Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

for a long time before looking at the card. It said simply Lady Mary's Locket.
    Jordan slipped his torch into a nearby holder, and carefully lifted up the glass cover. It clung stubbornly to its base for a long moment, and then came free with a quiet sucking sound. Jordan put the glass carefully to one side, and then picked up the locket and chain. He felt more than saw Wee Geordie crowding in beside him, but he didn't look away from the locket. It was very light in his hand, and the oval locket opened easily once he found the clasp. Inside were two perfect miniature portraits. The one on the left showed a young boy with thin, pinched features and straw-coloured hair. The right-hand portrait showed a beautiful young woman. She had long blonde hair that fell in curls and ringlets to her bare shoulders. Her high cheekbones and pale blue eyes gave her a cold, almost harsh look, but her smile was warm and loving. Lady Mary of Fenbrook, dead and buried these past two hundred years.
    Jordan took a deep breath, and turned and crouched down beside Wee Geordie. He held the open locket so that the boy could see both portraits.
    'That's me,' said Geordie, looking at the left-hand portrait. Awe and wonder filled his face.
    'Do you recognise this woman?' said Jordan.
    'That's my mother,' said Geordie. 'I told you she was beautiful.' He reached out a hesitant hand to touch the portrait, and then lowered his hand again, and just looked at the calm, serene face. 'Mother,' he said quietly, 'I've been looking for you for such a long time.'
    Tears stung Jordan's eyes, and he fought them back. It wouldn't do for the boy to see him so upset. He sniffed quickly a couple of times, and then looked around for the dog. He started slightly on finding that the animal had moved silently up on his other side without him noticing. He straightened up, and held the locket before the dog's nose. The bloodhound sniffed the cold metal thoroughly. Jordan looked hard at the dog, and the animal stared back at him with old, wise eyes.
    'We need you to find Wee Geordie's mother,' said Jordan slowly, not knowing how much, if any, of what he was saying the dog understood. But there was something about the ghost dog that suggested he understood a great deal, in his way. He looked unblinkingly at Jordan, and then at Wee Geordie, and then he lifted his great head and sniffed the air. He wagged his tail twice, and headed purposefully for the open door. Geordie hurried after him. Jordan tossed the locket back on to its stand and hurried after the two ghosts.
    The bloodhound made his way unhesitatingly down the corridor, looking neither to the left nor to the right. He held his head high, and there was a calm certainty in his sad eyes and untiring gait. Wee Geordie walked close beside him, his gaze fixed hopefully on the dog. The animal turned into a side corridor, padded down the narrow passageway for a while, and then chose another turning. Its calm decisiveness was an eerie spectacle in itself, and Jordan's hackles stirred uneasily on the back of his neck. The bloodhound led them on, and they followed it through corridors and passageways, up stairs and down, along rotundas and in and out of countless doors. And still the dog didn't hesitate in its stride, only stopping when it needed Jordan to open a door for it. The bloodhound headed down one gloomy passage after another, following a trail only he could detect.
    The trail came to a sudden end at a blank wall that sealed off a deserted passageway. The bloodhound sniffed at the bare grey plaster and pawed at it a few times before turning to stare silently at Jordan. He looked down at the ghost of Wee Geordie, and searched for something comforting to say. To have come all this way, and all for nothing . . . The dog had lost the trail. If it had ever really found it in the first place.
    Jordan sighed, and stared helplessly at the blank wall. It had been a hell of a long shot anyway, "when all was said and done, and it was really no surprise that it hadn't paid off. But he'd had such hopes . . . And what was he going to tell the boy? What could he tell him? That he'd picked the wrong person to trust?
    Jordan frowned suddenly as he caught a glimpse of something that didn't seem quite right. He moved closer, and studied the grimy plaster from only a few inches away. Under the plaster, just barely visible in the uncertain light, there was the outline of a door.
    Jordan drew the knife from his boot, reversed it, and