SCADERSTONE PIT
The Darkeningstone Book III
Mikey Campling
Somewhere, Sometime, The Stone is Whispering
Table of Contents
title page
Dedication
Read the Prequel for Free
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Thank You For Reading
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Afterword
Coming Soon
Also by Mikey Campling
Connect With the Author
About the Author
Notes
Copyright
This book is for educators everywhere, and for all those who work hard to dispel the darkness of ignorance and prejudice.
It is never too late to be what you might have been.
—George Eliot
Mikey Campling
mikeycampling.com
Editor: Michael Israel-Jarvis
Author’s Note
To get the most from this book, you should really have read Trespass and Outcast first, in that order.
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Use this link mikeycampling.com/freebooks and I’ll send you Breaking Ground, the prequel to The Darkeningstone Trilogy, for free.
NB Breaking Ground is not available to buy as an ebook. This is an exclusive offer that’s just for my readers.
Chapter 1
2021
STANDING IN THE STREET, I hesitated with my hand on the low garden gate. Beyond it, the building had once been a majestic Georgian townhouse with cream coloured walls and tall sash windows. Now, the walls were flecked with dirt and stained with damp. In places, the rendering had fallen away, revealing the dull brown bricks beneath. Cracked white paint peeled away from the window frames, and every pane of glass was dim, streaked with grime.
My dad’s flat was on the third floor, and sometimes when I arrived for a visit I’d find him looking out the window, waiting for me. But not today. I hope he hasn’t forgotten, I thought. He should’ve been expecting me—he’d called the night before and asked me to come over. Still, it was only just 11 o’clock, and Dad didn’t always surface before lunch.
I let myself in through the garden gate and walked slowly toward the front door. A path made from cracked paving slabs led through the small front garden, and next to the path stood a neat stack of plastic crates: glass, cans, paper and cardboard ready to be collected for recycling. The crate of cans was almost overflowing, and I couldn’t help but notice that most of the cans bore the brand name of a certain extra-strength lager. They might not all be his, I told myself. But I wasn’t convinced. I shook my head and stepped up to the front door.
The flat had an entry phone system, and Dad answered straight away. That’s good, I thought, at least he’s up and about. I leaned forward to speak into the intercom. “Hi, Dad. It’s me.”
“Hi, Jake. Perfect timing. Come on up.”
I smiled to myself. It sounded like this was one of his good days.
When I got the top of the stairs, he was waiting for me at the door into his little flat. “Come in, come in,” he said. “I’ve just put some coffee on.”
“Great,” I said. “Smells good.”
He ushered me into the living room then disappeared into the kitchen. I could hear him singing to himself as he made the coffee. “Do you want any help?” I called.
“No, no. Just sit down, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“OK.” I went over to the couch, and just for once I didn’t have to move a pile of laundry before I sat down. The TV was on, although the screen was frozen on the credits for a TV show.
“Here we are,” my dad said as he came into the room carrying two large, steaming mugs. “Just the way you like it.”
He set the mugs down on the small table then joined me on the couch. “Thanks,” I said, picking up the mug and inhaling the fragrant steam. “You make the best coffee.”
“The secret is in getting the right beans,” he said. Then he gave me a sideways look and wrinkled his nose. “But I’ve probably told you that before.”
I smiled. “Just once or twice, Dad,” I said. “Just once or twice.”
He chuckled softly under his breath. “Sorry. Stuck record.” He sipped his coffee, closing his eyes to savour the taste. “Nicaraguan. Just roasted last week.” He glanced at me. “I bought them online. Had them delivered.”
I took a drink and made a show of enjoying it. The coffee was good. It didn’t taste all that different from the brew I could buy on any high street, but there was no way I’d say that to my dad. “It’s really great,” I said. “Kind of nutty.” I hesitated. “But getting it delivered—isn’t that a bit expensive?”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Jake. I do have a job you know. It may not be much, but it pays the bills.”
“I know, Dad. I know. It’s just…I worry, that’s all.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “It’s all fine, Jake. I get a staff discount on my groceries, so I won’t starve. And this place isn’t so bad.”
I looked around the room and had to admit that when it was tidy like this, the flat seemed homely—cosy even. I forced a smile and nodded, but something in my expression must’ve given me away.
“What’s up?” He asked. “Things not so good at home?”
I looked down at my hands. “No, it’s all fine. Really.”
“You know, you can always come and stay with me.”
