Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time by Judith Schara Read Free Book Online

cloudy and calm. No dangerous ocean threatened to wash over her.
    The train stopped at her destination: Dorchester South station. Her heart raced as she grabbed her coat and plastic bags. She had to get out. She looked out the window and spied Aubrey on the station platform. He wore his dig uniform—a famously old safari jacket topped off by a worn Fedora, pulled down snug over his balding head. She hurried to the exit, anxious to get away from the unsettling dream.
    Aubrey’s pink-cheeked face smiled up at the clouds as he handed her down from the train. The overcast sky held a hint of rain, which never distressed him—it was his preferred choice in weather.
    He quickly found someone to carry her bags over to the station’s car park and then led her to an amazing old car with elegant lines. He lovingly patted it on the hood.
    “It’s a 1960 S2 Bentley and that’s the original black paint! A little dented and not restored, but it’s the first thing I bought when some money came my way. I’ve always wanted one. It’s garaged here in Dorchester, so when I come down to the coast, it’s easy to get about. And it goes well with my new title!” he added, with a wink.
    Aubrey’s family home was near Lyme Regis on the coast. He had grown up in this part of southern England, made famous by Thomas Hardy, where the gentle rolling land of chalk and clay met steep, Jurassic rock cliffs that dropped down to the sea. Hillforts and henges of standing stones dotted the countryside—the prehistoric was everywhere. A brilliant scholar, Aubrey’s skills and reputation were forged elsewhere, but this was his true home, and he loved it dearly.
    They loaded her bags and computer into the spacious trunk. “Quite a lot of suitcases, Germaine,” he muttered, as they settled into the Bentley. In its day, it must have been expensive. Built for touring, worn, dark green, leather seats and the cracked walnut paneling spoke of a more luxurious time. The engine purred softly as they headed out of Dorchester on the A354.
    “I don’t know what to say, Germaine. I’ll tell you all I know and it’s not much at this point. Lord Dorset called last night—that was the urgent message—and asked me to look into this. By the way, he is coming down today, so be prepared. He’s English Heritage, you know. And English Heritage looks after Maiden Castle. It’s one of their prime historical sites, though not a draw like Stonehenge, of course,” Aubrey quickly added. “Lots of tourists. That sort of thing. You’ll see when we get there. The thing is, someone blew a hole in the middle of the site and got himself blown up, too. Probably kids playing around with explosives. The hole is big. I was up there early this morning, and don’t know how one person could do that. Some sort of plastic explosive, the police said. I don’t know what to make of this.”
    She patted his hand, worried. Aubrey was over seventy and obviously distressed. His face was flushed. She made a mental note to discretely question him later about his health.
    “It seems the explosion demolished part of a Roman temple and an old Celtic hut site. It uncovered a grave site or a hoard—I’m not sure which at this point. There was a bronze piece, and I saw a bone in the debris. No one is allowed to go near it until we check it out. The police are there, of course, everywhere.”
    He held the steering wheel with one hand and gestured around the car as if they were surrounded by the police. Germaine kept a nervous eye on the road. She would have had them in the ditch ten minutes ago.
    He wanted her to help him and yet, he was the real authority on prehistory in Britain. She felt nervous, and secretly hoped she was good enough. But wasn’t that always the fear of the pupil with the teacher? Aubrey had trained her. She wanted to make him proud.
    Aubrey moved on to other topics, talking nonstop about growing up on the coast and playing with his brothers when they went camping out