Circle of Stones by Catherine Fisher Read Free Book Online Page B

and come up the stairs and called, “Su? Are you in?” and she’d found herself stiff and cold, one arm gone to sleep, her mind a strange blank.
    No loitering man. Nothing unusual.
    Nothing on Saturday.
    Nothing on Sunday.
    But she must have been too quiet, because Simon insisted they all go out on Sunday afternoon for what he called a family outing. It turned out to be a visit to a country house he was interested in, but she had enjoyed the vast green lawns and the woods with their falling leaves, and the cream tea in the cozy tearoom afterward.
    Now, opening the door into the echoing hall of the museum, she told herself she’d imagined the man’s interest in her. She had to get the old fear out of her mind, but it was hard. It lurked inside her, like a coldness in her chest, and though she could chat and laugh and seem normal, every time she was alone or the conversation flagged or a program on the TV stopped for the ads, there it was.
    Like a shadow.
    â€œAre you Sulis?”
    It was the boy with the security badge. “I’m Josh. They’ve told me to give you the quick tour.”
    He seemed a bit embarrassed by it all. “Fine,” she said, as coolly as she could. “Lead on.”
    He wasn’t a great guide. He went too fast and didn’t explain things properly, as if he had other, more important things on his mind.
    He led her down a corridor and outside onto a terrace of stone. “There it is,” he muttered.
    She stared in amazement. Below her a vast rectangular pool of hot water steamed in the crisp autumn air. It seemed deep but it was hard to tell, because the water was the palest emerald green. Tiny trails of bubbles rose here and there to its surface.
    She stared around at its paved edges, the classical columns, the statues. “Is all this Roman?”
    â€œFirst daft question.” Josh leaned on the rail. “The bath is. The rest is later. This was the Romans’ outdoor swimming pool.”
    â€œWhere does the water come from? How does it get so hot?” Suddenly she realized how little she really knew about any of this, despite the quick research in Sheffield.
    â€œDeep underground. It gets hot down there. I don’t know how. The earth’s core is warm, isn’t it?” Suddenly he straightened, posed like a lecturer, and adopted a voice of ridiculous poshness. “The King’s Bath spring is a natural water source which rises from deep under the city. It flows at a rate of a third of a million gallons a day and has never been known to fail.”
    She giggled. He said, “Quiet at the back please! The temperature of the water is a constant 120 degrees Fahrenheit. The water you are looking at is ancient. It fell as rain on the Mendip hills six thousand years ago and . . .”
    â€œIs that true?”
    â€œWell, it’s what the guides tell the groups.” His voice trailed back to normal. He turned and walked on.
    â€œAre you a guide?”
    â€œNo. But I want to be because the pay’s better. And you get tips.”
    â€œI don’t think I could remember all that stuff.”
    He shrugged but she could see he was pleased. “If you had to say it ten times a day you would. Down here.”
    They were underground now. She trailed behind him through dark rooms full of exhibits, cases of Roman pottery and gravestones, altars, models and reconstructions, the broken life of the ancient bathers. Josh came back. “Bored, or bored?”
    â€œI like it actually.”
    â€œWe’re right under the square now. All those tourists and buskers and shops are about ten meters above us. Wait here a minute, will you?”
    While she waited, she thought of the cafe tables, the man’s dark eyes on hers through the crowd. For a moment she almost felt she was being watched again; she glanced around, but the museum was dim and shadowy, and there was no one here but her.
    Something clicked, among