Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

centuries. How is a bloodhound going to reunite her with her ghostly son?'
    'Because the dog's dead as well,' said Jordan. 'He's a ghost bloodhound.'
    Sir Gawaine looked at the dog, and then at Jordan. 'One of these days I'm going to learn to stop asking you questions. You always come up with such disturbing answers. Very well, Sire, if you're serious about this, you'll find a gold locket on a chain that once belonged to the Lady Mary in the Old Museum. It's here in the West Wing, just four corridors along and clearly marked. You can't miss it.'
    Jordan nodded his thanks, made his goodbyes and gathered up Wee Geordie and the dog. They set off down the corridor together, the two ghosts barely able to restrain themselves to Jordan's pace. He was glad Gawaine hadn't volunteered to go with him. In some strange way, he felt this was a personal business between him and the two ghosts. They had helped him when he needed it; now he would help them. Perhaps because he needed to believe he was worthy of the trust Wee Geordie had placed in him.
    He glanced unobtrusively at the young boy and the bloodhound as they padded at his side. The boy had scruffy hair and dust marks on his face, and the dog was moulting. It was hard to accept that they were both really dead, and that what walked so casually at his side were really nothing more than memories made flesh and bone. Jordan's gaze settled on Wee Geordie. All those years spent searching for a mother who died centuries before. All the long years, wandering endlessly through bleak stone corridors, looking for someone, anyone, who would simply sit and talk with him instead of running away. Jordan's throat tightened, and he swore silently to himself that come what may, he'd do whatever it took to reunite Wee Geordie with his mother. He glanced at the boy and the dog one last time, and then stared resolutely straight ahead.
    I wonder how they died . . .
    They soon reached the Old Museum, and Jordan frowned. The brass plaque on the door looked like it
    hadn't been polished in years. The door squealed loudly as he pushed it open, and the room beyond was dark and gloomy. Jordan took a torch from the nearest wall holder, and led the way in. The Museum was a large, spacious, dusty room. All four walls were covered with tightly packed bookshelves. The carpet was dry and hard underfoot, and the smeared windows looked as though they hadn't been opened in years, never mind cleaned. Jordan didn't know what the New Museum might be like, but it was clear no one had visited the Old Museum in a long time. Presumably the ever-present ghosts more than satisfied the Castle population's interest in the past.
    A large plain table stood alone in the middle of the room, bearing a number of exhibits in flyspecked glass cases. Jordan moved over to study them. Wee Geordie and the bloodhound trailed along after him.
    The boy was staring around him with wide eyes, but didn't seem interested in anything in particular. The bloodhound sneezed at the dust. Jordan found the idea of a sneezing ghost strangely unsettling. He concentrated on the exhibits before him, and carefully wiped some of the dust from the glass cases with his sleeve. The first case held a severed human hand, carefully stuffed and mounted.
    Spidery hand-writing on a card at the base of the display case said simply Rocca's Bane. Jordan shrugged. The name didn't ring any bells. The next case held an ornate silver goblet, crusted with semi-precious stones. Just looking at it made Jordan's fingers twitch hungrily. He forced the thought aside, and concentrated on the display card. Sebastian's Chalice. Jordan shook his head, none the wiser.
    The next case held a slender silver knife, the hilt covered in tiny etched runes and glyphs, too small to be read with the unaided eye. The card said simply The Starlight Duke's Dagger.
    Jordan's breath caught in his throat. He might not recognise any of the other exhibits, but this . . . The legendary Starlight Duke had founded Hillsdown some six hundred years ago. Children learnt his life story at school, and the rulers of Hillsdown were still called Duke rather than King, in honour of the great and famous man. And here was his dagger. His dagger. It had to be worth a fortune . . . Jordan shook his head slightly, and moved on. He didn't dare take anything but the locket. Too many people had known he was coming here. Unfortunately. The next case held a simple gold locket on a rolled-gold chain. Jordan studied it