It was almost sundown when Foster and I pushed through the door to the
saloon bar at the Ancient Sinner and found a corner table. I watched
Foster spread out his maps and papers. Behind us there was a murmur of
conversation and the thump of darts against a board.
"When are you going to give up and admit we're wasting our time?" I
said. "Two weeks of tramping over the same ground, and we end up in the
same place."
"We've hardly begun our investigation," Foster said mildly.
"You keep saying that," I said. "But if there ever was anything in that
rock-pile, it's long gone. The archaeologists have been digging over
the site for years, and they haven't come up with anything."
"They don't know what to look for," Foster said. "They were searching
for indications of religious significance, human sacrifice--that sort
of thing."
"We don't know what we're looking for either," I said. "Unless you
think maybe we'll meet the Hunters hiding under a loose stone."
"You say that sardonically," Foster said. "But I don't consider it
impossible."
"I know," I said. "You've convinced yourself that the Hunters were
after us back at Mayport when we ran off like a pair of idiots."
"From what you've told me of the circumstances--" Foster began.
"I know; you don't consider it impossible. That's the trouble with you;
you don't consider anything impossible. It would make life a lot easier
for me if you'd let me rule out a few items--like leprechauns who hang
out at Stonehenge."
Foster looked at me, half-smiling. It had only been a few weeks since
he woke up from a nap looking like a senior class president who hadn't
made up his mind whether to be a preacher or a movie star, but he had
already lost that mild, innocent air. He learned fast, and day by day I
had seen his old personality reemerge and--in spite of my attempts to
hold onto the ascendency--dominate our partnership.
"It's a failing of your culture," Foster said, "that hypothesis becomes
dogma almost overnight. You're too close to your Neolithic, when the
blind acceptance of tribal lore had survival value. Having learned
to evoke the fire god from sticks, by rote, you tend to extend the
principle to all 'established facts.'"
"Here's an established fact for you," I said. "We've got fifteen pounds
left--that's about forty dollars. It's time we figure out where to go
from here, before somebody starts checking up on those phoney papers of
ours."
Foster shook his head. "I'm not satisfied that we've exhausted the
possibilities here. I've been studying the geometric relationships
between the various structures; I have some ideas I want to check. I
think it might be a good idea to go out at night, when we can work
without the usual crowd of tourists observing every move."
I groaned. "My dogs are killing me," I said. "Let's hope you'll come up
with something better--or at least different."
"We'll have a bite to eat here, and wait until dark to start out,"
Foster said.
The publican brought us plates of cold meat and potato salad. I worked
on a thin but durable slice of ham and thought about all the people,
somewhere, who were sitting down now to gracious meals in the glitter
of crystal and silver. I'd had too many greasy French fries in too many
cheap dives the last few years. I could feel them all now, burning in
my stomach. I was getting farther from my island all the time--And it
was nobody's fault but mine.
"The Ancient Sinner," I said. "That's me."
Foster looked up. "Curious names these old pubs have," he said. "I
suppose in some cases the origins are lost in antiquity."
"Why don't they think up something cheery," I said. "Like 'The Paradise
Bar and Grill' or 'The Happy Hour Cafe'. Did you notice the sign
hanging outside?"
"No."
"A picture of a skeleton. He's holding one hand up like a Yankee
evangelist prophesying doom. You can see it through the window there."
Foster turned and looked out at the weathered sign creaking in the
evening wind. He looked at it for a long time. When he turned back,
there was a strange look around his eyes.
"What's the matter--?" I started.
Foster ignored me, waved to the proprietor, a short fat country man. He
came over to the table, wiping his hands on his apron.
"A very interesting old building," Foster said. "We've been admiring
it. When was it built?"
"Well, sir," the publican said, "This here house is a many a hundred
year old. It were built by the monks, they say, from the monastery what
used to stand nearby here. It were tore down by the King's men, Henry,
that was, what time he drove the papists out."
"That would be Henry the Eighth, I suppose?"
"Aye, it would that. And this house is all that were spared, it being
the brewing-house, as the king said were a worthwhile institution, and
he laid on a tithe, that two kegs of stout was to be laid by for the
king's use each brewing time."
"Very interesting," Foster said. "Is the custom still continued?"
