by Amy Cross
***
“I hear that there was some excitement on the north side of the island,” said Edgar an hour later, as he poured brandy into two glasses. “Doctor Young headed off in that direction in something of a hurry. I trust that nothing is wrong?”
“It's fine,” Kate replied, forcing a smile. “Some old bones, that's all.”
Edgar turned to her with a glint in his eye.
“A man's body,” she continued. “Don't worry, it's old. Maybe a century or more.” She paused, feeling that although she wanted to keep the existence of the chamber a secret, she also wanted to test Edgar. “His name was Jeremy Beecham.”
“Beecham,” Edgar replied with a faint smile. “Well. That's certainly a memorable name.”
He crossed the room and handed a glass of brandy to Kate, before taking a sip from his own. He seemed lost in thought for a moment.
“And you were the one who made the discovery?” he asked eventually.
Kate nodded.
“You were out at the stones?”
“I was taking a look,” she replied. “I wanted to...” Again, she paused. Reaching into her pocket, she took out the diary. “I found this in the archive room,” she explained. “It's Mr. Beecham's diary, covering his arrival on Thaxos and his experiences here.”
Edgar took the book and turned it over in his hand, and for a moment he seemed fascinated by its existence, almost as if he'd seen it before. The faintest smile curled across his lips.
“He came to the island,” Kate continued, “and met your grandfather. They even had dinner together one evening. He also took an interest in the stones and made some notes. From what I can tell, he had an interest in geology and archeology.” She paused, trying to decipher the curious expression on Edgar's face. “There's one thing I don't understand, though,” she added. “I mean, he kept a diary, and clearly it was important to him. He made notes, so I'm assuming he planned to continue his studies of the stones. So how did the diary end up in your archive?”
“I imagine,” Edgar replied, “that he had no further use for it once he was dead.”
“But how did it physically get there?” she asked. “After he died, someone either took it from his hotel room, or took it from his jacket, or...” She paused, watching Edgar's face carefully for any hint of emotion. “I guess I just think it's a little odd that a man can die without anyone finding his body, and yet his diary ends up in a box in your archive. Those two facts don't seem compatible.”
“Perhaps you will be able to come up with an answer as you continue to work,” Edgar replied, “or perhaps it will remain a mystery. I'm sure there must be a reasonable explanation, although I admit that it does seem a little unusual.” He handed the book back to her.
“You don't want to read it?” she asked.
“You're the archivist,” he continued. “I'm sure that you'll let me know if there's anything interesting in there. After all, that's why I hired you, to put together all the pieces of the puzzle.” He paused. “I can't help but wonder what other items of interest you might find as you continue to work. Even after just a few days in there, you seem to be coming up with a steady stream of revelations. I had no idea that my family's history was so rich.”
She opened her mouth to remind him that she was only staying for a few more days, but something stopped her. In the back of her mind, she was already planning to go back to the chamber, so she figured she might stay a little longer.
As Edgar made his way over to the window, Kate slipped the diary back into her pocket. She knew it had been a risk letting Edgar hold it, since he might have opened it and read Beecham's notes about the underground chamber. At the same time, she couldn't shake the feeling that Edgar knew more about the situation that he was letting on, and she felt that his apparent lack of interest in the diary was itself an important sign. It was almost as if he knew about it already.
“This reminds me,” Edgar added, as he stared out at the sunset, “of a dream I had once.”
“A...” Kate paused, surprised that he'd mention something so personal.
“It was a long time ago,” he continued. “I was young. In the dream, I was running through a field of long grass, much like the one near the stones. This was before I had ever visited Thaxos, of course, so the similarity must have been a mere coincidence. In the dream, I tripped on something and came crashing down, and when I looked back I saw a human skeleton with its face turned toward me and its hand outstretched, as if it wanted to grab my leg. When I got to my feet and tried to run, the same thing happened again and again until finally I realized that there were bones hidden all over the field, hundreds and hundreds of them. I didn't know which way to go, and then suddenly I heard a rattling sound, as if bone was banging against bone. Slowly, the skeletons began to rise and although I tried to run, there was nowhere for me to go. The field stretched to the horizon in all directions, and everywhere there were skeletons, turning to me and...”
He paused.
“And what?” Kate asked eventually.
“It doesn't matter,” he replied. “It was just a dream, after all. Not real life.” He turned to her. “Dreams are perhaps private things. I always find it rather dull when people insist on telling others about their dreams.”
Kate smiled awkwardly, trying not to think back to her dream from the previous night.
“Then again,” Edgar continued, “sometimes a dream can be...”
Another pause.
“Something different,” he added. “Something a little more real.”
“I should go,” Kate replied, setting her brandy down. “I still have -”
“If another person shares your dream,” he asked, “is it still a dream?”
