***
The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open. Not enough to wake anyone else in the vast house, but enough to make her pause for a moment and listen to the silence.
The dream had felt so real, so intense, that she'd felt compelled to get out of bed as soon as she woke up. Not only because her whole body was drenched in sweat, but also because she felt that she needed to reset her mind. Wandering through the house's moonlit corridors, her bare feet padding against the cold stone floor, she'd somehow made her way downstairs in a trance-like state until, finally, she was standing in the archive room. After a moment, she realized that she was still breathless from the dream.
It had been a long, long time since she'd felt even a hint of sexuality in her body. So long, in fact, that she'd begun to think that those days were over. She'd enjoyed a fairly normal sex life with her ex-boyfriend, but they'd broken up years ago and thoughts of sex had faded over the years as she threw herself deeper and deeper into her work. At first she'd tried to fight it, telling herself that she wouldn't be complete if she didn't have an appetite for other people, but eventually she'd come to think herself as asexual. There had been guilt at first, and then calm acceptance, and then finally – until her arrival on Thaxos – she'd mostly put the matter out of her mind.
And now her sexual side was awake again. The orgasm in her dream was the first she'd felt for years. It had shocked her and reminded her of her body's potential, a potential that she'd assumed – hoped? - had simply been lost in the years.
Making her way across the dark archive room, she looked at all the boxes and tried to imagine what must be inside. Mementos and reminders from Edgar's past, she assumed, as well as items from previous generations of the Le Compte family. Wanting to distract herself from the echoes of pleasure still drifting like smoke through her body, she walked over to one of the boxes and picked up some papers from the top. Leafing through them, she found they were inventory notices from almost a century earlier, presumably from the time when Edgar's grandfather ruled Thaxos. Just as she was about to head away, however, she noticed something beneath the papers. Reaching further into the box, she pulled out a small leather-bound book with a simple title inscribed on the front:
The diary of J. Beecham, an account of his travels.
Opening the book, she found that its faded and yellowing pages were filled with tiny, intricate handwriting. The script was old-fashioned and she struggled at first to make out more than a few words, but she'd dealt with such items before and it didn't take long before she was able to decipher the spider-like writing.
“August the first, 1919,” she read aloud. “My arrival on Thaxos was not without incident.”
She smiled. Apart from the date, she felt that the line could describe her own arrival on the island.
“It began with a disappointment,” she read, “continued with a mystery, and ended with a ghost. And all before my first night!”
She paused.
“A ghost, huh?”
Turning the book over in her hands, she tried to work out why the item felt so incongruous. She'd never heard of anyone named J. Beecham, and although she could quite understand that someone might travel to Thaxos and keep a diary, she couldn't help but wonder why that diary would have ended up in Edgar Le Compte's archive room. Opening the back of the book, she found that it was almost full, stopping only a few pages before the end. She flicked back through to the front and looked for anything that might indicate its provenance, but there was nothing. It was almost as if the diary had simply appeared out of thin air.
Figuring that she was still too alert to sleep, she wandered over to the far side of the room and sat on the nook that nestled in one of the windows. There was enough moonlight coming through the window for her to be able to read the diary without too much trouble. Although the handwriting was still something of a challenge, she began to decipher the text, hoping to find out what had brought this J. Beecham individual to Thaxos and, perhaps more importantly, how his diary had ended up in the archive. After all, she felt that if a man went to the trouble of writing a diary, he would surely bother to take it with him when he left.
Turning onto her side so as to better see the moonlit page, she began to read.
II
August the first, 1919 – My arrival on Thaxos was not without incident. It began with a disappointment, continued with a mystery, and ended with a ghost. And all before my first night!
Having been invited down here by my good friend Jonathan Merrick, I was somewhat dismayed at the last port to receive a telegram informing me that he had been called away on urgent business. Nevertheless, having already purchased my ticket and allocated some time to the journey, I resolved to continue and enjoy a few days in the Mediterranean sunshine. As such, I boarded a small ferry and busied myself with some work during the long crossing. I asked the boat's crew a few questions about our destination, particularly concerning the geology of the place, but they were uncommunicative gentlemen and eventually I settled to read.
