Circle of Stones (18 page)

Sulis stared at her. “Caitlin stood up and she spread her arms. Look, she's doing it now. Can you see her?”

“I can see.”

“She had my wrist. I had to get away from her. She was pulling me. I was screaming.”

“You fought.”

“We struggled.”

“You bit . . .”

“. . . and kicked.”

“You pulled.”

“I screamed.”

He was right beside her. There was a great thudding going on somewhere, and voices down in the park, and a flashlight flickering over her. She said, “They were all shouting. And then she stood up on the edge.”

“Just to show you . . .”

“. . . she could do it. Just to show me . . .”

“. . . she was stronger.”

The ghost girl climbed and balanced. She wobbled. Beside her a bird took off, fluttering into the dark with a harsh squawk. Sulis reached out. “My hand. Look, here it is. Did I do it? Did I push her off?
Did I kill her?
Was I the stranger?”

There was no answer. Her hand moved closer, closer to the pink quilted coat, because she was afraid that Caitlin would turn, that she would see her face again, after all these years. But her hand moved as if she couldn't control it, inching forward, flat against the silky cloth between the shoulder blades.

Until Simon unlocked the door and said breathlessly, “Su? Everything okay?”

Zac

W
hat had I expected?

A circle of men in druid garb? Unholy & secret ceremonies? The sacrifice of some village girl with a golden sickle?

Something like that.

And maybe something like that had happened, because the chamber was dim with a faint mist, as if the men had been there only moments since, but had gone now, to shadows, to nothing.

Forrest was alone.

He sat waiting, by the spring, his coat bunched up on the ground. He said, “Zac. Sylvia. Come in.”

For a moment I had the stupid idea of bolting back home to bed & pretending I had not been anywhere near this place. But Sylvia moved past me, & her dress rustled, & so I had to follow her, feeling so shamefaced & foolish I could scarcely breathe.

He had lit the circle of candles, & they smoldered. In their light I saw the spring; surrounding it another ring, of small, brown ovoids scattered on the earth. I trod on one by accident, & it crushed under my foot. I bent & looked at them.

They were acorns.

Forrest said, “I'm afraid you've missed our little ceremony, Zac.”

I could not tell how angry he was. There was a great weight on him, but it seemed as much sorrow as wrath. Beside me, Sylvia was trembling.

I said, “Sir, we were .  .  .”

“Curious?”

“Yes. Nothing more.”

He laughed, a dry, mirthless sound. He said, “I do not object to curiosity. But I thought I had deserved better of you than this.”

At first I did not understand. Then he lifted one of the candles & moved it closer to him, & the light fell on something spread on the floor, a wide unfolded plan, held down at the corners by pieces of golden stone.

He looked up at me, across it. “What is this mockery, Zac?” he whispered.

For a moment my mind was as dark as the chamber. And then Sylvia made some small sound, the very whisper of dismay. And it was as if a shaft of light had broken in, & suddenly I understood everything, understood that the plan in front of him was the one I had drawn, the grotesque warped copy of his work.
And that she had given the real plan to Compton
.

I could not move.

Even to breathe was impossible.

I looked at her; one glimpse. Her eyes were fixed on me. Her face was white as chalk.

It was only a fraction of an instant. And yet I seemed to see all my life in that time—the years of my apprenticeship lost, the buildings I would never design now—& hers too; seemed to see her begging on the London road, losing herself in that filthy city of darkness. She had betrayed all of us. Why should I save her?

Yet I pulled myself upright, adjusted my sleeve & said nothing.

Forrest touched the plan. “Where is the original?”

“Sold,” I muttered.

“To Compton?”

I bowed. Words would only fail me.

He shook his head, as if he was too moved to speak. His voice was choked with bitterness. “You owed him gambling debts?”

“Master Alleyn told you?”

“He hinted. But, Zac, why didn't you come to me?” He was on his feet now, facing me, his words torn from him, harsh & raw. “Was I so forbidding a master? Did I deserve this!”

