July (11 page)

I waited a moment before changing tack. ‘Do you have any information about a relative of ours—Piers Ormond?’

‘Our family is full of secrets,’ she whispered, ‘and the Ormond Singularity is the deadliest secret of all. My grandfather, may he rest in peace, warned me of that.’ She stopped for a moment. ‘Piers gathered a lot of information about the Ormond family.’

‘Do you know anything about his will?’

I took one of her frail hands in mine, but her glazed eyes showed her attention had drifted away again.

‘Sister, do you know anything about what the Ormond Singularity is?’ I was still hopeful my questioning might stir up old memories, old files, stored deep in her mind.

‘Come closer, nephew,’ she beckoned. I shuffled in, heart racing. Did she have some information after all? ‘The Ormond Singularity is the great secret of the Ormonds.’

‘But what
is
it?’ I persisted.

‘Did Bartholomew send you?’

‘Yes,’ I said, awkwardly, not wanting to have to tell her that the lethal Ormond secret had killed him too. I recalled the old man lying on the floor as the flames raced through his house downstairs. ‘He told me you were like the family historian and that you looked after all the family papers and documents, including information about Piers Ormond’s will.’

‘Do you know we’re twins?’ she said with a smile, dismissing what I’d just said. ‘
Bartholomew
and I.’

‘Twins?’
I asked, surprised.

Her smile quickly transformed into
something
much more serious and fearful.

‘I heard,’ she said, nodding, and looking deep into my eyes, ‘about the two babies. Something terrible happened.’

The newspaper clipping—had it been about
them? Bartholomew and Millicent? It had looked old, but not
that
old, and I’d been feeling more and more like it had something to do with
me
.

‘Who were those babies?’ I asked. ‘They were twins—you and Barty?’ I suggested. ‘What
happened
to them?’

She shook her head slowly, but I wasn’t sure whether it was in response to my question, or a reaction to the memory.

The old nun started weeping, and then in a quavery voice she started singing.

‘Two little lambs in the cold night frost, one was saved and the other one lost.’

The song unnerved me. It was haunting, and somehow familiar, even though I’d never heard it before. Almost as quickly as she’d started singing, my great-aunt stopped, looking at me in a puzzled way.

‘Tell me, again. Why are you here?’

I was frustrated, confused, spooked. For the moment, I had to leave the mystery of the abducted babies behind and concentrate on why I had come.

‘I hoped you had important family documents,’ I reminded Sister Mary Perpetua, ‘that could help me. You said there was an envelope?’

‘All of my things have been put away,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember where they are. But why
would a youngster like you be interested in the affairs of an old woman like me?’

The brightness in her face faded. It seemed she’d forgotten pieces of our conversation. Her eyes clouded and she slowly started muttering the song again, caught up in another world.

‘Two little lambs in the cold night frost, one was saved and the other one lost,’
she repeated in her crackly voice. ‘That’s how it was,’ she said, turning back to me. Tears were falling gently down her face. ‘One was returned safely, the other one was lost. Gone. We leave our worldly life behind us when we come into the convent,’ she said in a different voice, as if she were
quoting
someone else’s words.

Sister Jerome returned with a tray of
sandwiches
and hot chocolate for both of us. She put them down on a small table by the wall and sat down beside me. I was edgy, restless, eager to find out where the family papers had been stored.

I tried again. ‘Sister Mary Perpetua, where did you store everything? The family documents?’

She ignored me, focusing on humming her strange, sad song. She stared out the window once more. I turned to Sister Jerome. Her kindly face was creased with anxiety. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say: sorry, I can’t help you.

‘Please, Sister Mary Perpetua, tell me.’

But it was no use. As suddenly as her voice had returned it had left again. She had closed down. She ignored the tray Sister Jerome had brought in and sat slumped in her chair, as though she’d used up the last of her energy in the burst of cryptic words that had broken her twenty-year retreat.

I’d spent days on the road, pinning my hopes on finding Bartholomew’s sister, Millicent. And now I had found her, and she had confirmed the danger that I knew surrounded the Ormond Singularity, but the rest of the information I needed was trapped in her befuddled mind.

‘She put everything away,’ I said to Sister Jerome as she ushered me towards the door. ‘She said something about a big envelope.’

Sister Jerome smoothed out her robes, and grinned. ‘I think I know where it is!’

We left my great-aunt behind, humming away, and Sister Jerome hurried me downstairs.

‘Where are we going?’

