by Kevin Ashman
She leaned her head on his shoulder and stared into the fire.
‘I hope so,’ she said, ‘For her sake. Not only is she the holiest person I have ever met, but her innocence is almost childlike.’
‘She will be fine,’ said Dragus, ‘We will make sure she is. She just needs a lot of attention.’
Rose lifted his arm and placed it around her own shoulders.
‘She’s not the only one,’ she said quietly and snuggled in to his side, closing her eyes as the exhaustion of the day swept over her.
Dragus stared down at the girl in his embrace, confused at his feelings. During all these months he had devoted his time and attention towards the Priestess, and though he and Rose had grown close, he had only thought of her as Rubria’s slave. Yet, here he was, holding her sleeping form in his arms, and for the first time realised how pretty a girl she actually was.
Chapter 32
England 2010
Bernice slowly placed the key in the lock of the hall door, before glancing up and down the passage one last time. The turning of the latch sounded horribly loud in the silence, and she hesitated before easing it ajar just enough to slip through. The hall was lit by discreetly placed candles and she quickly scanned the room to confirm that it was indeed empty. At this time of night, everyone would be asleep and she knew she had a few hours before first bell to find out where the Senior Sisters had disappeared to a few days earlier. She locked the door behind her and paused before starting her search for any hidden doorway.
The long embroidered tapestries hanging on either side of the hall were the obvious location and she lifted each in turn searching for the door that had to be there. When these yielded no results, she checked the bare walls between them for any sign of hidden doorway yet all the joints were solid. Finally, she turned her attention to the floor, lifting the rugs at the far end to find any trapdoors or hidden stairways. At last she sat down on one of the benches, tired and frustrated. This made no sense. Perhaps the door had not been locked from the inside on the night of the Mother Superiors death, but had just been stuck. That had to be it she realised, and breathing a deep sigh she stood up to return to her cell but was just about to insert the key into the lock when she heard a noise from outside.
She stood, frozen in fear as the footsteps drew closer, hoping they would pass by, but her fear turned to horror when the person stopped outside the door. Her worst fears were realised as the sound of jangling keys revealed the persons intention of entering the hall.
She stepped back in panic, and span around, searching for somewhere to hide. There was only one option and she ducked behind the nearest tapestry, hoping that whoever it was did not see the giveaway bulge in its centre.
The tapestry lay heavy against her, and she prayed that the dusty smell of age did not make her sneeze. She heard the hall doors open, and the sound of keys locking it again, before the unseen person hurried down the length of the hall, not noticing the displaced tapestry besides the door.
Bernice lifted the tapestry slightly from her face and watched the back of the grey clad figure as she made their way towards the far end of the hall. Bernice recognised the shape of Sister Agnes as she knelt before the image of the Holy Mother for a few moments in prayer before making the sign of the cross and standing up again, but instead of turning around and returning up the hall, the Senior Sister stepped forward towards the carving.
Bernice watched in confusion as the Nun opened her arms as if embracing the image and her mouth dropped opened in astonishment as the whole carving slid sideways in front of her. She watched Sister Agnes disappear into the passage beyond and saw the door slide effortlessly back into place of its own accord.
When the room had again fallen silent Bernice left the security of the tapestry and approached the archway containing the image of the Holy Mother. She placed her ear against the wood and listened intently but could hear nothing. She ran her hands over the carving looking for some sort of lever to open the door, remembering the adventure books she had read as a young girl but again, could find nothing. Finally, realising she had ridden her luck a little too much, left the hall and locked the doors behind her. If nothing else, at least she knew her suspicions were well founded and there was something unhealthily secret about the whole order. A few minutes later she entered one of the upper corridors and made her way to her own cell at the end of the row, anticipating the familiar security of the space she had known as home for the past twenty years. She closed the door behind her but before she could turn around into the familiar surroundings, a large male hand clamped over her mouth, choking off the terrified scream that was erupting from deep within her.
Murray sat in the corner of the room, staring up at the unseen ceiling. The room was pitch black and stank of dampness and stale air. He had seen no-one since being brought in at gunpoint many hours earlier and had spent the first thirty minutes banging on the door and shouting abuse at his captors. Finally, realising there was nobody there; he retreated into a corner and waited for someone to come, afraid to even contemplate the horrible possibility that they might not.
Eventually after what seemed like a lifetime, the sound of distant footsteps echoed down the unseen corridor. An overhead lamp switched on, and he turned his head away from the unexpected light. The door swung open and two men entered the room, setting up a small table with two chairs situated opposite each other. A third man came in and sat on one of the chairs, while the other two stood either side of the door.
Murray stayed in the corner, staring at the man at the table, waiting for someone to speak.
Eventually, the man at the table spoke, nodding towards the empty chair.
‘Sit,’ he said, simply.
‘I’m okay here, thank you very much,’ said Murray.
The man glanced at one of the guards and gave a slight nod of his head. Both men marched over to Murray and before he could do anything to defend himself, one of them punched him on the side of the head, sending him sprawling across the floor.
