Triskellion (19 page)

Back to the certainty.

The anguish Rachel had been through, and Adam’s
near-death experience, had certainly dulled their taste for adventure. Gabriel had suggested that they lie low for a while and neither of them had needed much persuasion to do so. They had spent more time alone at the cottage: reading, lying about in the garden and letting the last few afternoons of the summer drift lazily by. Rachel and Adam both agreed that this was partly because they needed the rest and recuperation from their ordeal. Neither needed to admit to the other that it was also because they were terrified that Hilary Wing was at large and after their blood.

They had not ventured into the village, nor gone anywhere near the woods. And all the while, their amazing discovery lay wrapped in cloth and hidden under a floorboard beneath Adam’s bed.

Their grandmother, who was just about speaking to them again, had been horrified at the state they had returned in that evening. But when they protested that they had been shot at in the woods by Hilary Wing, she had shrugged it off. She had told them not to be silly; had explained that Hilary was probably shooting at pigeons and quickly changed the subject.

One thing
she
had seemed pleased about, however, was that Rachel and Adam had seemed far more content to be around the cottage, and had seen less of “that strange friend” of theirs.

It was Gabriel’s suggestion that they didn’t see each other for a while. He said that he was going away, but was reluctant to say where. Rachel and Adam had presumed that he was
catching up with his family, wherever they were.

Initially, Rachel had felt a bit rejected, and had missed Gabriel a great deal, but for the last few days she had found herself “talking” to him when she was alone in the garden or on short walks along the roads around the cottage. The messages she was receiving in her head were as fleeting and vague as Gabriel himself. They arrived like random text messages that popped up in her mind to reassure her that he was still around and to remind her about the secret she had promised to keep.

That all of them had to keep.

At first, Gabriel had urged them to tell absolutely no one about the second Triskellion blade, but Rachel had argued that they were duty-bound to let one other person in on the secret. He had helped them find it, after all.

Through swollen lips, Jacob Honeyman had let out a whoop of joy when Rachel and Adam told him that they had found the blade. He had blinked at them through blackened eyes and insisted that they did not tell him where they were hiding it. “What I don’t know, I can’t tell,” he had said, holding his ribs as he stood up to see them out.

“What happened to you, Jacob?” Adam had asked him.

“Fell down the stairs,” Jacob had replied, tut-tutting at his own clumsiness.

And as Rachel had walked away down the path from the shack, she had realized that the explanation Honeyman had given for his injuries was more than a little odd; was
not even a good attempt at a lie.

The shack
had
no stairs…

Laura Sullivan had found the villagers even less forthcoming than she had anticipated. Along with Chris Dalton and their assistant, she had spent the morning around the village, chatting to passers-by, patting children on the head and getting to know a few of the shopkeepers. Those villagers who hadn’t blanked their enquiries completely had offered little more than a fixed smile. Most “knew nothing” about the history of the village or “weren’t interested” in being on TV.

Dalton had become increasingly frustrated. “Ninety-nine point nine per cent of the country are gagging to get their ugly fat mugs on the telly, and we choose the one place where they’re all as publicity-shy as Lord flippin’ Lucan. Great…”

Laura didn’t know who Lord Lucan was, but assumed he must be a very shy person indeed. She had suggested to Dalton that perhaps he should go back to The Star for lunch, while she tried to track down the man who had brought them to Triskellion in the first place. Dalton had quickly agreed, and not just because he was exhausted and liked the look of the pub’s steak and ale pie.

They needed to talk to Jacob Honeyman, and thus far the beekeeper had been conspicuous by his absence.

Honeyman peered at the woman through a crack in the door. When he was certain that she wasn’t about to beat him up,
he opened the door a few centimetres.

“What?” He gave the woman on his doorstep no invitation to enter his shack.

“Hi … Jacob, is it?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m Laura Sullivan.
Treasure Hunters
. Remember? We spoke on the phone … you sent the mails… You met Chris, the presenter.” Laura held out a hand, waited.

Honeyman’s beady eye studied the hand through the doorframe then snaked out his own and shook the tips of Laura’s fingers, before retracting his hand with reptile-like speed.

“I can’t talk,” he said. “I told you everything I know in the emails and the letters and what have you. That’s it. Job done.”

“But I thought you were going to do a piece to camera for us. Explain some of your ideas … about the burial site, who you think might be buried there, and why. Do you remember?” Laura spoke quietly and persuasively, but Honeyman still showed no sign of knowing who she was. His eyes darted around over her shoulder and she couldn’t be sure that he was taking in anything she was saying.

“Like I said, I can’t talk.”

“Why not?” Laura asked.

“Things have changed, is why not.”

“That’s a shame…”

“What I said is true, but I can’t talk no more.” Honeyman
drew his forefinger across his mouth. “My lips is sealed.”

Laura stared down at the toes of her muddy walking boots. This was proving difficult. Not only were the villagers refusing to speak to them, but now their main lead was withdrawing his support. The show was turning into a disaster.

“Jacob, please help us a little, here.” She raised her voice, carried on even though Honeyman had already begun to shake his head. “Look, you were the one who got us started on this project. Without your local expertise, we’re a bit stuck. I really need your help. If we mess this up, it’s my neck on the line, too.”

Honeyman looked at Laura through the door. She hadn’t smarmed him like the presenter had when they’d met. She was plain speaking, and he liked that.

“Please,” she said.

She seemed honest and he would have liked to help her. But the pain from his cracked rib reminded him that it would be unwise. Then he had an idea.