“I...” She stared at him for a moment. “I'm not sure what you mean. By definition, a dream is something that just takes place in your own mind.”
“So if you have a dream involving another person,” he continued, “and if that other person also experienced the dream... Every moment, every touch, every sensation... Then was it really a dream at all? Or was it some other kind of encounter?”
“I don't know,” Kate replied, trying not to panic. “A dream... A dream is a dream, it's private, so I don't see how...” She turned, but in the process she knocked the glass off the side of the table, sending it crashing down to the floor. She immediately knelt to pick up the pieces.
“I'll get Jacob to clear that up,” Edgar replied with a smile. “Please, don't trouble yourself.”
“I'm sorry,” she replied, “I -”
Before she could finish, she cut the side of her finger on a piece of broken glass. A bead of blood ran out, but she quickly wiped it against her shirt.
“Did you cut yourself?” Edgar asked.
“No,” she replied, getting to her feet while keeping her hand turned away from him. “It's been a strange day. I should go and work for an hour or two, to distract myself.”
Edgar sniffed the air, almost as if he could smell the blood.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” Kate replied, turning and hurrying to the door.
“Or maybe tonight,” Edgar called after her, “in a dream.”
She turned to him.
“Just a little joke,” he added. “As you say, dreams are private things. We can't share them with others, can we? Although life would be more interesting if we could.”
As soon as she was out in the corridor, Kate pulled the door shut and then leaned back against the wall. Her heart was racing, and her mind was filled with images from her previous night's dream. She could feel Edgar's hands running under her clothes, clutching at her flesh, and moments later she realized she could also feel herself becoming more excited, as if to welcome him again. Looking down at her hand, she saw that the cut was just superficial and was already drying up.
She turned and hurried along the corridor, heading back to the archive room. At first, she opened the diary and read it again. When she reached the blank pages at the back, she began to thi
nk back to the chamber she'd found beneath the stones, and she stared at the crude pencil sketches she'd completed earlier. Figuring that she should return the diary to the archive, she carefully tore out the last page, containing her sketches, before putting the diary in a clear plastic bag and placing it on a shelf. Opening the makeshift catalog she'd begun to keep, she recorded an entry for the diary, before folding up the torn-out page and slipping it into her pocket for later study.
She spent the evening working, refusing to go to bed, convinced that her dreams were no longer safe. At 8pm, she told herself she'd work for one more hour, and then the same at 9pm, 10pm and so on until midnight. Finally, just after 2am, she was unable to keep her eyes open any longer and she let her head drop as she sat at the desk. With the electric light still switched on, she dozed in her chair.
That night, in her dreams, she and Edgar made love again and again.
VIII
The hull of the huge black boat creaked as the engines began to power down. The prow of the vessel cut through the harbor water until finally the boat's starboard side came to a gentle rest against the dock, at which point several crew-members jumped ashore with ropes and began to tie the boat in place.
Nearby, a small wooden hut bore a sign informing visitors that they had arrived at Parios, a port on the western coast of Greece. Parios was far from the country's busiest port, with most merchant ships choosing one of the larger stopping points further along the coast. Still, Parios was known for its trading links with northern Europe, and as the port-master emerged from the hut with a clipboard in his hand, a set of pallets already stood waiting to be loaded aboard the vessel.
After a few minutes, up on the deck of the boat, a door inched open and Fernando peered out. He was determined to ensure that no-one spotted him, but at the same time he felt that he had to find out where the boat had arrived. Once he was sure there were no crew-members around, he hurried to the side and looked down at the pier, where the port-master was discussing matters with one of Edgar's men, while several other crew-members were already starting to load the pallets. It seemed like a fairly normal scene, and it was clear that the process of bringing the goods onboard would take a few hours.
Hurrying to the set of steps that had been lowered from the side of the boat, Fernando took one last look around to make sure that he wasn't being watched, and then finally he hurried down onto the pier. After spending more than twenty-four hours at sea, hiding in one of the boat's empty offices, he was glad to be on dry land again, but he knew he didn't have any time to waste. Trying his phone again, he found that he was still unable to get a proper signal.
“Excuse me,” said a voice suddenly, “are you one of the crew?”
Turning, he found that the port-master was standing behind him.
“I saw you come ashore just now,” the man continued. “Come on, I need you to go over the customs papers with me. That other guy was about as useful as a wet fish.”
“Sure,” Fernando replied, figuring that this would be a chance to learn a little more about Le Compte's operation. “Anything I can do to help.”
As the port-master led him to the hut, Fernando happened to glance at a group of Le Compte's men, who were struggling to get one of the pallets free from the rest. There was something strangely calm about them, but that wasn't what worried him the most: instead, he was trying to work out how half a dozen crew-members could have appeared out of nowhere, when there was no sign of any of them during the crossing.