“I know,” I said. “But you’ve only got the sofa bed. It’s all right for a night or two, but that’s all.” I paused. “And we’d be falling over each other.”
“You mean, you don’t really want to leave your mum on her own.”
I shrugged. “Well, there’s that too.”
For a long thirty seconds we let the silence hang in the air. “Don’t forget your coffee,” Dad said. “Don’t let it go cold.”
“Sure.” I took a long drink of coffee and felt that first buzz as the caffeine got to work.
My dad cleared his throat. “Maybe you’re right, Jake. Maybe it’s time I found somewhere bigger.” He hesitated. “You know…I’ve been thinking about going back into teaching.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I think maybe I’d like to give it another try.”
“Wow, Dad. That’s amazing. Are you sure you’re—you know—ready for that?”
He looked me in the eye and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m fine,” he said
firmly. “Everything is fine. And frankly, I think you might have a little more faith in me.”
“It’s not that, Dad—” I started, but he wasn’t listening.
“I was always a good teacher,” he went on. “I loved working with the kids. And I did a pretty good job of getting you through your exams when you wouldn’t go back to school.”
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “That’s not fair. You know I couldn’t have gone back. I lost four years, Dad. Four years.”
Dad stared at me for a second, his eyes hard, but then his expression softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s all right, Dad. It’s all right. We’ve both…we’ve been through a lot.”
Dad snorted. “You could say that.” And there was the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. “But you’re home now, that’s all that matters.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess so.”
Dad looked at me for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. Then he leaned forward, sitting on the edge of his seat. “I’ve been thinking. It’s time for you to finish your education. It’s not too late. You could still get into college, or do a part-time course.”
“I don’t know, Dad. We’ve been through all this before.”
“Maybe you just weren’t ready back then,” Dad said. “But now, after all these years, surely it’s time to get your life back on track. You could still get into university. You were always a bright boy. It breaks my heart to know you’re just pushing papers in an office.”
I looked down at the floor. “It’s not papers—it’s all on computer.”
“You know what I mean. It doesn’t sound very exciting anyway. I’m sure you could do a lot better for yourself.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“It’s been a long time, Jake,” he said softly. “Seven years.”
I looked up at him. “You’re right, Dad. I know you are. I should put it all behind me. But somehow, I just can’t let it go.”
Dad nodded in sympathy. “Are you sleeping properly these days?”
“Not really,” I said. I took another sip of my coffee. “I keep dreaming about it. And it’s so vivid. It’s like I’m back there.” A shudder ran through me but I hid my unease, twisting around to shift the sagging cushions on the sofa.
“I understand,” Dad said, and something in his tone made me give him a questioning look.
“You need to know what really happened,” he went on. “I know what that feels like.”
Another awkward silence crept into the room. We sipped our coffee and fidgeted.
Dad took a breath, and when he spoke there was an edge of anticipation in his voice. “What would you say if I told you we could find some answers?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”
Dad smiled. “What if I found someone who could help you? If you could find out what happened and then move on, would you be willing to at least try and get into a college?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t see how anyone could help me.”
“There is one person,” Dad said. Then he picked up the remote control and pointed it at the TV. “Have a look at this.” He pressed a button and the credits began to roll slowly up the TV screen.
“What is it? One of your boring old documentaries?”
“It’s called History Live,” Dad said without taking his eyes from the screen. “There. Look.”
I ran my eyes down the list of names. “I don’t get it, Dad. What am I supposed to be…” but I couldn’t finish the sentence. I froze, staring at the screen.
“Do you see it?” Dad said. “Is that who I think it is? Is that her?”
I nodded slowly. “It has to be,” I murmured. And it was true. I’d found her. After all this time, there was her name written in stark white letters on the black background: Historical Consultant—Dr Callisto Goodman.
“It’s an unusual name,” Dad said. “I noticed it right away.”
I tore my eyes from the screen and looked at him. “Dad, when was this recorded? Does it say where they filmed it?”
“That’s the best part,” Dad said. “It’s a live show. They broadcast directly from a dig every day. Some parts are filmed earlier but then they have these real-time updates to make it more interesting.”
I sat forward and put my mug down on the table. “So this show was on today?”
Dad shook his head. “This episode was from last night, but it’s on all week. The same time every day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I fought to keep my voice under control. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as I walked through the door?”
“I wasn’t sure,” Dad said. “I didn’t know how you’d react if I just sprang it on you. I thought it might make you angry.”
