Nineve laughed. “Perhaps that’s why she and I get along so well. Follow me.”
Isla moved toward the sound of the woman’s voice and soon a low, arched doorway became visible, illuminated by the scant light coming from somewhere beyond. A dark form resolved into Nineve’s silhouette, and Isla followed her down a short hallway. Up ahead the light grew brighter, uneven like an open flame.
They emerged in a forest clearing. No, that was impossible. Isla stopped short, looking around. The floor was soft beneath her feet, the open space dominated by the trunk of an ancient tree that rose up into the darkness. Lanterns hung from its branches, shining down on the soft grass and scattered boulders.
Nineve’s face split into a gentle smile that served to enhance her striking beauty. The tall, blonde woman with her high cheekbones and ever so slightly tilted blue eyes was the sort that made other women feel insecure simply by standing nearby.
“What do you think?” Nineve asked.
“It’s remarkable,” Isla said truthfully. She knelt and touched the dirt path on which they trod. She realized it was the same sort of rubbery faux surface used on certain athletic fields. She ran her fingers through the grass. It, too, was artificial.
“We wanted the entryway to the temple to have a natural feel.”
“You succeeded,” Isla said. Now that she knew what she was looking at, she could easily make out the walls, expertly painted and mounted with false shrubbery, vines, and branches.
“We’ll eventually bring this entire level up to scratch, but the temple was the first priority. Come.”
She followed Nineve along the path and up to the tree. Isla marveled at the attention to detail that had gone into crafting it. Its bark surface was rough and broken by various symbols carved into its surface. The sculptor, or whatever sort of crafter created this masterpiece, had succeeded in making everything look old. The scarred trunk spoke of centuries it had never seen. She felt the urge to run her fingers along it, prove to herself it was not the genuine article, but now was not the time to appear anything less than fully composed.
Nineve paid her no mind. She pressed several different symbols in a sequence, too fast for Isla to follow. A doorway swung back and she stepped in.
Isla followed her in. Sconces on the walls lit the circular room. A simple stone altar dominated the center of the space. The floor was covered with pagan symbols. Ten paces from the altar, low stone benches ringed the worship space, with openings at the compass points. A series of recessed areas, each a hand’s breadth apart, filled the walls that surrounded the temple. Most were empty but a few held familiar items: The Spear of Lug, the Sword of Nuada, the Stone of Destiny, and the Cauldron of Dagda. All the treasures of the Tuatha de Danaan that Isla, along with Dane Maddock, Bones Bonebrake, and Grizzly Grant had discovered. The thought made her heart sink.
“As you can see, your treasures have been given a place of honor. Soon they will be put to important uses.” Nineve’s blue eyes took on a faraway cast.
“What are those?” Isla pointed to her left, where a sword and a spear occupied two more of the alcoves.
“Excalibur and Rhongomyniad. Recovered with only the greatest difficulty.”
“Arthur’s sword and spear? But they look like alien artifacts.” When Nineve kept silent, Isla continued. “Too bad you don’t have Carnwennan to complete the set.”
She’d thought it a lighthearted comment, but Nineve gritted her teeth.
“King Arthur’s dagger is lost, along with Lapis Exillis and Arthur himself. All thanks to Dane Maddock.”
Isla’s heart lurched. Maddock had assured her that he and Bones had seen things she would never believe but he hadn’t elaborated. They’d had far too little time together for a bond of trust to form, and then Isla had ruined it by running away in fear. She’d left Maddock a note, begging for the chance to explain, but he hadn’t responded. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“I’m not familiar with Lapis Exillis.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Tell me what you found in Glastonbury.”
Isla described the secret passageway she’d found hidden beneath the Abbey, and all that she’d seen as she searched for the ring. She kept descriptions to a minimum, reckoning Nineve would ask her to elaborate if necessary. When she finished, Nineve stood in silence, nodding slowly like a bobblehead doll running out of steam.
“I will see to it that the place is thoroughly examined.” Her face brightened. “Do you have the ring?”
A line of dialog from The Princess Bride flashed through her mind. “Have you da wing?” She stifled a laugh and nodded. She fished into her pocket and took out the felt bag in which she’d placed the ring. She opened it and held it out to Nineve, who reached in and plucked the ring out.
Nineve pursed her lips as she held the ring up to the light.
“It’s not the right one.”
“I’m sorry?” Isla couldn’t believe it. “This has to be Launcelot’s ring. Everything fits. I know it’s Egyptian but…”
“It might be Launcelot’s ring, it might even have certain powers, but it’s not the ring I’m looking for.” Nineve closed her eyes and three seconds of tense silence filled the air. “This is my fault,” she said, finally opening her eyes. “I have told you that I am looking for a magic ring, but I haven’t told you everything.”
“You don’t trust me,” Isla said flatly. Suddenly Nineve’s temper was of no concern to her. She’d put her life at great risk to recover this ring. If the woman couldn’t appreciate that, maybe they shouldn’t work together.
“I didn’t trust you. At least, not completely,” Nineve admitted. “But this,” she held up the ring, “proves that you are trustworthy.”
“Trustworthy enough to tell me what, exactly, you’re looking for?”
Nineve nodded. “Let me put this ring in a place of honor, and then I’ll stand you to a cup of tea and tell you exactly what we’re trying to find.”
Chapter 11
The streets of Colonial Williamsburg were crowded with tourists, gawking at the colonial-era buildings and snapping photographs of the costumed staff members. Occasionally, someone would stop what they were doing and slowly turn to gape at Bones.
“You know what they’re thinking, don’t you?” Maddock asked.
“That I’m one of the tools who work here,” Bones said. “The first person who asks me to put on a war bonnet and do the tomahawk chop is going to get a throat punch.”
“Relax,” Maddock said. “They don’t mean anything by it.”
“I can’t relax. It’s like a comic con for history nerds.”
Maddock laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He was a bit of a history buff, particularly when it came to Colonial America. Consequently, Colonial Williamsburg was one of his favorite tourist destinations. He’d visited a few times with his dad and once with his late wife, Melissa. Neither of his subsequent serious girlfriends had been interested, so it had been several years since he’d paid this place a visit. He was pleased to see that little had changed.
Located in the historic district of Williamsburg, Virginia, the living history museum preserved the buildings and culture of eighteenth-century Williamsburg, as well as Colonial Revival structures from the seventeenth and nineteenth century. Here, visitors could enjoy a slice of colonial life and educate themselves about the era leading up to the American Revolutionary War.
“Is there anything here for me to do?” Bones asked.
“You mean besides the four taverns?”