The Sword and the Scythe

Chapter 27: Won't Go Home Without You

Charlotte threw open the doors to Anne Boleyn's office. The intimidating woman sat behind her large oak desk, scribbling furiously onto a pad of legal paper. "You might as well just send me home now. I'll never be able to find you that sword."

"And you have come up with this conclusion after only two weeks of looking...how?" The smug smile on her face made her look like a teacher admonishing a small child.

"You haven't been able to find Arthur Pendragon's tomb because there isn't one. He was the first Grim. He's spent the last fifteen hundred years in hiding. That sword could be literally anywhere on this earth. He was smart enough not to leave behind any clues. Game over." She pulled her father's notebook out of her pocket and threw it down on the desk along with the daguerreotype portrait of Arthur and photos from the archaeological dig. "Take a look for yourself. The lion crest on the crown and shield you found in Camelot match the ring on that man's finger."

The smile fell right off the Queen's face as she pinched her lips together. "That's not possible."

"My father wanted to find that sword as much as anybody. He could have spent the rest of his life scouring the earth for the man in that photo. But he came to his senses and realized he didn't have the luxury of a Grim's eternal lifetime to waste looking for it."

Anne Boleyn looked down at the notebook and the photos, her expression darkening. "I knew your father was hiding something from us," she nearly snarled, looking back up to glare at Charlotte, not bothering to mask the simmering hatred on her face.

"Keep looking if you want—you'll never find that sword. And as far as I'm concerned, you're better off leaving it wherever Arthur put it."

"It's funny the resemblance you have to your father: the same green eyes, the same forgettable face, even your irritating human morals."

"Excuse me?"

"On his last trip here, he told me he was no longer interested in pursuing Excalibur. He told me that he couldn't continue searching for something he knew to be a weapon; that he wouldn't be part of sacrificing even the most useless Grim. Do you think he would have been so eager to save Leroy Whitten's life if he'd known how...close the vagrant would get to his daughter?"

Charlotte felt blood rush to her cheeks. "My father was a good man. He wouldn't have had any part of this from the beginning if he'd known what you were going to use it for."

"Perhaps you're right." This admission did nothing to make Charlotte feel any better. Her expression made Charlotte feel uneasy. The former queen sat, looking down at the notebook and photos. She flipped through the photos with one hand, tapping her nails on the desk. Her face grew steadily redder with frustration.

"Well. Anyway. I'm sorry I couldn't hold up my end of the bargain. There's no need to set me up in my old life. You can just send me on the first plane back to California and we'll call the whole thing even..." Charlotte said, backing away from the impressive desk.

Anne Boleyn narrowed her eyes at her. "I'm afraid I cannot do that. You say the search is pointless? You seem to forget, as did your father, that finding the sword has already been foreseen. The seer had a vision of that little bastard friend of yours bleeding all over it. So perhaps you're right, perhaps there are no clues. Do not think for a second that I believe you've told me all that your father was hiding from me."

The queen stood from her desk and took a menacing step toward Charlotte.

With slow, purposeful steps she closed the space between them, her lip curling. "I've been alive long enough to recognize when someone is keeping information from me. I have worked too hard for too long to let this go. After everything I did to get the respect of this faction, after all that I had to do for them put a woman in charge before the year 1600?"