Upon arrival, I was struck by the peculiar nature of Thaxos, in particular the juxtaposition between the sedate little town that hugs the port area and, further up the hill, the rather ominous-looking mansion. It certainly seemed like an island of two halves, and this impression was compounded after I made my way across the town square and reached the cantina where I hoped to reserve a room. The gentleman with whom I dealt seemed fearful, and a little suspicious of my sudden arrival. Nevertheless, he was willing to let me stay in a room above the main bar, albeit for a price that I felt was rather on the steep side.
After settling in, I resolved to take a walk through the streets of the town. There were few souls out and about, and the handful of people I encountered seemed, to my estimation, to be rather timid. On several occasions I attempted to start conversations, only to have myself cut off by a brusque rejoinder; it was noticeable that each time, the individual seemed to cast a glance up toward the distant mansion, as if worried that even at this great distance we might be overheard. With little knowledge of the island's history, I eventually came to the conclusion that the mansion must be home to some kind of landowner who evidently ruled the island with something of an iron fist.
I spent barely an hour exploring the narrow, cobbled streets before I found that I had returned to the small square by the harbor. It was still only midday and I was a little disappointed to realize that I had seemingly explored the whole town, and so I decided to strike out a little further. In his correspondence with me, Merrick had spoken at great length about a set of stones that stood on the north side of Thaxos, and I felt that the place was sufficiently compact for me to have a stab at finding this monument without the aid of a map. Consequently, I set off along a winding path that headed out of town, past an orchard, and along the edge an increasingly high cliff.
A couple of hours later, just as I was beginning to think that I must head back, I spotted the stones up ahead. I must admit that at this point my intellectual curiosity got the better of me and I somewhat hurried, until finally I reached the stones. My first impression was that they must be the work of some religious cult, perhaps of Druidic origin, since I was reminded of some of the stone circles we have at home in England. At the same time, there was something a little different about the stone circle of Thaxos: for one thing, the circle itself was a little tighter than one might have expected; for another, the precise positioning of the circle on the island seemed to offer no benefit either in terms of mapping the stars or governing the seas. In fact, if I had been a Druid all those years ago, I scarcely think that I should have chosen this particular spot for my rituals.
As is my way, I spent several hours examining the stones, although I discovered nothing of real interest. I made some sketches, but all in all I could not shake the feeling that these stones were keeping their true purpose well hidden. There were no markings or engravings that I could make out, and I began to think that the stones might never reveal their original use
. After all, a man requires at least some kind of clue if he is to investigate such a mystery, yet these stones stood defiantly in the sun, as if they were daring me to even speculate. I have a long and storied career in the fields of both archeology and geology, but I must admit that as I sat on the grass and stared up at the stones, I began to feel that I had finally been beaten.
What happened next, I am not sure I can explain, so I shall merely record the events here so that I might come back to them at a later date and find some sense. I am not a superstitious man, but I must admit that I felt my fears stirred a little over the following few minutes.
Here's the thing: I had been sitting quite alone, in total solitude, when I suddenly became aware of a man standing nearby. How he crept up on me, I do not know, nor can I even begin to understand why he would not have made his presence known sooner. Nevertheless, there he was, standing approximately fifteen feet from me and staring at the stones, almost as if he had no idea of my presence.
I watched as he wandered between the stones. Although I expected him to acknowledge me at any moment, he seemed oblivious to my presence. Eventually, I felt that the onus was on me to make first contact.
“Splendid weather!” I called out to him.
Ignoring me, he made his way to one of the stones and placed a hand on its surface.
“I said, splendid weather!” I added, feeling that the gentleman – although young-looking – must be a little deficient in the ears.
He turned toward me for a moment, not quite making eye contact, and it seemed that perhaps he had an inkling of my presence.
Getting to my feet, I walked over to the fellow. I was starting to wonder if he was perhaps fully deaf and blind, or maybe an escapee from some home for the mentally inadequate.
“I was just remarking upon the weather,” I continued, stopping when I was no more than five or six feet from him. “As a Londoner, I'm not used to the heat.”
The man turned to look past me, as if something over my shoulder had caught his attention. I turned to follow his gaze, almost expecting to find another fellow, but there was no-one. Turning back to the man, I could see a look of confusion in his eyes.
