Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) (21 page)

1939

VINCENT HURRIED
ACROSS
the quarry floor, back toward the toolshed. He daren’t run—partly because he didn’t want to attract attention and partly because the rain had churned the quarry into a mess of treacherous mud. He stumbled, almost slipped into a deep, water-filled rut. He regained his balance and paused, risked a look around. The other men were all hard at work, their backs bent against the rain. They wouldn’t take any notice of him.

“But where’s Burrows got to?” he muttered to himself. Good. There was no sign of the foreman, and the shed was only a few yards away. The dinner break was over, but he needed something to steady his nerves, and there was still some tea in his flask. He would dearly have liked something stronger, but tea would have to do. He’d only be a minute. He’d gulp down some tea, stuff his sandwiches into his pocket for later and be back at work before anyone noticed.

Even so, it would be a close thing when Burrows was on the warpath.
I’ve been a fool
, he thought.
I spent far too long up on that ledge. And it looks like John’s been telling tales to land me in trouble
. Vincent shook his head. He’d have words with John. But that could wait. For now he just wanted that mug of tea. A few more steps, and he’d be safely in the shed.

“Corbett!”

Vincent stopped dead. His shoulders drooped. There was no mistaking the foreman’s grating voice—snide, sarcastic, it set Vincent’s teeth on edge. Slowly, Vincent turned to face him. Burrows stood near his office, sheltering under his umbrella.
He must have been waiting for me
, Vincent thought. Burrows smiled, enjoying the look on Vincent’s face. “A word in your shell-like, Corbett.”

Vincent nodded. He forced a grim smile and trudged toward the office.
Say nothing
, he thought.

Burrows made a show of checking his watch. “On an
extended
dinner break today, are we, Corbett?”

Vincent pursed his lips. He wouldn’t rise to the bait, he wouldn’t give Burrows the satisfaction. He did his best to look Burrows in the eye. “No, Mr Burrows,” he said. “I was just looking for my bolster and my club hammer. I thought I’d left them out.” He searched Burrow’s face. Surely he’d see the lie for what it was. But the foreman’s eyes lit up. He grinned at Vincent’s misfortune—a twisted, humourless smirk, moulded from a lifetime of sneering and sniping. “Oh, deary, deary me. Losing tools, eh? I do hope they were your own and not the property of Mr Matthews.”

Vincent ground his teeth together.
Don’t lose your temper
, he thought.
That’s what he wants
. “No, Mr Burrows, sir,” he said. “I always use my own tools. Everyone knows that.”

Burrows blinked. Had Vincent really called him
sir
? Well, well, well, that was a turn up for the books. Certainly, some of the men called him that—the younger ones, the unskilled labourers, those who knew their place. But there were a few, including Vincent, who never showed him the proper respect.
They know it annoys me
, Burrows thought.
But they do it on purpose, and when I try to tell them, they take not one bit of notice
. Well one day he’d make them pay for it. In the meantime, he’d keep a very close eye on the worst offenders—especially Vincent, who seemed to think he was indispensable.

“Well, that’s all right then,” Burrows said. He rubbed his chin and eyed Vincent up and down. What was going on here? Why the sudden change in attitude? Had Vincent finally realised his place in the pecking order, or was he up to something? And there was something else he needed to find out.

“One more thing, Corbett. What were you doing poking around in the bushes down at the far end?”

Vincent swallowed. What had he planned to say? “I…well,” he started. But he couldn’t think straight. What had Burrows seen? What did he know? “The far end?” he said.

“You know what I mean,” Burrows snapped. “Down there.” He pointed back across the quarry floor, and Vincent turned to look, playing for time.

“Oh yes. Right,” he said. “Down there.”

“Well, Corbett?”

“Well, er, it’s like I said. I couldn’t find my tools, and I thought, you know, one of the lads might’ve chucked them in the bushes there. For a joke like.” Vincent blushed.
That
, he thought,
was the daftest load of old codswallop that ever passed my lips
.

But Burrows snorted and smirked. “Oh my, oh my,” he said. “Have we been on the wrong end of a nasty little trick then? Oh, that’s rich, that is. What is the world coming to? And you such a
craftsman
.”