The publican shook his head. "It were ended in my granfer's time, it
being that the Queen were a teetotaller."
"How did it acquire the curious name--'The Ancient Sinner?'"
"The tale is," the publican said, "that one day a lay brother of the
order were digging about yonder on the plain by the great stones, in
search of the Druid's treasure, albeit the Abbot had forbid him to go
nigh the heathen ground, and he come on the bones of a man, and being
of a kindly turn, he had the thought to give them Christian burial.
Now, knowing the Abbott would nae permit it, he set to work to dig a
grave by moonlight in holy ground, under the monastery walls. But the
Abbott, being wakeful, were abroad and come on the brother a-digging,
and when he asked the why of it, the lay brother having visions of
penances to burden him for many a day, he ups and tells the Abbott it
were a ale cellar he were about digging, and the Abbott, not being
without wisdom, clapped him on the back, and went on his way. And so it
was the ale-house got built, and blessed by the Abbott, and with it the
bones that was laid away under the floor beneath the ale-casks."
"So the ancient sinner is buried under the floor?"
"Aye, so the tale goes, though I've not dug for him meself. But the
house has been knowed by the name these four hundred years."
"Where was it you said the lay brother was digging?"
"On the plain, yonder, by the Druid's stones, what they call
Stonehenge," the publican said. He picked up the empty glasses. "What
about another, gentlemen?"
"Certainly," Foster said. He sat quietly across from me, his features
composed--but I could see there was tension under the surface calm.
"What's this all about?" I asked softly. "When did you get so
interested in local history?"
"Later," Foster murmured. "Keep looking bored."
"That'll be easy," I said. The publican came back and placed heavy
glass mugs before us.
"You were telling us about the lay brother's finding the bones," Foster
said. "You say they were buried in Stonehenge?"
The publican cleared his throat, glanced sideways at Foster.
"The gentlemen wouldna be from the University now, I suppose?" he said.
"Let's just say," Foster said easily, smiling, "that we have a great
interest in these bits of lore--an interest supported by modest funds,
of course."
The publican made a show of wiping at the rings on the table top.
"A costly business, I wager," he said. "Digging about in odd places and
all. Now, knowing where to dig; that's important, I'll be bound."
"Very important," Foster said. "Worth five pounds, easily."
"'Twere my granfer told me of the spot; took me out by moonlight, he
did, and showed me where his granfer had showed him. Told me it were
a fine great secret, the likes of which a simple man could well take
pride in."
"And an additional five pounds as a token of my personal esteem,"
Foster said.
The publican eyed me. "Well, a secret as was handed down father to
son...."
"And, of course, my associate wishes to express his esteem, too,"
Foster said. "Another five pounds worth."
"That's all the esteem the budget will bear, Mr. Foster," I said. I got
out the fifteen pounds and passed the money across to him. "I hope you
haven't forgotten those people back home who wanted to talk to us," I
said. "They'll be getting in touch with us any time now, I'll bet."
Foster rolled up the bills and held them in his hand. "That's true,
Mr. Legion," he said. "Perhaps we shouldn't take the time...."
"But being it's for the advancement of science," the publican said,
"I'm willing to make the sacrifice."
"We'll want to go out tonight," Foster said. "We have a very tight
schedule."
The landlord dickered with Foster for another five minutes before he
agreed to guide us to the spot where the skeleton had been found.
When he left, I began. "Now tell me."
"Look at the signboard again," Foster said. I looked. The skull smiled,
holding up a hand.
"I see it," I said. "But it doesn't explain why you handed over our
last buck----"
"Look at the hand. Look at the ring on the finger."
I looked again. A heavy ring was painted on the bony index finger, with
a pattern of concentric circles.
It was a duplicate of the one on Foster's finger.
* * * * *
The publican pulled the battered Morris Minor to the side of the
highway and set the brake.
"This is as close as we best take the machine," he said. We got out,
looked across the rolling plain where the megaliths of Stonehenge
loomed against the last glow of sunset.
The publican rummaged in the boot, produced a ragged blanket and two
long four-cell flashlights, gave one to Foster and the other to me. "Do
nae use the electric torches until I tell ye," he said, "lest the whole
county see there's folks abroad here." We watched as he draped the
blanket over a barbed wire fence, clambered over, and started across
the barren field. Foster and I followed, not talking.
