Chapter 18
The tour guide was a man with a seen-it-all demeanor, uninspired and unrushed in his delivery of the dryest facts he could dredge up about the ancient walls and keep.
The tour was not two minutes underway before Nigel found himself suspecting he’d made an error of judgment in bringing Luna here.
By twenty minutes in, he was awash in regret.
“And here you see the chamber in which King Balliarmus the Seventh signed the Charter of Liberty drafted for him by the barons of old Brythoni. But the stipulations of the charter were such as to compromise the king’s authority as the gods-ordained sovereign, leading the following year to the instigation of the war of—”
A long sigh issued from near Nigel’s shoulder.
He glanced down to see Luna’s cheeks puffed out, her expression dismayed.
Her hand was no longer looped in his elbow, and he couldn’t help thinking this whole ordeal would be a lot more pleasant if he could somehow convince her to place it back there again.
But she had released her hold on him when they joined the tour queue, firmly stuffing her hands into her pockets, and in her pockets they resolutely remained.
“Now, we progress to the former Great Hall,” the old gentleman declared, ambling on down the cordoned-off pathway, which navigated the ruins.
Nigel and Luna shuffled into place behind the honeymooners, who were pinching each other and giggling inappropriately.
Luna kept her eyes firmly averted, pretending an intense fascination in the crumbling walls of the Great Hall.
Nigel, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed on Luna.
As the group took a turn to explore the one remaining turret of the old castle, which stood proudly above the rest of the rubble, their guide warned everyone to hold tight to the handrail.
He led the way, disappearing around the first turn, and Luna took the opportunity to lean into Nigel’s shoulder and whisper, “Do you think we could slip away and skip the rest of this tour?”
“You mean you’re not riveted by this dynamic recounting of ancient days?”
She gave him a look.
Nigel grinned. “I don’t mind. They seem to have installed a little café in the old moat house. We could nip out and have a cuppa if you like.”
The smile she gave him at this suggestion was worth kingdoms. “Oh, please!” she said and bit her lip with eagerness.
Nigel turned and motioned for her to proceed him into the passage.
But they hadn’t taken two steps before they came face-to-face with a large brick of a woman: the second tour guide, whose sole job it was to keep groups together.
While her nametag boasted the incongruous appellative “Bonnibelle,” her eyes fixed on them with lancelike intensity as she crossed two meaty arms over an equally meaty bosom.
“Going somewhere?” she growled in singularly un-bell-like tones.
Luna yelped and stepped back a pace, the heel of her shoe bumping into Nigel’s foot.
He placed steadying hands on each of her arms, very aware of the feel of her back against his chest. But she did not stay there.
Spinning about, she whispered a hasty, “I suppose there’s nothing for it,” and sprang for the turret stairs.
Nigel had no choice but to follow.
It was not a long climb, but the steps were very narrow, as though carved for much smaller feet.
Somewhere up ahead, the tour guide’s voice droned on, echoing faintly against the stonework, and it really would be quite the dullest way to spend an afternoon except .
. . well. Nigel smiled softly. He was spending the afternoon with Luna Talbot.
No amount of dry history could spoil that.
The top of the turret proved worth the climb at least. The view, as they emerged into open space, was nothing short of spectacular.
Luna gasped out loud and flew eagerly to the viewing rail.
Nigel followed after, taking in the sight of the city spread before them.
Old Bally Castle was situated right in the heart of the ancient city, which had sprawled around it in all directions.
This turret was perched high on its promontory, and every major landmark could be seen from here.
There was the glittering dome of Saint Agatha’s Cathedral.
There was the Governor’s Mansion. There was the gold angel mounted at the top of Queen Maris’s Theater.
“Look! You can see the Lower Eastside harbor from here,” Luna said, pointing eagerly. She continued to study the view for some little while, gripping the rail with both hands. “Well, all right,” she declared at last. “This may have been worth the climb.”
The breeze was brisk up here, blowing at her curls.
It tried to blow her hat off and very nearly succeeded.
Nigel stretched out his hand and caught it before it went far, pushing it back firmly onto her head.
Luna put up a hand to hold it in place, and her fingers momentarily brushed his, and .
