The Yawning Grave

[The Fifth Doctor]

The TARDIS.
"Denmark? Why on earth would you want to go to Denmark?"
"I've been reading about Earth history, in this book from the library," Nyssa said, showing the Doctor a green covered book with a gold title which read, The History of Earth
"I suppose we could go visit Alex."
Nyssa just looked at The Doctor, puzzled.
"Alex, you know, the Tollund Man!"
"The Tollund who?"
"Go read more of your Earth history, he's probably on the next page, actually, he won't, he was discovered in 1950, that's the 1935 edition, but nethertheless, i'll take you to Denmark, fun place," The Doctor said, and pushed his hair back with his hands, he wandered over to the console, and pressed a few buttons, off to Denmark they went.

[The Master]

"Speaking of dust and rumors," She went on " is there something in particular you're digging for? Or are you just seeking answers to the mystery of why Prince Vladimir of Wallachia would leave his vendetta driven campaign against Sultan Mehme and the entire Ottoman Empire, just to go lay waste to the small encampment and castle of Schomvaal?"

"You've done your research," Simon said with a smile.

Professor Langsley swallowed some beer. "What else would we be searching for?" he asked, startled. "It's one of the greatest mysteries of his reign? Why besiege a castle with no connection to his conflict with the sultan? Why spend so much effort trying to wipe all mention of Schomvaal from human memory?"

He took another drink. "There are simply no records, no primary or even secondary sources for it - just distorted peasant tales about witch cults and demon worshipers and rot like that. But no good reason to be found anywhere."

Simon rolled his eyes and grinned apologetically at the "peasant tales" line. Professor Langsley, if he noticed, paid it no attention. "With no reliable records, the only hope for uncovering the real reason for his actions is to excavate Schomvaal itself."

[Sarah Jane]

She took a draught, then let the heavy glass thump back onto the table.

"What do the villagers say the demons and witches did?" A secret smile came to her face, for the world was far larger and more complex than either these men could imagine. "After all, most folklore holds a nut of truth, doesn't it? Besides, it would be a nice sub - story for my article."

She stretched out her legs under the table, crossing them at the ankles and leaning back in her chair. Her stomach was becoming perfectly full, having plowed through half her stew. Maybe she was eating too fast, but she could hardly wait to get out to the dig at Schomvaal.

The complex dynamic between the two men was a meal in itself, and Sarah Jane was rather enjoying herself. She did love a good mystery, and this visit already had a few. Deaths, witches, demons, Vlad the Impaler, and now these two Archeologists. She rather liked Simon.

[The Master]

"What do the villagers say the demons and witches did?" A secret smile came to her face, for the world was far larger and more complex than either these men could imagine. "After all, most folklore holds a nut of truth, doesn't it? Besides, it would be a nice sub - story for my article."

"The usual claptrap," Professor Langsley sniffed. "Kidnapping babies. Human sacrifice. Sabbats under the dark of the moon, where demons joined in orgiastic revels. A load of rot and nonsense right out of the Malleus Maleficarum."

Simon leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. "That's not quite the full story, Langsley."

Langsley rolled his eyes. "Need we bring up folktales and superstition? We're men of science."

"Maybe," Simon replied, "but, as Sarah reminds us, folklore contains at least a nut of truth. And it was the 'peasant nonsense' you decry that gave us a lead on Schomvaal."

Langsley made a "bah" sound, and hefted his pint. "Suit yourself, then."

"It seems," Simon began, "that the whole region around Schomvaal - the castle and the town it defended - had a bad... no, let me amend that. An evil reputation. It was originally named Stregoicavar - you can loosely translate that as 'witch's keep' or 'place of witches' - before Prince Vladimir destroyed it. Further back, some scattered fragments of records say it was named Xuthltan."

He swallowed a long draught of beer before continuing - apparently, the glottal pronunciation of that word was hard on the throat. "Now that name is interesting, because there are no cognates for it. It's meaningless, in any Indo-European language. It does bear some structural similarities to Mayan, but it is gibberish in that language as well."

"And probably wholly imaginary to boot," interjected Langsley.

Simon chuckled. "Perhaps. Perhaps. But," here he looked at Sarah, "and believe me when I say this is not our primary reason for the excavation - but it would be quite the coup if we did manage to discover traces of a pre-Indo-European culture that survived into historical times."

[Sarah Jane]

It was becoming apparent that she should be acceptable to the folks of the town. The mystery here lay as deeply buried with them as it did out in the ruins of Schomvaal. That is why she spent the half hour between their meal in the Irish pub house and being picked up by the Archaeologists buying local women's garb.

