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I flipped the card over in my hand and verified the address. Yes, this was right. This was the Saint James Museum. The expensive business card also held the name of Dr. John Faraday, a phone number and presumably his email address. I had no idea why Guinevere would have had this card, none at all, but I aimed to find out. This was the only clue I had to her whereabouts. Faraday would have to talk to me. Before walking inside, I stashed the sword in the van. That probably wasn’t the best idea in this neighborhood, but I had no choice. Then again, the neighbors might not find it too weird to see a man carrying a sword into a museum. I had full confidence that Excalibur could defend itself if required.
What was up with my sword? I’d never seen it do the things it was doing now. Spinning in midair by itself, unlocking doors, calling Guinevere’s name. Yeah, things had changed.
Perhaps it had grown more powerful over the years? Guinevere certainly had. And now that I knew Merlin was not lying mangled in the Cavanaugh Mine but had obviously escaped, I was confident he had grown stronger too. Only a true handler of magic could have managed to extricate himself from that pile of rocks. Only I was left at a disadvantage, it seemed. I had lived for thirty years not knowing that I was Arthur Pendragon, not remembering the past.
That begged another question: Where was my sister, Morgan? She had been in that mine too.
The museum was quieter than a funeral parlor. There was literally nobody in here, at least not on the bottom floor. The first exhibit featured a shabby suit of armor that looked like someone made it in their garage over a weekend. Beside it was a stuffed badger and a wall display of various coats of arms, none of which I recognized. Yet, there were pieces of the past—my past—in each. On one sigil I saw a dragon on a field of white; it wore a gold crown and carried a lance with a pennant. Yes, if I looked closely I could see another dragon, and there, a dragon’s eye peeking out from behind a pomegranate. With mixed emotions, I ventured into the other rooms but found nobody there. None of the exhibits appealed to me either. There was an upstairs to this place, so maybe I’d find the good doctor up there. As I walked back into the foyer intending to climb the stairs, the front door opened and an older woman and a young boy I guessed was her grandson walked in. She politely smiled at me, but the boy stared wide-eyed and stuck his finger in his mouth. A nervous habit. With an awkward nod to them both, I hurried upstairs, surprised to find that this floor was also stacked with antiques that didn’t appear to go together.
A slightly open door caught my attention. Could this be an office?
“Excuse me,” I apologized as I pushed the door open. This was definitely not an office. It was more like an exhibit with one statue in the center of the small room. I started to close the door but heard a voice whisper from inside.
Arthur...
It was so soft that it was almost unintelligible. But someone was clearly calling my name. Someone who sounded female.
“Hello?” I said, pushing the door open again. I walked around to the other side of the statue. It was large enough that someone could hide behind the base if they wanted to. Nope. Nobody was there. “Hello?” I called once more. I glanced up at the statue and nearly fell backward. I was looking at the face of my long-dead friend, Lancelot du Lac. This statue was tall, much taller than the man had been, but it had his face nonetheless. Same square jaw and arched eyebrows. Yes, this was not merely a resemblance. This was clearly Lancelot. Curious now, I studied the nameplate beneath.
Odo, Duke of Kent? What in the world?
I reached out and touched the foot of the statue. As I patted it, a mix of emotions came over me.
Arthur. Leave here, the female voice whispered again.
“Enough with the games. Is this some kind of joke?” I said to the statue. The block of stone wasn’t talking to me, but someone was. I checked the corners for hidden cameras or microphones but found nothing. I wasn’t one to believe in ghosts—but then again, I didn’t believe in vampires either until recently. Until Guinevere returned to me. Well, not exactly returned. I didn’t have time to hang out here and listen to disembodied voices. I had to find Guinevere. And then it occurred to me: This is why she came here.
She came to see Lancelot. She came to watch him, to remember him, to think about him. Jealousy welled up within me. I knew that it was shallow of me, that I should leave the past in the past. I knew that those things had been over a long time ago.