From a fold in her robe, Sister Jerome drew a ring of old-fashioned keys. ‘To the archives!’

She led me to a door at the end of a
corridor
. I waited while she unlocked it, stepped in and switched on a light. We were faced with
a creepy opening in the floor—a flight of stone stairs descending into the darkness of a cellar.

‘All the convent’s archives are kept down here,’ she said, as I followed her down the
narrow
steps.

At the bottom, Sister Jerome switched on another light. We were in a cold, damp underground room, a little bigger than Repro’s place, lined with shelves and cabinets. Unlike Repro’s place, these shelves were orderly and neat, arranged meticulously with bulging folders and files from the ground to the ceiling. In an alcove down the far end were two large wooden chests, one on top of the other.

‘The oldest archives are kept in here,’ said Sister Jerome, blowing dust off the top chest. ‘Unfortunately, the earliest records will be right down there in that bottom chest. Sister Mary Perpetua’s been with us for nearly seventy years. Twice as long as me. Please give me a hand to lift these off so that we can get to it.’ She stepped back for a moment, her hands on her hips. ‘I still can’t believe she spoke!’ she said. ‘She must have been waiting for just the right moment! Or just the right person!’

With renewed energy, we lifted the top chest down onto the floor, freeing up the lower one.

I felt a thrill as Sister Jerome unlocked and
lifted its creaking lid. It was filled with dusty packets and folders tied up with pink tape. She rummaged around, sorting through the packets until she came to a thick, dark-brown envelope.

‘Here it is!’ Sister Jerome handed it to me. ‘I knew it would be here.’

The flowery, old-fashioned handwriting on the front of it read: ‘Millicent Butler Ormond, 1939.’

A cold wind blew in from outside and I snatched my hoodie from where it had been hanging out to dry.

Back in my room I opened the envelope and emptied it on the bed. Sister Jerome had suggested I stay another night—she thought it was worth taking my time going through the documents—and then trying to speak to my great-aunt again in the morning, after she’d had a good rest. Even though I was worried about Sligo searching for me here, I was quick to accept the offer—I felt like my great-aunt had so much more she could tell me, if I persisted. I wanted to find out
everything
I could from her. I was convinced she could shed light on some of the darkness that engulfed our family.

In front of me were three letters from Piers Ormond, sent back to his family during his
travels, and a very sketchy family tree with some familiar names, and some areas that were faded and stained.

I put the incomplete family tree aside and skimmed through the letters. The words ‘Ormond Angel’ and ‘Ormond Riddle’ immediately jumped to my attention. Piers Ormond knew about the Angel and the Riddle! I couldn’t wait to tell
Boges
and go over them with him!

Just when I was about to settle down and read them all properly, someone knocked on my door.

‘Yes?’

‘Hi, I’m Matt. Sister Jerome said you could help me out with some yard work this afternoon?’

‘Sure,’ I reluctantly agreed, putting
everything
aside and getting up to join him. I’d have to look at it all properly later.

20 JULY

165 days to go
…

I lay in the narrow bed, listening hard. The rain that returned overnight had stopped, and
wind-blown
trees shook outside the window, casting soft shadows in my room. The silence of the convent was so deep, yet something had woken me from my sleep.

It was too early, even for the nuns. I got out of bed and put my ear to the door.

The noise had faded, but I quietly stepped out of my room and peered up and down the corridor. Its gloomy length was empty. At one end, a T-junction, a red lamp flickered in front of a statue.

There it was again!

The sound seemed to be coming from the left-hand side of the T-junction.

My bare feet made no sound as I crept down the corridor towards the flickering light.

As I approached the corner, I heard it again.
I froze, pressing myself flat against the wall, listening. It was the sound of someone opening and closing doors, softly, stealthily. Maybe one of them had slammed unexpectedly. Someone was creeping around, searching …

The pattern repeated—the footsteps
continued
, paused, and then came the sound of a door being opened. I imagined the person listening for a few moments outside the door, then opening it, checking that the room was empty, closing the door and stepping quietly to the next one.

The footsteps were getting closer. I waited till I heard the sound of another door opening, and risked a peek around the corner.

I jumped back. I saw the figure of a very tall nun whose height cut her habit short above her ankles. Was it Sister Bertha checking the locks at this hour? She must have been crazy. Or an insomniac?

‘Sister Bertha?’ I asked as she moved to test the next door.

She swung round to face me.