Men and women alike in this little town worked hard. They seemed a hearty folk who expected much from all adults. Not a lot of button pushers to be found here, Sarah thought. She rather liked the dynamic. She also liked the clothes. Having been charmed by the Lederhosen, she realized she could not wear them out and about. Though she was still slim as a boy, she wouldn't be able to pass for one anymore even at a distance with her hair as long as it was. She was uncertain people would talk to her if she came to them as a grown woman in boy's clothing,

The women here worked hard, as she had noted, and she found the clothing quite serviceable. Though the style was a rather traditional peasant type, the skirt only came just past her knee so did not get in her way. The corset, a soft, thick, deep purple felt affair, was worn on the outside of a generously sleeved white blouse. The corset did not bind her in any way, but kept her shirt neatly in place should she decide to go wrestle down a lamb or some such.

The set the only shop had in her size was predominantly fawn brown and quite beautifully accented with deep forest greens and soft blue-gray. She found it hearty and feminine all at once. There was just a touch of froof at throat and waist and hem, and it nipped in nicely at the waist. It was going to go perfectly with her heavy black boots that laced to the knee.

Having changed quickly in her room, she was delighted with it. She through her bag over one shoulder, and went down to meet Simon and Dr.Langsley right on time.

[The Master]

The drive to the dig site was uneventful. If you ignored the great sprawling expanses of scenic countryside, that is. The road was obviously an old livestock trail, paved over, following a meandering path along the tops of the foothills of the Carpathian mountains. The sky was a vivid blue, and multiple shades of green competed with small cottages and the off-white speckles of sheep out to pasture.

It was beautiful enough to - almost - make you forget the sort of brutal tyranny the populace lived under.

Of course, to consider the drive uneventful, you would have had to ignore the constant bickering of the two scholars. It was friendly enough - the two men had obviously been colleagues long enough that they almost sounded like an old married couple - but with an uncompromising edge that made it seem the two men would come to blows. Professor Langsley's dry sarcasm would have left a less confident man reduced to tears, but Simon's responded with a subtly mocking wit that had no doubt been the source of his troubles obtaining tenure.

Finally, the truck rumbled over a ridge line. Below them, nestled in a valley, sat a small town of tents. Nearby, trenches cut into the turf and stakes and cords divided the valley floor into a neat grid pattern.

"And here we are, Sarah," Simon announced with a dramatic gesture. "Schomvaal."

"Don't you mean Xuthltan?" Professor Langsley sneered as he downshifted.

Puttering, engine knocking, the truck began the laborious climb down the hill.

"That, of course, remains to be seen," smiled Simon. "But whatever else we may find, it is at least - we hope, anyway - Schomvaal."

As the truck approached the large, central tent - identified by Simon as the 'mess hall' ("Quite good, actually. We've got a Rom family that takes care of the cooking. Hot as the back nine acres of Hell, but you get used to that.") - a gathered crowd could be seen. The focal point was a young man, probably English or American and probably a grad student, with a number of angry, frightened men shouting.

The truck pulled up, and Professor Langsley stepped out without hesitation. "Now see here!" he thundered. "What is the meaning of this!"

Most of the crowd pulled back, but one man stepped forward. He was a burly man, thick-necked and unshaven, dressed in dirty dungarees and grey button-down shirt. "There's been another killing," he snarled, "and me and the boys ain't going to dig no more until you do something about it."

[Sarah Jane]

Her new companions were more like Ozzy an Harriet than Holmes and Watson, or they would have been if their bickering had not been so high brow. Sarah Jane had studied, yet most of the conversation was still over her head. Still, she listened, knowing it would file itself away in her brain for future reference should she stumble across something relevant when she was writing.

It was a beautiful drive out, though the farther away they got from the tourist town of Maramures, the less festive and the more class system oriented it seemed. It was never a good sign to look out in a field and see that some people worked, and some people stood around watching them work, no doubt judging the and goading them.

When they reached the valley of Xuthltan she became twice as eager as she had been yet, just to see it out there. She loved a good dig. A little bit of private guilt at her growing excitement when they drove down into the tents only to find a group of people in upheaval. Sarah Jane was out of the car almost before it stopped. She was rather keen on the whole thing until she heard the word "killing". Some of her simple joy of the day left her, but her curiosity went into overdrive.

[The Master]

"This should be good," said Simon. "Maybe a little excitement for your article?" The words were light, with a studied air of unconcern, but Simon also casually picked up an axe handle - which he began to employ as a walking stick - as he stepped from the truck.

