It’s still there, he thought, the slab of dark rock hidden on the ledge, concealed by the trees. He looked away, a cold sweat beading on his brow. He didn’t want to see it. He’d promised himself he’d never have to see that place again. He closed his eyes and tried to think of home. But all he could see in his mind was that damned ledge, the accursed block of jet-black stone. He didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to think about what had happened there. He saw it often enough in his dreams. He pressed himself back as tightly as he could into his seat and groaned.
Captain Johnson checked their bearing and altitude and levelled off for a nice, straightforward pass over the quarry. He frowned. For a moment, he thought he’d seen a flash of light glinting across the glass-fronted gauges. No. Everything was fine. It was probably just a reflection. Even so, with a Wing Commander in the back he wasn’t taking any chances. He’d better keep an eye on the instrument panel. If it was an electrical spark, he might have to ditch. He glanced down at the quarry as they passed. Ugly place. Why on Earth would the Wingco want to see that? It was just a hole in the ground. Ah well, he thought, orders are orders. And it was done now. They could get back on course. As the quarry dropped away behind them, he pulled the aeroplane up into a banking turn, climbing, setting them up to return to their original heading. And that’s when it happened.
A blue light arced across the instruments. Johnson stared as the artificial horizon span erratically. The altimeter needle twitched and vibrated and the air speed indicator fell to zero knots. He blinked. It didn’t matter. He could fly this plane without a single instrument—he’d done it before. But he’d need to make an emergency landing. He started the procedure, and opened his mouth to start the proper radio messages. And the joystick jolted, almost jumping from his hand. He moved it left to right, back and forward, but it was limp, useless. He tried the rudder pedals. Nothing. He’d lost control of the plane. He reached out to the co-pilot’s joystick, but that too was useless. This can’t happen, he thought. It was impossible, wasn’t it? He swallowed.
And at that moment, the engine stuttered and died.
CHAPTER 10
2007
MR. DREW NARROWED HIS EYES against the weak winter sunlight and turned to gaze across the Common. He felt the familiar tingle along his spine as old memories stirred. He bit his lower lip. I shouldn’t come here, he thought. But he had to exercise the dog somewhere, and the Common was convenient. At least, that was what he told himself.
He cleared his throat. Time to get moving. Otherwise, his knee would start playing up again. But first, he had to find his damned dog. He licked his dry lips and whistled as loudly as he could. He waited, listening for an answering bark. Nothing. He shook his head. The cold crept into his toes. He stamped his feet. I never used to feel the cold, he thought. For a moment, he pictured himself sitting in his cosy armchair by the fire, a hot cup of tea in his hand and the pick of the Boxing Day films on the telly. But it was no good daydreaming. The picture wouldn’t be complete without Frank curled up by his feet.
He raised his hands to his mouth. “Frank. Come here, boy.” He turned his head, listening. Nothing. He’d have to go and find him. He picked out the place where he’d last seen Frank galloping into the distance, then he took a deep breath and strode out across the Common. “I’ll wallop that blooming dog,” he muttered. But he knew he wouldn’t do any such thing. Frank was a big dog, like all German shepherds, but he was still young, not much more than a puppy. And he still had that endless energy, that excitement at every scent, every stranger. He’ll learn, he thought. He’ll settle down. Eventually.
He paused and scanned the horizon. Away to his left there was a patch of woodland, and to his right, a clump of hawthorn. Frank could be charging around in either. He pursed his lips and turned, hoping for some clue. There. A couple of people mooching about in the distance. A man and his boy, no doubt out for a walk. He set off toward them. Perhaps they’d seen Frank.
By the time he was close enough for conversation, the boy had wandered away, his head down, intent on studying the ground.
He nodded at the man. “You haven’t seen a dog, have you?”
The man shook his head. “Sorry. But that doesn’t mean much. We’ve been concentrating.” He smiled and added, “We’re looking for lost treasure.”
Mr. Drew looked the man up and down. Was he pulling his leg? “Is that right?” he said.
The man gestured toward his son. “Trying out the new metal detector.”
So that was it. He looked at the boy more closely, this time noticing the black rod of the metal detector as the boy swept it carefully from side to side. Mr. Drew shuddered. A sudden chill swept across his skin. “You haven’t…” he hesitated. “You haven’t found any then?”
The man tilted his head. “Treasure? No.” He rummaged in his pocket and held out his arm. “Just this,” he said, and opened his hand.
Mr. Drew stared at the altimeter’s metal face. He took a deep breath. It could’ve been worse. Much worse. He looked the man in the eye. “It crashed,” he said. “In the war.”
The man looked doubtful. “In the war? What, shot down? ‘Round here?”
Mr. Drew lowered his eyes. “No,” he said. “Just an accident. A stupid, senseless accident.”
The man studied Mr. Drew for a moment. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, “how do you know?”
“How do you think?”
The man’s eyes were wide. “Oh, my god,” he said. “You were in it, weren’t you? You survived. Wait—I’ve got to tell Jake.” He started to turn away.
