A Gathering of Twine Page 26

  Rooksby shook his head. “Not one of ours.”

  “It’s the airport’s new development surveyor,” Kethron said, from behind them.

  “You met him?”

  “Aye.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Bawbag!”

  Rooksby sniggered.

  Ryan turned to face Kethron. “Why?”

  “Reckons himself.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Kethron narrowed his eyes. “Whatever he says, he believes it, likes it true.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He says he’s lucky. And he is. Says he can get a quote for an industrial spec build at ten quid a square foot, and he can. Says it’ll rain, and it does.”

  Ryan was confused. “What? So whatever he says will happen, does?”

  “Aye.”

  Ryan thought for a moment. “Isn’t that new development going to be over that cave?”

  “Let him find out for himself,” Kethron replied. “You’d do well to steer clear of him.”

  Ryan nodded, still not understanding what was wrong with the airport’s new employee. A flash of colour caught his eye, and he squinted. A second figure was with the first.

  “Who’s that with him?” Ryan said, pointing over to the derelict buildings.

  “Kiwi. Best mates now.”

  Ryan felt a childish tug inside of himself. He thought he was friends with Kiwi. He did not want the new boy stealing him away.

  That night, Kethron let MD’s Nissan out again. Ryan spotted a figure in the passenger seat.

  Kethron answered his question before he could utter it. “Aye,” he said.

  “That development guy?”

  “Gets everywhere. He’s been out with the Big Man a lot. Got some suits up from London. Next week, they got some Shaq or other over. That Bawbag has got some gift. People just follow him; give him whatever he wants, like he’s the second coming.”

  Ryan instantly thought of Anna and the way she got what she wanted from him. But they were husband and wife. It was different. Wasn’t it?

  *

  October was cool, but not as cold as it had been the previous year, and Ryan was working with Rooksby around the Cat Stane, beginning the preparatory works for when the mine underneath the standing stone would be filled in.

  He had finally become used to the constant noise of the aircraft and proceeded without having to turn around every few minutes to admire the sleek hull of an approaching jet. Ryan was checking the integrity of the ventilation shaft in preparation for the testing of the gas extractor. Rooksby was not one for small talk, and the two men had worked in silence for most of the morning.

  “Ok,” Ryan said, connecting a power cable to the compressor. “I think we’re ready for a test.”

  Rooksby was looking down the ventilation shaft. “Aye. What did that last sensor have to say?”

  The sensor was a long rod that was sunk into the ground and tested for movement as well as gas pockets.

  “Looks good,” Ryan said. “Little bit of gas in the first hundred feet, but nothing we can’t handle. No movement…” Ryan stopped and wrinkled his nose. “Do you smell that?” It was like the faint whiff of ammonia.

  Rooksby looked at him and shook his head. “No. Is it coming from the vent?”

  It was Ryan’s turn to shake his head. “No. I thought I smelt bleach. It’s gone now. Anyway… err, yeah. No movement recorded at all. What do you make of that temperature reading? Seems a little high.”

  Ryan’s ears popped and, as he tried to clear the pressure, he heard a muttering. Thinking that Rooksby had replied he looked up and froze. Rooksby was gone. The airport was gone. Around him was a thick wood and through the canopy, he could see the purple bruise of a day that had been beaten into submission.

  In a panic, he turned, and saw the Cat Stane. The standing stone was still there, but it seemed to be surrounded by a small group of men, dressed in dark tunics and rough leather pads that had been sown together like some kind of armour.

  “I’m telling you,” an oriental young man was saying fervently. “We need to send Celus’ troops across the river. His archers can then flank…”

  A second shook his head. He was Caucasian with sandy hair and was a similar age to the first man. “You’ll leave Devon and Leo exposed. Let Celus cover their cavalry attack and then he can…”

  “George!” the oriental said again, “you’re not hearing me. We’ve not heard from either Devon or Leo’s platoons in the last three days, there is no guarantee…”

  The second paused, no longer listening to his comrade, straightened and turn to face Ryan.

