by Simon Clark
Pel’s heart pounded her ribs. A furious hammering. Adrenalin made all the colours so vivid – she’d never seen grass as green. The tombstone slab had the lustre of onyx. The soil appeared to shine as if sprayed with gold. While the rope that connected the van to the stone blazed a brilliant, dazzling orange.
Now, the rope grew taut. When Kerry eased the van forward the line quivered. A sense of pent-up energy animated it. If it snapped now. Dear God …
Nat shouted, ‘Pel, you’re too close. Keep clear of the rope. And, for the love of God, don’t get too close to the cliff.’
Vibration from the van’s motor shook the ground. A crack opened that was so wide her boot slipped through until she was ankle deep. She moved away from the fissure – that move took her closer to both the quivering rope and the cliff.
Nat yelled, ‘Pel, get away from there. I’m ordering you!’
She held up a finger. Give me one more minute.
‘No,’ he bellowed. ‘You’ll be killed! Run!’
Suddenly, the van moved forward, hauling the stone slab upwards. Instantly, she saw the dark void it had revealed. Gleaming there: bones.
She thought: A grave like this has to be high status. A chief. A priestess. Who knows? Even a god in human form. Prehistoric religion was shadowy, mysterious. Every single find like this is precious.
Nat shouted, ‘I’m calling this investigation dead. We’re quitting it. I’m not paying for it in human lives!’ Then louder: ‘Pel, get away from there!’
The wall of the pit sagged at the cliff-ward side. From here, she could see that barely a foot-thick wall of soft earth separated the tomb from empty air beyond the cliff-face. Nat would have approached her, but the taut cable between van and tomb slab prevented him rushing to drag her away.
Pel made a fateful decision. ‘Rob!’ she called to one of the diggers. ‘Throw me a finds box. The big red one!’ Rob hesitated. ‘Quick! Before we lose it.’
He tossed her a red plastic box that could have comfortably accommodated a microwave oven.
‘No! Don’t you dare!’ Nat screamed. ‘You’ll be killed!’
Pel sat down on the edge of the pit; then as if it was a kids’ slide she skidded on her rear to the bottom. At the far side of the pit the earth wall fell outwards. Now Pel had a clear view of the ocean, along with the beach a lethal fifty feet below.
Quickly, she positioned the box alongside the grave. Then as gently, but as swiftly as she could, she lifted the bones out of the tomb vault – a void that was little larger than a child’s bed. Into the box went the top of a skull that ended just below the nasal cavity; after that, ribs, femur, collar bones, pelvis, half-a-dozen vertebrae. In the soft black mulch at the bottom of the grave lay implements for the afterlife – an axe-head, flint arrowheads, a corroded iron knife blade, then a black pot the size of a melon. She reached deeper to extract jet beads, bone clothes’ pins, and a stone head that was no bigger than her fist. The she realized that it was harder to reach the bottom of the vault.
‘Dear God,’ she hissed. ‘It’s sinking away from me.’ All around her, the sides of the pit spilled a golden rain of dirt. People shouted that she must get out. A rumble grew louder. Suddenly, it felt as if she stood in an elevator that had begun its descent.
With a desperate surge of energy she reached into the tomb one last time. She seized a man’s heavy jaw bone still set with creamy, white teeth.
Then she clawed her way back up the side of the pit with one hand while she dragged the plastic box behind her.
‘She’s not going to make it,’ Nat shouted. ‘The whole lot’s falling from under her.’
Kerry flung herself chest-down at the edge of the pit, then reached out her hands. ‘Forget the box! Leave it! Give me your hand!’
Instead, Pel thrust the box up at her boss. Her hair and mouth were full of dirt that gushed down from the rim of the pit. Rob dashed forward to grab the box. Then Nat and Kerry seized a hand each and yanked Pel from the pit – just as the ancient grave fell down on to the beach with a sound like thunder.