Professor Langsley didn't bother to respond for several seconds, sweeping his gaze over the crowd. Most of them refused to meet his eyes.

"A... killing, you say?" There was a mixture of sympathy and scorn in his tone. "Like the last one?"

The burly man inflated. "That was a-"

"That was an accident," Professor Langsley said coolly, cutting him off. "It was a tragedy, to be certain, but Constantin failed to securely tie the rope. The knot worked loose, and the falling bucket struck him in the head."

The burly man tried to interrupt, and Professor Langsley cut him off again. "Now, you say another killing. I can only assume, from your choice of words, that it was similar to the first... killing?"

"Uhm... well... that is..." one of the other workers stammered.

"Yes, Mihai? Do go on."

"It's, well, it's Petru. He broke his neck."

To his credit, Professor Langsley looked genuinely shocked. "Really? How?"

"It was the curse!" the burly man thundered.

Langsley said nothing. He just stared at him, until the man flushed and fell silent. "Do go on," he said to Mihai.

"He was pushing a wheelbarrow, and his foot slipped. He fell into one of the trenches, and the barrow fell on him."

Langsley sighed, sadly. "A tragedy, and we'll have to see what we can do for his family. But I hardly see..."

"It was the curse of Stregoicavar," the burly man repeated.

Langsley's expression grew hard. "That's quite enough, Sandu. We've tragedy enough, without you stirring up panic. You are dismissed. Get out of my dig site, and do not come back."

Sandu - the burly man - stared daggers at Langsley, who stared back unblinkingly. Finally, slowly, he turned and stalked off.

"Come now," Langsley said to the others. "We have arrangements to make for Petru."

With a soft sigh of relief, Simon tossed the axe handle into the back of the truck. "Welcome to the dig site, Sarah," he said with a wry smile.

[Sarah Jane]

The moment she got out of the car, she rather wished she hadn't. These people were frightened, as she had thought, but they were also a rather angry mob, she now saw. Nor were they angry seamstresses, these were angry laborers, and hardly a scrawny one in the bunch. Sarah Jane tucked her self in close beside Simon's elbow on his free side. She wanted Simon and his Axe handle near, though she would be the last to admit it. For a scientist, he had a bit of swagger to him as he held that "cane" he did not need. Sarah Jane found herself wondering if he was used to angry, frightened workers that needed keeping in line, or if he played cricket. She hoped it was cricket.

Whatever the reason for Simon's apparent familiarity with sticks, she was thankful for the relative safety his presence brought her. With that freedom, she could study the altercation going on and the players involved. Simon's comment about a good story stung her a little, for she knew she was taking notes in the reporter part of her brain to just that purpose, even when she knew somewhere nearby a man named Petru lay dead. Petru who was not an old man, but a man young enough to work this sort of labor. Perhaps a man with a family.

Constantin = Who also died at the dig
The Burly Man = Who spoke for the workers, who knew things, who had been banished
Mihai = Who may have seen Petru's death
Schomvaal = The castle that had stood here and that had been razed by Vlad the Impaler in the 15th Century
Stregoicavar = The local name for this place, and it's purported curse
Xuthltan = It's most ancient name. Perhaps as old as 5000 B.C., back to the time of "Witches", or as Sarah Jane liked to think about it, back to a time when the powerful women who had kept their tribes in good health and good living were dispossessed by the growing misogynistic culture that seemed to bloom as people stopped migrating endlessly and started building settlements at the beginning of the Neolithic period of this area.

Petru = The man who would never see his family again.

"Simon. You know I'd have to ask eventually, so I might as well. How many of your workers have died here?"

[The Master]

"Simon. You know I'd have to ask eventually, so I might as well. How many of your workers have died here?"

He looked a little irritated, and then smiled apologetically. "You're right. I suppose you would have felt the need to ask, eventually. May I help you with your bags?" Without waiting for permission, he picked up her bag and gestured for her to follow.

"There really haven't been that many," he said. "Not enough, in my opinion, to justify the hysteria the workers show. Two, to be precise. Counting poor Petru. Some accidents as well." He stopped on the side of the hill and gestured. The view was scenic, but it was obvious he was gesturing towards the excavation trenches along the base of the valley. "Langsley and I hardly consider them to be out of the ordinary, given the type of manual labor involved, but this valley has a... well... a reputation."

He began walking again. "We had to bring over half our work force - the ones that aren't graduate students, anyway - in from closer to Bucharest. Schomvaal has quite the local reputation. Rather like Devil's Hump in Wiltshire, or the kind of stories that grew up around Loch Ness. And the locals we've brought in still refuse to work after dark on certain nights - typically around the full moon. And midsummer. We had to practically shut down for a week around midsummer."