I shook my head. “Where are they doing this show? Is it somewhere nearby? Do you think she’s actually there, at the dig?”
Dad pursed his lips. “I don’t think I actually saw her. I don’t know. I’ve never met her. But there always seems to be a whole team of people working away in the background. Although…”
“What?”
“There was this one woman, and I couldn’t see her clearly, I just caught a glimpse of her. But she looked as though she was quite attractive. Dark hair.”
My heart jumped. A thrill ran up my spine. “Show me,” I blurted out. “Rewind it and show me.”
Dad offered me the remote control. “Here. You’re better with this thing than me.”
I snatched it from him and pressed the rewind button several times until the scenes on the TV were flying backward as fast as possible. Most of the time, the screen was filled with images of grubby pieces of pottery or scraps of metal, and the rest seemed to be talking heads: dreary historians trying to look interesting, a glamorous young presenter nodding thoughtfully and smiling for the camera. But then there was a shot of the dig itself, and I hit the play button and held my breath as the camera panned across the scene. A handful of people were working on the site, most of them crouched in a wide pit in the earth, scraping away at the soil with their trowels. I stared at each of them in turn, but it was hard to tell them apart. They were all hunched over their tasks, and most of them were wearing shapeless overalls. But then one of them turned around and glanced at the camera. And there she was.
“Cally,” I whispered. “Oh my god.” I froze the screen then looked at Dad and tried to keep my mouth from hanging open.
Dad clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I knew it. I knew it had to be her.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said. “You never told me where all this is happening. Is it in this country?”
Dad shook his head slowly, and my heart sank. “Don’t look so worried,” he said. “It’s only in France. It’s not like they’re in the middle of the Sahara or anything.”
I looked him in the eye. “What are you saying? Do you think I should go there? Do you honestly think I should just turn up and start asking questions?”
“No,” Dad said. “I’m not saying you should go there, I’m saying you have to go.”
“But, Dad, I can’t take time off work just like that. I can’t just—”
“It’s Saturday,” Dad interrupted. “You don’t work at the weekends, and if you’re not back in time for Monday morning, you can phone in sick or something.”
I stared at him in silence for a moment, a hundred thoughts racing around my mind. “I don’t even know exactly where she is,” I said. “And even if I could find her, there’s no guarantee she’ll talk to me.”
I thought he’d agree with me. I thought he’d say something about it being a crazy idea, a wild goose chase. But there was a glint in his eye, and he leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder. “Jake, I’ve found the site already.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. It wasn’t difficult. I can show you exactly where it is. And I can even tell you how to get there.” He checked his watch. “You’ve got plent
y of time. There’s a train leaving in just under an hour that will get you to Saint Pancras. Then you take the Eurostar. After that, the connections are a bit tricky but I worked it out eventually. You can be in Saint Victor this evening. That’s the nearest town to the dig. From there, I’m sure you could find a taxi.”
“But, the tickets and—”
“All booked and paid for,” Dad said. “You can thank me later.” He stood up. “Come on, I’ll drive you. We can swing by the house to pick up your passport and your toothbrush, then I’ll drive you to the station.”
Slowly, I stood up. “I don’t know, Dad. This doesn’t seem real.”
He looked at me for a moment, thinking. “No, it’s the other way around. For the last few years we’ve been sleepwalking through life, pretending like none of this ever happened. Now it’s time for that to change. You’ve got to get on with your life. You’ve got to lay this ghost to rest and start afresh, and this is your best chance. It may be the only chance you’ll ever get.”
I glanced over at the TV screen and once more, at the sight of Cally, my heart leaped in my chest. “All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.” I took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “I’ll go.”
“Good lad,” Dad said. “I know you can do it. You’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. It’s a good idea.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 2
3550 BC
THE WOMAN RAN; one hand holding her knife, the other clutching at a bundle of furs, pressing it hard against her chest. She longed for a rest. The cold air parched her throat and she ached for a sip of water, but she could not stop. Not yet. Soon, it would be midday and the days were so short. She must not be caught in the open when darkness fell.
Find somewhere to hide, she told herself. Somewhere safe.
If she could just find the forest, she could disappear into its welcoming gloom. Or perhaps she might find a trail, or some other sign that there were people nearby. If she could find a tribe, they might give her food, water, a place to shelter until morning. “Please, Forest Mother,” she breathed, “show me the way to find you.”
Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) Page 1