7
WHEN PEL’S COLLEAGUES had dragged her to safety Nat yelled in her face: ‘Idiot!’ For a moment she thought he’d push her roughly away. Instead, he hugged her with such relief that she couldn’t breathe. Then he went to sit with his back to a tombstone where he wept like a little boy. After that, it all became a bit of a blur. The next time she felt clear-headed enough to check her watch forty minutes had elapsed from the time she’d scrambled out of the collapsing grave pit. A half-drunk mug of coffee rested on the trestle table in front of her. A cool wind blew her hair. Her hands were streaked with yellow earth. In assorted trenches, dirt-monkeys were hard at work again, digging, sieving, sorting finds. She drained the cup. Whoever had made it had ensured it was caffeine-rich enough to kick-start her senses. No sooner had she set the mug down, then Kerry and Nat marched purposefully toward her along a graveyard path.
‘Oh no,’ she groaned to herself. ‘This is where I get fired.’
Kerry appraised her no doubt tousled hair. ‘I’ve a good mind, Pel Minton, to put you over my knee and give you a good, hard spank.’
Nat rolled his eyes. ‘Kerry? Do you have to? The last thing I need right now is erotic imagery of you disciplining young women. My heart’s still pounding like crazy.’ Despite being shaken, he managed a smile. ‘I’ve experienced every emotion imaginable today. Elation at the finds. Guilt at rushing excavations. Sheer, freaking terror of you jumping into the grave pit. Now Kerry gets me steamy with images of her spanking your butt. I ask you.’
‘You’re going to fire me, aren’t you?’ Pel asked.
‘Fire you.’ Kerry’s frosty expression warmed into a grin. ‘We’re here to thank you.’
‘Praise you. Adore you,’ he added with a flourish.
Kerry continued, ‘Come across to the finds table. If you’re up to it?’
‘I’m fine. Never better.’
She followed Kerry back to a table where the objects she’d rescued from the tomb now lay in plastic trays.
‘Right.’ Business-like, Kerry pointed at the trays. ‘It’s too early to be certain yet; however, these artefacts appear to originate from overseas. The blue beads there are Egyptian. All this points to it being an extraordinary burial of an extraordinary individual. The grave goods were brought across half the world at a time when most people lived in tents made out of animal hide and bones. So, tell her, Nat.’
He beamed. ‘It means that now we know this is a hugely important site. Temple Central, as we have dubbed it, must be preserved. Kerry is taking what you so bravely, courageously, magnificently rescued back to the university. Then she’s contacting the appropriate government officials.’
‘Cross all fingers, and pray to your god of choice.’ Kerry took a deep breath. ‘We hope … just hope … that we’ll be granted a preservation order for this site. It’s just too important to surrender to the sea.’
Nat’s eyes shone. ‘If we get the order then they’re going to have to build sea-defences. Even if it means mobilizing the army.’
Pel absorbed the spectacle of what seemed just moments ago a humble grab-bag of artefacts from the tomb. A few bones, flint tools, a crudely fashioned stone head.
‘It gets better,’ Nat laughed. ‘Are you going to tell her, or shall I?’
Kerry twinkled. ‘You spotted it, so go ahead.’
‘See the skull?’ He indicated the upper part of the skull. The dome of the cranium, orbits and nasal passages were intact, but the upper jaw was missing. ‘Look closer.’
‘What am I seeing?’
The man clearly relished the moment of revelation. ‘Examine the forehead.’
The smooth, cream bone with its customary hairline markings, where the skull plates had fused, appeared normal. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing. But it could turn out to be an amazing find in its own right.’
‘How?’
Kerry’s smile broadened. ‘Doesn�
�t it appear familiar? The broad forehead. The prominent brow bones. The unusually large eye sockets.’
‘You are joking?’
Kerry shook her head. ‘Nat has an instinct for spotting similarities. And he’s invariably right.’
‘It’s a Murrain?’ She stared in astonishment. ‘Surely there’s no way of knowing that this is the skeleton of Mr Murrain’s ancestor?’
‘Ah,’ breathed Nat. ‘I agree, this is when archeology becomes guessology.’ He lightly stroked the ancient skull. ‘But familial likeness can continue down the bloodline for millennia. If we can link the remains of this old gentleman here, with one of the Murrain gentlemen from Crowdale, we will have established the oldest link between specific skeletal remains and a living human being.’