“I say,” I continued, “perhaps I should properly introduce myself. My name is...”
Before I could finish, he began to walk away, heading across toward the stones on the other side of the circle.
“Well,” I muttered, taken aback by his rudeness. “So this is the hospitality of the people here, is it?”
I watched for a moment as the man went around the circle, examining each of the stones in turn. Actually, when I say that he 'examined' them, I mean more that he brushed his hand against them, almost as if he expected to feel something. Feeling rather left out, I began to do the same, but there seemed little point and eventually I stopped and watched him some more. I felt certain that he would have to acknowledge me eventually.
“I'm a fellow of the Royal Institute,” I said eventually, convinced that this news would pique his interest. “I've dug at Avebury, you know.”
He made his way behind one of the stones, disappearing from view.
“I said I've dug at Avebury!” I called after him. “Did you hear me?”
No reply was forthcoming.
“I'm sorry,” I continued, hurrying around the stone so that I could address the fellow directly, “but I really do think that you're being a little -”
I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw that there was no sign of him.
Hurrying back around the stone, I still was unable to locate him. I made my way around the circle until I was certain that there was no sign of him, and then I stepped back for a moment, so as to get a better view of the entire scene. I am quite certain that there is no way he could have made off without my having seen him, and yet I cannot deny that the fellow seemed to have disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. It was at this point, alas, that my primal senses became a little too animated, and I admit that I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that I had encountered some form of specter. If this makes me seem a little weak-minded, then I shall just have to accept the barbs. As I stood out there by the circle, I truly felt a faint shiver pass through my body.
Feeling that it would not do to linger, and with the sun beginning to set, I turned and began the long walk back to the town. I had a few more days planned on Thaxos, so I resolved to return to the stones and carry out some more work. As I walked, however, I could not help glancing over my shoulder a couple of times, just in case my strange companion might show his face again. It shames me to admit it, but I was rather fearful of the situation, and I was unnaturally happy to reach the town again with no further strange experiences.
Upon arriving at my accommodation, I discovered that a message had been left to me. I was most surprised to find that Baron Edgar Le Compte had invited me to dinner at his mansion the following night. Whoever this Le Compte fellow is, he seems very agreeable.
And now to bed, so that I might be rested for the morrow.
III
“Oh,” Didi said, with obvious disappointment, “so you're still here, huh?”
“Doctor's orders,” Kate replied as she set another pile of papers down on the desk. “I figured that if I can't leave for a few more days, I might as well do some work.”
Bright morning light streamed through the window, spilling over the desk and across the floor. Having slept poorly, Kate was feeling a little dulled, but she had spent a couple of hours working with the papers and, as such, she felt strangely settled. Her mind occasionally drifted back to the diary, and in particular to the dream that had woken her earlier, but for the most part she had managed to keep her carnal thoughts under control.
“What about thingy?” Didi asked. “What's her name again? The one who was screaming last night.”
“If you mean Alice,” Kate continued, “she's resting. Doctor Young is worried that she might set her recovery back, so he's given her something to help her sleep.”
“Is it true that she's got, like, a big cut between her boobs?”
“It's complicated,” Kate explained. “I don't think Doctor Young has quite worked out what's wrong yet, but he said he's going to run some tests. Meanwhile -” She picked up an old file and blew dust from the cover. “This is what I'm doing with my time.”
“What is it?” Didi asked with disdain.
“Archive work.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
Kate smiled.
“You know there's, like, a pool, don't you?” Didi asked as she made her way over to the desk, while wearing nothing more than a bikini and dripping water with every step. “And the sun's out. Like, you're on a totally gorgeous Mediterranean island. You could be out there, working on your tan and maybe doing a few lengths, some yoga to tone up... Instead, you're stuck in here with a bunch of old letters and stuff.”
“I like to keep busy.”
“Me too, but with cocktails.”
“I've always been...” Kate paused as she realized that she didn't feel like going into her personal history at that particular moment. “Horses for courses.”
“Weird,” Didi muttered. “So, how's it going in here?”
“Fine,” Kate replied, before realizing that for some reason Didi actually seemed genuinely interested. “Why?”
“No reason, just...”
