoughts aside and concentrated on her work: moving her hands methodically across the bottom of the trench, scraping away the hard, dry earth with the tip of her trowel and collecting any interesting fragments in the plastic container at her side.

  She lost track of time, so when she heard someone approaching, she assumed it was one of the crew coming to tell her that the filming was about to start. But when she looked up, two unfamiliar men were standing over her. They were both smartly dressed: dark suits, white shirts, and brightly patterned silk ties. And they were both staring down at her. Cally stopped what she was doing and stood up slowly. “Can I help you?”

  One of the men, the shorter of the two, stepped forward. “You are Doctor Freeman?”

  Cally looked from one man to the other. “Yes, I’m Doctor Freeman. Is something the matter?”

  “I do not think so,” the man said. “My name is Bernard Azoulay, and this is my assistant, Giles Husson. We are from the Ministry of Culture and Communication, and we would like to discuss a few things with you.”

  Cally tilted her head to one side. “You need to talk to the producer, he’s the one in charge. I’m just the hired help.”

  The man smiled and shook his head slowly. “Forgive me, Doctor Freeman, but that is not quite true. We are quite aware of your reputation in this field. And we have travelled some considerable distance to speak with you today. So, we’d be grateful if you could take a few minutes out from your work to answer some of our questions.”

  Cally hesitated. She didn’t like to be interrupted, but at least it seemed as though these new arrivals appreciated her qualifications and experience. “All right, but we’d better talk in the office. They’re going to start the filming any minute now, so we’d better keep out of the way, unless you want to be beamed to TV sets all around the world.”

  “Ah,” Bernard said, “that would be most unfortunate.” He glanced at his companion. “Especially for Giles. He is not, what is the right word, photogenic?”

  Cally looked up at Bernard’s assistant. You can say that again, she thought. Giles was heavily built and his features were brutish. She couldn’t imagine him working for a government ministry. He looked more like a nightclub bouncer.

  Bernard offered his hand. “May I help you up?”
/>   “That’s all right.” Cally climbed out of the trench and brushed down her clothes. “The office is this way,” she said, and led the way toward the Portakabin.

  Inside the cramped office, Cally sat down on the only chair that wasn’t littered with piles of paper and boxes of artefacts. “Please have a seat,” she said. “If you can find one.”

  Bernard gave her a wry smile. “Thank you, Doctor Freeman, but that won’t be necessary.” His assistant grunted his disapproval then leaned back against the Portakabin’s wall, his arms folded.

  “So what can I do for you?” Cally asked.

  “Forgive me, but you sound a little resentful.”

  Cally opened her mouth to protest, but Bernard held up his hand to stop her. “Let me assure you, Doctor Freeman, we are not here to curtail your work, simply to check that the integrity of the site is maintained at all times.”

  Cally raised her chin. “Let me assure you, Bernard, that I personally oversee all the work we carry out here, and I insist that everything is done to the highest possible standards.”

  Bernard gave her a smug smile and made a show of casting his eye around the chaotic office. “So I see.”

  His assistant chuckled and muttered something under his breath that Cally couldn’t quite catch.

  Cally glared at him. “Qu’est-ce que vous avez dit?”

  The man returned her stare but kept his lips tightly closed.

  Cally turned on Bernard. “What did he just say? Tell him to have the decency to speak to my face. His English may not be up to much but I speak fluent French, and I won’t have anyone sniping from the sidelines and casting aspersions on my work.”

  Bernard gave his assistant a meaningful look then tilted his head toward the door. The man acknowledged his instructions with a tiny nod then made his way out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Bernard watched him go then, apparently satisfied, he gave Cally a tired smile. “I’m sorry if Giles appears rude. He is a good man, but he suffers from what you might call patriotic jealousy.”

  Cally raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Yes. You would not guess it to look at him, but he has long held a special interest for the ancient sites of France. And he does not like all this…disruption.” He waved his hand in the direction of the site.

  “Because we’re not French, is that it?”

  Bernard shrugged. “Perhaps so. We have had a great deal of trouble with treasure hunters and amateur collectors. They come looking for Roman coins and cause a great deal of damage. Many of them, I’m sad to say, come from England.”

  Cally bristled. “You can’t seriously think that we’re operating at that level. Everyone here is highly qualified and very experienced. We know what we’re doing and we take every care to protect the site.”

  “That may be so,” Bernard said, “but many people might view your work as interference. This site has been left undisturbed for a long time. It is specially protected.”

  Cally frowned. “But we have all the necessary permissions. The producer wanted us to be very careful with the paperwork. And I checked everything myself—it’s all in order.”

  Bernard nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps, but you cannot blame us for our concern. After all, you are outsiders. Imagine if a French team were sent to investigate Stonehenge. You perhaps might feel a little protective yourself, yes?”

  “Nonsense,” Cally said. “You must know that international collaboration is very common. I’ve worked with people from all over the world.”

  “Including Professor Leyland, and Doctor Seaton—one discredited, the other disgraced.”

  Cally felt her blood rush to her cheeks. “What? How did you—”

  But Bernard did not let her finish. “As I say, I am very aware of your reputation. And as you can tell, I have been diligent in my research.”