‘But you can never be certain, can you? It’ll always be just a guess.’
‘This is where I ask you to point out the most important find on the table. Go on, Pel. Pick an object.’
She pointed at the stone carving.
‘I’ll put you out of your misery. It’s the jawbone!’
‘The jawbone? Surely, that’s not … ah.’ A thought struck her. ‘DNA.’
Kerry pursed her lips in approval. ‘Absolutely. If we’re in luck, we can cut open the tooth and extract the DNA belonging to the occupant of the grave. Then to prove our hypothesis all we need do is obtain a DNA sample from one of the Murrains.’
Nat grimaced. ‘However, they’re not exactly happy to see us here. Especially, when we have to rip up the mosaic of the more recent ancestor, Justice Murrain.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Pel said with conviction. ‘I’ll get a sample from Jack Murrain.’
‘Really? You don’t have to do—’
‘I’ll bring you one back. Trust me.’
Both exchanged glances. This meant a lot to them.
Pel continued, ‘Because if we can prove that Jack Murrain is the ancestor of Mister Iron Age Murrain here that will clinch the protection order, won’t it?’
‘Indeed it will,’ breathed Nat, still in awe of the discovery. ‘So far, here in Britain, archeologists have matched DNA from skeletons in Avebury to living people in its neighbourhood. It’s been proved that the same families have lived in the vicinity of that town from before the birth of Christ to modern times.’
‘With this skeleton,’ Kerry added, ‘we might be able to prove the Murrain family have lived on this coast for the last five thousand years. Who knows, it may go further back than that. Murrains might have hunted woolly mammoth here.’
‘Just in case you did offer to approach Jack Murrain, we asked the local police for a DNA kit.’ He produced a polythene bag from his pocket. ‘After all, it’s vital to prove the link as quickly as possible.’
‘How do I…?’ She nodded at the bag, containing latex gloves, Q-tips, test tube and labels.
‘You need to obtain a specimen of Jack’s body fluid. You’ll appreciate that’s where we can easily extract DNA.’
‘Body fluid. Right.’
‘In this case, saliva is fine. Just have him rub a Q-tip along his upper gum.’
Pel took the bag. ‘I’ll have Jack’s sample in my hands tonight. One way or another.’
8
‘I’LL KILL HIM, Ma. Just say when.’
‘Listen to me, boys. Revenge can’t be rushed.’ The woman with the burnt face set mouth-watering steaks in front of her middle-aged sons. This wasn’t just their favourite meal, this was leverage. They became malleable when she filled their bellies. ‘There were harsh words earlier.’ Her good eye bored into Scott. His cheeks flared red with shame. ‘But we’re all friends again now, aren’t we? I love you both very much. Now eat up, don’t let it get cold.’ They attacked the fried beef. ‘Remember what I told you before. We’re going to make Jacob Murrain suffer. But don’t strike him. Damage the things he likes. Hurt the ones he loves. I’ve been suffering this disfigurement for thirty years.’ She touched her scarred face. ‘Now you’re going to ensure that Jacob suffers, too. I want him to crack. To fall apart. Then come begging forgiveness. I want to see him on his knees in front of me.’ Ma spooned mayonnaise on to their plates. ‘You’re going to start tonight. You’re going to wipe that arrogant look off his face.’
9
PEL MINTON LET the hot water caress her thighs. This shower was heaven sent.
OK, she thought. You’re going to turn up at Jack Murrain’s door and brightly say, ‘Give me a little of your body fluids. Because I need your DNA.’ That’s a doozy of a first date.
She soaped her stomach. ‘It’s not a date,’ she murmured. ‘I’m going to his house for the sake of science.’
But then why am I so excited? And what will his reaction be when I appear out of the blue?
10
HORACE SAT ON his chair outside on the pavement. An empty chair stood beside his. People were walking home from work along the street.
Whenever a man or woman caught his eye he cried out, ‘Look at Bobby. The little chap’s frightened.’ He indicated the empty chair.
‘Lunatic,’ hissed a woman, as she quickened her step in order to get away.