“Excuse me for being reticent,” he said. “But I have my reasons, OK?” She nodded, and he leant a little closer to her, lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s true. Under that circle is the biggest archaeological discovery you’ll make in your career, that
anyone
will ever make. I can’t help you no more than that.”

Laura said nothing.

“But I know two people who might…”

R
achel was surprised to open the door of Root Cottage to the tall, red-haired woman with a beautiful smile. The few people that did call at Root Cottage were either very old or delivering letters or occasionally collecting for repairs to the church roof.

The woman held out her hand. “You must be Rachel.”

Rachel couldn’t quite place the accent, but guessed that Laura wasn’t English. “Hi,” she said, shaking hands. She tried to keep the suspicion out of her voice; a suspicion that would not have been there two weeks earlier. “Yeah, I’m Rachel.”

“My name’s Laura Sullivan. I’m the producer of
Treasure Hunters
. The TV show? You may have seen it?”

“Yeah, my gran watches it, but she’s out shopping. She’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Laura shook her head. “Actually, it’s you I wanted to speak to, if that’s OK. Are you American?”

“Yeah, we live in New York,” Rachel said. “But my mom was born here.”

“Well, we’re both outsiders then.” Laura smiled. “I’m from Australia.”

Rachel waited.

“Listen … Jacob Honeyman said you might be able to help me.”

“Jacob?”

“Can I come in?”

Rachel stared at Laura Sullivan and felt the suspicion begin to subside. She looked over her shoulder and, knowing that her grandmother would be at the shops for some while yet, opened the door wide to let Laura in.

“Is your brother here?” Laura asked, as she stepped inside.

“Upstairs,” Rachel said. “He’s not feeling too good.”

Adam had taken advantage of his grandmother’s shopping trip and attempted to phone home. It had been about 7.30 a.m. New York time when he’d called and he’d been worried that his mother might not have been awake yet.

She was, and already in tears. Adam could hear it in her voice even as she picked up the phone, cleared her throat and said a tremulous, “Hello.”

It tore at Adam’s heart to hear his mother’s voice and even more to hear the sobs that kicked in once she recognized his. He had been ready to unburden himself; to tell her how horrible their stay in Triskellion had been. How scary, how dangerous. He had been desperate to ask if they could come home early. But when he heard about how bad a time his mother was having with the divorce, the need to be brave
was suddenly more important than anything, and he told her things in England were fine – that he and Rachel were having a great time.

He had passed the phone to Rachel, who had coaxed her mother along with sympathetic words, assuring her that everything would work out for the best. Adam had left her to it, fighting back the tears and skulking off to their room, feeling worse than he had before he had made the call.

Rachel had watched him go, feeling less than certain that things would work out at all…

“Great cottage, isn’t it?” Laura said, sitting down in Granny Root’s favourite armchair. She took a good look round. “We don’t really have places like this at home.”

“Neither do we,” Rachel said. “We don’t really have anything old.”

“Same in Australia,” Laura said. “None of the buildings went up much more than a hundred years ago. But we have the Aboriginal sites that are many thousands of years old, so we’re doing what we can to preserve them. It’s funny really, seeing as I’m here to dig things up.”

“Yeah?” Rachel’s curiosity was suddenly sharpened by the notion that someone else was investigating Triskellion. “What are you digging?”

“Well, we have permission to dig up at the chalk circle.” Rachel’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Is that a problem for you?”

“Dig up the circle?”

“Of course we’ll put it all back exactly as it is. Look, I’m an archaeologist, first and foremost, and a TV producer second. I specialized in Bronze Age burial sites as part of my doctorate…”

“You’re a doctor, too?” Rachel asked, impressed.

“Sure, but you can just call me Laura,” Laura said, laughing. “There’re a few interesting theories about this circle. Some people reckon it’s a Bronze Age burial plot, maybe an important one, the tribal chief or something. It’s not like others I’ve seen, that’s for sure, so if it is a burial site, it would be the first of its kind. The area around has been throwing up heaps of stuff, coins and so on, which means at the very least it’s a site of special significance, and obviously has been for a very long time—” Laura stopped, followed Rachel’s gaze to the figure standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“This is my brother, Adam,” Rachel said. “He’s really into archaeology, too.”

Adam stared at his sister; he was not looking too happy. “I heard you talking to someone…”

“Hi, Adam.” Laura smiled at him. “Glad to hear you’re a fan of archaeology. Clearly a man of taste.”

Adam turned, then blushed. Managed a “hi” before dropping down heavily on to the sofa.

“So what do you guys know about the area?” Laura asked. “Jacob said you’ve done some impressive detective work, finding bits and pieces.”

Rachel and Adam exchanged a look that spoke volumes,
urging one another not to give too much away. As Rachel spoke, she heard Gabriel’s voice in the back of her mind, telling her to be calm, to go easy.

“Sure, we’ve read up on the local history since we’ve been here, you know, the tomb in the church, the circle … not much else to do here, really. Adam has found a few bits … just coins and that kind of thing.”

“OK.”

“Maybe we could help,” Adam said suddenly.

“Hang on,” Rachel said.

“Great.” Laura sat forward in her chair. “You’re just what I need. Two, talkative, media-friendly archaeology fans. You both have a bit of knowledge, you’d both look good on TV.”

“On
TV
?” Rachel almost shrivelled with embarrassment at the thought of it. “Oh no, I couldn’t go on TV.”

“Course you could…”

Rachel shook her head. “No way.”

Laura shrugged, more than a little disappointed.

“Sorry,” Rachel said.

Laura turned to Adam. “How about you?” she said, smiling at him.

Adam reddened again. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”