Suddenly, Mr. Drew grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “No,” he growled. “You’re wrong.”
The man stared at him. “What?”
Mr. Drew released the man’s arm and stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to…”
“Look, if I’ve offended you or something, I’m sorry but-”
“It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s just…he was a friend of mine.”
“Oh.” The man looked down at the metal disc in his hand. “I see.” He looked back at Mr. Drew. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This must seem…disrespectful.”
Mr. Drew nodded. He looked away, into the distance. He could see the tangled wreckage, smell the bitter smoke. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it does.” And he turned on his heel and walked away.
From the trees in the distance, he heard a loud bark.
CHAPTER 11
2007
I SLUMPED ONTO THE SOFA next to Dad, stretched out my arms and legs and yawned.
Dad looked up from his laptop. “Did you enjoy your new toy?”
I picked up a cushion and swiped it at him. “It’s not a toy.”
He chuckled. “Only teasing. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It was good. Thanks.”
He smiled and went back to his computer, tapping at the keyboard, engrossed.
I watched him for a second. I wanted to ask him something. But when Dad was working on one of his “projects” it was best to leave him be. I picked up the TV guide and idly flicked the pages, looking at the pictures, listening to the clicking of Dad’s keyboard. But when he started his tuneless humming routine, I couldn’t wait. “Dad,” I said. “It would’ve been nice to…you know…find something else.”
He didn’t look up. “Hm?”
“I just thought we might find some more bits from the plane, that’s all.”
Dad glanced up at me. “I know what you mean,” he said, “but I suppose they retrieved as much as they could when it crashed.”
“I guess so.”
“You never know though,” he said. He shot me a knowing look. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
I sat up straight. “What?” I said. “Are you looking for stuff about the plane?”
“Not looking for,” he said. “I’ve already found it—just now.”
“Show me.”
He t
urned the laptop so that I could see the screen. “This is a Miles Messenger—the plane that crashed.”
I looked at the screen. “So, is this what the old man told you?”
Dad frowned at me. “Have some respect,” he said. “And it’s not just him anyway. I checked. It’s true. Look.”
He switched to a different browser tab, and the screen filled with text. I looked up at him. His eyes were alive with excitement. “OK, OK.” I put the magazine down and leaned forward so that I could read the page. It was all there: times, dates, eyewitness statements describing the crash. The plane just fell, they said. It had just tumbled from the sky. I shuddered, wondering what it must have been like for the men inside.
Dad pointed to the bottom of the page. “Have you seen this?”
The heading simply said, Casualties. I read the list of names, the pilot and three passengers, all dead. I sighed. What a horrible way to die. “Go back,” I said. “Show me the plane again.”
“Uh, hang on. There you go.”
I scanned the images. It was an odd little plane with three tail fins. But I liked it. It had character.
“And take a look at this.” Dad selected an image, and as I watched, he zoomed in to the picture of the plane’s cockpit. And there it was. The altimeter was identical to the one we’d found.
“Wow,” I whispered. “That proves it.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. It was all true. The plane had crashed, men had died. And what had we done? Poked around and dug holes. It didn’t seem right.
“There’s something else,” Dad said.
“What?”
He hesitated. “Now don’t be disappointed. I know you wanted to find something valuable.”
I pulled a face. “What are you going on about?”
“When I was searching for any finds up on the Common, I came across this.”
Again, he switched to a new tab. This was a report from a local newspaper, dated December twenty-first—just a few days ago. The title: “Christmas Bonus for Local Farmer.” I read as fast as I could. A farmer, digging a drainage ditch on the edge of the Common, had unearthed two pieces of ancient jewellery. He’d taken them to the local museum, and they’d brought in an expert. According to her, they were from Neolithic necklaces or amulets. They hadn’t been able to work out the value yet, but it was likely to be high. The amulets were buried deep in the water-logged peat, and that had preserved them. The expert said that, considering their probable age, she’d rarely seen such intricate carving and never in such beautiful condition. And, there were two of them, a matching pair. They weren’t just rare, they were unique. Museums around the world were already showing an interest.
I looked up at Dad. “Aw, we were so near. How come we didn’t find something like that?”
“Well, it would’ve been nice,” he said, “but you know, we didn’t stand much chance.”
“Why not?”
Dad chuckled. “Neolithic,” he said. “Stone Age. They didn’t have any metal for you to detect.”
“Huh.”
He ruffled my hair. “Don’t worry,” he said, “you keep looking.”
I gave him a small smile.
“You’ll find something special one day,” he said. “I know you will.”
EPILOGUE
2014
Detective Sergeant Myers picked his way carefully down the steep slope. The bracken had been trampled down by those who’d been first on the scene, but since it had been drizzling all morning, the flattened undergrowth was damp and treacherous. A bramble snagged the leg of his trousers and he cursed under his breath as he freed himself. Christ, he thought, what a dump. He looked down the slope, beyond the crime scene tape and toward the abandoned quarry. It was a neglected and dismal place. Much of the ground was covered with dense bracken, the rest was bare rock, or mud. A scattering of spindly trees grew up at awkward angles, or leaned against their neighbours, broken and rotting before they’d had the chance to fully grow.