  “What is it?” the first asked. The rest of the men had put their hands on the assortment of weapons that Ryan now saw to be strapped to their sides. Crossbows. Swords. Guns. “Do you hear something?”

  The second man continued to stare at Ryan – almost through him. “Master Otsuno, I’m not sure… I thought I...”

  “I know that expression,” Otsuno said. “One of them’s near. A Twine. George?”

  The man they called George shook his head. “No. This is different. I think this is a Waker…”

  “One who looks and sees?” one of the soldiers from the back said. “We’ve not come across one of their kind in years…”

  George was no longer listening but had stepped forward, towards Ryan. “Are you there? Are you…”

  Ryan turned to flee in panic and Rooksby took hold of him.

  “Whoa. Easy. You ok?”

  Ryan looked around him, disorientated. He was back at the airport. “Err… yeah.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “What?”

  “I was talking to you, but you were miles away. Did you hear what I said?”

  “I… sorry, no. I thought…”

  Rooksby gently slapped him on the cheek. “Get it together. If Kethron sees you slacking… you don’t want to know what will happen.”

  *

  It was November, and an early frost had stripped the trees of their leaves. The first layer of concrete had gone into the Cat Stane cell, and all of the other second layers had been finished. Work even had begun on some of the thirds, and it looked like the team was making up some of the earlier lost time.

  But the Cat Stane was where the focus now was. There was a sense of tension in the air. Even if the other cells were flawless, the team would be remembered and judged by how this last one went.

  Additional girders had been ordered, and these were being fitted. It had begun to sleet, stinging Ryan’s skin like tiny insect bites. Kethron stood next to him as he activated the lift and watched more girders being sent down.

  “Do you want to start pumping the second layer before the Christmas break?”

  Kethron shook his head. “It won’t cure right. We’ll break early and start back in January if the weather holds.”

  They broke in December, and the weather did not hold. The worst winter for twenty-five years surprised Scotland that Christmas. Trains had to be pulled out of snowdrifts, planes were grounded, and gritting salt ran out after the first week.

  In the relative isolation of Falkland, the power went out after the first day, and water froze in the toilets, splitting the cisterns and flooding homes. Anna claimed to have been watching the long range weather forecasts and had bought nearly a dozen propane tanks and gas fuelled heaters. It was not a comfortable Christmas, but the three of them survived better than many of their neighbours, some of whom did not live through it.

  It was New Year's Eve when Anna came through to the lounge and told Ryan that Kethron had called. The snow-blowers at the airport had deposited their loads all over the cells. The banks were twenty foot high in some places.

  “Kethron says that you won’t be back until March at the earliest. You can do some more of your book,” she said smiling and handed him a generously-sized glass of neat vodka.

  In the end, it was April when the team returned to finish filling the min
e.

  *

  Despite being warm, the mid-April morning was not being kind to Ryan. He had a hangover. And it had lasted over two weeks. He could feel that his bloodshot eyes were dry, and he hurriedly drank some water from his bottle, feeling the cool liquid on his parched throat.

  “OI! Wino!” roared Kethron. “That better not be vodka!”

  “It’s just water,” Ryan muttered, showing him the label.

  Kethron did not believe him, crossed to where he stood, and took the bottle, sniffing it. Without a word he thrust it into Ryan’s chest and walked off.

  They were trying to apply a second layer of concrete to the Cat Stane cell, and there had already been two gas releases already. The first one had not been too bad, but the second one had taken nearly half an hour to disperse, and Ryan had been worried that the turbine extractor was not sucking it out fast enough. Judging by the look on Rooksby’s face, Ryan was not the only one.

  “Alright,” the radio squawked. “Start her up.”

  Ryan brought the two levers down and watched the needles creep up, settling mid-way in the green area.

  “Pressure and flow are good.”

  “Ok, keep her coming nice and slow.”