‘What the fuck?’ shouted Murray, but before he could say anything else, they dragged him to his feet and the bald guy’s mate sent a punch deep into his stomach, and as he doubled up in pain, followed it up with a knee to the face.
Murray’s nose shattered and he slid down the wall in pain and shock. The two men returned to their positions by the door as the man by the table lit a cigarette, as if in boredom. He blew out a lungful of smoke before repeating his earlier instruction.
‘Sit,’ he said again.
For a second, Murray didn’t move but when the stranger’s eyes rose in mock surprise, he forced himself to his feet and approached the empty chair. Blood poured from his mouth and nose and he felt at least one broken tooth with his tongue. One of the thugs stood behind him.
‘Thank you,’ said the man in the chair.
‘Why the fuck did you do that?’ asked Murray through his rapidly swelling lips.
‘Simple,’ said the man, ‘I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer quickly, and honestly, leaving nothing out. Do you understand?’
‘Yes but why set your fucking monkeys on me?’
‘You need to understand I am not playing games,’ said the man. Fuck me about and you will get more of the same. If you do as I ask, and don’t play funny buggers, there’s the slightest chance you may still get out of here alive. Now, I’ll ask you one more time. Do you understand?’
Murray nodded nervously, realising he was in a world of shit.
A massive blow to the side of the head sent him flying once again, before he was dragged back into the chair.
‘When Mr Smith asks you a question,’ said the thug, ‘He expects an answer.’
‘Okay, okay’ he screamed, ‘I get it, just stop fucking hitting me.’
‘Okay,’ said Mr Smith, ‘Let’s get started, First of all, what is your name?’
‘Murray,’ he said, wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve, ‘Stephen Murray.’
‘An
d, where are you from, Mr Murray?’
‘London.’
‘And your job?’
‘Taxi driver.’
Mr Smith paused, writing notes on the pad in front of him.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘Tell me Mr Murray, why are you here/’
‘Sorry?’
‘Easy question!’
‘I genuinely don’t know. I’ve done nothing wrong. I was sat in my cab when one of your thugs pressed a fucking gun against my head. What’s all this about?’
Murray flinched as the thug behind him leant forward, and spoke speak menacingly into his ear.
‘Mr Smith asks the questions, you provide the answers. Savvy?’
Mr Jones stopped writing and sat back in his chair.
‘I know the circumstances of your capture, Mr Murray. What I need to know is why you were there in the first place?’
‘I was dropping off a customer.’
‘In the middle of nowhere?’
‘Murray thought furiously. No matter what trouble he was in, he saw no mileage in dropping the army guy in the shit.
‘He was a writer,’ said Murray, ‘Seemed interested in the history of the area and particularly wanted to learn about some nunnery that used to be around here.’
‘My sources tell me you seemed to be quite friendly with the man, in fact, you got quite aggressive with one of the gate guards.’
‘He was a prick,’ said Murray, ‘No need for rudeness.’
‘Hmm, quite,’ said the man, ‘Tell me, Mr Murray, where is your patch as a taxi driver?’
‘West London.’
‘Do you often get fares all the way out here?’
‘Nope.’
‘And you didn’t think it strange when you picked up this one?’
‘When someone waves a grand in your face, you don’t ask too may questions.’
‘So you don’t know him personally?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Before this morning I had never set eyes on him.’
‘Yet you spend most of the day with him, then drove off to God knows where and brought him back a rucksack.’
‘I didn’t know what was in the bag.’
‘Wasn’t you curious?’
‘Like I said, a grand is a lot of money to me.’
‘What was in the rucksack?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When he left you, did he say where he was going?’
‘To search for the nunnery, I believe. Murray looked nervously over his shoulder. ‘Can I say something please?’
Mr Smith nodded.
‘Look, I don’t know what this is about but you have got this all wrong. I only met him this morning and I have ferried him around all day. Yes it is strange, I admit, but for a grand I would have driven him to land’s end and back. We didn’t talk much. In fact, he was quite ignorant, We went to two churches but I waited outside while he went in. He didn’t tell me anything. All I know is he ended up very interested in finding this nunnery.’
The man calling himself Mr Smith stared at him for a long time.
‘You know what?’ he said eventually, ‘I think I believe you.
‘Thank God for that,’ said Murray, placing his head in his hands.
Mr Smith stood up to leave.
‘So, can I go now?’ asked Murray sitting up straight again.
Mr Smith paused, before speaking over his shoulder.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘There are too many loose ends here, you being one of them. We will speak again soon.’ He left the room, closely followed by the two guards.
‘Shit!’ cursed Murray when the door was locked, and laid his head in his arms on the table.
Outside the cell, Mr Smith turned to one of the guards.
‘Any news on the other guy?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ came the answer, ‘We lost him in the woods but it won’t be long before we find him. We have every man on the case. Don’t worry, he can’t get in here, it’s locked up tighter than a ducks arse.’
‘Good. Let me know as soon as soon as there is any news.’