This Faraday guy was probably nobody special, just a name on a card. This image of my friend, our friend, Guinevere’s lover, was why she came here. And how long had she been coming here? I was almost thirty and never saw her once; I would know it if I had. Not once in all those years did she come to see me, not until Morgan returned. I clenched my fists. Damn it, Guinevere! Why? With a shake of my head, I exited the room quickly, planning to leave the museum without wasting another minute on this fool’s quest. I was no better than old Pellinore with his Questing Beast. I had been Guinevere’s fool for too long.
“Oh, excuse me,” I muttered as I crashed into a man holding a box of rocks. The box’s contents cascaded to the floor.
“Oh! No, it’s my fault. Wasn’t watching where I was going. You aren’t hurt, are you?”
“No. Nothing’s broken. Let me help you with this.”
“Thanks,” he said, unmoved by the accident. “First time at the museum and you’ve been stoned.” He grinned as if it was a great joke. It wasn’t, but I smiled to show him I appreciated the effort. We quickly picked up his collection of stones and placed them back in the box.
“How did you know it was my first time here?”
“Are you kidding? You see how busy we are today. It’s what? Four o’clock? Let me think. The only people here are Mrs. Bunny Overlook and her grandson, Stephen. They’ll stay about thirty minutes and then leave for tea before dinner.”
“I didn’t catch their names, but that sounds right. An older lady and a small child had just walked in when I came up.”
“They’ll be down the hall there now, at the King Arthur exhibit.” He shifted the box of rocks onto a nearby table and extended his hand. “John Faraday. May I help you find something?”
“Um, Luke Ryan. Nice to meet you, Dr. Faraday. Did you say King Arthur exhibit?” I swallowed a lump and peered down the hall. I couldn’t believe my ears. He was the guy I came looking for, yet all I could think about was checking out that exhibit.
“Yes, it’s mostly my design. It’s a small exhibit, but I’m quite proud of it. I’ll show you if you like.” Faraday had a pleasant smile and demeanor. He was the kind of nice guy that you’d have a problem saying no to.
“Call me curious. Lead the way.”
“Great. Are you a fan of Arthurian legend?”
“Of what?” I said stupidly.
“Arthurian is just a term people use to describe characters, stories and legends from the fictional age of King Arthur.”
“Legend? Fictional?” I said with a grin now. I’ve been called a lot of things but never a legend. And never fictional.
He blinked quickly—no, not a blink but a twitch. It wasn’t constant, just when he got excited. Hmm...that’s interesting. I’ve seen this before. “You see, many don’t believe that Arthur even existed. The places, Camelot, Cameliard and even Avalon, they’ve been lost to us. There is a lot of conjecture, a lot of theories, but we don’t know for certain. But the story of Arthur...the beauty of his reign was unity. Unity amongst his knights and amongst his court—amongst the entire nation. He was a larger-than-life character. Less a ruler and more an everyman.”
“You sound like a fan.”
With a flush in his cheeks, he nodded. “Since childhood. But I’m not the only one who believes Arthur may have existed. Even some of our kings, including Henry VIII, believed in the existence of King Arthur. Did you know that many rulers incorporated the images of the Pendragon into their own imagery because the people believed in him? They believed in what he stood for. Forgive me. I have a lot to say about the subject. Ah, here is the exhibit. Good afternoon, Bunny and Stephen.”
“Good afternoon,” Bunny replied. Stephen merely stared at us, first at Faraday and then at me. I smiled at the boy again. He still had his finger in his mouth, and his grandmother tapped him on the shoulder to remind him of his manners.
Faraday pointed to a wall hanging and said with a smile, “Now, this is a depiction of Arthur’s last battle. You can see here, on this tapestry, the artist has depicted Arthur with this unique sword. It’s much longer than any other pictured. I suspect the artist used that kind of device to emphasize Arthur’s power.”
“Maybe, or maybe Excalibur was just much larger.” I shook my head at his speculation.
“So you know about Excalibur?”
My skin crawled as I stared at the tapestry. I nodded, never taking my eyes off the scene in front of me. Knights lay in death throes around the field of battle. Standing in the far corner watching over everything was a woman in black, and on the opposite corner of the tapestry was a woman all in white. “And who are they? These two women?”
“Nobody knows, really, except the artist and the person who had the work commissioned. It’s quite lovely, though, isn’t it? Even though it is only a few hundred years old, it is...”
