The CRES code

Chapter Fifty Nine - Starting the Excavation.

There was a sprinkling of overnight snow covering everything when they awoke the next morning.

Randall was woken up by the sound of workmen shouting at each other and when he climbed out of his thick, furry sleeping blankets and opened the tent flap to look outside he saw men leaving dark footprints in the thin, white snow as they carried spades and mattocks towards the area of ground covered by the wedding marquee. A few flat flakes were still drifting lazily in the still morning air as they attacked the frozen ground with enthusiastic, energetic vigour. Fortunately the frozen layer was only a couple of inches deep and once they were through it the burly workmen made good progress digging up the heavy, clay soil and carrying it in wheelbarrows to dump it a short distance to the side.

Randall and Loach quickly pulled on some warm clothes and went outside to watch. The soil three feet down steamed gently as it gave off the last of the summer's heat, and beneath it was a layer of crumbling, disintegrating tarmac. Every now and then, though, one of the workmen gave a hiss of superstitious fear as his spade scraped the tarmac away to reveal what was beneath.

"Devil rock," growled one of the men unhappily. A broad, stocky man who had removed his shirt to reveal the hairiest chest Randall had ever seen. "We risk the wrath of VIX."

"There's devil rock everywhere," said the foreman, however. "Half of Elmton's built on it. If the priests don't mind, why should we?"

"But what's under the devil rock?" asked the hairy man. "Latimer says he wants us to find a way down under it and that's tempting damnation!"

"Any damnation'll fall on the nobs," the foreman replied. "It's them who's paying for this. You can walk away if ya wants, though, Cotton. All the more coin for the rest of us."

The other workmen paused in their work to look hopefully across at Cotton, but the man only scowled before hefting his pickaxe and having another swing at the frozen ground.

Randall and Loach walked around the perimeter of the area being excavated. The workmen worked with impressive speed and had soon uncovered an area nearly three metres across. There was a seam running across the centre of the ancient helicopter landing pad, Randall saw with excitement. The place where the two halves would open up on electro-mechanical pistons to allow the transmitter to rise up between them, if the ancient machinery still worked. The door mechanism was supposed to be almost entirely maintenance free for long period of time, but that was taken to mean ten or twenty years at most. A thousand years was a completely different kettle of fish...

Sudden doubt seized him with a tremor of fear. Was he insane to think it would still be working after all this time? Electro-mechanical pistons were almost infallible, it was true. So long as no moisture got in to corrode the wiring or the magnets there was virtually nothing to them that could degrade or wear out, but even so... A thousand years! The hibernation cubicles had still been working, he reminded himself. They'd been on their last legs but they'd been working nonetheless and that had to mean something, but he still couldn't get rid of the dread fear that he would make his way down to the control room, give the command for the great doors to open and nothing would happen.

The Duke and the two Barons came sauntering over to join them. A small crowd of servants came with them, but they hung back. Close enough to be ready if their masters needed them but not too close as to intrude upon a conversation between their betters. The workmen also drew back as the aristocrats approached and began digging in a different spot.

Latimer stared down at the exposed section of plasteel, his eyes widening in wonder and excitement. "It's really down there, then," he almost whispered.

"So it seems," said Randall.

"Not that I ever doubted you, of course. And it still waits to be seen whether there's any actual gold down there."