Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3)

by Mikey Campling

  “What compound?”

  “You’ll see. Just keep quiet. Not a word.”

  “All right,” I said. “I get it.”

  Slowly, we picked our way through the trees, treading carefully through the undergrowth. And as we stepped out from the shadows, and I finally saw the top of the hill, I understood why Crawford had called the place a compound.

  There was just enough moonlight to make out the cluster of low buildings on the hilltop, and I could see they were surrounded by a high chain-link fence that was topped with coils of wire. There were no lights coming from any of the buildings, but the whole place looked bleak and forbidding.

  “Oh my god,” I whispered.

  Crawford squeezed my arm tighter and urged me forward without a word.

  When we reached the fence, Crawford switched on the flashlight and handed it to me, then he pointed toward the base of the fence. I shone the flashlight where he’d indicated, and Crawford knelt down and took a pair of wire cutters from his pocket. He began working at the wire, and I glanced nervously around the compound. The hollow sound as Crawford snipped each wire seemed loud enough to wake the dead, but there was no sign of movement beyond the fence. And soon, Crawford was standing up, holding a flap of wire to one side. He pointed toward the gap and I knelt down and crawled through. It was easy enough for me, but as I stood and waited on the other side of the fence, Crawford made heavy work of it; his breath wheezed and rattled as he crawled through, and the noise set my nerves on edge.

  When he finally pushed himself to his feet beside me, he was breathing hard. “Where is it?” he whispered.

  He didn’t have to explain what he meant. I made a show of looking around, but there was only one place that could contain the black stone. On the very top of the hill there was a large concrete building, its walls smooth and featureless. I nodded toward it. “It must be in there.”

  “Good,” Crawford said. “Turn the light off.”

  Reluctantly, I switched the flashlight off and we walked together toward the ugly grey building. As we grew closer, I noticed a steel door set into the wall, and Crawford must have seen it too because he headed straight for it.

  When we reached the door, Crawford bent down to examine the lock. “Shine the light on here,” he muttered.

  I did as he asked, and Crawford slipped a small set of slim tools from his jacket pocket. He knelt down and inserted one of the tools into the lock.

  “Seriously?” I asked. “You think you can pick the lock? Won’t it be more secure than that?”

  Crawford paused in his work for a moment then selected another tool. “Human error,” he murmured, “is always the weakest link in any security. The men who built this place never expected anyone to get this far.”

  “But, won’t there be alarms?”

  “Maybe. But by the time anyone gets here, we’ll have seen what we came to see, and we’ll be long gone.”

  “You mean, we’ll be heading back to Saint Victor?”

  He gave a noncommittal grunt and concentrated on the lock. “Bloody thing,” he muttered. He let out a breath then tried again, his tools grating and clicking inside the lock. Suddenly, there was a hollow metallic clunk. “There!”

  He stood and grabbed the door handle, and when he turned it, the catch disengaged and the door swung open. I held my breath and prepared myself for the harsh cry of an alarm, but there was nothing.

  “Give me the light,” Crawford said.

  I handed the flashlight to him and he peered cautiously inside the door. “It’s clear,” he said. “Come in and shut the door behind you.”

  He stepped inside, but I hesitated, taking a last look around compound. Every instinct was telling me to make a run for it. I could be out through the fence and running back down the hill before Crawford even realised what was happening. I could easily outpace him and get back to the pickup truck. But what then? He would certainly have the keys in his pocket. And then there were his threats to harm Cally and ruin my dad’s life; I had no doubt he would carry them out. This man was cold-blooded and merciless. If I was going to be free of him, I’d have to make sure he couldn’t escape and come after me; I’d have to outsmart him. That wasn’t going to be easy—he left nothing to chance—but I had to try.

  I followed Crawford into the building, shutting the door behind me, and though I tried to close it carefully, the heavy door met its frame with a dull boom that echoed and reverberated around the room. I could see very little except for the small circle of concrete floor illuminated by Crawford’s flashlight, but I had a sense of space and emptiness, as though I’d just walked into an abandoned warehouse.