Beside me, Sylvia stood like a shadow in the chamber. She did not speak or look at me. I was sore with anger; I wanted to shout at her, to him, “She did it! This lying girl you took in & preferred to me!”

But I just shook my head.

He took up the plan & threw it in my face. “And you insult me with this! I could have forgiven you the debts, Zac, even giving away the secrets of my work, but to seek to subvert it! To have the men build this crippled ruin .  .  .to destroy me. That I cannot ever understand.” He stood close to me, & his eyes were black. “Building is magic, Zac. It is our high art. It must never be betrayed.”

Sylvia gave a great choking sob.

For a moment of brief joy I thought then that she'd tell him, that she'd confess, but she didn't. She turned & pushed past me, running away into the darkness of the tunnel.

Forrest stepped back. He drew his hand over his face, pushed back his tangled hair. Then he turned away. “I can't even bear to look at you. Go now, sir. Go to the house, pack your things & leave. Don't be there when I get back. Our partnership is ended.”

There were many things I could have said. My face was red with humiliation, & yet I was proud, & though that pride burned me like venom I hugged it to myself & lifted my head & turned on my heel as coolly as I could. But as I walked away from him through the darkness, I walked into a terrible remorse, & it was all I could do not to turn & tell him what the girl had done.

Because I would be leaving her in his house, like a viper coiled around his life.

I stopped. “Sir, please .  .  .”

“Go, Zac!
” It burst out of him like a cry. And so I went.

Outside, the night was a ghostly chill of mist. There seemed more lights than usual on the site, but they were mere nebulas of paleness. My breath smoked around me.

I walked through the piles of stone without looking to right or left. What would become of me? Why was I throwing away my life for a girl who could do such a thing as this to us? For a slut off the streets who cared not a jot for me?

I stopped. I would go back & force him to hear.

If she was thrown out, what should I care?

“Zac.”

She was standing in the doorway of one of the finished houses.

I stared at her through the dimness. I said, “What have you done! I trusted you, Sylvia! I .  .  .”

“Have you told him? Did you tell him?”

I shook my head. She gave a small groan. “You must. You have to .  .  .”

“I will not,” I said loftily. All my resolutions of a moment ago were gone; I was Master Peacock again.

She put both hands to her face. “Then I will.”

“No.” I crossed to her quickly, between the piled stones. “You'll end up on the streets.”

“I deserve it.”

I did not want to disagree. Instead I asked, “What hold does Compton have on you?”

“The same as he had on you.” She shook her head. “Do you think the women at Gibson's don't gamble? I owed him more than you. He planned all of it, once he knew where I was. I had no choice.” She was not crying. Her face was drawn & white.

“Yes you did.”

“People like us aren't free, Zac. I tried to run away, many times. I was afraid. And now I've betrayed Forrest. I'd give my life for him, do you know that? And yet I can still do this.”

I was silent.

For a moment all the city around us seemed still; the dark shoulders of the downs, the huddle of clustered houses below. Then a dog barked somewhere & Sylvia said, “Don't leave. Go back to the house, & when he comes there, tell him the truth. Tell him everything.”

“But what about you?”

“Forget about me. I'll move on. I have my clothes, some money. I'll be fine.” She laughed, a brittle merriment. “There's always another city. It may not be the perfect one Forrest wants to build, but it will have to be enough for me. Good-bye, Zac Peacock.”

I could not smile. Instead I nodded. I wanted to say more, but she turned & ducked into the building.

I waited, but she didn't come back.

When I turned away, there was an instant when I felt lost; the familiar chaos of the site suddenly disorienting, the enclosing facade too complete, as if the thirty houses of the Circus had sprouted up out of our imaginations, & stood here now like great stones of a henge, as witnesses of my folly. I stood uncertain, thinking for a moment there were trees in front of me; five tall trees in the heart of the site, their branches snagged against the moon. And then a bird flew flapping past me, & I glanced up to watch it.

I saw her.

She had climbed up through the ladders & scaffolding of the house, right up to the parapet of the roof. Her dress was pale & it shimmered in the moonlight; she was leaning over the stonework, her hands grasping the newly cut slabs. She looked down into the cluttered spaces of the site.

