Threshold (32 page)

King extended his hand. “The name’s Calum. And my counterpart here is Humphrey.”

The woman giggled. “Bit of an old-fashioned name, eh?”

“He’s older than he looks,” King said.

She shook his hand. “Lauren Henderson. Owner and operator of London Hills Tours.”

“You know,” King said. “There is something I’ve been wondering about.”

Lauren cocked her head to the side. “Oh? And what might that be?”

“I’ve asked Humph a few times, but when it comes to history, he’s something of a dolt.”

Alexander chuckled and began wandering toward the tunnel entrance, scanning the parking lot, the visitors, and the site across the street. While listening to the conversation, he was also watching for anything unusual. King and Lauren followed him.

“Are there any examples of words, umm, spoken language being used to manipulate the elements?”

She stared at him for a moment, then cracked a big grin. “You highlanders are into some cheeky stuff.” She elbowed him again. “Ahh, I’m just winding you up.”

They stopped in front a tall green sign at the tunnel entrance. “So, just to be clear, you’re asking about magic, right? Casting spells?”

He hadn’t considered magic as a term to describe what Ridley was able to do, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that’s exactly what it was. And with the realization came the epiphany that the mythology of magic most likely developed as a result of this ancient language. And there may have been genuine magicians who had learned certain phrases that allowed them to do amazing things.

“Aye,” King said. “But specifically spoken magic. Is there any association with Stonehenge?”

“In fact, there is,” she said, excitement in her eyes. “It’s said that the bluestones were quarried in a remote region of Africa and were brought first to Ireland by giants.”

“Giants?” King asked. “Stone giants?”

Lauren’s smile disappeared for a moment, her train of thought ruined. “I dunno. Giants are giants.” Her smile returned and she continued. “But the man responsible for bringing the stones from Ireland to Britain was none other than the grand wizard Merlin himself. If you’ve got the time, you can read about it in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s
Prophetiae Merlini
, the Prophecies of Merlin. Stonehenge was referred to as ‘the giant’s circle’ back then, on account of being built by the giants.”

Lauren had just confirmed a slew of suspicions: Merlin’s spoken magic and giants that smacked of golems. It all made surreal sense. What King didn’t understand was that when he spoke again, his voice shook like he was being rattled around in the back of a bus.

Then he realized what was happening.

The ground was shaking.

FORTY-SIX

El Mirador, Guatemala

QUEEN, KNIGHT, AND
Bishop exited the tour helicopter and entered a hellish nightmare. Blinding flashes of lightning pulsed in the sky. Rain whipped by high winds stung their exposed skin. A loud hiss created by rustling palm leaves and rain filled the air, broken by the occasional boom of thunder. But the storm had its bonuses. With no other tourists on-site and the science team weathering out the storm in their tents, they could explore the site without interference. Or so they hoped.

After taking their cases, which contained equipment no tourist should have access to, they left Luis behind and headed into the jungle. The pilot was happy to remain safe and dry inside the chopper.

A clearing full of large sturdy blue tents sat just inside the jungle, buffeted by the elements. Rainwater, diverted by tarps, flowed away as small streams that had already eroded the topsoil. Muffled conversations could be heard as the science team took cover from the storm. A large tent, this one built on top of a wooden platform four feet off the ground, lay at the center of the site. Given its size and the effort taken to protect it from flooding, Queen pegged it for the site’s laboratory and headed for it. If Jon Hudson, the archaeologist behind the excavation, was anything like the scientists they’d collaborated with in the past, he’d be hard at work despite the inclement weather.

The wooden steps creaked under the weight of Queen, Bishop, and Knight as they entered the tent, but the man inside showed no reaction to their approach. He sat with his back to the door, hunched over a worktable. He suddenly reached out his hand, snapped twice, and pointed. “Get me a clean brush, will you?”

Queen saw the brush in question, picked it up, and handed it to the man. He immediately went back to work, brushing dust from a shattered Mayan relief.

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s nice to see not everyone is hiding away because of a little storm.”

“You’re welcome,” Queen said.

The man stopped working at the sound of Queen’s voice. He turned around and with widening eyes looked Queen up and down. Dressed as a tourist in cargo shorts, green poncho, and blue bandanna, much of her finer qualities were disguised. But that didn’t seem to matter as the man beamed at her. When he saw Bishop and Knight all signs of pleasant surprise faded. Whether she was available or not he would never know. The two men with her were too intimidating to even risk asking the question.

“Tourists?” he asked.

“Of a sort,” Queen answered.

“Are you Jon Hudson?” Knight asked, reaching under his poncho.

Fear crept into Hudson’s eyes. “You’re not looters?”

Knight removed his hand from under his poncho. He held a photo of Richard Ridley. “Hardly,” he said. “We’re looking for a friend.”

Hudson took the offered photo and looked at it. He showed no reaction, so little reaction in fact, that it was clear he did recognize Ridley. “A lot of people come and go here. Tourists, interns, too many faces to remember. And I spend most of my days looking at faces carved into stone. Speaking of which, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I really do have a lot of work to do and thanks to the weather, no one brave enough to help out.”

