Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time (13 page)

He, though, looked fine. He probably wasn’t hearing voices that cried of pain and lost love. She straightened her shoulders in a determined way. No more thoughts of madness today. As Aubrey said, she was in charge.

“Ready for another trip down?” he asked.

“Yes. I want to get started right away.” Germaine looked him straight in the eye. “I’m going into the opening. You better get someone to back me up.”

It was an order given in a firm voice that expected no dissent. He raised an eyebrow and went into the cook’s tent. A moment later he returned with Ian.

“We’ll be your backup.”

Ian wouldn’t meet her gaze. His eyes shifted nervously to the side.

“Then, let’s go.” Her heart pounded. She knew everything she was doing skirted the borders of sound archaeological practice, or outright violated the basic rules. This was her chance and she would take it. She was glad Aubrey was not here.

The pit was still dark. When they reached the bottom of the ladder, Ian switched on the dangling droplight, flooding everything with its harsh light. A new, small grid flag marked the place where the bones had been found. Something else was new: the measuring stick always used in photos to show dimensions lay in front of the opening in the timbered wall. It hadn’t been there yesterday.

“Did you do that?” she asked Conan.

“Yes. I took a picture to record the location. We can move it now. The bones and the finds from the hoard are safe in a locker in my tent. I always have a large locker to safeguard valuable finds since we don’t have a secure house yet. English Heritage rules.”

Germaine looked down and saw that the dirt on the floor of the pit had been swept smooth; only their new footprints marred the surface. Conan gave a short little laugh as he noticed where she was looking.

“English Heritage rules?” She pointed at the floor of the pit.

“No, just being tidy. Everything got churned up when we moved the bones and the other things. Then we took the photos. It looked better smooth.”

Somehow he managed to look like a god, even in the bottom of a dirt pit. He was standing too close and his eyes were distracting. She remembered last night and moved away from him.

“I’ll look at the photos later.” She pointed to the opening in the wall. “This is what I came for.”

“I thought you would want to get at this early. I brought Ian down and had him move the timber piece and any rocks out of the way so you could get in.” He sounded defensive. His face had the same pouty, little boy look she had noticed last night.

“I do have to look after your safety, and those
are
English Heritage rules.”

Checked. The play went to Conan Ryan, but not the game. He’d got his own way. Ian had been the first into the opening, but only to clear it. Her claim to any discovery would still be the one that mattered.

She glared at Conan as he handed her a flashlight and a small camera.

“Here,” he said. “And wear this. It’s a walkie talkie so we can help you, if needed.”

He clasped something that looked like a large watch on her right wrist and then handed her a small ear piece.

“It’s a two-way ear bud. You can talk and I’ll hear you. I can answer back. I’ve used them on other digs; they work. Trust me.”

Not likely. She remembered his face, laughing as Nicholas died.

Her heart pulsed wildly in the soft part of her neck. She knelt, and then positioned herself on her stomach in front of the opening. It was three feet wide and maybe a good two and a half feet high—only a very slim person could get through. With a flashlight in hand and a compact digital camera secure in a bag around her neck, she was as prepared as she ever would be.

She slid into the opening, head and shoulders first and then gradually inched her way along military style, her weight on her forearms, dragging her body forward. It was hard work in a narrow space. After passing the timber wall, the passage became a rock-lined tunnel. Ian might have removed the larger fallen rocks, but the ground was still covered with broken pieces that cut into her hands.

The light from the droplight in the pit grew dim behind her and then disappeared. She felt claustrophobic in the confined space.
Don’t look back. Only look forward
. She switched the flashlight to low beam, suddenly afraid she would use up the batteries. Then she would be lost in here with no light.
Keep moving. Don’t panic.

She raised one arm and touched the top of the passage, just inches above her head. Fine chalk dust fell and filled her nostrils. She accidently inhaled and it sifted down her throat. She gagged and coughed, unable at first to catch her breath. Raw panic struck. All she could think of was getting out of the tunnel—she would choke and die here! A cool draft came from the opening far behind and brushed the hairs on her neck, reassuring her somewhat. She talked to herself to keep the fear in check.

“It’s going to be hell backing out of here, maybe this is one of those rabbit warrens Aubrey was talking about.”

“I can hear you, Germaine.”

It was a shock to hear Conan’s voice in her ear. She gave a surprised snort and shut up. About five feet in, the passageway tilted upward on a gentle slope, like a ramp. It was harder work moving up hill. The draft from the opening stopped, and the air grew stuffy. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled herself forward six more feet.

She was deep in the earth now. Low light from the flashlight still showed only darkness ahead. Her hands were wet, slick with perspiration. Even through the jacket sleeves, her forearms were raw from dragging her body forward.

Then her arms reached out to ... nothing! One arm flailed to the side, seeking something to hang onto. In her panic, the flashlight slipped from her hand and fell. She heard it clatter down and hit something. Darkness! No light anywhere! She stretched out one arm and reached up to touch the ceiling: it was gone. Then she groped in the dark before her and felt an edge.

She was on some kind of ledge.

“Can you hear me Conan?” There was a buzzing sound in her ear. She thought she heard a faint yes.

“The passageway has ended. And my light is out. Send Ian with a flashlight.”

More buzzing. It sounded like some insect had flown into her ear. But no answer. Maybe Conan did hear her call and she just couldn’t hear his reply.

So much for “trust me.”

Germaine rested her head on her arms. Her breath came in shallow quick pants. She was more than a little afraid. Should she go over the edge in the dark? What if there was no bottom? Yet she heard the dropped flashlight strike something. Maybe this was another buried storage pit. It couldn’t be an endless drop; it must have a bottom.

