We both reached for the globe at once.
"One hundred twenty-five miles west of the chalk cliffs," said Foster. He ran a finger over the globe. "North of London, but south of Birmingham. That puts us reasonably near the sea——"
"Where's the atlas?" I said. I rummaged, came up with a cheap tourists' edition, flipped the pages.
"Here's England," I said. "Now we look for a plain."
Foster put a finger on the map. "Here," he said. "A large plain—called Salisbury."
"Large is right," I said. "It would take years to find a stone cairn on that. We're getting excited about nothing. We're looking for a hole in the ground, hundreds of years old—if this lousy notebook means anything—maybe marked with a few stones—in the middle of miles of plain. And it's all guesswork anyway...." I took the atlas, turned the page.
"I don't know what I expected to get out of decoding those pages," I said. "But I was hoping for more than this."
"I think we should try, Legion," Foster said. "We can go there, search over the ground. It would be costly, but not impossible. We can start by gathering capital——"
"Wait a minute, Foster," I said. I was staring at a larger-scale map showing southern England. Suddenly my heart was thudding. I put a finger on a tiny dot in the center of Salisbury Plain.
"Six, two and even," I said. "There's your Pit of the Hunters...."