  Crawford played the flashlight’s beam along the wall beside the door and found a bank of light switches, but when he stepped forward and flicked them, nothing happened. “Never mind,” he said. “We’ll manage without them.” He turned around, shining his flashlight across the room, and I saw that I’d been right to guess at the size of the place; the room seemed to take up the entire building. I thought at first that it was empty, but Crawford’s flashlight picked out a dark shape in the centre of the room. It looked like a large metal container: a brutal cube made from glistening steel.

  I swallowed hard. “That’s it,” I whispered. “It’s in there. It has to be.”

  “Good. Let’s take a look.”

  Crawford set off across the room and I followed, my footsteps grating noisily on the dusty concrete floor and my heart in my mouth. We stopped directly in front of the tall metal container and Crawford shone the flashlight slowly across its surface, then he walked all the way around it, taking his time. The container gleamed dully, and it looked as though each wall was made from a single sheet of metal; featureless except for the heavy duty stainless steel bolts dotted around its edges.

  “Damn it!” Crawford hissed.

  “There isn’t a way inside, is there?”

  “No.”

  “They don’t want it found,” I said. “They don’t want anyone to see it. Not ever.” I pressed my hand against the steel. The cold metal tingled against my fingers. And there was something else. I stared at Crawford. “It’s buzzing,” I murmured. “It’s starting.”

  “What?” Crawford put his hand on the metal. “Yes. I can feel it.”

  We looked at each other in silence for a moment. The flashlight’s beam made a cruel mask of Crawford’s face: his eyes dark hollows, his mouth a cruel sneer. I took my hand from the container and stepped back. “We should get out of here.”

  “No,” Crawford snapped. “Stay right where you are. It needs us close.”

  “But, it isn’t safe.” I took another step back, but Crawford lunged toward me and grabbed my arm, pulling me back toward the container.

  “Stay there. This is why you’re here. You have a connection with the stone.” He let go of my arm and reached up to his throat. He pulled something from beneath his shirt. It glinted in the flashlight’s beam: a long gold chain. “And you have a connection with this.” He held the chain out toward me and some part of me knew exactly what I was about to see. I wanted to look away. I wanted to turn and run. But I couldn’t do that. I had to see it for myself.

  I looked at Crawford’s hand, and there, between his fingers was the black amulet: the amulet I’d seen in the museum, the amulet I’d seen on this very spot thousands of years ago. “Where?” I whispered. “How?”

  “I took it,” Crawford said. “It’s mine now.” He turned his hand back around to admire his prize and in that moment, a flash of blue light flickered across the amulet, lighting his face. “And it’s working,” he murmured.

  I shook my head in disbelief. I’d wanted to see the stone again, but not like this. Never like this. I looked back at the steel container. The buzzing was louder now, the metal walls vibrating like the skin of a drum, the sound booming through the empty room, sending tremors through my chest.

  Crawford put his hand back on the container wall. “It’s getting warm.”

  Desp
ite myself, I touched the steel, sliding my palm across its surface. “Yes. It’s getting hotter.” I pulled my hand away. “Listen, we have to stand back. You don’t understand—it’s so strong.”

  “Oh, I understand,” Crawford said. “But we’re not going anywhere.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but suddenly, he gasped in pain and took his hand from the container.

  “We can’t stand here,” I said. “It’s too dangerous. I can feel the heat on my face.”

  Crawford shook his head, but he took a couple of steps back and I followed suit. The steel container began to glow, a dull orange radiance spreading across its surface. And the buzzing noise was even louder now, the harsh sound bouncing between the concrete walls, hammering against my eardrums.

  I glanced at Crawford. His full attention was on the container, and I took the opportunity to edge away from him, the sound of my footsteps covered by the droning din. As I watched, the container glowed brighter. The acrid smell of scorching metal tainted the air and trails of smoke curled up from the steel bolts. The heat stung my face and the smoke caught in my throat. Parts of the metal were white hot now, and I moved farther away, squinting against the glare. A gobbet of molten metal dribbled down one edge of the container and fell sizzling to the floor. The stench of burning was unbearable and the room was rapidly filling with bitter smoke. My eyes streamed, and I rubbed them with the heels of my hands.

