Out of Shadow's Grasp

Wizards worked nearly soundlessly in and around the anteroom and crypt - incantations were whispered, wands waved with the least amount of motion. They worked making magical copies of all the glyphs and friezes. Another wizard mapped the tomb one room at a time. All were fully aware of the pervasive sense of incorrectness. Since they had entered they were all in agreement that this tomb was not all it seemed to be.

Claude wiped his brow while leaning into the crypt. As was his custom and role, he listened intently for Minerva's bell. If her bell was not heard for five consecutive minutes then it was a sure sign of trouble. Should this event pass, Claude and one other wizard would follow Minerva into the tunnel and another wizard would act as sentinel beside the crypt. The sounds of the bell were getting fainter, farther but it was audible. Claude patted his pockets for his wand readying himself as best he could.

Ding ... ding ... ding

In the tunnel below, wisps of dust rose in the wake of each step made by the silvery cat. Minerva's bell did not peal loudly or frequently for her every step was deliberate, measured. Her ears twitched right and left alert for the slightest aberrant sound. Her cat sight strained to see further and clearer in the inky blackness enveloping sleek form. Her whiskers swayed imperceptibly feeling the slight draft of fresh air. She walked on.

The passage was often uneven with walls not quite smooth, ceilings that slanted inwards at odd angles and a floor that sloped downward in small degrees. The incline was not too great as to cause one to be be wary; it was enough to give the impression of continuous descent. A normal-sized man would have found the tunnel challenging. There were times that Minerva was quite grateful to be a cat. This was one of those times.

Some minutes later, Minerva noticed the passageway becoming wider. As soon as it had become tall enough to accommodate a person standing up, she transformed. She stood stock still letting her human senses acclimate to the chill, the darkness and the silence. Gingerly, she stretched her sore muscles while looking around.

From experience, she knew that immediately casting magical spells, while convenient, was not always advisable. Many a tomb were designed to not only entrap muggle robbers but even those of magical persuasion. Minerva took out a small muggle flashlight the size of her hand from her emery bag. With its illumination she studied the passageway looking for any glyphs or markers. She trained the light further into the gloom. Was that a flicker of something shiny down at the end? She couldn't be sure.

Since nearly being buried alive in a tomb in the Valley of the Kings, caution had been her watchword. It made her pause before continuing on down the passageway. She called out. "Claude! Claude! Can you hear me?"

Even with her enhanced hearing, Minerva could only make out every other word of Claude's response. She must truly be deep underground. "Barely ... are you ... need ... help?"

"I'm all right. The passage is tight in places but structurally sound." Minerva rang her bell several times testing it. "Claude, I am proceeding further in, another fifteen to twenty meters in my cat form."

"Be careful!"

Minerva stretched her arms wide one more time before transforming. Once more, she took stock of her environment before moving into the darkness again.

Ding ... ding ... ding

Piers slowed his mount. He squinted into the sun. He could just make out the outlines of the camp. His eyes watched for any movement. There were none.

He kept his wand in hand as he moved closer. There was something wrong. Why weren't there anyone moving about? It was midday; a time that the camp should have been bustling with activity. In the back of his mind, he wondered if it was a trap.

Piers spotted the dark car parked in camp. He slid off his camel and cautiously moved towards it. He peered inside and found no one. He head whipped around at the sound of voices coming from the meal tent, masculine voices. A tall man of slender build stepped out headed for the car. Piers recognized him at once.

"Mr. Griffith, isn't it?" Piers called out affably. He pocketed his wand.

"Dr. Rampal, good to see you. We had almost thought the camp abandoned." Griffith walked towards Piers hands outstretched. They shook hands.

"We?" Piers asked.

"Professor Hammadi, two drivers and myself. That's all."

"You are always welcome, of course, but I must admit to some curiosity. Is this an inspection?"

Griffith was grave. "Not exactly." He led the way back to the meal tent. "Let me explain why we're here."

"Wait, a moment, please." Piers took in the camp in one long searching glance. "Have you seen, Minerva, I mean, ah, Dr. McGonagall?"

"No. You're the first person I've seen let alone met."

Piers tamped down the flutters of panic forming in his stomach. What if she's not here? Did he take her away already?

