‘Then what are we waiting for,’ asked Brandon, ‘Let’s get going.’
They jumped up and started up the stairs, closely followed by Mike and two of the soldiers.
Outside the convent, the storm had abated, leaving a deep layer of snow over everything. In contrast to the anger of the storm, the cemetery was now an eerie and silent landscape, full of indistinguishable shapes that hinted at the sad secrets they protected. India and Brandon stopped in their tracks, staring at the scene before them.
‘Where do we start?’ asked Brandon.
‘Lying in the arms of the Goddess,’ said India, ‘There has to be a clue there, somewhere.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, said India, ‘But the longer we wait here the longer we will be. Look for anything that looks out of place.’
The two of them, along with the three soldiers started sweeping the snow from the covers of the tombs, reading each in turn to find anything that may shed a clue to the occupant’s identity.
Brandon made his focus any that had a statue of an angel or anything that could be interpreted as a goddess.
‘In loving memory of Sister Rachel,’ he read at the base of one.
‘Shout them out,’ shouted India, ‘Let me hear every one. They may mean more to me than you.’
‘Sister Leanne,’ shouted one of the soldiers.
‘Mother Superior, Elizabeth,’ shouted the other.
Over and over again, the names of the long dead echoed across the cemetery as they systematically checked the tombs.
‘No name on this one,’ came a shout.
‘This one’s collapsed,’ shouted Brandon.
‘Come on,’ said India to herself, ‘You have to be here somewhere.’
Between the five of them, they had cleared most of the tombs within the hour.
Brandon sat on a flat topped vault, blowing on his freezing fingers.
‘It’s no use,’ he said, ‘There’s nothing here. We are wasting our time.’
‘She has to be,’ said India, ‘It makes total sense.’
‘I don’t know, India,’ he said, She’s probably dead. Perhaps we should call it a day.’
India didn’t answer, just stared over his shoulder.
‘India,’ said Brandon again, ‘I said…’
‘That’s odd,’ she said.
‘What is?’
‘On the head stone, there’s no name, just a date.’
‘One thousand and five,’ read Brandon, ‘Must be one of the oldest here.’
‘The headstone may be old,’ said India, ‘But the engraving is quite modern.’
‘Perhaps someone just refreshed the date,’ suggested Brandon.
‘But why just the date,’ mused India, ‘Why would anyone do that?’
‘Who knows?’ asked Brandon.
‘Actually, it’s not one thousand and five,’ said India, ‘Look at the numbers, It says 100 then a space and then the number 5. It doesn’t make sense.’
Brandon stared at the engraving,
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
India’s eyes widened as realisation dawned.
‘Oh my God, Brandon,’ she said, ‘It’s not a date, it’s a label. The numbers represent Roman numerals.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The number 100 was represented by the letter ‘M’ and the number 5 was a ‘V’
She looked at Brandon with hope in her eyes.
‘Don’t you see, Brandon, MV are the first letters of Mortuus Virgo. They must have been carved by Jacob as a sick taunt to anyone passing. This is the one, Brandon, We’ve found her.’
Brandon rapidly swept the rest of the snow off the tomb with his arm. Underneath the snow, the lid of the tomb was six inches of solid granite, but in the centre, another, smaller and more modern slab sat its own, the mottled concrete finish looking completely out of place against the natural stone. Brandon pushed it to one side, revealing a circular hole underneath, the ragged edges showing where someone had drilled a ring of holes in the slab before knocking it through to make an access hole.
‘She must be down there,’ gasped India, ‘The poor thing.’ She leant over and shouted into the darkness, ‘Camille, are you there?’ She fell silent and waited for an answer. ’Camille, sweetheart,’ she shouted again, ‘If your there, just make a noise. We are here to help.’
When there was still no answer, she started to take off her coat.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Brandon
‘I’m going down there,’ said India.
‘No, said Brandon, ‘Mike sent for help. We can get this thing apart within the hour.’
‘She may not have an hour,’ said India, ‘I have to go down there now.’
‘Then let me go down,’ said Brandon.
‘Oh yes,’ said India, ‘Have you seen your midriff recently?’
‘Point taken,’ said Brandon, looking at the diameter of the hole, ‘Okay but hang on.’ He turned to Mike. ‘Have you got a torch?’ he asked.
Mike opened one of his pouches on his utility vest and handed over a pencil torch.
‘Take this,’ said Brandon, giving the torch to India, ‘If she is alive, let me know what you need and we will send it down. If she’s not, we’ll pull you out straight away. Okay?
‘Yes,’ she said nervously and hoisted herself up to sit on the tomb. She lifted her legs up and dangled them into the hole. Brandon took hold of her wrists and braced himself.
‘Good luck,’ he said, and India slid herself over the edge. Brandon grimaced as she descended into the darkness and he leant forward until his shoulders were almost completely into the tomb.
‘Can you feel the floor?’ he shouted.
‘No.’
‘Hang on, I’ll pull you back up.’
‘No,’ shouted India, ‘Let me go.’
‘I’m not letting you go,’ shouted Brandon, ‘You don’t know how far it is.’
‘Brandon,’ shouted India, ‘I know what I am doing, just let go.’
‘You sure?’
‘Brandon,’ she shouted.
‘Okay, okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll let you go. Bend your knees and roll when you hit the floor. Here goes.’ He let go of her wrists and India fell into the darkness.
India expected to hit a hard floor, but to her surprise she landed on a soft surface, twisting her ankle in the process. She sat up, coughing as she inhaled a mouthful of dust.
‘You okay?’ shouted Brandon from above.
‘Think so,’ she said and retrieved the torch from her pocket. The narrow beam of light was quite effective in the dark and she shone it around the tiny space.
The room was about ten foot square and was totally empty except for a small alcove cut into the wall. Within the alcove, a glazed pottery urn reflected the light from the torch back at her. The soft surface she landed on was revealed to be an old mattress that must have been rolled up and forced through the hole above. Empty crisp wrappers and water bottles littered the floor, evidence of recent life but there was no sign of the girl. India double checked the room for hidden doors, finding none. She stood in the centre of the room, turning slowly, totally confused. It didn’t make sense, she had to be here somewhere.
Her gaze returned to the urn. It was quite small for the alcove and sat slightly to one side of centre. She walked slowly over and stopped facing the alcove. The urn was beautifully decorated with multicoloured glazes and the lid was sealed with a thick layer of Red wax.
India caught her breath as a slight movement caught her eye in the tiny space behind the urn. She shone her torch into the alcove and slowly released her breath in relief.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said gently, ‘You must be Camille.’
A tear stained face peered back at her in terror. A little girl was squashed into the tiny space, her knees drawn up to her chin in order to fit. She nodded slowly.
‘I thought so,’ she said, ‘My name is India’
‘Like the country?’
‘Yes said India,’’ Like the country.’
‘That’s a pretty name.’
‘Thank you,’ said India, ‘I like yours too.’
‘Have you come to take me home?’