Circle of Stones

by Catherine Fisher

  She was standing near the pump, the wallet held under her arm. I saw that the silk of her cloak was splashed & darkened by the water, but as I waited steam drifted between us, & a beggar woman pestered me to buy trinkets from a tray of junk.

  I told her to leave me alone.

  When I looked up again, Compton was there.

  I drew a breath. His lordship wore another elegant coat, & a silver-hilted sword. He pulled off his hat & bowed to her, mocking. I indulged myself with a dream of knocking him to the ground at my feet. It was a very pleasant thought.

  There was an ancient pillar nearby, green with slime. I stood behind it & watched them. They talked. He was smiling & laughing. She was quick, quiet, agitated. She glanced around once or twice. For a moment she seemed almost to be pleading with him; his smile went & he said something hard & sharp. Then he caught her arm.

  I stood rigid. I wanted to run out & fling him off. But I told myself to be still because both of us would have revenge on him this way.

  She took out the leather folder. I saw his face light; he reached for it but she held it back, & I knew she was asking for my note-of-promise, because he laughed then, & glanced around, as if he guessed I was there.

  All the air between us rippled with steam. A great splatter from the bath doused me with hot drops; they touched my cheek like the fingertips of a hand. As I wiped them away I saw Compton take something from his pocket & offer it to Sylvia, maliciously holding it from her fingers & dangling it before her, like a man does with tidbits for his dog.

  I felt my teeth grit.

  But she took hold of it with a quick snatch & read it. Then she put it into her pocket & gave him the plans.

  I held my breath. Because he untied the wallet & looked inside at once, his eyes alert. Suddenly I wondered if I had mis-gauged his knowledge. What if he recognized the errors, the impossible proportions? My drawings were good, my hand neat & as like my master’s as I could make it. Surely he could not know.

  He didn’t . . .

  He closed the folder & said something & she snapped an answer back. And then she was walking, away from him & away from me, her head down, thrusting people aside, pushing through the crowd. Compton turned & went out of the main door. Instantly I shouldered my way after Sylvia, slipping on the treacherous steps, hot in the clammy air of the sulfurous pools. She ran up the steps to street level.

  “Sylvia!” I called her but she must not have heard, so I ran after her.

  The street was cold after the steamy heat; its darkness was complete, but I could hear her running ahead. I followed her to Bath Street, past the hospital, into the clutter of shops & lockups the carpenters use, the saw-close.

  “Sylvia! Wait! Here I am.”

  Ahead of me on the empty street, she stopped. She did not turn, but waited till I caught up, & when I reached her side she did not look at me, but thrust a paper into my hands.

  One small lamp flickered where a night watchman sat. I ran to it & held the paper under it, & cried out in joy.

  It was certainly my note-of-promise. There was my own signature, scrawled in despair across the sum. One hundred guineas. Payable to Lord Compton.

  “You did it! You got it!” I wanted to swing her off her feet & kiss her, but when I turned she was standing apart from me, & her face was grave.

  “Yes,” she said. “I got it.”

  Her coldness chilled me. So I bowed formally. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “It was nothing,” she said. There was a glimmer of water on her face, as if the steam had gathered there & trickled. I could not tell why she was so hard, almost angry with me. But the note was real enough & rustling in my hands, so I held its corner carefully to the flame in the sooty lamp & watched it catch light, the paper blackening at the edge & then suddenly crumpling into fire. I turned it carefully & watched my debt smolder into ashes & fall at my feet. For good measure, I put my heel to the pieces & ground them into the dirt.

  When it was done she walked away, & I went after her. “I feel so free! Sylvia, you can’t guess how the debt weighed on me!” Indeed, I only knew how much myself now, when it was gone. “Things will be different now. I will work so hard! Forrest will barely know me. And my father—I will send him money. Every month! Half my salary.”

  She was silent, walking beside me.

  “And he had no idea? Compton? He was satisfied with the plans?”

  “He was satisfied.”

  “What a fool he is”

  “Yes.” Her voice was flat. “What a fool he is.”

  Did she feel sorry at having outwitted him? I could not imagine it. We walked back quickly. She seemed disinclined to talk, as if the task of deceiving Compton had taken all the energy out of her. I fear I may have prattled on, because in my joy I did something I had not meant to do. I told her about the secret chamber in the heart of the Circus.

  She listened intently. By the time we reached the house she knew it all, even my plans to watch the Oroboros meeting. She said, “I’m coming with you.”

  I tried to hide my dismay. “Sylvia . . .”

  She turned on me like a viper. “I’m coming with you, & don’t even think about stopping me! You’ve got your precious note, & you owe me for that! You’re safe, & that’s all that matters to you!” And she ran up the steps of the house & slammed the front door in my face.

  I stared at the quivering black panels in bewilderment.

  Now what had I done?

  • • •

  All the next day I did not see her. She wasn’t at breakfast, nor supper, & Mrs. Hill said she had taken to her bed & was unwell. Forrest frowned. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nothing, zirr, & don’t you worry yourself about missy.” The housekeeper cleared the dishes. “A case of the vapors, as I know full well. It will all pass off tomorrow.”