Queen flashed a phony grin. “We’ll let you get back to it, then. If the weather improves, would it be possible to get another look at the site? A tour perhaps?”

“Of course, of course.” He turned and went back to work.

Queen stood there long enough for the moment to become uncomfortable. She turned and rolled her eyes at Bishop and Knight, who grinned in reply. All three left the hut, worked their way back out of the camp, and entered the jungle. Hidden from view, they climbed a short hill, lay down on top, and waited for the inevitable.

*   *   *

HUDSON CONTINUED BRUSHING
away at the piece, its visage both beautiful and haunting, but his thoughts were not on work. They were on the three strangers looking for the man who had become his friend over the past few months, Marc Kaufman. He was also keenly aware that they had made the journey to El Mirador in the midst of one of the worst storms the rainy season had brought that year. He had no idea what Kaufman’s relationship to the three visitors was, but they oozed bad intentions.

I’m a good judge of character,
Hudson thought,
and those three are up to no good. I need to warn Kaufman.

After waiting long enough for the strangers to leave camp, he left his workspace and stood in the doorway. A loud static hiss, created by rain beating down on the black tarps, filled the air. But visibility was good and he couldn’t see anyone in camp or in the jungle surrounding the site. Crouching, he skulked through the camp. As his booted feet squished through mud, water rose up over them, soaking his feet.

He arrived at Kaufman’s tent and squatted by the entrance. “Kaufman,” he whispered. “Are you in there?”

After getting no reply, he whispered again. “Are you asleep, man? Wake up!”

Impatience got the better of him and he unzipped the tent. He flung open the blue flap and looked inside. Kaufman wasn’t there.

Hudson stood up, scratching his head. He turned to head back to the science hut and came face-to-face with Queen. With a shout, he fell back into Kaufman’s tent. As Queen, Bishop, and Knight crouched down around him, he moved deeper into the tent.

“Who’s Kaufman?” Bishop asked, his statement punctuated by a boom of thunder that shook the forest floor.

“I don’t—”

Queen cleared her throat. She had a handgun leveled at Hudson.

Hudson’s face twisted in fear. “The man in the photo. He’s a … a journalist. He’s doing a piece on El Mirador for
National Geographic.
What … what do you want with him?”

“Where does he spend his time?” Knight asked.

Hudson looked at him dumbly.

“Is there a specific location he’s shown interest in?”

Hudson thought for a moment. “He toured the whole site, but has spent most of his time at the biggest pyramid.”

“La Danta?” Queen asked.

“Yes. In fact, that’s probably where he is now.” He nodded. “I’m certain of it. Since discovering the entrance he’s been—”

“Where’s the entrance?” Queen asked forcefully.

“On top. A tree had put its roots down in it. A storm knocked it over a few days ago. You … you don’t need me to take you there … do you?”

“No, boss,” Queen said, tightening her grip on her weapon. “We don’t.” She pulled the trigger, firing a dart into his neck. Thanks to a powerful sedative, he lost consciousness immediately. After shoving his feet inside and zipping up the entrance, Queen stood and joined Bishop and Knight, who were looking at a map of the site.

“Which way, boys?”

“East,” Bishop said. “Mile and a half.”

Anyone who saw them running out of the camp, dressed in dark green ponchos, concealed by sheets of rain, and accompanied by earthshaking thunder might have mistaken them for one of Alexander’s Forgotten. As a result their exit from the camp went unhindered.

FORTY-SEVEN

Wiltshire, England

THE SHAKING SUBSIDED
as quickly as it had begun, leaving King and Alexander on edge. It felt like a simple tremor, but they knew the source was much more likely to be Ridley.

Lauren flashed a nervous smile. “Now
that
doesn’t happen much round here.”

Eager to get a better view of Stonehenge, King headed for the tunnel, but was stopped by Lauren’s next words. “Now what do you suppose that is?”

King looked to where she was pointing. A black plume rose into the sky in the distance. It spread, dissipated, and was carried off by the wind. “What’s over there?”

Lauren glanced around and looked up at the sun, getting her bearings. The dark cloud had risen from the northeast. Her eyebrows arched. “Durrington Walls and Woodhenge.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” King said.

“Not surprising for a Scotsman.”

“Woodhenge is a circle of timber,” Alexander said. “Similar to Stonehenge, but built of wood, which rotted long ago. The postholes have recently been filled in with modern beams.”

Lauren looked at Alexander, impressed with his knowledge. “You’d be surprised how many of our kinsmen don’t even know that much about the site. Durrington Walls is only five hundred meters beyond Woodhenge, but is more significant because it not only held a wooden henge, but a village as well. Several homes have been uncovered. The sites might have been used for burials, with cremated bodies being carried from one site to the other before being discarded in the river. But that would’ve just been the peasants. Some think that religious leaders or cultural champions, like the designer of the circles, would have been buried beneath Stonehenge. It’s one of the reasons a planned highway tunnel project, which would have burrowed through the earth under the henge, was scrapped. Seems like no one will see what’s buried under there at this rate—archaeologists or contractors.”

The ground shook again.

They all looked northeast, expecting to see a second dark cloud rise up. But nothing happened. Still, King thought they were connected. Whatever was causing the ground to shake had begun at the Durrington Walls.