  Ryan’s attention drifted to the standing stone, less than forty yards from him. The inscription was away from him, and if he had not been told its significance he would have assumed that it was just a boulder. He was not the only one looking at the five tonne stone. At least half a dozen of his own team was watching it intently for the first sign of subsidence, and Ryan suspected that the bigwigs from the airport operator were watching from the terminal.

  For a moment, the memory of the forest from the previous autumn rose unbidden. He could almost hear their voices.

  “What pressure have you got?” the radio crackled, snapping him back to reality.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Drop it to twenty.”

  Ryan twisted a dial. “Any better?”

  “No. I got thirty and rising.”

  “I’ll shut her down.” Ryan brought both the levers up.

  “I got thirty-five. Fire up the extractor.”

  Ryan signalled to men around the compressor, and turbine extractor kicked in.

  Thoc-thoc-thoc

  “Is it on?”

  “Yeah. What have you got?”

  “Forty-five. Bring me up!”

  Ryan punched the green button hard.

  Kethron was standing behind him. “JUICE IT!” he roared to the compressor operator.

  The extractor audibly kicked up several gears.

  Thoc-thoc-thoc

  The head of the lift cleared the mouth of the hole, and Rooksby jumped out.

  “Seventy!”

  “Down down down!” Kethron motioned everyone to lie down. They needed no second bidding.

  For a moment all was silent, and then Ryan heard a sound like a cave whispering, followed by a wet tearing as if raw flesh was being stripped from bone.

  A second passed. And then there was another sigh. The wet tearing that followed was louder this time, and Ryan swore he felt the ground rise and fall slightly.

  Silence returned briefly, only to be broken by a plane landing, tyres squealing.

  Ryan sat up. He was not the first, and everyone was looking at the Cat Stane. It seemed unmoved.

  “Ten,” Rooksby said, looking at his pressure dial, and then up to Kethron.

  Kethron nodded. “Get down there and let me know how it’s looking.”

  “Keep the extractor on, yeah?

  Kethron nodded again.

  Ryan punched the downward release and watched Rooksby descend slowly down the shaft.

  “Er... K?” the radio crackled.

  “Yeah.”

  “We got movement down here.”

  “How much?”

  “A lot... err... some of the girders have shifted. It looks like the wall was too wet to hold them. Err... hang on. Can you see anything topside?”

  Kethron looked over to the Cat Stane. “Nothing,” he said.

  “Err... don’t lose it, but I’ve got skeletons down here.”

  The graves around the Cat Stane had been examined once in the nineteenth century, and again just before the new runway was laid in the seventies. There was disagreement as to their nature with some claiming them to be Pictish, whilst others claimed there were some early Christians mixed in with them. A few claimed they were even older still. Regardless of who was right and wrong, the decision had been made to leave the graves in situ.

  “How many?” Kethron said. Ryan was surprised at how calm he was.

  “It’s difficult to tell. I don’t know. It’s too dark. Can you send a light down the vent shaft? See if I can pick the outlines.”

  Kethron motioned to the compressor operator, who cut the power. A torch was quickly found, a rope attached, and lowered down the opposite shaft.

  “What’s your pressure?” Kethron said.

  “Still at ten. Did you get a torch?”

  “Aye. Coming down now.”

  “Got it. It’s a mess down here.”

  “How many skeletons Rooksby?” There was an impatient edge to Kethron’s voice.

  “Seven, eight, nine... ten. I can see ten. No, wait. There’s eleven.”

  Kethron smiled. “You’re sure?”

  “Sure as I can be. We’ve got a couple of tonnes of soil over... ninety or a hundred feet, but I can see the skulls just fine.”

  With a speed that surprised Ryan, Kethron turned on him.

  “Ok Wino,” he said, moving towards him, “Now you’re ready.”

  “What?” Ryan took a step back just as another aircraft took off, almost drowning him out.

  Kethron thrust a black metal box into his hands, and it felt unusually cold to the touch.

  “You’re going down there. Rooksby will direct you to the skeletons. You’ll find a pendant or a stone around each of their necks. Put in the box and bring it back up.”