‘What about him?’ asked Baldy nodding towards the locked door.
‘I don’t think he’s involved,’ said Mr Smith, ‘Still, he’s probably seen too much already. We wouldn’t want Mr Murray running to the police, would we?’
‘You want him to disappear?’
‘That would be good,’ said Mr Smith, ‘But don’t make it messy. When this is all over I want the order to be squeaky clan. There’s a lake a couple of miles away. Quite a steep drop to the water, as I recall. If passing car or taxi was to have a blow out it could well find itself at the bottom of the lake, complete with driver, if you get my drift.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Baldy, ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’
‘You do that,’ said Mr Smith, ‘But not yet. First of all let’s find this other guy before he causes any more damage. There’s too much at risk here.’
In another cell a few yards away, someone had their ear pressed up against the cell door, just about making out the conversation through the ancient oak.
The two men walked towards the end of the subterranean corridor, and slammed the door behind them. Long after the corridor had fallen silent, Murray sat at the table, his head still resting on his arms when he heard a muffled woman’s voice.
‘Hello?’ it called out quietly, ‘Mr Murray, can you hear me?’
Murray looked up, momentarily confused.
‘Hello!’ said the muffled voice again, ‘Mr Murray?’
Murray stood up and went to the door.
‘Hello!’ he said, ‘Who’s there?
‘Thank God,’ said the woman’s voice, ‘I thought you may be dead. Listen, I, don’t know who you are but you are in terrible danger.’
Murray’s hand crept unconsciously to his bloody face.
‘Really?’ he said, ‘I’d never have guessed.’
‘Seriously,’ said the voice, ‘Those two men who just left, they mean you terrible harm. I overheard them talking and I think they are going to kill you.’
Murray’s eyes closed, realising the worst. He was fucked!
‘Mr Murray, we have to get out of here,’ she said.
‘We?'
‘I am a prisoner as well,’ she said, About three cells up, I think.’
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No but I don’t fancy my chances much. We can’t just sit back and wait to killed. Is there anyway you can force the door?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said rubbing his hands over the door, ‘It’s too solid.’ As his hand passed the lock receiver, he winced as a splinter lodged under a finger nail. He pulled out the splinter and examined the frame carefully. It seemed a lot older than the door and was certainly much damper. He looked around the room, searching for something to use as a tool. Finally his eyes settled on the table Baldy and his friend had left behind.
‘Wait,’ he said, ‘I have an idea.’ He turned the table over and grabbed one of the wrought iron legs pulling it outwards away from the frame. At first it resisted but eventually the friction built up and the hot metal severed, leaving him holding the cast iron leg of the table.
‘Got it,’ he said and returned to the door. ‘Right,’ he said to himself, ‘Let’s see what we can do here.’ Grasping the leg with both hands he drove the jagged edge into the door frame. At first it resisted but after a few blows, the old timber started to splinter and he attacked the frame with renewed vigour. Twenty minutes later he exposed the bar of the lock and placed the table leg behind it to lever it towards him. The door sprung inwards and he ran from the room in relief.
He looked along the corridor, getting his bearings. The cell he had escaped from was at the end of a short dark corridor, lit by a single bulb. Either side of the corridor were four rooms, each of which were open apart from the last one which was locked shut. At the end of the corridor, a stairway led up into darkness.
‘Did you do it?’ came the voice from the locked cell, ‘Are you out?’
‘I am,’ said Murray, trying the handle, ‘This frame looks rotten as well, step aside.’ He kicked at the door alongside the handle several times.
‘That’s it!’ said the woman’s voice, ‘It’s going.’ He stepped back and ran towards the door, shoulder barging it as hard as he could. The door flew inward and he fell sprawling to the floor, smashing his already hurting face against the floor.
‘Oh my God,’ said the pretty woman bending over him, staring into his blood covered face. Are you alright?’
‘I’ve been better,’ he said, through the pain, ‘What is this place?’
‘I think we’re in some old store rooms under the convent,’ she said, ‘By the smell of it, they haven’t been used for ages, perhaps hundreds of years.’
‘We’re under the convent?’
‘I think so, why? Do you know anything about it?’
‘Not really, but a passenger of mine was very keen to come up here.’
‘Passenger?’
‘Yes, I am a taxi driver and brought a man down from London this morning to look for a missing lady.’ As he spoke he looked at her face and sat upright before asking her the obvious question.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘India,’ she said, ‘ India Sommers.’ She held out her hand to shake his. ‘Pleased to meet you Mr Murray, now, if you don’t mind, can we get the fuck out of here?’
Murray and India made their way up to the ground floor and found themselves in an outbuilding of the convent. Murray peered through the window, checking for guards.
‘All clear,’ he said, and they made their way out into the snowstorm.
‘Where are we going?’ asked India.
‘Anywhere away from here,’ said Murray.
‘But you said Brandon was in there somewhere.’
‘He is, but there’s nothing we can do to help him. There are too many nutters around here. He did give me a number to call, but they took my phone. The best thing we can do is get to a village and call the police.’