  She was avoiding me. I knew it, but had no idea why. Girls are impossible to understand.

  Forrest sat awhile, musing, & I watched him. He had fallen into one of his strange moments of dream, & I wondered what he was thinking there, twirling the wineglass in his finger & thumb, what druid mysteries were perplexing him. Or was it something as practical as the materials for the broken scaffold? What a mixture he was!

  I decided to try my luck. “I will be going out about the town tonight, sir, if you allow.”

  He looked up. “What?”

  “About the town.”

  “Not gaming, Zac, I trust.”

  I smiled, complaisant. “I do not game, sir.”

  “Good. It’s a great folly.” He put the glass down. “How do you think the work is going, Zac? Do you like what you see?”

  I said, “It will crown your life’s endeavor.”

  “A crown of acorns.” He smiled. “But are you sure?” He fixed me with his dark eyes, always so quick. “Or are you just appeasing your master’s vanity?”

  I did not know what to say. And then the words came out & I surprised myself. “I believe the Circus will be spoken of in days to come as great architecture. I’m honored to be involved with it.” And it was true.

  He looked at me over the empty table. “Are we friends, Zac?”

  Now it was I who turned my glass. “Yes,” I said. He nodded.

  “That pleases me. Sometimes I thought . . . because I know I am not an easy man to live with. Ideas rise up in my head like the bubbles in the spring. Who knows where they all come from? But I am glad you’re working with me. I see a great future for you someday, Zac. Despite your airs & graces.”

  I laughed, though the final sentence irked me just a little. But his mention of the bubbling spring reminded me of the hidden chamber, & I told myself that he had not shared this with me, & so how much was his friendship worth?

  He rose. “I have to go out too, later. Enjoy your evening, Zac. Let’s hope Sylvie will be back with us t
omorrow.”

  I watched him go out & up the stairs.

  Sylvie. That was what Compton called her.

  • • •

  I spent the intervening hours in my room, all hung about with my clothes. I tried to study, but at just before eleven the front door shut softly & I jumped up to the window & looked out. Forrest’s dark shadow slipped into the street.

  I grabbed my coat & crept past Sylvia’s door, but it opened & she came out at once, as if she had been sitting there on the bed, waiting. This time her cloak was black.

  “He’s just left,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Are you really ill?”

  She looked at me strangely. “I don’t know yet.”

  We tiptoed down the stairs & out of the house. Mrs. Hall had gone home—just as well, because I dared not imagine what she might think.

  So for the second night in a row Sylvia & I walked the streets of the city, but something had changed between us now; she did not give me her arm & we said hardly anything until we came to the edge of the site & saw Forrest not far ahead of us, tall & shadowy in his old coat.

  The half-built facade cast a long shadow over the huts & masonry, the scaffolding & stacked stone. Looking up, I saw the moon was full, glinting on pools of water & the metal edges & corners of struts. But the center of the Circus was an inky darkness, & as Sylvia moved in front of me I almost stumbled to the floor. She grabbed my wrist tight.

  Forrest paused.

  He glanced around & we stood frozen. For a moment I knew he would call out, “Is that you, Zac?” & I would have to answer him. But he seemed to turn, & then was gone, into the cellars.

  Sylvia’s lips were warm at my ear. “Keep close to me.”

  I intended to. She seemed to see in the dark like a cat; she led me through the rubble of the site.

  There was no sign of the watchman. And the others of the Oroboros must have come as secretly; there were no horses or carriages in the half-made street.

  We hesitated at the entrance to the cellar.

  Sylvia withdrew her hand. “Well. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “It’s too late to go back.”

  She looked at the dark doorway. “No it isn’t.”

  “You don’t have to come.”

  She seemed to smile sadly in the dark. “No, I don’t.” But she didn’t move away. Instead I heard her sigh, & she whispered, “Are we really saving him, Zac? Or betraying him?”

  I had no answer to that. Instead I edged past her & slipped into the cellar.

  It was bitterly cold, & as we went down, it seemed deeper than in the daylight, as if we descended through time. The bare walls exhaled a noxious damp; I saw my breath fog the air as I inched through the dark.

  The pile of wood rose in front of us like a screen. I paused, listening anxiously for voices, but the shadows ahead were quiet. I dared not speak to Sylvia now; the room would have echoed our murmurs. And the foggy night had crept in after us so that I could barely see her.

  I reached out & touched the wood. It was icy, the rough grain catching on my fingers. I eased myself to the end of it & peered around.

  The arch & passageway were black.

  Then, as I stared, a flame sputtered to life in the secret room. I saw nothing but the flame; it was carried down by an unseen hand & touched to a wick.

  The flame steadied & grew. Yellow light flickered in the chamber. I saw the bare walls, lined with shadows. I saw the pool, faint steam rising from it. A bubble rose to the surface & plipped silently.

  The flame moved. From candle to candle it went, until there was a ring of light about the water. Vast ripples of shadow slid down the walls. The darkness crackled & murmured.

