Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2)

by Mikey Campling

  Cally giggled. “Don’t you know? It’s Peppa Pig.”

  Andrew knew when he was beaten. He plonked the hard hat onto his head and looked at Cally with a straight face. “What do you think? Can I pull off this look?”

  Cally put her hand over her mouth, but her giggling was now out of control. “Oh yes,” she gasped. “It’s very…very you.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Go on. Let’s get on with it.” Then, as Cally turned away, her shoulders still shaking with laughter, he ran his hand over his face. It’s just one disaster after another, he thought. Isn’t it about time something went right?

  Chapter 30

  2014

  THE MAN TOOK HIS HAND from his pocket, and Tom reached out expectantly. But the man was empty handed.

  Tom groaned. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is happening. “Come on,” he pleaded. “You said you’d give me my phone back, now give it.”

  The man grimaced. “Did you honestly think, even for one minute, that you could get away with telling me that pack of lies?” He shook his head. “I don’t know how you can stand there and expect me to listen to that load of rubbish.”

  Tom lowered his hand. “It’s the truth,” he said, emphasising every word.

  The man tutted. “It’s nonsense. Drivel.”

  Tom almost laughed. I’ve tried. I really have tried. He threw his head back and looked up into the sky. A streak of dark cloud moved slowly across the sky and for a moment, Tom wondered what time it was. This day has stretched on forever. He looked back at the man. “I’ve never told anyone about the stone,” he said. “I always knew no one would take it seriously.” He let out a short, derisive laugh. “Turns out I was right about one thing.”

  The man stared at Tom. “You’re bluffing. There must be more. There must be something you aren’t telling me.”

  Tom’s only reply was to shake his head.

  The man let out a growl of frustration and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve gone about this the wrong way. I’ve made a mess of the whole damned thing.”

  Tom snorted, but the man carried on speaking. “Even so, you’ve got to understand—I have to know what happened.” He paused and stepped toward Tom. “Look, we’ve got off to a bad start, and that’s all my fault, I know it is.” He forced a thin smile. “Maybe…maybe we could start again.” He held out his hand as if for a shake. “My name’s Alan.”

  Tom let his mouth hang open in utter disbelief. For a moment, he stared at the man in silence. “A bad start?” he said, the words catching in his throat. “’A bad start’? That’s what you call it? A bad bloody start? Christ! Now I’ve heard everything.”

  Alan tilted his head. “Like I said, it was all my fault, but maybe we can move on. Maybe I can make amends somehow.”

  “I’ll tell you what you can bloody well do, Alan. You can give me my phone back so I can get out of this bloody dump.”

  Alan scowled and lowered his hand. “All right. If that’s the way you want it. Perhaps this will get through to you.” He took out Tom’s phone and held it up for Tom to see. “You want this?”

  Tom strode forward and grabbed for his phone, but Alan was ready for him. He snatched his hand away and stepped back across the ledge, not stopping until he stood at the very edge. He extended his arm, dangling the phone out over the long drop down to the quarry floor.

  Tom stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t.” He held out his hands, pleading. “Don’t drop it. Just…just be reasonable. I need that phone. My head’s killing me—I’ve got to get to a hospital. I need a doctor.”

  Alan narrowed his eyes. “I know. You’re running out of time.” He shook the phone in the air, holding it loosely between his fingertips.

  “Come on. You’ve got to be joking.”

  “No,” Alan said. “I’m deadly serious. This is your last chance. Tell me the truth or I will drop your phone.” He threw a quick glance toward the quarry floor. “And it’s a long way down.”

  Tom curled his fingers into fists. “You wouldn’t do it. You know you wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, I’ll do it all right. I’ll drop your phone over the edge, and then I’ll walk away, leave you here.” He nodded toward the slope they’d stumbled down earlier. “It’s a steep climb out of here,” he went on, “and the state you’re in, you’ll never make it.” He paused to let his words sink in, “Especially not on your own.”

