Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) Page 5

  Trevor thought of his beloved Iris and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Things were going well on that front. She seemed keen. But there was one thing standing in their way—her father.

  Trevor had met Mr. Matthews only once. The great man had looked Trevor up and down and asked him if his father still worked at the dairy. So what if he did? Everyone knew Matthews came from a family of ironmongers. Trevor had been forced to bite his tongue. He’d wanted to say that, while Matthews had been busy making money from the war, his father had been fighting in the trenches. But he hadn’t said a word. He’d just nodded and smiled like an idiot. No wonder the old man had taken him for a fool.

  Now, things would be different. This plan to open a quarry at Scaderstone Rock could work in his favour. The project would go ahead; there was no doubt in Trevor’s mind. He was only vaguely familiar with the place, but he could see straight away that the site had massive potential. The location and the timing were just right. And once Matthews put his money and his influence to work, the quarry would soon become a thriving enterprise. Matthews succeeded in everything he did, and this was Trevor’s chance to get in on the ground floor.

  Grigson had made him responsible for the day-to-day management of the initial survey. It was to be Trevor’s first major project and it was an excellent opportunity: a chance to show himself in a good light, to impress Mr. Matthews with his diligence and drive.

  Trevor checked his watch. It was coming up to 4:30. He stared at Duncan and Joe. Go on, he thought. Go home and leave me in peace. But both men were hunched over their desks, faces fixed in intense concentration. What were they playing at? Were they hoping to get noticed? Did they plan to outdo him at his own game? Trevor drummed his fingertips quietly on his desk. He’d more or less finished the paperwork and he was ready to move on. He needed something to happen. He needed some action. But the working day was almost over. What could he do?

  And that was when he had the idea.

  In the morning, he was scheduled to meet with Grigson and Matthews at Scaderstone Rock. It was a simple preliminary site meeting to discuss the overall extent of the survey. But it occurred to Trevor that, with only a slight detour from his walk home, he could pop into the site and have a look around—get a feel for the place. To be forewarned is to be forearmed. He tidied his desk, enjoying the way Duncan and Joe were watching his every move.

  He flashed them a warm smile. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Everything all right?” Duncan asked.

  “Couldn’t be better,” Trevor said. He didn’t need to explain himself to the likes of Duncan and Joe. He wasn’t even going to tell Grigson why he was leaving a few minutes early. He’d keep his visit to the site as a surprise until the meeting. That way, he could casually slip one or two little facts into the conversation—just enough to let it be known he’d done his homework. And with that happy prospect ahead of him, Trevor gave his colleagues a cheery wave, and swept out of the office.

  In no time at all, he’d be at the site. Yes, it would be pretty dark by the time he got there, but so what? The dark doesn’t bother me, he thought. Not in the least.

  Chapter 9

  2021

  THE TAXI DRIVER WAS RIGHT; as soon as I reached the ridge, I could see the site below me. “So far, so good,” I murmured, and I hurried toward the site. The place looked pretty much as I expected: a series of trenches and rectangular pits dug into the ground, a few tents arranged around one side, and a Portakabin on the far side of the site. A big, black four-wheel drive car was parked beside the Portakabin, but as I approached, it set off slowly across the grass, bumping over the uneven ground and heading toward me.

  There was something about the car that made me uneasy. Could it be that someone had spotted me and sent the car out to head me off? It stood to reason there could be some sort of security around the site while they were filming; they wouldn’t want bystanders getting in the way. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?

  I stopped walking and waited to see what would happen. What else could I do? I can’t let them turn me away, I thought. I’ve come so far. I practised a casual smile. There was still a chance I could talk my way onto the site. After all, I could genuinely say that I was an acquaintance of their historical consultant. But the car showed no sign of slowing down, and at the last moment, it changed course, veering away across the open ground. I kept my eye on the car until it met the road and drove away then I let out a sigh of relief and started walking again. I’m getting paranoid, I thought. There’s nothing to worry about.

  As I neared the dig, I could see that there were quite a few people scattered around the place, but they were all intent on their tasks and no one glanced in my direction. I looked carefully but I could see no sign of Cally.

  What if she wasn’t there? What if she’d taken the day off? For god’s sake, stop worrying. Dad had assured me that the Sunday shows were History Live’s flagship episodes: more in depth and with a roundup of all the news from the week. As the programme’s historical consultant, Cally would certainly be on hand, and I guessed she might be inside the Portakabin; it was the only solid structure on the site. And if she wasn’t inside, I might find someone in charge, and they’d be able to tell me where she was.

  A knot of people had gathered at one end of the site, and a man with a clipboard was busily ushering them into place. A cameraman and a sound recordist were setting up their equipment nearby. I seized my chance to get to the Portakabin while everyone was busy. I picked up my pace, and no one noticed me as I skirted around the edge of the site and climbed the metal steps up to the Portakabin’s only door.

  I almost knocked, but that seemed overly formal, so I pushed the door open and let myself in. And there she was, bending over to retrieve something from a cupboard. Her long dark hair hung down in loose ringlets, partially hiding her face. But there was no mistaking Cally. I stood in the doorway, my heart in my mouth, and I completely forgot everything I’d been going to say. She said something, but I didn’t really take it in.