He stopped in front of a tent. "Anyway, you'll be taking my tent while you're here - and no, I won't hear of you refusing. I'll be bunking with Langsley, and it will be an excuse to stay up late drinking becherovka and arguing theories."

[Sarah Jane]

"Please." She said, not having even made a move toward her bags.

"Thank you." She laughed, "I wasn't going to argue. I appreciate your generosity. Very kind." She was thankful, but not surprised. Of course he'd lend it to her. Where else would she sleep?

It was a shame that Simon was a liar. Or uncaring about his workers. He'd mentioned plural deaths in the Pub, but now claimed there were only two when there had to be at least one more. The man's numbers did not add up. Sarah Jane didn't think that she'd have too much trouble getting straight answers from the others who worked here, so she need not bother to press Simon anymore. Not about anything besides the Archeology itself.

"I had supposed that I'd be following you and Professor Langsley out to the dig. It seems as though plans have changed. So where shall I follow you? Or shall I head out on my own to get a feel of the place, Simon?"

[The Master]

"Thank you." She laughed, "I wasn't going to argue. I appreciate your generosity. Very kind."

Simon smiled as he set the bags in the tent. "Think nothing of it," he insisted. "It's yours, as long as you are here."

The furnishings were simple, designed more for utility and ease of storage than anything else. An army surplus cot with a foam mattress and a woolen blanket. A card table that served as a desk, and two director's chairs. A battered steamer trunk. A folding screen, concealing a wash basin on a small stand. Two battery operated lamps and an oil lamp.

"I had supposed that I'd be following you and Professor Langsley out to the dig. It seems as though plans have changed. So where shall I follow you? Or shall I head out on my own to get a feel of the place, Simon?"

"Hey?" Simon responded, jolted out of his own thoughts. "What? No, no change of plans." He smiled again, ruefully. "Well, unless Langsley is calling a halt to operations to sort out the arrangements for Petru. Why don't we check with him first, and work from there?"

He stepped through the door of the tent, then paused and looked over his shoulder. "Of course, you're also welcome to explore the camp and the dig site. But you might appreciate a tour first, to get a feel for what we're doing."

[Sarah Jane]

It was a good space, and would be a good place to work from over these next days. Simon was a confusing man. She decided to suspend judgment for now. More facts first.

"I'd like to come with you. Lets go find Langley." Leaving the rest, she scooped up her reporter's satchel that held some water, a camera, writing tools, and a compact recorder the size of a lunch box. This over her shoulder, she followed Simon out.

She began to brace herself for the sight of Petru.

[The Master]

"I'd like to come with you. Lets go find Langley." Leaving the rest, she scooped up her reporter's satchel that held some water, a camera, writing tools, and a compact recorder the size of a lunch box. This over her shoulder, she followed Simon out.

The living areas were laid out along the top of the hill overlooking the excavations, with all the efficiency of a Roman encampment. Laid out in a large square, subdivided with a main "road" that ran north-south and a second running east-west, it lacked only earthwork palisades to defend from barbarian attack. Much of what Simon pointed out was prosaic ("...the latrines, and next to them the showers. We'll have something set up for you at my tent, though, to give you some privacy..."). The large central tent, which would have been the commander's tent in a genuine Roman camp, was the mess hall and kitchen. Nearby stood a first aid tent.

It was there that Petru's body had been brought.

Simon ducked into the tent first, then stuck his head out. "Ah..." he said, "You can view the body, if you wish. But it's... unpleasant. It would appear that a broken neck is not the only injury poor Petru sustained."

[Sarah Jane]

It was a tidy dig, it was hard to fault the men there. It seemed odd, such neatness while their people were dying. To remember everything, she hailed back to 9Th grade history class and named each area for where one of her classmates had sat. Poor Michale latrine, but that was where it was, right next to Jeffry Shower. At Simon's question, her eyes went dark. She knew death already, she'd climbed through it, caused it, and barely escaped it on more than one occasion. She suspected she'd died a time or two on her travels with the Doctor, but he usually glossed over such thing. She could tell when he had reached out to hug her a time or two though that the pair of them had gotten right to the edge and back.

"Thank you, Simon, but I'm not as innocent as I look. I promise to keep my cameras in the bag though. I think it would be helpful for me to see. I'd like to see." She ducked inside the flap a catch in her breath. She'd rather not see, but one glance might tell her much. Tell her if this were human accident, or something else.