  Tom stared at his phone, and as a last desperate burst of adrenalin coursed through his veins, time seemed to slow down. He watched the phone turning and tilting as it dangled from Alan’s fingers. The screen flashed as it caught the light. That phone was his only chance of survival and it hung in the balance, only a careless word away from vanishing forever. “OK,” he said. “OK. Whatever you want. Just don’t drop it. OK?”

  “Fine,” Alan said. He stopped shaking the phone and held it more firmly in his hand, but he didn’t take it away from the long drop. “All you’ve got to do is tell me the truth.”

  Tom pressed his palms together and took a deep breath. “I did tell the truth. I swear. I know it sounds stupid, but it is true.”

  Alan snorted. “Try again,” he said. He uncurled his fingers from the phone. It lay in his open palm. “And this time, don’t bother with your stupid stories. Just tell me the truth. Yes?”

  Tom covered his mouth with his hand. What the hell can I say? Nothing would satisfy this man but the truth, and the truth was the one thing he’d never believe. But there he stood, waiting for an answer. I’ve got to say something. Tom did his best to look the man in the eye. “All right.”

  Alan nodded and held the phone more securely, lowering his arm and bringing the phone back over the relative safety of the ledge. “But don’t leave anything out,” he said. “Tell me everything. Tell me what you did to my son.”

  For a second, Tom thought of giving the man the story he wanted to hear; admitting he’d killed the boy and buried him in a shallow grave. No! I’ll never say that. Tom chewed the inside of his cheek. The truth was bad enough, there was no need to make it worse. He shook his head slowly then looked over to the stone slab. He had to find some way to make this crazed man believe him, but what could he say? He closed his eyes for a moment. There had to be some way to describe what had happened to the boy without it sounding ridiculous. I don’t know—I need time. He looked at the man. “All right,” he said, “just, put my phone somewhere safe, OK? Put it in your pocket or something.”

  “And if I do that?”

  Tom glanced at him then turned his attention back to the dark stone slab. He almost didn’t want to admit it, but at last, he’d had an idea. He knew it would work, but it sickened him to the pit of his stomach. “I’ll give you your answers.”

  “All right, it’s a deal.” Alan stepped away from the edge, but he didn’t put the phone in his pocket. “But listen, you’d better tell me the truth, because if you don’t, I’ll be able to tell, and I can still throw the phone from here.”

  “I know,” Tom said.

  “You’re going to tell me what happened?”

  Tom swallowed. “Better than that,” he said. “I’m going to show you.”

  Chapter 31

  3650 BC

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Kaine demanded. “Are you just going to let him go?”

  Morven didn’t reply. He stood, his hand over his mouth, his eyes glazed, and stared as the prisoner made his way through the circle of men as though they simply weren’t there.

  “This isn’t right,” Kaine snarled. He strode toward Morven and grabbed him by the arm. “This isn’t right. You can’t just let him go.”

  Morven looked at him as though noticing him for the first time. “He has no talisman. The stone doesn’t want him.”

  Kaine narrowed his eyes. “I don’t care,” he hissed. “I want him.”

  “No,” Morven said. “He isn’t…He has no spirit.” He pulled his arm from Kaine’s grip and pushed the younger man away. Kaine spat a curse
at him, but Morven took no notice; his mind was in a whirl. Deeply buried memories clambered through his thoughts, dragging themselves to the surface, mingling with half-forgotten dreams. In a daze, he followed in the prisoner’s footsteps. He watched him walking away.

  Behind him, Kaine drew his axe. “I’ve had enough of this,” he growled. “If you won’t kill him, I will.” He strode forward, barging into Morven as he passed.

  “No,” Morven said, but he was too late. Kaine was already taking aim with his axe and drawing back his arm. From this distance, his throw would not miss.

  Suddenly, Morven sprang forward. He pushed Kaine roughly aside then ran toward the escaping prisoner, hurtling down the hill as fast as he could. He hoped he’d knocked Kaine from his feet, but he didn’t have time to make sure of it. He’d stopped the younger man from throwing his axe for a moment, and that would have to be enough. Morven ran on, breathing hard, pumping his arms, making every moment count. There was no time to think, no time to fear for his own safety—he had to do this, before it was too late.

