“Perhaps they are two very separate questions,” he offered.
He felt a familiar surge of excitement as his thoughts turned to the lost city. It was rare indeed to have someone to discuss his views with, and even if India disagreed with him, he knew she was at least interested.
She nodded. “All right. Then what do you know about Pagoria?”
“Not much,” he said ruefully. “As I’m sure you’re aware, there is frightfully little in the way of information. There is plenty of speculation, but to the best of my knowledge, the only things I can discern is that the city probably existed a thousand or so years before the birth of Christ. Their language is obscure, known only to them. It is unclear how it is spoken since their written language is pictorial in nature. It was a small city, dependant largely on localized agriculture. No known trade partners. The few artifacts that have been uncovered all have one thing in common. Their color.”
She nodded. “Blue.”
“Yes.”
“And what do you believe about Pagoria?”
He drew in a breath, wondering just how much he should share with her. The last thing he wanted was for her to think him daft. She’d likely take the next coach home and forget all about helping him find the city.
“I believe there was something special about it,” he began.
Her gaze sharpened, her eyes focusing harder on his face. “How so?”
“I don’t know exactly. There is so much mystery surrounding it. And why? What makes it different than any other ancient city?”
He paused for a moment to slow down, his passion for the subject tumbling out as he warmed to the subject.
“There is much written about the great cities in history. And the smaller, more insignificant ones. But nothing to lead us to believe Pagoria ever existed. And yet, stories of its existence have lived for centuries. Actual artifacts uncovered, in several countries. Spread out across the world. Their language deciphered.” He cast her an admiring glance. “I’ve yet to know how you managed it.”
A small smile turned the corners of her lips up. “I fear I cannot claim brilliance. My father found a primer some years ago.”
He gazed at her in astonishment. “A primer? You actually found a primer? How is it no one knows? This might single handedly authenticate Pagoria’s existence, and yet your father did nothing?”
She raised a brow at his vehemence. “Tell me, Lord Ridgewood. Would your opinion change much if my father had produced this primer? Would those of your colleagues change? Or would they attribute it to a man obsessed with proving himself, so much so that he might produce a false artifact?”
“Would it matter?” He asked the question before he could call it back.
“Yes, I’m afraid it would. To him,” she amended. “He is—was a very proud man. He wanted to find the city, not produce a primer that many would say was an effort of a desperate man.”
Ridge shook his head. “And this primer? Do you have it?”
“No,” she said softly. “I can only assume it disappeared when he died.”
She averted her eyes, and he felt a twinge of guilt for berating a dead man. Her father. A man she obviously loved very much.
“But back to your thoughts,” she spoke up. “You were saying what you believed about Pagoria.”
“Yes, well, as I was saying.” He cleared his throat, unable to believe he was about to confide in her something he’d never told another living soul. “It’s almost as if I have been there. As absurd as it may sound.”
She looked at him in shock. To his surprise she didn’t laugh at him, but disbelief clearly outlined her features. “I don’t understand,” she began.
He sighed. “I can’t explain it. For years I wondered if I wasn’t going mad, but I have these images--memories I’ve come to believe, of a place I can only describe as possibly being Pagoria.”
Her brow furrowed deeper in confusion.
“I have no explanation, no substantiation for the images I see, and yet they are so real...” He trailed off, frustrated at his inability to articulate his thoughts.
“What sort of memories or images do you have of the city?”
He paused, knowing how ridiculous he was going to sound. No one had ever discovered the city, and yet, he felt as if he has been there. “I’m but a child. Very young. I remember a great stone doorway.” He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the familiar images. “I see an old man. White beard. Smiling. He has the most wonderful smile. Warm. There’s another man. Younger, but still old. He hugs me then tussles my hair. Around us, people are milling about, their dress strange and unfamiliar. And everything is blue. The clothes, the pottery, the shoes. A brilliant shade of blue. And around me, I had the feeling of mountains. It was why I was surprised when the bracelet pointed us south to Madrid. In my heart, I’ve always felt that Pagoria was in a mountainous region.”
She grew very still beside him, and he opened his eyes to look at her. She looked away. Then she gave a nervous sounding laugh. “And what makes you think this is Pagoria?”
