“I’m not going to look. Plausible deniability, you know.” If the cave was located on public land, which Maddock suspected it was, considering the direction and distance they had traveled, the law held that all of the treasure belonged to the state. Common practice was for the state to keep all artifacts of historical value, and give the finders a share of any treasure. There was, however, no guarantee. “Just leave enough so it doesn’t look suspicious,” he said.
“I know what I’m doing. A little for us, a little for Nomi. Hey Nomi, do you want some of these jewels, or just some gold?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Nomi said absently. Her attention was focused on whatever lay on the table.
Maddock turned and took a few steps in her direction, but sprang back when a loud crack echoed through the cave.
“What the hell was that?” Bones asked.
“The floor isn’t solid. At least, not everywhere. Watch your step.”
“We’re not all as fat as you, Maddock,” Bones said, returning to bagging gold coins.
“Whatever.” Maddock shone his light on the spot that had nearly given way. A strange pattern caught his eye. The carving was shallow, easy to miss. But he recognized it immediately, and it didn’t belong here. He took out his camera and took photos from several angles, then knelt and brushed away the sand to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.
“I can’t believe this!” Nomi shouted. Maddock turned to see the young woman slam her fist down on the table. The aged, rotting wood splintered beneath the blow. “That’s just wonderful,” she muttered, looking down at the hole she’d punched in its surface.
“What’s going on?” Bones asked.
“It’s ruined.” She held up a leather bound journal. “I finally found Black Caesar’s journal and the pages are stuck together, the ink smeared. It’s a mess.”
“Maybe some of the pages can be salvaged,” Maddock said. “Some labs can…”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” she snapped. “You can’t possibly know how it feels to come this far and…” She looked up, glowered at the ceiling. “Forget it. Perhaps some of these other papers will be of use.” She took out a waterproof bag and stowed the journal and various papers. Next, she double-bagged it, then secured the bundle in a larger dive bag.
“Here’s your gold,” Bone said. “Consolation prize?”
“Thanks.” She tucked the gold into the bag. Head down, she stalked toward the pool through which they’d entered the cave.
“You sure you’re ready to go? Don’t want to look around a little longer?” Maddock asked. He wanted to give the strange carving a closer inspection.
“There’s nothing else here for me. Thank you for your help.”
“Hold on, chick,” Bones said. “Give us a minute.”
Nomi smirked, reached into a pouch at her belt, and pulled out something the size of her fist.
“Sorry, gentlemen, but you’re not coming with me.” She tossed the object on the ground and plunged into the water.
Maddock didn’t get a good look at what she’d dropped, but somehow he knew what it was.
“Grenade!”
He dove for cover as the world around him erupted in fire and smoke.
Chapter 6
Beneath the cover of darkness, Isla crept about the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. Founded in the seventh century, the abbey was destroyed by fire in 1184 and rebuilt in the fourteenth century. It had once numbered among the richest and most powerful monasteries in England, controlling large swathes of land and exerting great influence over the local populace until its dissolution under King Henry VIII. Isla had seen replicas in miniature of Glastonbury in its glory and found it hard to believe that so little remained of the once-great monastery.
The ruins stood in the midst of a wide swathe of manicured green space. She crossed it hastily, feeling vulnerable out in the open, until she reached the site of King Arthur’s grave. She had to confess it was something of a disappointment — a rectangular area marked by a sign. Kneeling before it, dew soaking the knees of her jeans, she read the words lettered in white. The sign marked this as the spot upon which the bodies of Arthur and Guinevere had been excavated and gave a few details of the treatment of the remains. There was nothing here that Agnes had not already told her.
She sighed. This was a dead end. If there had been a tunnel here, it was buried long ago. It could not possibly be the spot Baxter had found. The entrance had to be somewhere among the ruins.
She made her way toward the dark, hulking outline of the old monastery. As she walked, she felt an itch at the center of her back, and the feeling someone was watching her. She knew it was foolish. This wasn’t the sort of place that required high-level security, and on a foggy night such as this, she was nearly invisible as long as she didn’t turn on her torch.
She started with the ruins of the Great Church, where only a few sections of masonry survived from the nave and transepts of the old structure. It didn’t take long to satisfy herself that there was nothing to find here. Next she moved on to the Lady Chapel.
Built immediately after the fire that consumed the abbey in the late twelfth century, the chapel remained largely intact. Despite her anxiety, Isla could not help but take time to admire its design. The ornate capitals that crested the various columns, the arches adorned with chevrons, and the portals with elaborate floral sculptures made it a striking example of Early English architecture. As she wandered the ruin, however, she couldn’t shake the perpetual chill that soaked her to the bone. It was more than the cool, damp air. In the scant light, the shadowy ruin felt like a haunted house. She half expected the ghost of a headless nun to come floating around the corner. The mental image made her laugh, the sound unnaturally shrill in the quiet night.
Get a grip on yourself. You’ve got a job to do.
She descended to the lower level of the chapel’s interior. Here, below ground level and shielded by stone walls, she felt comfortable turning on her torch. Though she walked softly, the sound of her trainers treading upon flagstones sounded like a steady drumbeat. She wished she had someone keeping a lookout. Even a moron like Grizzly would provide a measure of comfort. Perhaps she wasn’t as self-reliant as she’d always believed.
She took her time exploring the chapel’s dark recesses, searching for anything that might be an entrance to a secret tunnel. She tested the walls and floor for hollow spaces, looked for unusual markings that might point the way. Nothing. Finally, she was forced to admit that this place, too, was a dead end.
She checked her watch. It was after midnight; several hours of darkness remained. Unfortunately, she was running out of places to search. Unless, of course the entrance was in some obscure location, like beneath one of the nearby ponds. If she didn’t find something soon, she’d have to go back and try to prise some more information out of Agnes. Or maybe Mr. Baxter had left records of his research behind. If Isla could slip into the house unnoticed…
What was she thinking? Breaking into an elderly woman’s house in order to try and steal something that might not exist? What was wrong with her?
“That’s an ironic train of thought, considering you’re presently trespassing on a scheduled monument in hopes of finding a secret path that will lead you to a magic ring owned by a figure out of legend.” She said the words aloud, savoring the absurdity. Then again, she had recently taken part in a search for relics that had proved to be exactly as legend described them.
Exiting the chapel, she paused to look around. She still appeared to have the place to herself. If there was a security guard on duty, he was most likely somewhere inside where it was warm and dry. Probably enjoying a nice cuppa. She imagined sitting before a cheery fire, a piping hot mug in her hands. The thought made the night seem that much colder. When had she become so weak? Annoyed, she stalked out onto the grass, looking around for a likely spot to search.