Griffith looked puzzled. "Isn't she with you?"

Piers made a show of dusting off his clothes and stomping his boots. "Oh, no. I was ... on another site some distance from here. I thought she would have made it back before me."

"The camp is empty. I thought you normally employed native labor."

"I do. But as you are probably aware we are reaching the expiration date of our site charter. The locals are split between two sites. We are in a frantic rush to get as much done as we can." Piers schooled his features to their most genial and friendly. "You understand how it is."

Griffith smiled. "Yes, yes, I do. Never enough time to do things as one would like."

"So, why are you here and where is the good professor ?" Piers bade Griffith to enter before him. Piers took note of the two drivers. One was sprawled asleep on top of a table at one end of the tent. The other was awake but had his face lying on his arms.

Griffith sat down at a long table. "The professor is resting. It was his decision to come here ostensibly for an inspection but I have my doubts about that now."

"Doubts?" Piers poured himself some juice.

"Professor Hammadi is very ill, gravely so. He said that he had been raised in the area and I strongly believe that he wanted a ... a last journey for memory's sake."

"Yes, memory is a ... a difficult mistress to appease at the best of times. You are not here then for a formal inspection?"

"Yes and no. You see the professor mentioned the possibility of a lost tomb hereabouts. I suppose he wanted a last discovery or two." Griffith clasped his hands on the table. "He granted you and Dr. McGonagall the site charter in hopes that your team would find this lost tomb."

"Indeed?"

"We are here to see what progress has been made. At least that is the official reason. Have you found anything?"

Piers smiled. "We have actually. We call it Site Four. That's ... that's where Minerva is right now."

"It's a new, unknown tomb?"

"Absolutely. In fact, we have several sites with digging crews but Site Four proved the most promising."

"And how is the excavation?"

"Fine, just fine. Minerva's team, and in fact, everyone will be returning for evening meal. She can catch you up on progress then."

"Very good. The professor will be so pleased."

"Why don't I show you to a tent where you can rest. You must be tired."

"Exhausted. The professor was very sick on the way and we drove as fast as could here."

"How ill is the professor?"

Griffith looked him straight in the eye. "He's dying. He won't admit it but I know. I know why he wanted to come here."

Back at site four, Claude was very worried. Minerva's bell had drifted further and further away. He looked down into the hole trying to catch the faint tinkle of her bell. He called her name several times. "Minerva! Minerva! Answer me!"

"What's her mark?" a wizard asked.

"Four minutes and twenty seconds."

The wizard addressed the others. "We know the protocol. Claude and I will go in after her. One of you becomes the spotter. Then -"

Claude interrupted. "Wait, wait, I hear something."

The others held their breaths and focused their hearing. There! It was faint but it was the unmistakable rhythmic tinkling of Minerva's bell. They collectively exhaled.

The bell was getting closer, pealing madly, as if its owner was running flat out. Claude stood back as the sound got closer. Shortly he could hear foot falls in rhythm to the bells.

In a few minutes, the silver cat bolted out of the deep hole. It did not stop to catch its breath. It leapt out of the crypt and transformed. A piece of parchment was rolled up in one hand.

Minerva's eyes were wild, her hair in disarray. "We have to get out! Get out now!"

"What? What are you talking about?" Claude asked over the babble of other voices.

"I'll explain later," Minerva tugged on her colleagues pulling and pushing them towards the exit. "We have to get out! Go! Go!"

The fact that none of them had ever seen Minerva so panicked was enough to galvanize them into action. They streamed out of the exit quickly, half running, half sprinting out. Khalil sitting by the entrance was unceremoniously lifted into Claude's arms and carried away.

Minerva did not stop ushering and urging them all until they were completely clear of the entrance and at least twenty meters away. The entire timeMinerva never turned her back on the tomb as if anticipating pursuit. She ordered a head count. Only when everyone was accounted for did she let a fraction of tension seep from her very being.

"What ... what did you find?" Claude gasped.

"This isn't a tomb." Minerva gripped her wand hard. Her eyes stared at the entrance. "This is a prison. One meant for eternity. We need to bury it again. Soon. Just pray we haven't let anything loose."