  “What?” Ryan yelped again, not comprehending what was being demanded of him. Fear flowed through his veins and he felt paralysed by the commands being given.

  “You heard, Wino.”

  Kethron grabbed him, pinning his arms to his side and deposited him onto the lift.

  “But... but... but...the tunnel, it’s collapsing!” Ryan blabbered.

  “That’ll be the least of your problems,” Kethron smiled and was joined by several members of the team, each looking sternly down at him as he descended into the shaft.

  The darkness enveloped him like a sinister lover, and he watched the portal of light above him fade away to a dot. The smell of old wet earth invaded his nostrils, clawing its way to the back of his throat. Below him, he could see Rooksby’s head-torch, and the sodium lamps around him gave off a weak light casting the outline of Kethron’s men into seemingly impossible contortions.

  Ryan was beyond panic. Terror raced through his system, mixing with adrenaline and alcohol into a heady cocktail. He felt light-headed, and it was only the sense of rising nausea that stopped him from passing out completely.

  It was warmer the further down he descended, and a musty smell, like stale urine, began to mix with that of the wet earth. Ryan knew that this is what Anna had planned all along. She had planned it with Kethron. Always just leading him on enough to get him to do what she wanted. Hate mixed with fear.

  He would get out of here. He would...

  What? Stand up for yourself? The black dog was back. Ryan wanted to scream at it. Scream at himself. Scream at Kethron. He wanted to throw himself from the moving platform, but he was already too close to the bottom, and he knew he would survive. He wanted to do something. Anything to just not be here. In this hole. With all the earth... and death.

  Death. The word ballooned inside him.

  If this is what Anna had planned for him, then he would not be needed after this. Kethron would only need to bring Rooksby back up... and then he could just start filling in. Who would m
iss him?

  Ryan imagined the wet earth filling his mouth and his ears with worms, as the white dot of daylight above him faded out. The girl, the one from his dreams, the one he had followed, mocked him from her dream grave.

  Join us join us join us.

  She disappeared again under a wave of dark, almost fetid, blood.

  The lift platform hit the floor with a jolt.

  Rooksby was waiting for him, leaning against the shaft wall, arms folded. In the half light, he looked almost identical to Kethron.

  Ryan instantly made for the emergency ascent button.

  Rooksby was quicker, slapping his hand away, grabbing his elbow, and twisting it behind his back. Ryan careened into the earth wall, his mouth instantly trying to expel the dirt that had been forced in.

  Rooksby held his arm as if he were holding a pencil. “Stop it!” he barked.

  Ryan did not stop and continued to struggle against the bigger, more powerful man. Rooksby raised Ryan’s arm behind his back and began to twist. It felt like his shoulder was being torn from his socket, and Ryan screamed. Rooksby deftly kicked the back of Ryan’s knee, and he sank to the ground with another cry.

  “Stop it!” Rooksby ordered again, raising Ryan’s arm by the wrist high above the prone man’s head, his other hand on the elbow. He would snap Ryan’s arm clean in two if he had to.

  Ryan felt his arm lock and then reach its break point. Rooksby held it there, right on the edge, and Ryan stopped struggling.

  “Good monkey. Now listen to me very carefully.” Rooksby was whispering into his ear. “You’re just going to go into the tunnel and get the pendants and that’s it.”

  “Screw you!” Ryan spat back.

  Rooksby tweaked Ryan’s arm another millimetre towards breaking, and he yelped again.

  “It’ll be easy. Get in. Get out,” Rooksby hissed.

  “No. The tunnel will come down on me.”

  Rooksby steered Ryan by the arm to the tunnel entrance. Some earth had come down, but not as much as Ryan had thought, and he could clearly make out skeletal forms picked out against the sodium light that had been dropped down the opposite ventilation shaft.

  “It won’t. See?”

  Ryan saw.

  “Just put the pendants in the box and this will all be over.”

  “No,” Ryan whimpered. “You’ll kill me.”