“Don't take this the wrong way,” Kate continued, “but you don't strike me as someone who cares too much about the contents of some dusty old boxes.”
“You never know, there's gotta be something interesting in here, right?”
“Would it surprise you to learn that I find everything in here interesting?”
“Even this?” Picking up the nearest piece of paper, Didi studied it for a moment. “It's just a bunch of numbers, and the names of some trees.”
“It's the gardener's notes,” Kate replied, taking the paper from her. “With this, I can work out what methods the gardener used, and maybe even what the climate wa
s like at the time. From that, I might be able to follow a lead in another document and come to a conclusion about the shipping patterns around here and the types of merchant vessels that docked. Each piece of paper in this collection advances my knowledge a little further.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what's the point?”
“It's another piece of the puzzle.”
“What puzzle?”
“The history of the mansion,” Kate explained, taking care not to sound too exasperated, “and the history of the Le Compte family, and maybe even the history of the whole island.”
“It's an island,” Didi replied, “it doesn't have history. It sorta just sits here.”
“Well, the world would be very dull if we all cared about the same things,” Kate pointed out. “Believe it or not, I'm quite happy in here. Anyway, I burn easily if I'm out in the sun.”
Smiling politely, she started sorting through the latest stack of papers, but after a moment she realized that Didi was loitering, as if she wanted to ask something. She continued to sort through the papers, hoping that she might be able to convey the fact that she wanted to work alone, but eventually she began to sense that Didi was hanging around for a particular reason.
“Did you come down here for something?” she asked eventually.
“Not really, I was just...” A pause. “It's no big deal, but did you happen to find anything about a guy named James Nixon?”
“Edgar's former business partner?”
“You know about him?”
“A little. I doubt there'll be anything in here about him, though. Everything in these boxes is from a much earlier period, mostly the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.”
“Huh.”
Looking over at Didi, Kate could see from the look in her eyes that she was lost in thought.
“Why are you so interested in James Nixon?” she asked.
“No reason,” Didi replied quickly – perhaps a little too quickly. “I just wondered, is all.”
“Doctor Young told me the basics,” Kate replied. “I'm guessing you don't know any more about it than anyone else?”
“Not really.”
“That must be hard.”
“Hard?”
“You're going to marry Edgar,” Kate continued. “It must trouble you if there are strange rumors circulating about him. Surely you want to know everything about the man you're going to take as your husband?”
“I know he's rich,” Didi replied, “and hot, and...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. She glanced back at the door, as if she was worried about being overheard, before turning back to Kate. “Okay, cards on the table. If you find anything about James Nixon at all, you have to bring it to me, right? Not to Edgar, not to Doctor Young or Jacob or anyone else. You bring it to me. I'll make it worth your while.”
Kate raised a skeptical eyebrow, surprised by this sudden change in Didi's demeanor.
“Are you worried?” she asked.
“About what?”
“About your fiance.”
“I...” Didi paused again, and Kate couldn't help but feel that there was a hint of conflict in the younger girl's eyes, almost as if she was wearing a mask to disguise her true intentions.
“Why are you really here?” Kate asked finally.
“I was just wandering through the house and -”
“I mean here on Thaxos at all. With Edgar.”
“I'm marrying him.”
“And there's nothing else?”
“Like what?”
Staring at her, Kate still felt as if she wasn't getting the whole truth. She'd previously written Didi off as a hedonistic, binge-drinking idiot, but now she was sensing something much deeper, a kind of calculating intelligence hidden beneath the surface.
“So what's this?” Didi asked suddenly, picking up the leather-bound diary. “Cool book. Is it yours?”
“It's a diary I found,” Kate explained. “It's a hundred years old.”
“Who was J. Beecham?”
“I don't know yet. I've looked online but I haven't been able to come up with anything. As far as I can tell, he seems to have come to visit Thaxos in 1919. There are a couple of references to the First World War and to him having a bad hip, so I think maybe he'd been injured. I haven't finished reading everything yet, though. He was a geologist, from what I can tell, and he seems to have gone out to look at the stones on the north side. I'm looking forward to finding out whether he discovered anything.”
“Huh,” Didi replied, flicking through the pages. “So what's his diary doing here?”