  They must be there already. The men of the Oroboros, the secret cult that I knew nothing of. Were they men of power in the city: lords, councilors, merchants, the great and the good? Was Ralph Alleyn among them, or Greye? Or were they antiquarians like Forrest, men who dreamed of druids & lost gods, who elaborated foolish theories in great books that no one read?

  I could not see. I was at the very edge of the wooden screen & I still could not see.

  Sylvia’s grip was tight, but I pulled away. I stepped across to the archway, a brief instant in the light, crept into the passage & flattened myself against the stones there, my heart thudding in my chest.

  And then I took a breath & peered into the chamber.

  Bladud

  Beyond the world’s orbit is darkness. We live in the light of the moon and the sun, of torches and candles. We fear what lies outside our warm ring.

  But druids and wise men need to know. We need to know how the darkness sometimes creeps inside us, how we let it in. Fear, betrayal, dread. These are the mysteries of time, that snake that eats its own tail.

  I remember I climbed my tower in the early morning and looked out from its top. I could see a long way, as far as the downs. I could see the day’s beginning, and in the west, I could see the place it would end. Because the day is a circle too.

  I fitted the wings to my back and I spread them wide.

  My heart leaped with fear as the breeze nudged me. My feet were at the very edge of the stonework; the feathers all rustled and moved with the energy they held.

  Once before I had been in a place between life and death.

  Now I was there again.

  I leaped into the blue sky. I screamed.

  Sulis

  There was a passageway, and at its end, a chamber.

  In the chamber was nothing but some sort of circular feature in the center.

  The walls were bare stone. Simon said, “Well. No treasure, then.”

  They stood, looking around.

  Sulis was disappointed, as if she had expected some message from Forrest here, some object left by him. The roof was dim above her; she flashed the light over it and they saw the carefully corbelled rings of stone.

  “What was it for?” Josh muttered.

  “Good question.” Simon went out for the camera and carried it in. “There’s nothing to tell us.”

  Their voices rang as if they were deep inside a shaft, or as if the great facade above the ground contained them, even down here. Sulis crouched down over the central circle.

  “There’s this. It’s a pool. Or it was.” Even now the earth looked damp. She put her hand down and felt it; there was a faint but real warmth, and her fingers sank into a soft mud studded with tiny gritty stones.

  Simon bent and stared. “A hot spring? That’s quite remarkable.”

  She felt the warmth in her fingertips. Something made her dig deeper; she scraped her fingers deep, leaving five gouges that slowly filled, as she watched, with water that seeped up from the depths of the earth.

  “Forrest must have known it was here.” Simon was excited now. “Perhaps it was the reason he even chose the site for his Circus. I’m sure no one else knows anything about this.” He glanced around. “We should really get some geofizz down here, you know. There could be all sorts of stuff underneath.” He shone the flashlight into the darkness; the light ghosted over something pale.

  “There,” Josh said. “What’s that?”

  The flashlight refocused, searching. Sulis turned hers that way too. Both beams met, and converged, and stopped.

  They lit a square stone. It stood by itself, placed deliberately on the bare floor.

  It had been smoothed and on its side an image was carved, unweathered, still fresh from the workmen’s chisels. Simon drew in a deep breath.

  Then he looked at Sulis.

  She was still, unable to move.

  “What is it?” Josh muttered.

  “A metope.” Simon’s voice was low. “An extra one, it seems. One they didn’t use on the Circus.”

  Sulis stepped forward. She brought the flashlight beam up
close to the image, crouched down in front of it, ran the light over its crumbling edges, its sharp smooth surface.

  It showed a winged figure, arms wide, plunging earthward.

  “Icarus,” Josh said.

  Simon shrugged. “More probably Bladud. Forrest was fascinated with the local legend. Some say he even imagined himself to be Bladud, in some strange way. Bladud made himself wings. He threw himself off some temple and tried to fly.”

  Sulis touched the stone. She was closer to it than they were. Her eyes were near to the grainy golden stone, the stone of the city, hacked from the downs in Ralph Alleyn’s quarry, hauled here and cut into this image. She could see that the winged figure had long hair.

  Was it a man? Or was it a girl?

  Josh was next to her. He was saying, “Are you okay, Sulis?”

  She couldn’t answer him. Instead she said, “What happened to him? The druid?”

  Simon stood up, his knees creaking. “He was smashed to pieces, the book said.”

  She had known that. And in the shadows behind her, in the dark spaces of the chamber, she knew someone else was standing. It wasn’t Simon or Josh. She knew who it was.

  The smell told her. It made her gasp with memory. The smell of dead leaves and soil, the smell of mustiness, or rain-soaked clothes. She turned her head slowly and saw him near the door, but he already had his back to her. He walked behind Josh and Simon and he made no sound and neither of them saw him go. He walked through the stone archway and didn’t look back.

  She scrambled up. “I’ve got to go. To get some air.”

  “Sulis . . .”

  She was past them, pushing past. She threw the flashlight to Josh and he grabbed it before it smashed; then she was running, through the chamber and under the arch, back into the cellar. A shadow moved before her, perhaps her own, perhaps another girl’s, running and laughing, and in front of them both, the stranger paced.