That’s it
, thought Vincent.
That’s as much as I can stand. I’ve had a bad night’s sleep, a rotten morning, a row in the toolshed, I’m soaked through and to top it all off, I’ve just had the fright of my life. One more second of this, and I’ll knock the smile off his face and tell him where he can stick his blooming job
. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth—and remembered the way Bob had waved and sloped out of the quarry, defeated and hopeless. He wouldn’t go the same way. He took a deep breath. Burrows was nothing. He wouldn’t let him win. Vincent cleared his throat. “I’d better get back to work if it’s all the same to you,” he said. “A lot to get done.” Then he turned on his heel, made to leave.

“One more little thing, Corbett,” Burrows called. “Down there at the far end, you didn’t see anything…notice anything funny while you were rummaging about, did you?”

Vincent stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. “No,” he said. “Nothing to speak of. I just looked for my tools. That’s all.”

Burrows didn’t answer. Vincent turned back to face him. The foreman wasn’t smiling anymore. He was studying Vincent carefully.
What does he know?
Vincent thought. For a second he felt his resolve crumbling, a confession swelling in his chest, the words clambering up his throat.
I’ve got to tell someone
, he thought.
I’ve got to let the truth out; I can’t keep it bottled up
. He opened his mouth to speak.

And the quarry’s klaxon wailed its raucous warning. Bert was about to do some blasting.
Saved by the bell
, Vincent thought. But as the klaxon died away, Burrows wanted the last word. “This can be a dangerous place, Corbett,” he said. “Safest if everyone sticks to where they’re meant to be, isn’t it?”

Vincent nodded.

“That applies to you too, Corbett,” he said. “We don’t go up on that back bank—it’s not safe. You lot need to do what you’re told. Otherwise…” He took a step closer to Vincent, “someone might have a very nasty accident indeed.” Then, satisfied, he turned and disappeared into his office, closing the door behind him.

Vincent snorted. Had Burrows just threatened him? He’d like to see him try, the little…But this was getting him nowhere. Vincent shook his head. “Don’t let him get under your skin,” he muttered to himself. He had to get back to work, but first he needed to replace the tools he’d lost on the ledge. There’d be something he could borrow in the shed. And he still needed that drink of tea. He could probably sneak a swig while he was in there. Vincent started walking back toward the shed. And as he went he wondered, not for the first time, how such a puffed-up, self-important little weasel of a man had managed to become the foreman of the quarry in the first place.

3,500 BC

BURLIC WOKE.
WHERE WAS HE?
He rubbed his eyes.
I’m inside
, he thought,
but whose hut is this?
He stared up at the hut’s roof. That beam…it had split and been repaired—just like…

Burlic blinked. “I’m home,” he said. He rolled onto his side. Yes, this was his bed, his hut. A log smouldered in the fireplace. The smoke curled slowly upwards, lit by the dim daylight that came in through the open door. It must be the evening already. How long had he slept?

Burlic sat up and listened, heard soft footsteps outside. Someone was coming. He pushed himself up off his bed and to his feet, but he was too slow. A dark figure appeared at the doorway, blocking the light.

“Burlic, you’re awake!”

Burlic rushed forward. “Scymrian.” He reached out to hold her, but she turned away. He saw that she was holding something to her chest.

“Shush,” she said. “Don’t wake him up. I’ve only just got him to sleep.” Slowly, she walked across to their bed and laid the baby down upon the bracken. She wrapped his furs tightly around him. For a moment, the baby squirmed and whimpered, but then he lay still. Scymrian sighed with relief, and Burlic realised he too had been holding his breath. Scymrian walked over to Burlic. “Now,” she said softly, “I’ll make us some food.”

“Yes,” Burlic murmured. He reached out and stroked her hair. “That sounds good. Very good.”

Scymrian smiled. Even in this fading light he could see the brightness in her eyes. She reached up and took his hand in hers, held it to her lips. “Burlic,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” he said. He moved closer to her, wrapped his arms around her. Her body trembled.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Burlic held her tighter. “No,” he said. “I was in the wrong. I should never have left you.”

They were silent for a moment. Burlic kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelt of sweet wood smoke. She took a deep breath.

“I think…” she said. “I think we left each other.”

Burlic smiled. This was his Scymrian. She always knew what to say. She was good and beautiful and strong, just as before.

She lifted her face and looked into his eyes. “It will all be all right now, won’t it, Burlic?”

He paused. “Yes,” he said. “Everything will be all right.”

“And you won’t…you won’t go away again?”

“No,” he said. “I won’t go away. I’ll stay here with you.”

“With both of us.”

“Yes,” he said. “With both of you. I swear.”