“That's another question for the pile,” Kate muttered. “I'd like to finish reading it today, but if you're interested I can pass it on to you when I'm done.”
“Nah,” Didi replied, “it's just boring stuff from the past. Who cares what some old guy got up to when he came to visit this place.”
“Or why he apparently left his diary behind.”
A faint, nervous smile crossed Didi's lips.
“After all,” Kate continued, “the last few pages are empty. People don't tend to just leave their diaries behind, especially when they've been filling them with notes and drawings.”
“So what do you think happened to him?” Didi asked.
Kate shrugged.
“It's kinda creepy,” Didi added, setting the diary down as if she suddenly found it to be somewhat discomforting. “I hope he, like, just forgot it in a hurry.”
“I'll let you know if I turn up anything interesting,” Kate added, “and also if I find any mention of James Nixon. Don't hold your breath, though. I'm digging into things that happened a few centuries ago, but you seem more interested in the recent past.”
“I think I need another swim,” Didi replied, turning and heading back to the door before turning to Kate one more time. “Oh, and Edgar's looking for you. He said to tell you to go see him if you get a chance. He's working all day, but he usually finishes around four, so that might be a good time to catch him. Don't go knocking on his door earlier than that, though. I swear to God, he goes ballistic sometimes if he gets disturbed.”
“I'll...” Kate paused. She could still feel Edgar's hands on her body after the intense dream the night before. “I'll drop by his office later.”
“And let me know if you come across anything about James Nixon,” Didi added. “Really, just to satisfy my curiosity.”
Once Didi had left the room, Kate paused for a moment and tried to work out what, exactly, Didi was hiding. Figuring that she probably had little chance of coming up with an answer, she glanced over at the desk and saw J. Beecham's diary. For a moment, she felt Edgar's hands on her body again, as if he was reaching out from the dream and touching her under her clothes. Telling herself that she needed to put such thoughts out of her mind, she grabbed the diary and resolved to distract herself.
IV
August the second, 1919 – Upon my arrival at Baron Le Compte's house, I was met at the door by his manservant Jacob, who informed me that His Lordship (as Le Compte evidently likes to be known) would meet me in the study. My coat and cane were taken, and I was led along a beautifully decorated corridor lined with oil paintings. Barely had I managed a few steps, than I felt that this must be a very fine and cheery house indeed.
When I reached the study, I was ushered inside and at first I believed myself to be alone. I admired the bookshelves and noted that Baron Le Compte possessed a remarkable range of titles on various subjects, and I began to realize that I was surely in the company of a remarkable intellect. In fact, I could not help but wonder why such a learned and refined gentleman would hide himself away on an island such as Thaxos; as beautiful as the surroundings might be, there seems to be little stimulus here for the active mind, and I would have expected to find Le Compte in a metropolis such as London or New York, not a backward little stump of green and yellow surrounded by the blue of the Mediterranean. As a man of the printed page myself I'm afraid th
at I rather lost track of time as I admired the books, only being disturbed when I realized that someone had begun to clear his throat nearby.
Turning, I came face to face with a rather dour-looking gentleman wearing a black suit. The first thing I noticed about him was that his youthful features stood in marked contrast to the weight in his eyes, and the second thing was that he bore a striking resemblance to the men in the paintings I had noticed a moment earlier. He was the kind of man who draws all eyes in a room, and I have to admit that I immediately felt a little intimidated by his presence.
“Baron Le Compte, I presume,” I said with a smile as I removed my gloves and shook his hand. “It's an honor and a surprise to be invited to your home.”
“I'm just glad that you were able to come,” the man replied with a somewhat deep, yet also silken voice that hinted at great confidence and poise. “It's not every day that a man of learning come to our humble island.”
“I was invited by a friend,” I explained. “Perhaps you know him? His name is Jonathan Merrick, he's an antiques dealer in the town. Specializes in silverware and the like.”
“I can't say that I've had the pleasure of his company,” Le Compte replied. “I'm afraid that these days, I spend very little time away from this house. My relations with the people of the port town are rather tense, which is another reason why I was so keen to invite you up here. Some fresh blood is good for the soul, and by my estimation you are a very interesting man, Mr. Beecham.”