Myers took a breath and carried on down the slope, keeping his balance by holding onto each slender tree trunk that he passed. It’d be just my luck to fall on my backside, he thought, especially with him watching. He glared at the young constable who’d been left to guard the crime scene. Although the man was trying to hide his smirk, there was no doubt he was enjoying the detective’s discomfort. I can’t blame him, Myers thought. If I’d been left alone in here, I’d be ready for some entertainment. But Myers wasn’t in the mood for jokes. As he stumbled down the last few feet of the slope, he thought back to the case file waiting on his desk: missing persons, grievous bodily harm, burglary, aggravated trespass, and some kind of botched kidnapping attempt. The file spanned four years, and none of it added up. But it was his job to untangle it, to build the chain of events, to catalogue the evidence, and interview the witnesses. He had to make sense of it. Somehow.
Myers squared his shoulders and strode toward the crime scene. At least this part of the quarry was flat. As he reached the cordon of yellow tape, he set his jaw and showed his ID to the constable.
The younger man knew exactly who Myers was, but he glanced at the offered ID anyway. “Morning, Sir,” he said, and lifted the yellow tape so that Myers could duck underneath.
Myers scanned the area. “So,” he said, “have the white suit brigade done their bit?”
The constable frowned for a moment. “Oh, yes, Sir. The scenes of crime team have finished. I was told to wait until CID arrived.” He shifted his feet and looked uncomfortable.
Myers narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”
“There was someone else here earlier. An inspector. He said he was Special Branch, but I don’t know. What would they be doing here?”
Myers stared at the constable. “You let him in?”
“Well, he had the right ID, Sir. There wasn’t much I could do.”
Myers sighed. “OK,” he said. “You kept a note of his name of course.”
“Yes, Sir.” The constable produced his notebook and opened it.
***
On the road that ran behind the abandoned quarry, a middle aged man, smartly dressed in a grey three piece suit, opened the rear door of his black BMW saloon and climbed in, pleased to note that the engine was already running. The driver watched him in the rear view mirror, waiting for his instructions. But his passenger was in no hurry. He was busy with his phone, tapping at the screen and smiling to himself.
“Everything all right, Mr Crawford?” the driver asked.
Crawford looked up. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The driver nodded and pulled the car out into the road. He knew better than to ask their destination.
Crawford pocketed his phone and settled himself against the seat’s smooth leather upholstery. Yes, everything had gone well. He’d given a false name to the police of course, and he’d had plenty of time to work undisturbed. He made a mental note to shred the ID card he’d used. He took out his phone again. He couldn’t resist having another look. He swiped his finger across the screen and smiled. The photos had come out well. He’d covered every angle, captured every detail.
At last, he’d found what he’d been searching for. It had taken him three years of painstaking research, but it had all been worth it.
The stone was perfect.
THANK YOU FOR READING BREAKING GROUND
I really hope you enjoyed it.
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Turn the page to read an afterword that adds more depth to Breaking Ground.
Keep turning the pages to read some sample chapters of T
respass—the first full-length Darkeningstone novel
AFTERWORD
I’m an awkward devil. I make life hard for myself. I write stories with several plotlines, involving multiple time periods and spanning over 5,000 years. And sometimes, as I’m bashing my head against the desk trying to make sure it all ties in for the reader, I wonder why I don’t just write a nice simple, linear story. But I know the answer: I love the complexity, the challenge. And I think it makes the story richer too.
So I wrote Trespass, the first full-length Darkeningstone novel. And people liked it. But as a new author, it was always going to be hard to be discovered by readers. So I had the idea of writing a prequel that I could give away for free to give people a taste of my work and a glimpse into the world of the Darkeningstone. And that idea became Breaking Ground.
All well and good, you might think. Easy. But I didn’t want to make it “episode 1”. The Darkeningstone books aren’t a serial. I wanted this book to stand apart and to deliver a flavour of what The Darkeningstone was about.
Also, I didn’t want to cheat anyone who’d already read Trespass. This prequel had to serve as an introduction to new readers, and as a bonus book (a bit of extra value) to existing fans. So while it could be read after Trespass, I didn’t want to give any spoilers for new readers who are discovering The Darkeningstone for the first time.
Does that make sense to you? Then perhaps you’ll agree that I set myself a hard task. But that’s OK—it’s what I’m here for. I poured my heart and soul into Breaking Ground. While it was always going to be a short book, I wanted it to pack a punch and cover a lot of ground. But could it possibly introduce my style of fast-paced, multi-layered writing while also tying everything up and delivering every plotline neatly wrapped in a pink ribbon at the end? Probably not. Even so, let’s have a look at the paths and resolutions.
Breaking Ground: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time Page 4