. . yes. Yes, it was all well worth the climb.
“All right, you folks, gather round, gather round,” the tour guide demanded, interrupting everyone’s enjoyment of the moment. Luna heaved another sigh, casting Nigel a brief glance. But they both turned obediently to face the little man, who beckoned with both arms.
“This turret,” he said, his voice raised slightly to be heard over the breeze, “is known as the Lover’s Tower. How many of you are familiar with the story of Julian and Miranda?”
Nigel heard Luna catch a little breath. “Wait a second!” she yipped, her whole being suddenly brimming with excitement. “This is that tower?”
The tour guide nodded. “According to legend, Miranda, the daughter of the king, fell in love with a poor stable hand, a young fellow by the name of Julian. Their love was doomed, and the king ordered for Julian to be put to death for daring to aspire above his station. Rather than give up her love, Miranda led him to the top of this very turret, where they leapt hand-in-hand. Some say to their death. Other sources from the era claim the gods themselves caught them up and raised them to heaven, in honor of the purity of their love.”
Luna listened with shining eyes, as though the story weren’t being delivered in the dry tones of a grocery bill recitation. Nigel leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You know, Stutterington Castle in Southern Plym claims their turret is the one from the legend—”
“Shhhh!” Luna said and smacked his shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. “Let the man finish!”
Nigel rolled his eyes, but a smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
“The lovers’ devotion was so great,” their guide droned on, “it spawned a miracle of magic—the great mystery of Old Bally Castle. Every evening, just as the last of the sun’s rays vanish from the sky and nightfall descends, a shooting star appears directly over this turret, illuminating the darkness for a single moment.
It is said that if two lovers, as devoted to one another as Miranda and Julian, wish upon that star, their wish will come true. ”
“Oh, that’s nice,” the retired couple murmured, even as the college students snickered together, and the honeymooner’s ignored everyone and everything but each other.
Luna sighed happily and placed a hand over her heart. “You don’t really believe in wishing stars, do you, Miss Talbot?” Nigel said, glancing down at her uncertainly.
“Why not?” She tipped her gaze up to him. “I believe in Green Magic and Dark Magic. Why should Miracle Magic be any different? There are all sorts of wonders and marvels to be had in this world. More even than you may have dreamed up, Mr. Grimm.”
Having completed the legend, the tour guide moved on to some other droning tale, but Luna turned away to take in the view once more. Then, clasping her hat tightly to her head, she tilted her face back, gazing up into the clear blue sky. “I wonder if it really shows up every night?”
“What?”
“The shooting star. If it’s so dependable as all that, why aren’t lovers up here getting their wishes-come-true on the regular?”
“Well, the castle closes at six,” Nigel pointed out blandly.
Luna turned and fixed him with a sharp look. “We should find out.”
“Erm . . . find out what?”
“If the wishing star is real!”
“How?”
Her grin grew. “We should come back. At nightfall.”
Nigel frowned. “The park gates are shut at sundown, and there are patrolmen all over the place to keep out undesirables. No doubt they’ve got some sort of security posted around the castle as well.”
Luna’s face tightened into a little knot of thought.
Which was dangerous. Nigel had known her long enough to recognize when she’d got a bee in her bonnet, and Luna Talbot was not the sort of person to leave bonneted bees well alone.
Nigel kept an eye on her as they descended the turret stair and continued on with the last stretch of the tour.
She was plotting something. He was quite certain of it and equally certain it would mean trouble.
He was also certain that, if she asked him, he would absolutely go along with it.
They were just taking a turn into a tunnel-like chamber which the tour guide called the “long gallery,” when suddenly, Luna reached out and grabbed Nigel’s arm. “Quick, Mr. Grimm!” she hissed. “This way!”
He didn’t have to follow, of course. How easy it would be simply to shake off her clutching hand, to give her a stern word or a look, to remind her that they weren’t children and couldn’t just pursue whatever whim took their fancy.
Instead, when she darted down a cordoned-off passage, over which a sign prominently proclaimed STAFF ONLY, he followed without a protest beyond a whispered, “What are you doing, Miss Talbot?”
“If we find a place to lay low until afterhours, we can sneak up at sundown and see about that miraculous star!”