“Oh, I wouldn't put myself up on a pedestal,” I told him as he led me to the drinks cabinet and, quite unbidden, began to fix us each a drink. He seemed to be the kind of man who makes decisions quickly, without seeking the view of others, and I suppose I can appreciate such an approach. “I'm merely a bumbling old man who takes note of the world around him,” I added. “My achievements in life are not great.”
“A bumbling old man who was educated at Cambridge, I believe,” Le Compte replied with a smile.
“Why, that's right. However did you know?”
He explained that he had read a few of my old pamphlets concerning the history of Hellenic culture, and although I found the coincidence to be rather striking, I simply told myself that this was clearly a rather intelligent man who read widely on a great number of subjects. He certainly possessed a keenly intelligent eye, and I felt that he was expending little intellectual energy on our conversation. It is not often that I feel myself to be at a disadvantage, but such was undoubtedly the case while I was in Baron Le Compte's company. The man's intellect was already proving itself to be truly astounding.
“You're interested in the stones on the north side of the island, I believe,” Le Compte continued as he passed me a brandy. “You're certainly not the first who has come to examine them.”
“And yet there are no papers of note regarding their provenance or purpose,” I pointed out.
“Indeed. I have begun to wonder if their mystery will be solved within my lifetime. I feel sure that it cannot be beyond the abilities of humankind to come up with an answer. They are, after all, just a collection of stones.”
“But what were they in the past?” I ask. “Such stones clearly do not come from Thaxos, so they must have been sourced from some other place, and then transported here to be erected. The process itself would have been extremely time-consuming. If the stones were put in place by a small local religion, I struggle to see how they would have achieved it all. No, I believe that something grander happened here in the past, but this only raises more questions. Who would go to the considerable effort of doing such a thing, and why?”
“I hope you can tell me.”
“I'm afraid I must disabuse you of certain notions,” I continued. “I am only here on a casual whim, really, so I have no way of launching a proper investigation into the stones and their meaning. Such an undertaking would require a great sum of money -”
“How much?”
At this point, I confess that I rather showed my naivety as I struggled to come up with a figure. For a short while, Le Compte actually seemed to be interested in funding such a survey, but his interest passed when I informed him that the job would take many years. He insisted that he was keen only on quick results, and he mentioned in passing an enormous archive that he wanted to have organized one day; the job, he feared, would take so much time that it would exceed his patience, although he added that he had identified one person he believed might be suitable to the task, but that it would be quite some time before she might become available.
“Tell me,” he said eventually, as he led me through to the dining room, “have you had any cause to consider what might be beneath the stones?”
I told him that I had not, but that it was standard practice when conducting a major survey to excavate the foundations. Tools and other items could provide valuable information about the method of construction. Archeology, I added, is as much about the small things as the large.
“But that is not what I mean,” he continued, gesturing for me to take a seat. “The stones are built on a piece of land that rises slightly near the edge of the cliff. I have often wondered if there might be some secret chamber. Otherwise, the entire structure would seem to be unambitious and perhaps even pointless.”
“Secret chambers are rather fantastical,” I told him. “They exist in stories told to children, but rarely if ever in real life. Why, next you'll be suggesting that there's gold buried somewhere nearby, or that pirates are using the coves of the island to smuggle their booty.” I took another sip of brandy, while congratulating myself on the examples. “In my experience,” I added, “the simplest explanation is usually the one that turns out to be correct.”
“You might be right,” he replied, but I could tell that he had raised the possibility not as a joke but as a genuine idea.
I spent several minutes regaling him with information about the history of various stone circles across the continent, and I feel that he enjoyed my impromptu speech. In fact, he continually checked his timepiece, as if he was worried that the evening might run out before I had a chance to finish.
We enjoyed a most wonderful dinner, with a kind of wild pheasant that he told me he had sourced from the next island along. The wildlife of Thaxos, he lamented, was rather limited, and he had to import most of the items for his kitchen. He told me that he owned a large vessel that was constantly in use, ferrying items from far and wide. I made a casual remark about the cost of such an operation, but I immediately realized my foolishness, since it was readily apparent that Le Compte was an extremely wealthy individual. Keen to play to my strengths, I continued to give him a potted history of stone circles, and I think I did a good job of explaining why a subterranean chamber was most unlikely.
