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He checked it against the compass needle.

Then he checked again. "No. It's about twenty degrees off."

I followed the direction with my eyes.

It pointed toward the chapel wall.

I remembered something else.

"There's an old burial vault beneath that section."

Guy looked up.

"The chapel?"

"The original family vault. It was built long before the chapel. When they expanded the building, they constructed part of the north foundation over it."

I moved toward the wall.

"My father told me about it when I was eleven. There's a course of stone edging along the bottom to support the older structure."

The edging ran along the base of the wall, partly buried in the grass.

Most of the stones were green with moss and settled unevenly into the ground.

Except one.

About three feet from Idris's grave, a single block had been set with mortar that looked different from the surrounding joints. It was paler and harder.

Someone had repaired that section.

"He did this," I whispered.

Guy crouched beside me.

"Can you remove it?"

"I think so."

"Then we'd better hurry."

I worked the point of my dagger into the joint. The mortar began crumbling almost immediately. Whoever had put it there had done the work quickly, without properly packing the gaps.

I couldn't help imagining my father kneeling in this same spot, knowing the soldiers might arrive at any moment.

I kept working until the stone loosened.

Then I pulled it free and set it on the grass.

Behind it was a narrow cavity, perhaps a foot deep and just wide enough for a man's forearm.

Something lay inside.

It had been wrapped in oilcloth that had stiffened and darkened with age.

I reached in and pulled out a small lead cylinder, no longer than my hand.

There was writing on the outside of the wrapping.