“You’re him, aren’t you?” Stephen asked me. I hadn’t noticed that the boy had come over. At least he’d removed his hand from his mouth. His grandmother was studying an illuminated prayer book on the other side of the room. “Arthur, King Arthur. You’re him, aren’t you? You look like him.”
“Why would you say that?” I asked with an embarrassed expression.
The boy pointed at a painting on the opposite wall. It was an oil painting, probably painted a few centuries ago. I surely had never seen it before.
“I would be very old then, wouldn’t I?”
The boy’s eyes widened further. Suddenly Bunny, young Stephen’s grandmother, apologized for his behavior and escorted him out of the room.
Faraday looked from the painting to me. “You do favor him, whoever this man was. The boy was right about that.” Mesmerized by the painting and overwhelmed with unexpected emotions, I sat on a nearby bench and took in the rest of the exhibit. “Yes, it is a phenomenal resemblance,” Faraday continued, walking back and forth in front of the painting. “I don’t mean to be rude...did you need anything else? I have to finish up soon.”
“Yes, I wanted to know about this.” I dug in my pocket and handed him the business card I’d found in Guinevere’s clothing trunk.
“It’s one of my business cards.” He turned the card over in his hand. “There is a stack of them at the reception desk.” He turned it over again and shrugged. “Did you pick this up from there?”
“I found it in my friend’s things. She’s missing, and I was hoping you might know where she is. But that was before...I mean, it’s not that important. I guess I’m just grasping at straws. Probably just a coincidence.” She was just coming here to sit with Lancelot’s statue.
“Well, if your friend is missing, naturally I want to do what I can to help you find her. What’s her name?”
“Guinevere,” I said, accepting the card back from him.
He paled. “Any last name?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know what alias she might be using now.”
“Alias? Well, you don’t meet too many Guineveres nowadays. Not a popular name anymore. But now that you mention it, there was a young lady who came to my lecture. Just yesterday, in fact. What does your friend look like?”
“Very beautiful. Long, dark red hair, pale skin. Tall.”
“Yes, that has to be her. Quite lovely but strange, if you don’t mind me saying so. She asked me about the sword, the one at the end of the hall there. Wanted to know who donated it to the museum. I explained that I couldn’t tell her. The donor insisted on privacy. It wouldn’t do for the museum to ignore such a request.”
“Which sword are you talking about?”
“That one.” He pointed to the far wall. Immediately, I knew which weapon he referred to. I was looking at a replica of Excalibur. How could I have missed that? My hurt pride took a backseat to the real danger that we faced now. That my queen faced.
“Dr. Faraday, I need you to reconsider that decision. Things have changed. My friend Guinevere is missing. That sword has a special meaning to her, to us both. I can’t explain how, but somehow, she knows what you know. She knows where that sword came from.”
“I didn’t tell her anything. I can’t. And I can’t tell you either, Mr. Ryan. I’m sorry.”
“That’s a shame. Her life might be hanging in the balance.”
His brown eyes showed his concern, but he was stubborn. I could see that now. “It’s out of my hands. I’d have to get permission from the donor before I could tell you anything. I mean, if it’s a matter of life and death, I could make a phone call. But beyond that, I cannot promise anything.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Here was someone who devoted his life to the study of chivalry, of the knights of old, but when he had the opportunity to behave like one, he folded like a cheap suit. Well, I wasn’t going to waste another minute with this guy. I had found out what I wanted to know. I knew why Guinevere came here, for Lancelot. She must’ve seen the sword and known that trouble was afoot.
I left Faraday staring after me. “Hey, if you leave me your address or phone number, I’ll make that call!” he shouted.
“Forget it,” I said as I headed down the stairs.
“Really?” He followed me closely. “I might have some luck; I’m willing to help, but I have to do things by the book. Please, just give me an address or phone number. I can mail you the information if you like. Or I can call you.”
I took the notepad he handed me and scratched my address on it. I didn’t expect he’d really contact me, so I didn’t bother giving him my phone number. Like most pencil-pushers, he probably had a time-sucking procedure he had to follow just to pick up the phone.
“Thanks,” I muttered disingenuously.
What now?
I had some thinking to do.