Looking back, I feel that perhaps I made a fool of myself, especially given subsequent developments. Nevertheless, I was honest and open with the man, and at the time I believed what I was saying. How was I to know that Thaxos was set to unleash a surprise just a few hours later?
“Have you been to any of the old henges in England?” I asked him at one point.
“I cannot say that I have.”
“You surprise me,” I continued. “I would have thought that you might have traveled the world.”
“I'm afraid not. I spend all my time here on Thaxos. This place is my home, and I have never felt the kind of wanderlust that seems to consume so many men. I know my place in the world and I see no reason to move very far.”
I began to tell him of the wonders I have seen on my travels: the pyramids of Egypt, and the hustle of New York, and the beautiful vistas of the Ganges in India. Usually such tales cause great excitement, but Le Compte's eyes seemed to glaze over a little, as if he had no interest in the broader world. Thaxos, it seemed, was the limit of his curiosity.
Once we had eaten, he gave me a tour of the house, but I could tell that his interest had begun to wander. I suppose I am not always the most entertaining of dinner guests, and the clock had not even
struck nine before he told me that he would have to retire to bed. I accepted this news graciously, and I told him that I was most pleased to have met him. After exchanging a few pleasantries, we parted and I was shown out by the manservant. As I reached the main gate a few hundred feet from the house, I glanced back and had occasion to contemplate the fact that Baron Edgar Le Compte seemed to be a man who was most happy in his own company. A solitary man, yes, but not a lonely one.
For a moment, I even envied him. I cannot imagine what it is like to feel completely comfortable in one part of the world, and not to seek out new experiences. Then again, traveling broadens the mind, and a man with Le Compte's riches could explore the whole planet if he so chose.
Feeling rather invigorated, I took the long walk home, following a meandering path that took me back toward the stone circle. Although the sun was riding low in the sky, I ventured all the way to the stones and had cause to examine the land a little further out. I am not sure what, precisely, I was expecting to find as I prodded the grass with the end of my cane, but eventually I felt the soil give way a little. My natural curiosity got the better of me and I got down on all fours, only to find once I had pulled the grass away that there was an opening, like some kind of tunnel leading deep underground. It was far too large to be the work of an animal, and rough wooden struts had been set up to support the roof. I could not help thinking that it was the most remarkable thing, especially since Le Compte had openly speculated about precisely such a discovery being made.
“Hello?” I called out, although I immediately admonished myself. The idea of someone being down in the tunnel was utterly ridiculous, and I felt that perhaps I had been reading too many adventure novels.
Looking over at the stones, I was suddenly reminded of the young man I'd witnessed up here on the previous day. Once again, although I am by no means a superstitious man, I certainly found myself wondering if perhaps it was unwise to be out so late. The island of Thaxos was still very unfamiliar to me, and not only was I unfamiliar with its topography, I also had no idea whether there might be dangerous animals on the loose. It would be better, I realized, to return the following day with the proper tools.
I turned back to look into the tunnel.
“Probably nothing,” I muttered to myself. “Probably just...”
I paused as I realized that I could think of no natural explanation. For a moment, the tunnel seemed to be almost drawing me inside, as if the darkness wanted me to enter.
Fighting my natural curiosity, I got to my feet and resolved to return the following day with at least a modicum of equipment. For one thing, I would require a light source if I ventured down the tunnel, and for another I would rather work during daylight hours. After marking the spot to the best of my ability, I turned and began the long walk back to my room in the port town. I was eager to get to bed, so that the night would be over more quickly and I might be able to venture beneath the stones and discover whatever might have been left down there.
And now, as I sit here in my little room above a merchant's store in the town, completing tonight's entry in the diary, I find myself wondering if I finally understand the lure of Thaxos. There is something strange about this place, something that seems to overtake the soul, and I fancy that it is linked to Baron Le Compte himself. If ever a man seemed to embody the spirit of the land around him, it is “His Lordship”, and I fancy that Thaxos has quite won me over. I feel certain that tomorrow morning, I shall get to the bottom of the stone circle and its true meaning.