Sleepwalker Read Free Page B

He could not even stand to be in the same room with Davis.
    Peter fell back into his chair and met Langton’s gaze. Peter could not forgive Langton for this. Actually, it was Higg’s responsibility. Langton was droning, smiling, nodding. “You’ll make an outstanding team, really, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
    Archaeology was an international affair. Peter had been born in Leeds, but he had studied in London and Mexico City and had taught for three years in Los Angeles. He had worked, however briefly, on every continent. Word of marriages and divorces, successes and failures, traveled the globe, but the bureaucrats, even perceptive men like Higg in London, did not hear all the gossip. The bureaucrats had, in perfect ignorance, made the worst possible choice.
    â€œI’m delighted,” said Peter with such sarcasm that anyone but a cretin like Langton would have gotten up and locked the door.
    But Peter consoled himself. Davis was not a complete idiot. He was, in truth, quite bright. And he was a gifted specialist when it came to finds. Peter would be able to stay in the field with Jane. It was Jane that mattered now. Margaret was a part of the past. Jane was the future.
    Peter did something that was, for him, rare. He decided to give someone a fresh start. Maybe it would be good to work with Davis. At least Davis was not a bureaucrat. Peter took a long, deep breath and let it go.
    Peter stood and thrust forth his hand. “There’s work to be done.”
    â€œAlways, always,” beamed Langton. “We’re in such a busy business.”
    Peter reassured himself again: at least Davis would not be like Langton.
    Peter stopped by York District Hospital and sat beside Oliver’s bed. The man had seemed asleep, but he opened his eyes. “They’re making me fucking stay overnight,” he said.
    â€œIt’s hardly a surprise, is it? You were buried alive today.”
    â€œAll in a day’s work, Peter,” said Oliver cheerfully. “It’s not the last strange thing we’ll see.”
    Peter smiled, but he did not understand.
    â€œLook at you, like you haven’t heard. Everyone talks about it.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œEverybody knows. You mean you haven’t heard?”
    â€œEnlighten me.”
    â€œYou’ll see some interesting things happen down on Skeldergate where we’re digging.”
    Peter inclined his head to say, Tell me more.
    â€œAnd you don’t know why?” Oliver’s eyes were bright.
    â€œI haven’t a clue.”
    â€œBecause the site has a ghost.”
    Peter laughed.
    Oliver smiled cheerfully, but with a trace of cunning. “I didn’t fucking believe in it, either, Peter. But I do now. Skip and I checked that scaffolding this morning, Peter. There was nothing wrong with it.”
    Peter found himself smiling uncomfortably.
    â€œThere’s nothing you can do about it, Peter. The place is haunted.”
    Peter tortured the Austin’s engine, driving the medieval streets at criminal speed, and squealed to a stop at the dig. The dozen or so workers were attending to their various tasks, and three men had begun the apparently hopeless task of clearing the mud from Trench Five, with Jane overseeing them.
    One of the men was Alf, the most tattooed man on the site. Peter called to him, and Alf scrambled out of the trench and into the main Portakabin.
    Alf had snakes on his arms, and a dragon peeking from under his shirt collar. He sat, caked with mud as he was, in a chair that had long ago ceased to be clean. His black hair was an arrangement of messy spikes. He offered Peter some cigarette tobacco from a tin of Golden Virginia, and Peter accepted with thanks.
    â€œTell me about the ghost,” said Peter, smoking.
    â€œWhat is this all about then, Peter? You call me in to talk about a ghost? Who told you to do that? Oliver?”
    â€œYou know all the important things, Alf. Are