“It’s still a good three hours until sunset,” Nigel muttered, trotting along at her heels as she rounded a bend.
“Yes, but there are no more castle tours after this one. They’ll close up soon, and we’ll have our run of the place. Surely we can find ways to amuse ourselves in the meanwhile.”
A sudden, unbidden, but entirely too-vivid image of exactly how he would like to amuse himself with this woman while passing the time appeared so violently in Nigel’s head, he was obliged to stop in his tracks, blinking hard in an effort to clear it.
Of course, that wasn’t what she had in mind. Surely!
Then again, how could he possibly know what was going on in that madcap brain of hers? After all, she’d just asked him to stay behind to witness a miraculous phenomenon intended for lovers.
Nigel’s stomach knotted up on itself several times over even as she tugged on his arm and led him into another dim passage.
She stopped before a rather modern-looking door with a sign above the lintel that read: OFFICE.
“Ah!” she said. “Here we go.” She reached for the latch, turned it, and pushed.
“Let’s see if there’s somewhere we can nip into until—”
Her voice faded away as the swinging door opened to reveal none other than the honeymooners. Wrapped in each other’s arms, right there on the office desk. They did not seem to be aware of intruders on their privacy, but went right on doing what honeymooners do best, with tremendous enthusiasm.
Luna staggered back a pace, hitting Nigel in the chest. He gripped her upper arms to steady her. “Well,” he said, “apparently we aren’t the only ones looking for a place to hide.”
“No. You’re not.”
Luna yelped at the stern voice sounding abruptly behind them, and both she and Nigel turned to face the brick-like visage of the formidable Bonnibelle.
The burly tour guide scowled down at them, and Nigel couldn’t help feeling that she would be more appropriately clad in armor and helmed for battle, like a militant ghost of the castle’s storied past.
“Go on with you,” the woman growled, swinging one arm in a commanding gesture. “If you think we don’t know to check every nook and cranny of this place for you young idiots, you’re as delusional as those two young idiots from the story!”
With that, she shouldered between the two of them to assault the honeymooners, who put up quite a fuss of protest as they were yanked apart. Nigel and Luna exchanged red-faced glances before darting back the way they’d come.
They found the rest of their little group at the castle exit, where their droning guide was just finishing his spiel with, “And remember, all proceeds from the gift shop go to the restoration of Old Bally Castle. Shop generously.”
Subdued, Luna followed the others through the exit into the shop, which was positioned so that tourists had no choice but to pass through it on their way out.
Nigel trailed a few paces behind her and soon found himself surrounded by shelves of shot glasses, silver spoons, and random doodads, all emblazoned with the same cartoon logo of the castle.
There were other bits of bric-a-brac as well, including toy knights, stuffed war horses with felt saddles, replica broadswords, some very odd-looking tin things that might, in certain lights, pass as crowns.
In one corner stood a rotating wire tree of jewelry, and Luna plucked a pair of ridiculous shooting-star earrings, studded with imitation diamonds, which dangled from the lobe almost to the shoulder.
“Who would wear these?” she asked, laughing as she held them to her ears. “Can you even imagine?”
She put them down and moved on to inspect a bookshelf full of history books and pseudo-historical novels set in more romantic eras of yore.
Nigel watched her for half a moment to make certain she was distracted before darting to the sales counter to make a swift purchase.
Tucking a small paper package into his pocket, he moved to join her again just as she slid a dry-looking tome on the Kings and Queens of Brython back onto the shelf.
“I suppose we might as well go,” Luna said, looking up at him as he approached. Disappointment shimmered in her eyes.
“Perhaps a stop in the café?” Nigel suggested.
The sad line of her mouth melted into a little half-smile. “All right.”
She followed him out of the shop and into the late-afternoon sunlight.
As he led the way down the path toward the moat house, she turned, however, and looked back up at the picturesque Lover’s Tower.
“I suppose it’s just as well they kicked us out,” she said.
“It’s not like we could actually use that wish. After all, it’s only for lovers.”
And though he knew it was silly, though he knew there was no reason for it whatsoever, and it wasn’t even worth noticing . . . Nigel’s heart sank.