  Crawford staggered back, coughing and wheezing, holding up his hands to shield his face.

  I couldn’t watch any more. I turned and ran back to the door, my arms pumping, my feet pounding against the concrete. The flashlight’s beam danced wildly on the wall and I knew that Crawford was right behind me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t look back, didn’t slow down. The orange glow did little to light my way, but my eyes were used to the gloom and I found the door quickly, throwing it open, barging through. Crawford followed me outside and slammed the door shut behind him.

  I stood still and breathed deep, gulping down the sweet night air. It was cool and fresh, and I felt better immediately, but Crawford wasn’t doing so well. He bent over, his hands on his knees, and spat onto the ground. He coughed over and over again, only pausing to gasp for air, his breath rattling in his chest.

  This was my chance. I squared my shoulders and stood over him. I could beat him now, incapacitate him. Take the keys and leave him for the authorities to find. I curled my fingers into fists.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Crawford wheezed. He looked up at me. “I’ve made arrangements. If anything happens to me, your father will live out his days in a prison cell.”

  I hesitated. He’s lying, I thought. He’ll say anything to save his skin. I ground my teeth together. I was almost certain that Crawford was completely on his own; all I had to do was put him out of action, and Cally and my dad would be safe. But what if I was wrong? What if he was telling the truth? Was I prepared to take that risk?

  Crawford stood up. “Think about your father,” he said. “How long do you think he’d survive in prison?”

  I growled in frustration. I couldn’t take a chance on my dad’s life, so I couldn’t do a thing against Crawford. He’d caught me hook, line and sinker. And he knew it.

  “I promise you,” Crawford said. “When we’ve finished here, your father will be safe. Callisto will be safe.”

  “And what about me?”

  Crawford looked me in the eye. “Do as you’re told, and you’ll be safe too.”

  I stared at him, meeting his gaze. I couldn’t trust him, not even for one second. But this wasn’t over. And I wasn’t ready to give in. Not while there was still a chance I could save Cally and my dad. “All right. So what now?”

  “We wait, “Crawford said.

  So we stood outside the building and listened to the terrible screech of wounded metal. And even with the door closed, the dreadful droning of the stone seemed to penetrate my skull.

  I stared at the metal door, searching its seams for tendrils of escaping smoke, dreading the moment when its steel panels would buckle and its hinges give way. Surely we’d be caught in the stone’s dreadful grip; it would not allow us to escape unharmed.

  I ground my teeth together and swallowed down a roar of rage, forced myself to stand my ground. But just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, a sudden explosion of sound erupted within the building, sending tremors through the ground.

  I flinched, raising my arms to protect my face, but Crawford stood still. “What the hell was that?” I murmured.

  “We’ll see in a second,” Crawford said. “Give it a moment to let the smoke clear.”

  “No way. We can’t go in there.”

  But Crawford ignored my protest. “Listen. It’s quieter now.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “My ears are still ringing.” But he was right. The buzzing noise was still there, but it had faded to a background hum.

  “Come on,” Crawford said. “We’re going inside.”

  But I could only stand and stare in horror as Crawford stepped forward and took hold of the door handle. Then, he took a lungful of fresh air and opened the door.

  Chapter 37

  1919

  AT HIS DESK IN THE OFFICE at Grigson’s, Trevor sat back in his chair and straightened a sheaf of papers by tapping its edges on the desk as loudly as he could. He watched Duncan and Joe from the corner of his eye, and he smiled when they both looked up with a start. Duncan looked distinctly irritated, but Joe smiled and nodded toward the bundle of papers. “Is that the Matthews job all done then?”

  Trevor gave Joe a toothy grin. “It certainly is. Final draft. All ready for the old man to sign off.”

  Joe tittered like a school boy. “The old man! Don’t let him hear you saying that.”