  Cally stood up, pulling herself up to her full height. “What do you want?” She demanded. “If you have a problem with me, why don’t you just come out and say it? Because I don’t have time for this. We have a schedule here, and a programme to produce.”

  Bernard opened his mouth to speak but Cally held up a hand to stop him. “I’ve come up against your sort before,” she said, and she took a step toward him. “But you don’t frighten me. The people I work for will not be happy if you interfere with our work, and they have a large legal team.”

  The smug smile finally fell from Bernard’s face, and when he spoke, his voice was edged with barely restrained anger. “And the people I work for, are official representatives of the government of France. With one word from me, you and all your friends will be on the next flight home.”

  Cally hesitated. Bernard clearly meant what he was saying, but would he really follow through with his threat? This project had taken months to plan and a lot of that time had been taken up by endless negotiations with the French authorities. If all that fell apart because she couldn’t keep her temper, it would be the end of her career. She looked down at the floor from moment, and when she looked back up, Bernard’s smug grin had returned. “All right,” she said. “Perhaps you’d better just explain what you want. And then we’ll see what we can do.”

  Bernard nodded. “It’s very simple. Giles will stay here. He will oversee everything that you do.”

  “What? Are you serious? I can’t have him second-guessing my decisions.”

  “You misunderstand,” Bernard said. “Giles will not interfere with your work. He will simply maintain an official presence at the site. Whenever you and your colleagues are at the site, Giles will be here. Is that clear?”

  Cally exhaled loudly. “It doesn’t sound like I have much choice in the matter.”

  Bernard smiled. “Not if you wish to continue your work.”

  “All right, he can stay. But only on the condition that he does not interfere in any way.”

  “Of course,” Bernard said. “Now, I’m afraid that I must depart. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain the situation to your colleagues.”

  Cally groaned inwardly. Simon would not like this at all. But at least the news might be better coming from her. If it was left to Bernard, she dreaded to think what trouble he might stir up. “All right, I’ll tell the producer. Leave it with me.”

  “Very good,” Bernard said. He headed for the door then hesitated on the threshold. “And, Doctor Freeman, please remember that Giles reports directly to me. If there is anything untoward, I will know about it.”

  “You’ve made your point,” Cally said. “I think you’d better leave. Goodbye, Monsieur Azoulay.”

  Bernard let out a little chuckle. “Au revoir, Doctor Freeman. Perhaps I will see you again.” He flashed Cally a shark toothed grin then let himself out, closing the door behind him.

  Cally stood still for a moment, staring into space and rehashing Bernard’s words in her mind. I can’t believe he dragged up Seaton and Leyland, she thought. What do I have to do to put the past behind me? When will I ever be free of it? She shook her head, pushing her bleak thoughts from her mind. She had a first-class honours degree from Exeter and a doctorate from Oxford. She’d worked so hard, and she’d come so far; she couldn’t let a petty-minded little bureaucrat like Bernard stand in her way. “No,” she whispered. “I won’t let that happen.”

  She took a breath then headed for the small counter in the corner of the office where the crew kept a kettle and the teabags. A quick drink, she thought, and then I’ll get back to work. She busied herself at the counter, pouring water from a large plastic bottle into the kettle and switching it on. Then she bent down and rummaged through the cupboard under the counter, searching for a mug that wasn’t too stained. When she heard the door open behind her, she didn’t turn around, she said, “I’m just making some tea, Simon, do you want one?”

  But when the person behind her spoke, she stood up and wheeled around, her hand clasped to her chest. “Bloody hell!” She hissed. “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter 8

  1919<
br />
  TREVOR MARLEY LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR and looked around the office he shared with Duncan and Joe, the other juniors at Grigson’s Chartered Surveyors. He could do better for himself—much better. Already, he’d come so far. Only a few years had passed since he’d left grammar school, but he’d made the most of every day, working hard and studying his craft. He was always waiting outside the office door when Grigson came to open up in the mornings, and he was always the last of the juniors to leave at the end of the day.

  Trevor watched his colleagues. Duncan was hunched over a ledger, moving his lips as he ran his finger down a column of figures. Joe was scribbling on a pad, frowning in concentration. They’re just making work for themselves, he thought. Putting on a show to fool the old man. Trevor shook his head. He’d show them up for what they were: a couple of toadying little dogsbodies with never an original thought in their heads.

  Not like me, Trevor thought. Not like me at all. He smiled. It was time to get back to work, finalising the proposal for the Matthews contract. He picked up his fountain pen and paused to admire the sheen on its lacquered body. It had a gold nib, the best he could afford. It had cost him a week’s wages, but it was worth every penny. One day, he’d use it to sign contracts for clients of his own. He’d have a teak desk and an office panelled in polished oak. And there on the door, he’d have a brass plate engraved with the words Mr. T Marley, MRICS, Chartered Surveyor. But for now, he had to content himself with menial tasks for Grigson, making himself indispensable, while he watched out for a chance to shine, a chance to forge his future.

  “One day,” he whispered.

  Duncan and Joe looked up from their work, but Trevor made a show of clearing his throat and went back to studying the proposal. And he had every reason to give it his full attention.