Sleepwalker (11 page)

He had dropped the stick into the water by accident, and it had been lost. As a young man he had smoked a pipe, and had given up the habit because he had lost several perfectly fine Dunhills in much the same way.

He struck the Anglian Tower with his stick, tapped the fragment of Roman wall, and, with Langton clearing his throat and suggesting that they ought to hurry to Skeldergate, he wandered over to Saint Mary's Bishophill, Junior, and gazed upward at the Anglo-Saxon Tower, the sole Anglo-Saxon tower in York, and a lovely piece of work. Some of the stones were unmistakably Roman in origin. Somewhere in this general neighborhood there had been a Mithraic temple, and that single Roman sanctuary had furnished fabric for many churches. Higg insisted on slipping inside the church itself to see the arch made, undoubtedly, of good red Roman rock.

He was even more delighted to see the dig itself. They had made such progress. He put on a yellow helmet, and climbed up and down ladders. Davis was there, and Higg was always pleased to see Davis. Such a sturdy young man, and bright. He was sorry the man had suffered such sorrows, but the work did seem to be agreeing with him, after all. Peter, though, seemed drawn and abstracted, although he shook hands and made entirely appropriate comments about the pleasing warmth of the weather, considering the time of year.

“Before we have our meeting,” Higg said, “I want to see everything. Come along, Davis. I have questions for you.”

They left Langton behind. The man was a master of words and numbers. He had no legs for a genuine ramble. They crossed the Ouse Bridge, and made their way past the Minster, out Monk Bar, to the college. Higg enjoyed the walk, enjoyed the green grass—he loved everything about this town, and his science.

Davis was describing the results of the CAT scan on the Skeldergate Man. There was no sign of fracture, and no foreign body to indicate an arrowhead or other such weapon. The digestive tract had yielded the predictable sorts of residual matter—berry seeds and wheat, trace pollens, hawthorn, and, although Davis wasn't certain, perhaps rape seed.

“Let's hurry along,” said Higg. “I've never actually met our distinguished guest, you know.”

They had the Skeldergate Man behind a series of locks. The laboratory was as Higg remembered it. Sterile and functional, and quite cold—lovely.

Davis and Miss Saarni stood aside, and Higg strode into the brightly lit, smaller room at the end of the laboratory.

“He's magnificent, isn't he?” said Higg at last.

The body had the sheen of fine, well-worn saddle leather. “You've done well, I must say, both of you. Is the preservation nearly complete?”

“Virtually,” said Davis. But Davis had begun acting just slightly strangely. He was unusually silent. Miss Saarni, who, Higg knew from one meeting several months before, was usually quite ebullient, a truly charming girl, was also quiet.

“And how are things with you, my dear Miss Saarni? I know you've been essential here, with all your skills and with your ready wit. Speak quite plainly. Have there been any problems here?”

“We have not suffered any problems, Dr. Higg. We have been more than proud to work here on this marvelous discovery.”

“Where is that wonderful joy I recall, Miss Saarni? And you, Davis. Good heavens, I remember a young man who would jump up and down at the sight of a Cretan fibula. Now, here you are, with the greatest bog man ever discovered in scientific history, and you look as though you've forgotten all your first-declension nouns.”

“He moves,” said Davis.

Higg gazed at Miss Saarni, and then back at Davis.

“He moves during the night,” said Davis.

Higg stared.

“We have found him on the floor several mornings in a row,” Davis said, “each time—” Davis stopped himself. “Each time a little closer to the door.”

“He seems to be wanting to escape,” said Miss Saarni. “Although where he intends to go, I have no idea. Everyone is talking about it, all the workers at the dig. It only conforms to what everyone has thought for a long time. That the dig, and all associated with it, is haunted. I find it really quite unbelievable, naturally,” she laughed. “But we have a good many physical phenomena that require explanation.”

Her eyes were bright with something like humor, and for once Higg wished she did not have such a bubbling personality after all.

Higg gazed down at the ebony bog man. “Yes, I noticed at my very first introduction to him as I entered the room how terribly active he is.”