  I took a step forward and cleared my throat. “Hello, Cally. It’s me—Jake.”

  She spun around to face me, her face pale, and her blue eyes blazing. “Bloody hell!” She hissed. “What are you doing here?”

  I stood in silence, gazing at her. She’d changed little in the years since I’d seen her: her cheekbones were slightly more pronounced, her lips a touch fuller. But there was something in her posture, in the way she held herself, that I wasn’t quite prepared for. As a girl she’d been beautiful; as a young woman she was simply devastating, like a force of nature. I moved my lips wordlessly for a moment then said, “I…I’ve come to see you. I had to find you. I had to talk to someone who might understand, who might be able to explain what—”

  She held her finger to her lips and shook her head, looking at something over my shoulder.

  I followed her gaze. The man standing in the doorway was heavily built, his broad chest barely contained by his dark jacket, and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He looked at me and then at Cally, but he didn’t say a word. He just leaned against the door frame and folded his arms. And when I saw the way he moved, I felt the blood drain from my face. It was him. The man from the station. The so-called passenger in the car. Even though he was wearing sunglasses, I was certain of it.

  Cally glanced at me, and she seemed to share my discomfort. She glared at the man. “What the hell do you want? Can’t you see that I’m working?”

  The man nodded his head toward me. “What is he doing here?”

  Cally took a step toward him. “It’s none of your damned business. Your boss told me you weren’t going to interfere with my work.”

  The man let out a snort of contempt. “No visitors allowed,” he said. “He doesn’t belong here.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Cally beat me to it. “This gentleman happens to be one of my colleagues from Oxford University. He’s come a long way for a very important discussion, and it’s vital that w
e are not interrupted.” The man scowled at me. He must have known Cally was lying. He probably knew exactly who I was, though I’d no idea why he’d tried to confront me at the station. I gave Cally a meaningful look and shook my head. But she was in full flow.

  “You’re the one who has no business in here,” she snapped. “We are engaged in academic work at the highest level, and my colleague has an international reputation in the field. We have limited time and we must continue our work.” She pulled a mobile phone from her pocket. “I’m going to call my contact at the Ministry of Culture and tell them that you are interfering with our work and jeopardising the success of the entire project.”

  The man shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Cally began tapping at the screen on her phone. “You’d better believe it.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say,” the man said. “I have my orders.” He pushed himself off from the door frame, and stood tall, filling the doorway. He looked at me and grinned, and for a second, I thought he was going to barge in and drag me out. But he just let out a dry laugh then turned and walked slowly away, leaving the door wide open.

  I looked at Cally. “Wow! You were amazing. But I don’t think he believed you.”

  “Why wouldn’t he? I’m sure he’s just a hired thug. He wouldn’t know whether you’re from Oxford or not.”

  I hesitated.” But that’s just it—I’m sure he knows exactly who I am. He was waiting for me at the station when I arrived. There were two of them. They told me they’d come to collect me. They tried to get me into their car.”

  Cally stared at me. “Why? That doesn’t make sense. As far as I know, that man works for the French government.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true,” Cally said. “And this other man you saw, was he middle-aged, smartly dressed? Did he have a little beard?”

  I shook my head. “He was smartly dressed, but he didn’t have a beard. Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cally said. “It doesn’t prove anything either way.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t know what the hell all this is about, but I don’t like it. And I can’t have anything, or anyone interfering with this dig. I think you’d better leave.”

  I stepped toward her. “No. I have to talk to you. You’re the only person who can help me. You’re the only one who understands about the black stone.”

  Cally looked taken aback. “What? You must be kidding. I don’t even…I mean, there was a time, but…” She looked down at the floor. “I don’t think about it anymore,” she murmured.

  “I don’t believe you,” I said. “I think, somehow, you and me and the stone are connected.”

  “No. That’s just nonsense,” she said, but she still wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  I took a deep breath. “I know you still think about it, Cally. And I’d bet anything you still see it when you sleep at night. And you still hear it in your dreams.”

  She looked up sharply. “How the hell would you know what I think or dream about?”

  I looked her in the eye. “I’m right, aren’t I? You dream about it, don’t you?”

  She shook her head, but she kept her lips tightly closed.

  “Listen, Cally, maybe we can help each other. Maybe, if I tell you what I know, we can work out the answers between us.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t think about it now. I’m working.”

  “OK, how about later? Could we meet up and talk after you’ve finished here for the day?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Please, Cally. I’ve come all this way, and I just want to talk to you. Maybe just half an hour of your time. Just a chat, that’s all.”

  Cally raised her eyebrows. “You came to France just to see me?”

  “Yes. I had to come.” I forced a smile. “I know it sounds crazy but I just want to talk. I could buy you a drink or something. And then I’ll go home and get out of your hair.”

  She took a breath and exhaled loudly. “I suppose so. Just a quick drink though.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “That would be great.”

  Cally looked thoughtful. “Are you staying in town?”