She pushed herself away from him a little. “Burlic,” she said. “It’s getting dark. You want some food, and we need some more wood for the fire.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll go and get some.” Reluctantly, he let go of Scymrian and went outside to the wood pile. He looked up at the darkening sky. It would be a clear night, and cold. Anyone without a fire would suffer. Like Waeccan perhaps—did he have a fire?

Burlic crouched and began to gather an armful of logs. Waeccan was an old man, weak and ill.
Should I have left him like that?
Burlic wondered. Had he left Waeccan to die a slow and painful death?

Burlic stood. What choice had there been? Waeccan had told him it was his destiny to take the old man’s place, live out his life in the pit. But that was wrong. His place was here, with his wife and his son. Waeccan was a fool, a madman. He had no right to tell him what to do. Burlic’s duty was to his family and his village, not to dead stones and dark Shades. He’d done the right thing by escaping from the pit. No one would blame him.

Burlic turned and walked back into his hut. He needed to build up the fire. And when he’d done that, he’d sit and watch Scymrian as she made their meal. They’d eat and sit by the fire. Perhaps Scymrian would sing to him—to him and to their baby. Then they would lie down and sleep and be content. And he would not worry about a mad old man who had only himself to blame for his troubles.

2010

I BROKE
THE SILENCE
. “We’ve got to hide,” I hissed.

Matt nodded. “OK,” he said. “Where?”

Still lying on my stomach, I twisted to look back across the ledge. “This way,” I said. “Come on.” I shuffled backward until I was safely away from the edge. Then I got up on all fours and crawled toward the stone platform. I heard Matt rustling through the grass as he followed.

There was just enough room behind the platform for us to huddle together, side by side, so long as we curled ourselves up small.

“This is no good,” Matt hissed.

“It’ll have to do,” I whispered. “It’s the only hiding place on the whole ledge.”

“But if they come up here, they’ll see us.”

I ran a hand over my face. “Maybe they won’t come up.”

“And maybe they will,” Matt said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Let’s climb up there.” He nodded toward the slope behind us.

I shook my head. It was too overgrown. “We’ll make too much noise,” I said. “They’ll hear us, and then they’ll definitely come up. We won’t make it.”

Matt bit his lip and shook his head.

“If we sit tight and keep quiet, they won’t come up here. They probably won’t even find the steps.”

“Why not?” Matt said. “You did.”

“But only because Cally—the girl—only because she told me where to go.”

Matt covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god,” he muttered.

I sat very still, listening. A breeze in the treetops, a rustle in the undergrowth behind us, but nothing from the quarry floor. Maybe it would be all right. We hadn’t left a trail to follow or any other clues—had we? Oh no. “Matt,” I whispered. “What did you do with those tools?”

Matt winced. “I…I don’t know. I think I put them back down on the stone slab.” Matt closed his eyes for a second. “Yes,” he said. “I put them back where we found them—on the top. Why?”

I shook my head. “You idiot,” I said. “If they come up here, they’ll see them. Then they’ll come over here and see us.”

Matt swallowed hard. “I’ll get them,” he said.

I put my hand on his arm, shook my head. “No. Stay down.”

“But –”

I cut him off. “Matt,” I said. “Stay down. I’ll get them. I brought you in here. Don’t blame yourself, blame me.” I uncurled myself. It had to be now. If I waited, I’d lose my nerve. I knelt up, peered over the edge of the stone. There was no sign of anyone.
I’d do anything
, I thought,
give anything, if only we could get out of here unscathed
. I should’ve known that wasn’t going to happen.

The tools were on top of the stone platform, but they were on the far side and at the far end—out of reach. If I lay on the stone and stretched across I could probably grab them. But lying down on that stone—the last time I’d done that it had scared the hell out of me. Maybe I could sneak out from behind the bank and go around the other side. Could I make it in time?

A whistle. Another in reply. They were nearer now. Much nearer. I strained to hear through the noise of the wind in the trees. There was another sound. Regular. Closer. Yes. The sound of someone walking through the undergrowth—someone moving carefully, trying to be silent but not quite managing it; someone just below us; someone near the steps that ran up to the ledge.

Voices, low, muttering. That meant there were at least two of them nearby. I couldn’t make out any words at first, and then it came—the one thing I’d been dreading. A single word: “Steps.”

I had to act quickly. Forgetting my worries about the stone platform, I flung my upper body across it, arms outstretched, and grabbed the tools.

And the moment my hands closed around them, the moment I made contact with the stone—it happened.