“We are not making this up,” said Davis. “It's true.”

“You, Davis, at least have the good sense to appear sheepish about it. Who has keys to this laboratory?”

“I had them all changed. I have the only copies, here in my pocket. They are all the best-quality Yale locks. He has continued to be found in hew positions on the floor, despite the fact that no one can possibly get into the lab.”

Higg tapped the metal door with his stick. His good humor was, for the moment, gone. He loved being in the field, but he did not like foolishness. Then he brightened. At least this was better than sitting at a desk in London. He enjoyed being with young people, even ones who had become confused about what was, and was not, possible.

“I am glad,” he said, “that I decided to come up here to visit with you. We have much to discuss.”

The meeting was held in the main Portakabin. It was a crowd, with the dozen and more of the team all in the place at the same time, but it had happened before, during a break, or on the rare occasions Peter had wanted to address them all. The last time they had all sat like this had been when Peter told them Langton was buying them all a pint.

Now Peter leaned against the wall, his eyes half closed as though in concentration. Dr. Higg was standing, with his winning smile, and lovable hound wrinkles. Peter was, indeed, concentrating, and he was listening to what Higg was saying. But what Higg said made Peter burn with a great inner glee, and Peter wanted to hide this.

Peter was delighted at the talk about the site being haunted. The rumors were of keenest interest to him. They fit his hopes exactly. He had not heard until now what apparently everyone else had been discussing. The Skeldergate Man was moving at night. Every night, for the past week, in a locked room.

The faces of the workers, and of Mandy and Jane, were strangely tense. Peter wanted to laugh. They believed this stupid rumor! They thought the man-shaped sack of leather was walking around at night.

Even Davis was worried. Peter had to cover his mouth to disguise a smile. Davis, the great archaeologist, the man who could steal women away from Peter without any effort at all, was afraid of an old puddle of skin. This was all, thought Peter, entirely wonderful.

Dr. Higg explained this rumor, and said it was best to talk about such matters, and not try to keep matters like this a secret. “At the end of the day,” he said, “there are no secrets.”

He went on to explain that when people worked with the dead it sometimes brought out troubling feelings. He had worked on the excavations of hundreds of graves in his career, and he himself had suffered the occasional nightmare. It was natural. The team members were human, and they had a natural respect for the dead, and that respect at times spilled over into something like fear. They should be rational, though, and understand the cause of their fears.

The team visibly relaxed as Dr. Higg spoke. This was exactly what they had all needed to hear. “Sometimes,” Dr. Higg said, “a rumor has gotten around a camp that unexplainable things were happening. Tools moving around at night, finds trays emptying themselves out, skulls moving from shelf to shelf. We've all heard of this sort of thing, and some of these things have been, from what Mr. Langton has told me, happening here.

“Sometimes there is some basis for these rumors. Sometimes tools do move around. We don't know why. Sometimes a specimen simply will not stay in the drawer where we put it. We have no way of explaining such things. Things sometimes simply climb around a bit when we aren't looking.”

The team chuckled over what had, earlier, seemed deadly sinister.

“As to why our friend Mr. Skeldergate keeps swimming off his table, I have no idea, but I assure you that I intend to look into it and discover what is taking place in the laboratory, and I shall report back to you. I want you to know one thing that is completely unquestionable. The dead do not move about, or trouble themselves with our poor living affairs. The dead are harmless, as much as we might wish them to be potent. They have no power, neither the evil dead, nor the beloved dead who we wish could come and visit us, no matter how frightening we might, in a way, find the thought. The dead do nothing. Only the living can act, and whatever moves the mattocks about, or causes accidents to take place, and whatever shifts the bog man about on his table, rest assured it is not a supernatural power. It is a physical power, one that a rational mind can entirely comprehend.”

Peter agreed, of course, despite his glee at the rumors. There were no ghosts. Ghosts were for children, and for childish adults. The dig had certainly had no power over Peter in any way. He was entirely unchanged by any of the so-called supernatural events. Peter was, he thought, a rationalist. He did not even believe in God, much less in evil spirits, or whatever it was that frightened even such clearheaded people as Jane. Jane, the self-possessed beauty, was clearly concerned. He could tell by looking at her.