My body jolted with fear as the face came into focus—it wasn’t Sister Bertha! It wasn’t Sister anyone! It was Zombrovski, rigged out in a nun’s habit!

He was as shocked as I was, but I was faster! I skidded away in the opposite direction, slipping
and sliding on the floorboards, racing down the corridor.

Zombie looked like the most evil sister in the world! He must have been chasing me using one of Sligo’s leads—my great-aunt!

I retreated through the building the way I’d come with Sister Jerome, running silently on bare feet to the other end of the corridor, way past my room, and then around another corner. I waited, holding my breath, occasionally sneaking a fast look behind me.

I jumped back again. He was standing at the far end of the corridor I had just raced down, and seemed to be sniffing the air and listening for noise.

What if he went into my room and grabbed my backpack? I was so relieved I’d handed most of my things over to Boges to care for, but I didn’t want to lose all of the archive papers I’d just got my hands on. But Zombie didn’t seem interested in my belongings right now. He was only interested in getting me.

My pulse was racing. I had to come up with a plan to deal with this. There was no way to get past him. If I could just get out the front door and lose myself in the darkness, Zombie could think I’d fled the convent.

I was torn between running away and trying
to get back to my cell, and my backpack.
Zombie’s
heavy, relentless footsteps neared and that made the decision for me. There was no time to collect my stuff, I had to get out. I ran in silence into the gloomy foyer. As I braced myself to charge through the front doors, a candle in front of the armoured saint suddenly flared up in a burst of radiance, illuminating the silver sword. I stopped and stared at it for a second.

What if Zombie wasn’t alone? What if someone was waiting for me outside, waiting for me to run right into them?

Fight or flight?
I had to decide!

Fight! I shot over to the Saint Ignatius statue and wrenched the sword from its position, easily snapping the rusty wire that held it in place. It wasn’t sharp, but would make a strong impact. I positioned myself behind the wall to the side of the corridor opening, the sword raised high above my head.

I waited, holding my breath in tense silence as Zombie came closer and closer. Any second now and he’d emerge from the darkness of the corridor. And I’d be ready.

Zombie appeared out of the gloom, and I lifted the sword higher. He sensed my presence and jerked his head in my direction. In the glow
of the fading candlelight, the rage in his eyes burned brightly.

He snarled and hurled himself at me, not seeing the sword I held above my head. I brought it down as hard as I could across his shoulders as he twisted, sending him flying against the wall. He sprawled, hands out, and that’s when I saw the knuckleduster on his right hand! Four heavy points of metal decorated his fist. I hesitated—I didn’t want to
kill
him, but I didn’t want to be killed either! Cursing with fury, he
staggered
back to his feet.

Terror shuddered through me, energising my fight. Sligo didn’t want me reaching my
sixteenth
birthday, but I wasn’t about to let him get his way!

I raised the sword again as Zombie came at me, literally ripping the black fabric of the nun’s habit off his body. This time I was really going to let him have it. I had no other option. But as I swung the sword, I skidded on a pool of water blown under the front door by the storm, and fell hard on the coil of the bell tower rope. The sword flew out of my hand and as I scrambled and grabbed it again, my left foot tripped on the rope.

The shocking, booming sound of the bell
ringing
above startled us both. As Zombie squared
up again to take me down with a blow of his metal fist, I jumped backwards, swinging the sword with both hands. He was stronger, but slower than me and as he lashed out with the knuckleduster, I smashed the sword down hard on his right shoulder. He roared in pain and folded to his knees, howling.

I still hadn’t stopped him—I’d just enraged him even more! He staggered to his feet,
switching
the knuckleduster over to his other fist.

I stepped back—I was bailed up against the railing of the bell tower staircase. I ducked a deadly left-handed punch, and jumped sideways, hearing the splintering sound of Zombie’s fist crunching into the timber of the stairs. His arm was tightly wedged in the broken wood, giving me a second to move.

I had nowhere to go but up.

With a roar he freed himself and came after me again, one arm hanging uselessly from his shoulder. I charged up the stairs. The bell ropes that dangled down the centre of the spiral
staircase
slapped around us, keeping the bell ringing as we bumped and bashed our way along.

Zombie suddenly lurched and grabbed at my ankle. I turned and deflected the swinging knuckleduster with a slice of the sword. It clanged on connection, and the jarring force behind
Zombie’s
attack sent the sword flying out of my grip.