  He heard a yell from behind. No doubt it was Kaine cursing him, but he ignored it. The prisoner was almost in reach. One stride, two, then Morven launched himself into the air, his arms outstretched. The prisoner must not escape.

  I didn’t turn when I heard them shouting at each other. I put my head down and I walked faster. I should’ve known. I should’ve known they’d never let me just walk away. And then I heard it—the unmistakeable sound of someone chasing down the hill. “No,” I muttered. I started to run but I’d left it too late. There was a yell from the hilltop and then a man slammed into me, knocking me to the ground. My hands were still tied and I landed heavily on my front, my attacker on top of me, pinning me down. I tried to squirm and struggle but it was hopeless. I twisted my body and managed to turn onto my side, but then my attacker grabbed me by the arms and stopped me moving. But at least I could now see who’d brought me down. It was the old man, and if he’d been afraid of me before, all that had changed. He stared into my eyes, and this time there was no hint of fear, only grim determination.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he didn’t give me the chance.

  “Listen,” he said, “and you just might live.”

  I stopped struggling. The man’s words washed over me like a bucket of iced water. I’d understood what he’d said. And I don’t mean I’d picked up on his tone. No. I’d understood because, for the first time since I’d woken up on the black stone, someone had spoken to me in perfect English.

  Chapter 32

  2018

  ANDREW DUCKED, but not enough to stop the top of his hard hat grating against the roof of the tunnel. Again. “Thank God for Peppa Pig,” he muttered.

  Cally looked back over her shoulder and gave him a smile. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” Andrew said. “It’s just a bit smaller in here than I expected.”

  “This is nothing—the ceiling used to be a lot lower. In some places you can see the line where they dug the floor out.”

  “Right.”

  Cally raised an eyebrow. “Try not to get too overenthusiastic.”

  Andrew held up his hands. “No, it’s fine. I’m enjoying myself. Really. It’s just, I’m quite tall.”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Cally said. “But don’t worry, we’re heading back to the entrance now. The ceiling is a bit higher in this next bit.”

  “Thank God for that. Peppa Pig has suffered enough.”

  Cally couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on—we’d better not get too far behind the others.”

  “No, I wouldn’t want to upset the charming Helen.”

  Cally led the way. “This part here,” she began, “is particularly interesting, because…”

  Andrew let her words wash over him. It was churlish to tune her out when she was so obviously enjoying herself, but he had more important things on his mind. He glanced back over his shoulder. The tunnel was empty behind him. Perhaps, if he could persuade Cally to hang back from the tour group, he could get her on her own and try to explain the situation. He ran his eyes over the damp stone walls, felt them pressing in on him. If she freaks out down here, at least she’ll be contained.

  “…and that’s the place I was telling you about,” Cally said. “You can clearly see where the floor level used to be.”

  “Oh yeah,” Andrew said. “It must’ve been awful for the men.”

  Cally half turned and flashed him a smile. She returned her attention to the uneven floor, watching her step as she walked on. “Just wait until you see this next bit. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “Sounds intriguing,” Andrew said. It’s just as well she’s got her back to me, he thought, because even in the dimly lit tunnel, he couldn’t hide the grim irony in his smile.

  Crawford checked the contents of his slim leather briefcase as his car drew to a smooth halt at the kerbside. He looked out of the window. The Exeter Passages; the one place he’d tried to keep this damned woman away from. All his hard work, his planning…and for what? He rolled his eyes. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I can still make this whole thing go away. He smiled to himself. Yes. It needn’t be too much trouble. This was exactly the sort of thing he excelled at. He pushed the car door open, then paused and turned to his driver, Peterson. “Wait for me in the lobby,” he said. “Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.” He climbed out of the car and closed the door without waiting for a reply. Peterson knew his business. Crawford had chosen him for his proven field skills and his discretion. He could be relied upon. Unlike some, Crawford thought bitterly. Andrew had muddied the waters completely, and the extraction team, who should still be waiting nearby, had failed to take the initiative. No imagination, no finesse, Crawford thought as he strode toward the entrance to the Passages. Fortunately, he had plenty of both.

