Page 43 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he thinks the inscription is a Victorian addition.” She kept her voice level, the same tone she’d used after Hopkins had pulled the first book off his shelves. “He doesn’t rule out an earlier origin, so he gave me some leads to follow. He emailed me some details about an archive in Malta with historical references for the church, and some other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

“Yeah.” She continued staring out the window. No matter how flatly she said everything, the listless gaze told me she was upset. “Glastonbury and Champagne.”

Lance’s eyes flicked to her in the rearview mirror before bulging in my direction. He wanted me to fix this.

But I was already working on it.

Going to Malta would require the jet. Glastonbury was two hours by car, maybe less. And without the jet, we’d have to get to Champagne on a commercial flight—difficult with the sword—or take one of the many ferries between England and France, followed by a long drive.

I finished the text to our flight crew and fired it off.

Arthur: Prep the jet for Malta. I’ll send more details within the hour.

“So we’ve got options?” Lance said, no doubt to fill the silence as much as anything.

“No,” said Gwen. “I can’t take the sword⁠—”

“I’ve got a plan.” I wasn’t about to let her quit just because her first theory had some pushback. I pulled up a map on my phone and searched for our three locations. “Glastonbury’s close. We drive there first. If it doesn’t give us answers, we continue to the Troyes archive in Champagne.”

I felt Gwen’s gaze on me, but I didn’t pause long enough for her to argue.

“Malta’s the outlier.” I typed in destinations and calculated routes. Two hours to Glastonbury. Two hours back to Plymouth and the night ferry to Roscoff. Another eight hours from there. “Lance, you take Malta. Fly out this afternoon, check the archive, and see if the inscription shows up in the Templar inventories.”

“Malta?” he said with a frown. “What about you?”

“I’ll stay with Gwen and the sword.”

Lance took a turn. His fingers adjusted on the wheel, but he kept his eyes on the road. “I think I should stay with her. It’s your jet.”

“It’s my father’s jet,” I practically snapped at him, as though the ownership mattered. “The sword’s under our joint legal custody from the FBI, so it doesn’t travel without Gwen and one of us. If anything happens to the sword while it’s in our care, the liability falls on Round Table, which means it falls on me. I’m staying with the assets. Both of them.”

Every word of it was operationally sound.

My father would have approved of the risk management, but the rest? I could hear his voice: ‘And the cost, Arthur? A private jet to Malta, gas and lodging across southern England and France, two operators deployed full-time on a project with no paying client? Where’s the return on this investment?’

I put the phone in my lap and looked out at the red and gold autumn hedgerows, gray sky, and the narrow Cornish road. My father had never once questioned spending when the asset was a painting or a statue. Pendragon had written checks for security deployments that lasted months, for objects that sat behind glass and didn’t breathe.

But those deployments had contracts. Invoices. Revenue lines his board could read.

Instead, I’d signed on to protect the sword while it was outside of Caine-Ferraro’s vault. For zero dollars. The offer had been made when we expected her to stay in Michigan. But I’d flown us to England, and now I was traveling farther, without waiting for her to ask, because I knew she wouldn’t. She’d assume it was too much and go home without the details she needed.

It’s the cost of public relations. Remember that, Penn. This is a PR job, and Lance recommended it.

Lance sighed. “What do I do if you find the answer in Glastonbury?”

“Enjoy Malta while the crew rests.”

He almost laughed. “Sounds like the first easy assignment you’ve ever given me.”

I nudged his shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”

A text arrived from our jet’s captain, advising me the flight plan was filed and the crew was on their way.

Good. Things were coming together quickly.