  “Sure, at the Hotel Tours Nord. But I can meet you somewhere else if you like.”

  “No, the hotel is fine. We do a live broadcast at six, but I should be out of here by seven. I’ll meet you in the lobby at around eight. Give me your phone number, and I’ll call you when I get there.”

  I told her my number and she stored it in her phone. “You’d better get out of here before people start asking questions,” she said. “How are you getting back into town?”

  “Taxi,” I said. “I can give them a call.”

  “All right. I’ll see you at eight. But I can’t promise you any answers. The whole thing is just…”

  “I know,” I said. “None of it makes sense. But I have to try.”

  She nodded sadly then turned her back on me. “I have to get on. I’ve got lots of work to do.”

  “OK.” I crossed to the door and let myself out.

  Outside, the tall man was waiting just a few paces away from the door. I wondered how much of my conversation with Cally he’d heard. He tilted his head to one side and studied me in silence, but I kept walking. I took out my phone and retrieved the taxi driver’s card from my wallet. Hopefully, if I called the company straight away, I wouldn’t have to wait too long before they picked me up.

  I tapped in the number and headed back toward the road, walking as fast as I possibly could. I glanced back over my shoulder as I waited for the call to connect. Cally was nowhere to be seen, but the tall man had followed my path to the edge of the site. And though he stood still, he was watching my every step.

  Chapter 10

  3550 BC

  THE WOMAN RAN ON, clinging to her baby like life itself. She stumbled, but regained her balance, gritting her teeth, willing her legs to keep moving. Her muscles burned, her throat hurt with every gasped breath, but she couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop. Ahead, the dark outline of a forest stood proud against the gloomy sky. It gave her hope, gave her a reason to carry on, but no matter how hard she ran, the forest seemed to grow no nearer. It was as if the forest was fleeing from her, leaving her stranded and in the open.

  She staggered to a standstill, fighting for breath, her chest heaving, and she looked up to the sky. “Why?” she whispered. “Why have you abandoned me?” But there was no answer from the skies, no sign among the dark and threatening clouds. The woman bared her teeth and let out a hiss of frustration. The gentle spirits of the forest could not hear her; they were too far away and they had no reason to stray into this bleak place.

  The woman looked down at her baby, cradling him in her arms and rocking him gently from side to side. The baby shifted and stirred in his bundle of furs. He blinked his eyes and whined so sadly it broke her heart. “Not long now,” she murmured. “Hush, my boy. Hush.”

  She pressed her baby back against her chest then she took a deep breath and forced herself to take one more step. Then another. She pushed her pain and her thirst from her mind, and she ran. And this time, the forest drew nearer with every step. The spirits had not forgotten her after all.

  Soon, the forest loomed large in front of her. She narrowed her eyes and kept moving. Another step closer. Another gasp for air. And then she’d done it. She’d made it to the forest.

  She stepped into the forest’s welcoming shadows and leaned her back against a tree trunk, looking up into its bare branches and breathing deep, taking in the scents of sweet earth and fresh green ferns. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Mother Forest.”

  The baby seemed to know she’d stopped moving and he let out a pathetic, mewling whimper. He’s hungry, she thought. Too hungry even to cry. She pushed herself away from the tree. Perhaps she could do something about the boy’s hunger. All she had to do was find a sheltered spot. There’d be places here, dry patches of earth beneath the bushes where she could
crawl in and find a place to rest out of sight.

  She stepped forward, tilting her head to listen. Something rustled through the undergrowth at her side and she turned, her hand going to the leather strap she wore around her waist. But her knife—it wasn’t there! She’d dropped it when she’d fallen, and in her panic, she’d run on without picking it up again. “No,” she muttered. “No.”

  But she wasn’t defenceless. She reached down to her pouch and fumbled with the drawstring. It wasn’t easy with one hand, but she opened it and pushed her hand inside. There. The weapon was cold against her fingers. She took hold of the heavy blade and pulled it out, holding it in front her, ready.

  “Now,” she said. “Now we’ll see.” She walked forward, deeper into the forest, looking from side to side.

  The men who’d taken her had no fear of the forest. They would surely follow her, picking up her trail, perhaps even sniffing out her scent. But she knew how to hide here. And she knew how to call on the Forest Spirits to help her.

  As she walked, she sang gently to the spirits, calling on them to share her song. It soothed her, and her voice calmed the baby. He stopped whingeing and curled himself up against her.

  And it worked. The spirits must have heard her call. There, just ahead of her, was a tangled holly bush. It was just what she needed. Although the leaves were sharp, the ground would be dry beneath its twisted branches. And the thick cloak of leaves would keep her and her baby safely out of sight.

  She put the blade back in her pouch then dropped down to her knees and bent forward, still pressing her baby to her chest. She crawled through the lower branches. The sharp leaves scratched her arms and caught her hair, but she pressed on.

  She reached the empty space beneath the branches and sat down. “Here we are,” she said. “Here we are, my little one.” She pulled her tunic aside and raised her baby to her breast, but although he moved his mouth, his head flopped to one side as though he’d forgotten how to feed.