  “Ta da,” Cally said, waving her arm theatrically toward an iron barred gate. “What do you think to that?”

  Andrew stepped up to the gate and peered through the bars, into the gloom of an unlit tunnel. To him, it looked much like the rest of the passages, although the ceiling was much higher and the floor was littered with loose rocks. He had to admit one thing though—the heavily chained and padlocked gate gave the place a certain sense of foreboding. “Very mysterious. Why is it locked?”

  “Well that’s just it,” Cally said, her voice an excited whisper. “They say it isn’t safe, but I don’t think that’s true. It’s been there for hundreds of years, I don’t think it’s going to fall down now.”

  Andrew frowned and fought off the urge to argue with her faulty logic. “Well, there are stone blocks all over the floor, so maybe—”

  “Exactly,” Cally interrupted, “stone blocks. But look here.” She pointed to the tunnel wall at her side.

  Andrew squinted at the wall. “Stone blocks,” he said.

  Cally gave an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you see? They’re the wrong size.”

  Andrew tilted his head to one side and looked first at the wall, then at debris on the floor of the locked tunnel. “You’re right,” he said. “The blocks on the floor look bigger.”

  “I’m certain they are,” Cally said.

  “But surely, they’ve just fallen from a different part of the wall, or the ceiling.”

  Cally folded her arms across her chest. “Can you see where they’re supposed to have fallen from?”

  Andrew looked through the bars again. He couldn’t see any obvious holes in the walls, but the ceiling was high and wreathed in deep shadows. “I’m not sure,” he said. “It all looks quite neglected.”

  Cally took a step closer to him. “Maybe that’s what someone wants us to think,” she murmured.

  Andrew tried hard not to roll his eyes. In his line of work, conspiracy theories usually led to long hours of wasted effort and mountains of paperwork. He sighed under his breath. “And what makes you say that?”

  Cally pointed through the bars. “See that block down there? C
an you see those marks on its side?”

  Andrew could just make out a series of vertical marks, scored into the stone. “Er, OK.”

  “It’s called feathering,” Cally said. “They pounded an iron rod into the rock and then split it off.”

  “So that means, what, exactly?”

  “There’s no feathering on the tunnel walls, so the loose stones on the floor were cut in a different way to the stone they used to build the tunnels. They don’t match.”

  “Oh, I see,” Andrew said. He glanced over his shoulder. The guided tour had moved on without them. They were alone. This might be his only chance to talk to her. “Listen, Cally—” he started. But she didn’t let him finish.

  “So why won’t they let me in?” Cally hissed. “I’ve written letter after letter. I’ve called time after time. But this jumped up busybody, this high and mighty Crawford, he won’t even return my calls.”

  At the mention of Crawford’s name, Andrew’s stomach muscles tightened. It couldn’t be the same man. It’s a coincidence. He shook his head and tried to push the thought away. But it didn’t work. He knew now, with a bitter certainty, that his superior had a hand in this. He’d manipulated them both; playing them, drawing them. And now it was too late. They were already entangled in some twisted scheme that only Crawford could see. Get out of here, now, Andrew told himself. Walk away—while you still can. But he had to know more, he had to find out what he was up against. He took a breath and tried to keep his voice steady. “You wrote a letter to a Mr. Crawford?”

  “Not exactly. I wrote to every authority I could think of, though most of them never replied, or just sent a standard letter. But then somebody screwed up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had a letter—all very official-looking and supposedly from the British Museum—but someone had accidentally sent me the wrong copy. I guess it was the copy they should’ve filed away, but they’d put the wrong one in the envelope. It had a slip of paper stapled to it: All enquiries to be diverted to Crawford. And there was even a phone number. I couldn’t believe my luck.”