The plain was deserted. A few lonely lights showed on a distant slope.
It was a dark night with no moon. I could hardly see the ground ahead.
A car moved along a distant road, its headlights bobbing.
We moved past the outer ring of stones, skirting fallen slabs twenty
feet long.
"We'll break our necks," I said. "Let's have one of the flashlights."
"Not yet," Foster whispered.
Our guide paused; we came up to him.
"It were a mortal long time since I were last hereabouts," he said. "I
best take me bearings off the Friar's Heel...."
"What's that?"
"Yon great stone, standing alone in the Avenue." We squinted; it was
barely visible as a dark shape against the sky.
"The bones were buried there?" Foster asked.
"Nay, all by theirself, they was. Now it were twenty paces, granfer
said, him bein fifteen stone and long in the leg...." The publican
muttered to himself, pacing off distances.
"What's to keep him from just pointing to a spot after a while," I said
to Foster, "and saying 'This is it'?"
"We'll wait and see," Foster said.
"They were a hollow, as it were, in the earth," the publican said,
"with a bit of stone by it. I reckon it were fifty paces from here--"
he pointed, "--yonder."
"I don't see anything," I said.
"Let's take a closer look." Foster started off and I followed,
the publican trailing behind. I made out a dim shape, with a deep
depression in the earth before it.
"This could be the spot," Foster said. "Old graves often sink--"
Suddenly he grabbed my arm. "Look...!"
The surface of the ground before us seemed to tremble, then heave.
Foster snapped on his flashlight. The earth at the bottom of the hollow
rose, cracked open. A boiling mass of luminescence churned, and a
globe of light separated itself, rose, bumbling along the face of the
weathered stone.
"Saints preserve us," the publican said in a choked voice. Foster and
I stood, rooted to the spot, watching. The lone globe rose higher--and
abruptly shot straight toward us. Foster threw up an arm and ducked.
The ball of light veered, struck him a glancing blow, darted off a few
yards, hovered. In an instant, the air was alive with the spheres,
boiling up from the ground, and hurtling toward us, buzzing like a hive
of yellow-jackets. Foster's flashlight lanced out toward the swarm.
"Use your light, Legion!" he shouted hoarsely. I was still standing,
frozen. The globes rushed straight at Foster, ignoring me. Behind me, I
heard the publican turn and run. I fumbled with the flashlight switch,
snapped it on, swung the beam of white light on Foster. The globe at
his head vanished as the light touched it. More globes swarmed to
Foster--and popped like soap bubbles in the flashlight's glare--but
more swarmed to take their places. Foster reeled, fighting at them. He
swung the light--and I heard it smash against the stone behind him. In
the instant darkness, the globes clustered thick around his head.
"Foster," I yelled, "run!"
He got no more than five yards before he staggered, went to his
knees. "Cover," he croaked. He fell on his face. I rushed the mass of
darting globes, took up a stance straddling his body. A sulphurous
reek hung around me. I coughed, concentrated on beaming the lights
around Foster's head. No more were rising from the crack in the earth
now. A suffocating cloud pressed around both of us, but it was Foster
they went for. I thought of the slab; if I could get my back to it,
I might have a chance. I stooped, got a grip on Foster's coat, and
started back, dragging him. The lights boiled around me. I swept the
beam of light and kept going until my back slammed against the stone. I
crouched against it. Now they could only come from the front.
I glanced at the cleft the lights had come from. It looked big enough
to get Foster into. That would give him some protection. I tumbled him
over the edge, then flattened my back against the slab and settled down
to fight in earnest.
I worked in a pattern, sweeping vertically, then horizontally. The
globes ignored me, drove toward the cleft, fighting to get at Foster,
and I swept them away as they came. The cloud around me was smaller
now, the attack less ravenous. I picked out individual globes, snuffed
them out. The hum became ragged, faltered. Then there were only a few
globes around me, milling wildly, disorganized. The last half dozen
fled, bumbling away across the plain.
I slumped against the rock, sweat running down into my eyes, my lungs
burning with the sulphur.
"Foster," I gasped. "Are you all right?"
He didn't answer. I flashed the light onto the cleft. It showed me damp
clay, a few pebbles.
Foster was gone.