There had been, he would admit to himself, a return of that voice. That quiet, little boy's voice.

Those naughty, naughty creatures. How bad they were, and how well they would be punished for their naughtiness. He knew what cats were, and what they craved.

It had come back to him, that wonderful lust he had entirely forgotten. His nights were so precious to him now. Three more creatures had fallen to him, and the pleasure was such a sweet song that to even think of it here, in this warm room, was enough to make him hard.

What impressed Peter was that even such a solid man as Davis was at least somewhat taken in by the thought that the bog man was getting up off his table and shadowboxing at night. It was all very amusing.

It was more than amusing.

Peter had a plan.

15

“I'm glad you spoke to us all today,” said Davis. “It helped.”

“I had begun to wonder if the task here might be too troubling for you,” said Dr. Higg.

“Not at all,” Davis was quick to respond. “I like it here very much.”

Higg nodded, observing the younger man, and enjoying what he saw. Davis was a sensitive man. Most intelligent men were, in one way or another. But Davis thrived on work. That was very important.

He had asked Davis and Langton to join him at the White Swan. He had, actually, asked Peter Chambers as well, but the man had explained that he was not feeling particularly well.

Higg sipped his whiskey. It was that furtive young man, with his lean face and darting eyes, who had him troubled.

“Something is bothering Peter,” said Higg. “We all know—that is, the three of us here—that he has had some emotional troubles in the past. I wonder if the stress of all this has been too much.”

“He's always been a quiet sort of man,” said Davis. “He seems about the same as always to me.”

Higg had his doubts, but perhaps Davis was right. It was difficult to understand a man like Peter Chambers.

Davis guessed that the two administrators would like to be alone together, so he stood and excused himself.

“No need to run off,” said Dr. Higg.

Davis thanked him, and turned away.

“I was thinking I might drop by and visit the laboratory just briefly tonight,” said Dr. Higg. “Actually, I wanted to spend a moment there alone. Do you have—?”

Davis gave him the keys, but pressed himself on Dr. Higg as an eager helper. “I'd be glad to show you anything you want to see in the lab.”

Davis had been disturbed by the apparent movement of the Skeldergate. Man, much more than he had even liked to admit to himself. Dr. Higg had seemed like a monument of rationality, and Davis was as grateful as a little boy that the distinguished scientist had paid them a visit. He had too much respect for Dr. Higg to argue with him. If he wanted the keys to the lab, he could have them.

“I want to putter about for a bit on my own, if I may,” said Higg, cradling the keys in his hand. “You run along.”

Davis did just that, shook hands with Dr. Higg and thanked him, and then left Higg with Langton's balding pate for company. Langton wasn't such a bad sort, but he was hardly a man of vigor and new ideas. Higg envied the young for their superstitions, and their need for reassurance. It took energy to be uneasy.

“It was, I must agree, a marvelous speech today,” said Langton.

“Hardly that. Hardly a speech, and only a bit of common sense.” Why was a compliment from Langton so irritating? “They are good, hardworking young people. That's what counts.”

Music played, when it had been so comfortable and quiet. It was some displeasing thumping sort of music. It did not last long. When it was quiet again, Higg leaned toward Langton. “I am going to do some research tonight.”

“Indeed.” Langton blinked.

Higg nodded. “I am going to spend the night in the room with our friend.”

“Peter?”

“Oh no, heavens no, dear Charles. You can be really amusing. Please pay attention. I am going to spend the night with our friend the Skeldergate Man.”

Langton smiled uneasily. Then, seeing that it was not a joke, he twitched. “Is that wise, do you think?”

“My dear Charles, do you suppose there is any danger whatsoever?”

“How could there be?”

“Precisely. There can be no danger, and I would like to find what sort of draft or tremor or prankster it is that moves our ancient friend from the table to the floor each night.”