My breath caught in my throat.

Forrest came out of the cellar. I yelled, “Master!”

He turned quickly, stared where I pointed. There was a moment of utter silence. Then we were both running; he reached the house first, & I heard him thundering up the stairs & leaping for the ladders that led to the higher floors.

Behind him, I threw myself up. My hands slid on grease. Clouds of stone-dust fell on me like a golden snow. The banisters ended in midair; I found the ladder & hauled myself onto its rungs, my breath gone, my heart pounding.

At the top for a moment everything was black before my eyes; strange spots swam & dizzied me. Staggering, I edged along the scaffolding to the roof.

“Sylvie.” Forrest was ahead, in the dark, his breath nothing but a cracked wheeze. “Please. Don't do this.”

I stopped behind him.

She was sitting with her legs through the gap. In places the roof was a mere skeleton of trusses; orderly rows of upright stone slates stood ready for laying. Spaces a man could fall through yawned in the dark.

Forrest could hardly breathe; I heard the painful gasp of his chest. “Sylvia?”

Her voice came from far away. “Don't blame Zac. It was me.”

He fought to breathe. I moved, but there was no way past him on the narrow platform.

She said, “Compton wanted the plans. He told me to get them. I owed him money, & .  .  . there were other things. I'd known him at Gibson's .  .  .”

“You loved him?” Forrest whispered.

I saw her turn; her eyes were dark in her ghostly face. “Maybe I thought I did, once. He was fine & handsome & he said things .  .  . But I soon came to see what he was. His cruelty. His sneering ways. But I could never get free of him. He was always there.”

She shrugged, a despairing movement. “I hate him, & I can't break free of him. It's as if he's stronger than me, that he just has to look, or say something, and I do it.” She stared out at the misty night. “Zac wanted to give him the fake plans. But I knew he'd find out what they were, sooner or later, & come after me. Even if it was years, he'd come, because he would enjoy finding me. And so I tricked both of you.”

Forrest said, “It doesn't matter .  .  .”

“Of course it matters.” She turned, furious. “You gave me a life, & I betrayed you.”

His voice was hoarse. “Yes. But if you jump from there, you'll betray me again, & forever, Sylvia. We will never be able to change that. In all our lives, Zac's & mine, that image will be there, of you, leaping out. We'll see it when we sleep.” He edged closer. “And my work .  .  . my building .  .  .will be flawed. You will have ruined it.”

Did he know that would make her smile? Because it did, a watery, rueful smile.

“Always your building.”

“Always.” He knelt, stretching out his hand to her. The planks creaked.

She saw me behind him. She said, “Haven't I already done that?”

“No. The design is mine. Let Compton copy it. Let him be famous for it. That doesn't matter.” He wheezed out a laugh. “Because the Circus will stand & that is all that matters. I designed it for us. We three, the points of the triangle.”

He coughed. His whole body quivered with a gasp for air. I crouched quickly, because I knew this was his plan, that an asthma attack would bring her hurrying in to help him. I grabbed his arm & bent low.

“She's coming. I'm sure.”

She was; her dress caught on the wood & she tore it angrily. Forrest had his face down, away from me; I felt his fierce convulsive struggle for air; his fingers tore at the wood & his chest heaved & then he slumped against me.

I looked up at her, the first fear striking deep into me.

“It's real! He's really .  .  .”

She had his arms; we held him up. He gasped & struggled for breath as if it was a demon he fought with, as if the very air was his enemy, his face flushed, his eyes staring into a darkness we could not see. And he was right, because I will never forget that fight for life, that terrible wheezing, the grip of his hand in mine, so hard it hurt, his nails cutting my palm.

The sudden loosening of his fingers.

The silence.

I held him till I was sure there was no more struggle in him, nothing left to happen, no overworked heart still to beat. Sylvia was sobbing uncontrollably, but I could not cry or even feel anything as I laid him carefully down on the wooden planks & felt all the strength go out of me too.

I was shaking, & I reached out my hand for her & she took it.

Somewhere above us a bird flapped away, into the night.