The Trespass

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My grateful thanks to Hilary Johnson for her sound advice and encouragement. Thanks too to my wife, Katherine, for coping with the vacant stares and various absences of which I am surely guilty during the writing of this novel. Lastly, to my good friend Hugh Thresher, a clap on the back and a pint at The Bell for a swift turnaround of early drafts and encouragement beyond the call of duty.

He placed his hands gently upon the stone, probing and pressing. It would open, given the correct sequence. And he knew the sequence; he’d worked it out. The question was, should he use this knowledge?

“Come on, Theo. Quit stalling.”

He felt a prod in his lower back. Theodore swallowed hard. He had no choice. That had always been the case. No choice. Let posterity remember that, if nothing else. He turned his attention to the task, fingers moving over the smooth surface. And then a rolling of tumblers, the wall folding away. He heard the American’s gasp of surprise and a collective intake of breath from those following. Theodore mopped his brow and squinted into the opening. He’d been expecting wonders, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

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