Hold on to that thought, Germaine, she told herself.

She rubbed cold sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. A big wave of claustrophobic anxiety swept through her. She had to get out. The tunnel was a dead end, a fluke. Her stubbornness had gotten her into this.

“I want it to be my discovery ...” Those were her words, her own willful thoughts come back to haunt. The compulsion to go ahead had been too strong. She was guilty of acting like an amateur; even Conan had cautioned her about leaping into this unprepared.

Everything was black. If Ian didn’t come soon, she would start inching her way back. She could crawl back in the dark.

But it would mean giving up and she never liked to admit defeat. How would she explain this to Aubrey? He had virtually handed the excavation to her. There must be some other option besides going back. What had he said to her? “Think, Germaine. Use your Aubrey sensors.”

If this was a ledge, she could work herself along its edge and then carefully lower her body over the side. If her feet touched bottom, she’d drop down and find the flashlight. It couldn’t have rolled far. This had to be a storage pit. She dared not even consider the alternative—some long, bottomless place where she would be buried alive. Only the faintest remnant of hope remained that this might be a burial chamber and even that was dying. She had been so rash in her predictions yesterday. Aubrey had cautioned her!

She inched forward a little, stretched her left arm to the side and started turning, bending her torso, flattening herself onto the ledge. In the dark, it was all by touch; she could not see her hands. It felt like stone, probably like the wall in the pit. One more breathless turn, extending her body along the ledge. Then, as her body moved forward, the edge of this ledge, this unknown precipice, moved. She froze, barely breathing. A few stones shifted under her weight, first one and then another. She held her breath as part of the ledge crumbled under her and disappeared. She heard stones clatter and strike something. Her hands clawed at the remaining rocks to stop from falling, and she hung there, one leg dangling over the side. More rocks moved under her and fell away. Her mind shrieked,
No bottom!
There was not enough left to hang onto. Her perspiring hands slipped, and she fell into the unknown.

When she came to, a rock was poking her in the back.

She lay perfectly still, afraid to move. A careful testing of her arms and legs didn’t bring any painful reports. It couldn’t have been a long fall or something would be broken. But she must have hit something—a place on the back of her head throbbed. She smelled earth, chalk. In the total blackness, she wildly thought it was a grave. She had to have light.

Germaine slowly reached behind her back to move the rock away ...
and felt a ribbed plastic and metal cylinder. The flashlight! She had fallen right on it. Blindly, trying not to disturb any more rocks, she grasped the flashlight. It must have turned off in the fall. Praying the battery hadn’t died, she pushed the off/on switch. A low beam flickered in the dense blackness.

The faint light played on timber walls, the beam so dim she could barely see. It was some kind of chamber, timber-walled all around, even on top. The floor felt dry. There must be some protective layer of rocks and dirt on top of the timber. She beamed the flashlight up toward the ledge, but it wasn’t there anymore. She could see the dark opening to the tunnel. The ledge had been part of a thick stone-and-timbered wall that had collapsed inward. She’d landed on some of the debris.

She pointed the flashlight straight ahead. Another wall. It was a chamber then, not a pit. Glints of some kind of metal reflected here and there. Shadowy objects were visible; nothing was clear. Slowly, a realization began to form: it wasn’t a storage pit—it had to be a burial. She wanted to cry with relief. Sealed and barricaded, protected from water and air, it must be the place of a powerful person. She had to see more.

The dim light from her flashlight went out and came back on. Why was it going off and on? Was it dying—or maybe had a loose connection? She considered that and decided it didn’t matter if it died now or ten minutes from now; she had to check the connections. There were no other options, except complete darkness. Her hand shook. She turned the flashlight over and dug at the battery cover with her nails until it loosened. She drew a deep breath and opened the compartment. In the total darkness, she felt inside with her fingertips. One battery felt off center, barely connected. Her breath came out in a whoosh of relief. She pushed it firmly into place and closed the compartment. Her fingers found the control buttons. The flashlight had three settings. She pushed the bottom button.

A bright beam of light flooded a small chamber. Germaine blinked at the light, her pupils enlarged after so long in the dark. The light dazzled her eyes. She started talking, amazed at what she saw. If Conan heard, he (and the world!) would know what she found.

“I fell, but I’m all right. I’m in a timbered room. I’m sure it is a burial chamber. It’s about eight feet wide. And I can barely stand up.”

Germaine turned and faced the wall to her left, playing the bright light across its surface. It was covered in some kind of plaster and something was painted on the wall. She could see a faded design, its outline faint with parts missing. She squinted. A circle or a spiral? It was hard to make out. Big chunks of the plaster had fallen and lay on the floor.

And then she saw it. She reached for her camera and started snapping pictures as she talked.

“Lying beneath the wall, on some kind of low platform, is a skeleton; its skull and bones are laid out to form a complete figure. It’s incredible, Conan. I’m moving in closer. There are grave goods all around. It’s a very special burial.”

Her voice was breathy and sounded strange to her ears. Suddenly there was a buzz in her ear. Conan’s voice wavered, “Come back ...
That’s enough. I’m sending Ian in with another light. We’ll have to excavate carefully.”

Germaine decided to ignore him. She pulled the two-way ear bud from her ear and placed it in her pocket. They knew where she was.

Taking pictures as she moved, the constant flash from the camera creating a strobe effect. She moved closer to the skeleton. It was intact, one arm folded across the ribs in an almost protective gesture. Another skull and a few bones lay to one side, but it was the complete skeleton that commanded all her attention.