Solomon Key

Chapter 10

Isla descended the winding staircase into the bowels of the earth far beneath Modron castle. She’d never been invited down here before, and she supposed it was an honor to be granted access to whatever lay beneath the dungeon level.

She passed along a narrow corridor lined with cells. Rusted bars sealed off primitive-looking stone cells. Beyond lay a torture chamber equipped with racks and an iron maiden. She gave a little shiver at the sight. Modron was a replica of an ancient castle, at least on the outside. Inside, it was equipped with all sorts of modern trappings and high-tech bells and whistles. Why had the builder chosen to include a dungeon from out of the Dark Ages?

On the far end of the torture chamber, a solitary suit of armor kept silent watch over the grim scene. Feeling an irrational tremor of anxiety, she raised the visor to reveal a touchpad.

A suit of armor hiding the secret entrance. How cliché.

She pressed her hand to it and watched as a green light scanned her palm. A tremor ran from the soles of her feet, up her legs, along her spine, and up to the base of her neck. She realized, with a touch of surprise, that the floor was vibrating. Slowly, the spot on which she stood sank into the floor.

Darkness surrounded her, and she soon lost all sense of how deeply she plunged into the depths. Finally, the platform ground to a halt and a line of tiny, red lights clicked on in front of her, pointing the way down a short passageway to a closed door.

The floor was of polished concrete, the walls bare cinder blocks. There was a newness about the space that suggested it was a very recent addition. It certainly did not fit in with the rest of the Modron ambiance.

She had almost reached the door when it swung open before her and a figure cloaked in shadow stepped through. She recognized the shaved head and sturdy build of Gowan. The presence of the security guard, or whatever he was, was a sure sign that Nineve waited on the other side of the door. The man always shadowed her.

“About time,” Gowan said in his slow, southeastern United States drawl. He made a show of checking his watch. “She’s been pacing the floor ever since she got word of your find.”

Isla swallowed her retort. She could have told him that she hadn’t spared a moment, had driven as fast as she dared from Glastonbury to the castle here in Cornwall. But to do so would imply that she owed Gowan any sort of explanation. She didn’t answer to him, and she wouldn’t act as if she did. Instead, she merely made a one-shouldered shrug and turned sideways in order to slip past him.

Gowan caught her wrist in a powerful grip. Instinctively, she twisted and yanked her arm back, breaking his grip. “Hands off.”

Surprise dawned across his broad, pale features, and he let out a huff that might have been a chuckle. No longer trying to grab her, he extended his arm at waist level and pressed it to the door frame, impeding her path.

He leaned in close. The red lights danced on the beads of sweat that rolled off his shaved scalp and shone on his blond, almost white, stubble.

“I’m on your side.” His breath smelled of peppermint, but Isla found it disconcertingly sour. “Nineve’s impatient. If she makes up her mind that you’re late, contradicting her will only make it worse. Trust me.”

Isla couldn’t quite bring herself to smile, but she managed a nod. “Thank you.”

Seemingly satisfied, Gowan moved to the side and let her pass. She heard the door close behind her.

“Did you stop for breakfast?” Nineve’s voice asked from the darkness.

Isla wasn’t sure how to respond without coming across as if she were arguing. She settled for the simple truth. “No.”

“Good. I won’t tolerate time-wasting. We have too much to do.” She let out a long, loud breath. “Forgive me. I am not always easy to work with.”

Isla didn’t know if the woman was sincere but decided there was no harm in playing along. “I understand. You’ve met my mother.”

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.”