The Secret of Excalibur

to her. ‘See? I checked the others, and they’re all the same. No way a bunch of twelfth-century monks would be able to make precision locks. It won’t even matter what holes they’re in if all the keys are identical - they just need to be in them.’

Nina was dubious. ‘Sure you want to take that risk?’

‘You’re bloody one to talk about risk,’ growled a familiar voice from behind them.

‘Eddie!’ Nina cried, jumping to her feet. Chase had just entered the chamber, his jeans wet and mud- spattered.

Chase in turn eyed her clothes, particularly Mitchell’s oversized, damp shirt, before shooting a deeply suspicious glare at the bare-chested DARPA agent. ‘What’s all this?’

‘We’re trying to unlock the tomb—’

‘No, I mean why’ve you both got your kit off ? Looks like I got here just in time!’

‘For Christ’s sake, Eddie,’ Nina said, exasperated. ‘You seriously think that I’d go through trap-filled tunnels into the long-lost tomb of King Arthur just to find somewhere private to . . .’ She lowered her voice, even though there was no way Mitchell could fail to overhear. ‘To get laid? Jesus, Eddie, you know me better than that.’

‘Yeah, I know you. And I knew you’d come down here, even though I told you not to!’

Nina nodded disdainfully. ‘Uh-huh, yep. I thought that’d be what this little mood of yours was really about.’ Behind her, Mitchell examined the holes in the floor, then carefully inserted the two figures on either side of Arthur before returning to the alcove to collect the rest of the ornate keys.

Chase crossed his arms. ‘And what would that be?’

‘That you think you’re losing control of things.’

‘Oh, really?’ Chase sneered.

‘Yes, really. Eddie, I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but what happened to Mitzi was not your fault, no matter how much you try to put the blame on yourself. And overcompensating by trying to take control of everything I do isn’t the way to deal with it!’

‘I’m not trying to control you,’ Chase protested. ‘I’m trying to protect you! For fuck’s sake, you could’ve been killed getting here!’

‘But I wasn’t, was I?’ She reached out and clasped one of his hands. ‘Look, I love you, and I want to spend my life with you, I really do. But you can’t be with me every minute of every day - you’re not my bodyguard any more. I shouldn’t need to get your permission to do what I do. It doesn’t work like that. It won’t work like that.’

‘If I hadn’t been with you, you’d be dead about twenty times over,’ Chase reminded her sharply. ‘You’re not Indiana Jones, you’re not Lara Croft, you’re a real-life person who can get hurt. Or killed. And I do not want that to happen - especially not for some fucking dusty old legend!’ he concluded with a dismissive flick of the head at the chamber around them.

‘It’s not a legend,’ Nina said angrily, ‘it’s real, it’s actual history—’ She stopped abruptly, eyes widening as it struck her exactly why the discrepancy between what Chloe had told her and what the tomb itself had revealed was bothering her so much.

And she also fully registered the clink and scrape of metal against stone behind her—

She whirled. Mitchell had inserted the remaining knights into the empty holes, and was reaching for the figure of Arthur . . .

‘Don’t!’ she screamed. Mitchell froze, hand hovering over the key. Nina pushed him back and yanked the figure out of the hole.

‘Okay, what was that?’ he asked, worried yet mystified.

‘This isn’t just the entrance to the tomb,’ Nina said, waving the figurine at him. ‘It’s the last trap! Chloe was right, the Round Table didn’t exist. But it had already been incorporated into Arthurian legend by 1191 - and the monks took advantage of that! It’s the final test of your knowledge of the difference between history and myth. If the Round Table didn’t exist, then none of Arthur’s knights could have sat at it. And nor could Arthur!’ She held the bronze figure in front of his face. The key beneath the king’s feet was noticeably shorter than the others. ‘This is the key - but you have to take it out. The real lock’s somewhere else.’

Mitchell let out a worried breath. ‘So what happens if you try the fake lock?’

‘Exactly what the monks said. “Those who know the truth may find the tomb of Arthur; those who do not shall never leave.”’ She raised the torch, turning to examine the ceiling above the entrance. Set above the opening was a thick stone slab, a door primed to drop like a guillotine blade to block the way out of the chamber. ‘Screw up the puzzle, and that falls and seals you in.’

Mitchell regarded it dismissively. ‘Might have been a big problem nine hundred years back, but we’ve got jackhammers and explosives now.’

‘You got gills?’ Chase asked sarcastically. Nina turned to see him examining a section of wall. The stone was discoloured, lines of muddy brown and algae green running down it from the ceiling, where a rectangular hole revealed only blackness above. She realised as she scanned the rest of the chamber that the same stains were present on other parts of the walls.

‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘You don’t just get shut in. You get shut in . . . and then the chamber floods. There must be a cistern above the ceiling - those stains are from when it’s overflowed in the past.’

Mitchell’s expression now revealed considerably more respect for the tomb’s builders. ‘So where’s the real lock?’

‘Over here.’ Nina went to the alcove, shining the light down into the holes where the figurines had been slotted. The one which had been home to Lancelot revealed a recess within - just deeper than a finger could reach, but matching the length of the Arthur key. She inserted it into the hole.

‘You sure about that?’ Chase asked warily.

She smiled at him. ‘It’s a risk . . . but a calculated one.’ With that, she gripped the key - and turned it.

There was a metallic clink from within the shelf, but nothing else happened. ‘It didn’t work,’ Mitchell said, disappointed.

‘I’m not done yet. Bring all the other knights back here - all of them except Lancelot and Galahad. Eddie, give him a hand.’

‘And she says I’m controlling,’ said Chase. But he still went to help Mitchell retrieve the figures.

‘Why not Lancelot and Galahad?’ Mitchell asked as he brought the first set back to the alcove.

‘Because all the others have at least some historical basis. But Lancelot was a fictional creation, and since Galahad was Lancelot’s son, he can’t have existed either.’

The other figures now back in place, Nina lowered the Arthur key into the hole in the shelf once more. Hoping she was at least as smart as the Glastonbury monks, she turned it again.

Another faint clink.

This time, the entire alcove trembled slightly, as if some unseen pressure had been relieved. Exchanging cautious looks with the two men, Nina warily pushed against the stone. It moved fractionally at one side. She pushed harder. It hinged open by a couple of inches, which rapidly widened as Chase and Mitchell applied their weight. The alcove ground back, revealing a doorway into another chamber.

The final chamber, Nina knew. They had passed all the tests, proved themselves worthy. This was their destination - the resting place of King Arthur.

She brought up the torch and stepped inside. Chase and Mitchell followed.

The room was small and surprisingly plain, devoid of the inscriptions adorning the chamber outside. But the objects inside were more ornate. Two large coffins of black stone stood raised above the floor on slabs, carvings of angels along their sides picked out in silver and gold. Set into the top of each coffin was a golden cross, Latin text written upon them to confirm who lay within.

Arthur, king of the Britons, and Guinevere, his queen.

They were real. And they were here, buried beneath Glastonbury Tor.

But despite that, Nina couldn’t look away from the object that sat between the two coffins. A block of solid granite, roughly hewn into a cube close to three feet high.

Protruding from it, its blade buried deep within the stone, was a sword.

They had found Excalibur.