‘I saw the man last night in my room,’ Horace insisted. ‘All in black he was. Big black crow! The little chap here got really, really frightened.’ The woman didn’t even glance back at the giant as he sat in the chair next to his invisible friend. ‘I saw him walk – whoosh – right through the wall.’ A group of teenagers mooched by. ‘And another thing. I can see shadows flying all around the houses. Lots of them. There’s more and more of them with every hour that goes by.’
The youths shouted taunts.
‘Watch out,’ Horace called. ‘They’re coming to get you. When they do, you’ll be sorry.’
A teen kicked over the empty chair, then the group ran away, laughing.
‘Hey! You knocked Bobby off his chair. You’ve made the little chap cry. You’ll pay for that. Them shadows are over your heads. They’re following you!’ He picked up the chair, then patted the seat for his invisible friend to climb back up. ‘I know only we can see him, Bobby. And only we can see them shadows in the air. But all those nasty people will suffer one day. Them shadows are going to do something rotten to Crowdale.’
The man’s put-upon mother came out of the house. ‘Horace, you can’t sit out here, shouting. You’ll have the police here again. Now come inside where I can keep an eye on you.’
‘Can you see the shadows, Mammy? They’re all flying through the sky. I see them as clear as I can see your face.’
‘’Course you can, son.’ With that, she ushered him inside.
11
ANGER. KNOWING HE’D been wronged. No sense of taste. No sight. No smell. No hearing. Neither hot nor cold. Since the night of Murrain Hall being set ablaze he had been adrift in a mist of rage. That had been the predominant emotion. Anger coupled with a lust for revenge. Apart from that, there’d been few other thoughts inside his mind.
But now he knew that his world was set for change. He’d begun to remember incidents from his life again. His marriage to the witch-whore. The birth of his son whom he’d despised the moment he’d set eyes on the blood-smeared brat, still oiled from his mother’s womb. Lately, he found himself in Crowdale again. The town’s buildings had changed. Yet its inhabitants still enraged him.
At last, however, excitement illuminated his spirit.
He was starting to break free of a prison cell that had held him captive. His servants were being released, too. Soon he would be in control of his destiny once more. Though he had no lips to smile – yet – an electrical impulse registered the sensation that would have led to a tightening of his mouth. That sensation intensified when he, at long last, recalled his name. Justice Murrain. Yes, my friends, not long now….
12
PEL MINTON FOUND the address that Kerry had given her. The Murrain home was the last house out of town, situated on a lane that led to the churchyard and its controversial mausoleum. The twin-storeyed property s
heltered under a tile roof, which glowed deep red in the sunset. Tellingly, it stood apart from neighbouring dwellings. As if it shunned the rest of Crowdale. Or did Crowdale shun it? Rather than boasting a garden, it stood in rough pasture of ankle-deep grass. All in all, a lonely-looking house. I am solitary, it seemed to say, but I don’t care. Because you and I have nothing in common.
And here I am arriving out of the blue, she thought. A surprise visit from an American stranger. A girl with a dangerous reputation for turning lives upside down.
Pel slipped her hand into her jacket pocket where the DNA kit nestled. Suddenly, the idea of standing there on the threshold of the Murrain household and cheerfully announcing, ‘Hi, I’ve come to collect a smear of your body fluid,’ seemed peculiar to say the least.
A cool breeze ghosted from the sea to send a shiver up her spine. This house really did seem as solitary as the mausoleum, which contained that chilling and gloomy mosaic. ‘What is it with you, Murrains,’ she murmured, ‘do you all live in houses that look like tombs?’ She stepped through the gate, with all the trepidation of entering that clinical room in a morgue, where they did the cutting.
The first thing she noticed, as she walked up the gravel drive to the house, was the pick-up in the garage. The second, that two men were busy jabbing screwdriver blades into its tyres.
‘Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop that!’
Both men looked up at her. In their forties, they were thickset with blotched faces. The eldest grunted, ‘You’ve not seen anything. Go home.’ He drove the point of the screwdriver into the rubber. With a fierce hiss the tyre deflated. The pick-up sank down until the cab sloped sharply.