  Trevor shrugged. “So what if he does?”

  Joe gaped in mock horror, but Duncan tutted under his breath and shook his head.

  The poor saps, Trevor thought. Joe was a good chap, but he didn’t have what it took to make a success of himself. And as for Duncan, he was very thorough in his work, but too serious, too straight-laced; he had no flair.

  Trevor treated his colleagues to a warm smile. He would love to tell them what a master stroke he’d pulled off. He could picture the stunned amazement on their faces, the stupid way their mouths would hang open as they gasped at his sheer audacity. But he would never be able to enjoy that moment. The secret of his success must remain hidden from the likes of Duncan and Joe.

  Joe suddenly snapped back to his work; a sure sign that, behind Trevor’s back, Mr. Grigson had appeared at the door. Trevor sat up straight, but he wasn’t going to pretend to be busy, he wasn’t going to be bullied. He heard Grigson clear his throat, but Trevor did not look around.

  “Mr. Marley, you seem to have some free time,” Grigson said. “I trust that we aren’t under-using your talents.”

  Joe sniggered appreciatively and Duncan gave Trevor a stern frown, but Trevor smiled and gave them both a cheeky wink before he turned around slowly. “Perfect timing, Mr. Grigson. I have just, this very second, prepared the final draft of the Matthews report for your approval.”

  Grigson raised his eyebrows. “The final draft?”

  “Indeed, sir,” Trevor said. “It’s all ready to go.”

  Grigson gave Trevor a small smile. “Very good. Well done, Mr. Marley.” He looked at Joe and Duncan and added, “I only wish everyone was so prompt.”

  Trevor half turned to watch his colleagues. Joe was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and he kept glancing down at the pile of unfinished work on his desk. But Duncan’s face was a picture: his mouth a tight line, his cheeks red, and his eyes flashing with restrained anger. Trevor almost laughed out loud, but he controlled himself and turned back to Grigson, his face straight.

  “Right then, Mr. Marley,” Grigson said, extending his arm toward his office door. “Step in here, if you would, and let us confer.”

  “Certainly, sir. Right away.” Trevor sto
od slowly, savouring the moment.

  “I trust that we are going to make Mr. Matthews a happy man,” Grigson said.

  Trevor held up his neat bundle of papers. “Oh yes, sir. I think I can guarantee it.”

  ***

  When Mr. Grigson took a telephone call in the middle of their meeting, Trevor knew he should stand up quietly and leave the room, but he couldn’t move; Grigson’s words had rooted Trevor to his seat.

  “Grigson speaking. Ah, Mr. Matthews, how delightful to hear from you.”

  Trevor sat and stared at his employer, studying his expression. This was a critical moment in his plan, and he didn’t want to miss a single moment of it. But what was this? Without even looking at him, Grigson was dismissing Trevor with an imperious wave of his hand. Trevor felt his jaw go slack. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how his moment of glory was supposed to be. But Grigson flashed him a warning look and nodded toward the door. Trevor had no choice but to stand up and leave.

  Trevor walked away as slowly as he could. Perhaps at any moment, Grigson would call him back to clarify some detail or other, and he would have his chance to be heard. But as Trevor opened the door, Grigson’s next words were a final insult: “Indeed, Mr. Matthews, I have the report in front of me as we speak. I’ve just finished preparing it myself.”

  Trevor froze with his hand on the door handle. So this was how it was going to be. After all his hard work, Grigson was going to take the credit.

  Trevor closed his eyes for a moment and fought the urge to turn around, march up to Grigson and wrench the telephone from the old man’s bony hand. He’d a good mind to tell the mighty Mr. Matthews a few unpleasant truths about his precious quarry site, such as the little problem of the human remains buried on the ledge.

  But this wasn’t the time. It would be far better for Trevor to keep his ammunition dry and choose the right moment to do battle. So Trevor made his face a mask of stony indifference and stalked out of Grigson’s office with his head held high. And he made sure he left the old man’s door slightly ajar.