It clattered to a standstill a few steps higher. Zombie was closing in on me. The bell rang louder and louder in my ears and I started panicking, not having a clue what I was going to do when we both reached the top of the tower. I took the stairs, backwards, afraid to take my eyes off him, my fingers scrabbling around blindly behind me, trying to locate the sword.

Finally I snatched it up and ran faster up the staircase, twisting and turning higher and higher.

Zombie charged after me, cursing, close behind.

I made it to the top of the stairs and the big belfry where the giant bell vibrated in a square tower with tall, wide stone arches on each side. The bell, still trembling and humming from when it had rung moments earlier, took up most of the room with only a narrow walkway round it. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide—there was only the black night and the ground, a long, long way down. Wind blew in mercilessly through the open arches, grazing the bell, as I realised the death sentence I’d given myself … I was completely snookered.

I shivered, grasping the sword tightly,
waiting
for Zombie to strike.

He appeared at the top of the staircase, and
in the moonlight his evil, menacing smirk tore into me. Zombie knew he had me trapped. The only way was down and he had the stairwell opening covered.

Through gritted teeth, he seemed to laugh. Leaning back into one of the open arches, he propped himself up on the stone edging. Next he grabbed onto the ornate railing that ran around the very top of the tower, where the points of the arches met. He lifted himself up like he was co-ordinating a pro-wrestling manoeuvre. It took me a couple of seconds to work out exactly what he was doing—he was setting himself up to plough maximum pressure on the bell, swinging it wildly with the force of both of his feet! I was trapped and he was going to crush me against the wall with the huge bell!

He grinned, seeing the fear on my face.

‘Goodbye, Cal,’ he grunted, then lifted his weight with his good arm and gave the bell an almighty shove with his powerful legs.

The massive bell swung fast towards me. I swerved, following Zombie’s lead by leaping up, grabbing onto the railing above me and
swinging
my body out to avoid the killer collision. Air rushed as the huge bell scraped my body, its full force missing me by mere millimetres. The colossal structure bashed hard against the wall,
its chime distorted by the masonry it struck instead of me. The return swing of the bell, fuelled by immense rebound momentum swept back in the path of its unsuspecting victim—Zombie.

He was perched precariously on the arch edge, and the swinging bell caught him off
balance
, slamming into him, sending him reeling backwards! His face was white with horror as he flew straight through the open arch, freefalling into the night.

His screams pierced through the air, ending with an unbelievable thud.

I didn’t know whether to yell with triumph or cringe at Zombie’s horrific plunge. All I knew was that I had to dodge the bell as I cautiously peered over the edge of the arch he’d tumbled through.

Below, I could just make out his body lying still, caught on the serrated arms of the cactus. It didn’t look good.

I bolted down the bell tower stairs, carrying the warrior sword by my side.

Sister Jerome ran towards me in a long white nightgown and a frilly cap, just like she’d stepped out of an old movie. She had a furious look on her face.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, young man?’

Someone flicked a switch and light filled the room. Close behind Sister Jerome was a group of nuns in matching nighties and caps, each of them armed with mops, candlesticks and garden tools.

‘Explain yourself this minute!’

I leaned the sword against the wall and stepped down to join her.

‘There was an intruder,’ I said, ‘dressed up like a nun. I think he was trying to steal from one of the rooms when I caught him,’ I said, thinking fast. ‘He attacked me, chased me up the bell tower.’

‘I thought my pocket watch was missing!’ cried one of the nuns.

Suddenly, my legs felt like they were made of jelly. I leaned against the stair that Zombie had splintered with his fist.

‘Well, where is he now?’ she asked, nervously looking around.

‘He fell.’

‘What do you mean, he fell?’ Sister Jerome questioned me.

‘He fell through one of the arches.’ I pointed up, to indicate the bell tower.

‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ whispered Sister Jerome, her face aghast. ‘Come on,’ she said as she ushered the nuns around her. ‘We’d better go see how he is.’

The flock of nuns shuffled to the double doors of the convent and opened them, carrying with them orbs of candlelight. Once outside, it was easy to spot where Zombie had landed. I couldn’t see his body, but there was a deep indent in the silhouettes of the cactuses, where his weight had crushed the plants beneath him. As the
candlelight
shifted, I saw one of his hands, hanging twisted, bloody and lifeless.

Sister Jerome clambered up to him with another nun close by. They crouched down in the garden while I stood back. From where I was standing, the tower looked crazy-tall. It rose up right into the sky. Taking a tumble from that height would have been …