It had a tall oak mast and ports for the oars that were once rowed by slaves in ancient naval battles.

‘It’s a ramming ship,’ Nobody breathed in wonder. ‘An old Greek ramming ship.’

Iolanthe shared a knowing look with Bertie.

‘Professor Black,’ Bertie said, ‘this is the most famous ramming ship in history. Look at its bow.’

Nobody did . . .

. . . and he gasped.

The bow of the ancient vessel was made of shining bronze and it had been formed by some brilliant metalworker of old into the shape of a huge horse’s head.

The bronze horse head was gigantic, easily twenty feet high, and it was reared back, its mouth open in a fearsome snarl. Nobody saw that its jaws were bared so wide that a full-grown man could easily stand in them.

And suddenly he got it.

This underground holdfast.

The Greek ramming ship.

With a huge horse’s head on its bow.

‘Oh, no way . . .’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Bertie said.

‘Yes,’ Iolanthe confirmed. ‘This vault, the impregnable vault of Troy, was the focus of the Trojan War. And this vessel is the battering-ram ship that finally penetrated the vault and disgorged the Greek raiders hidden within its belly through its mouth.’

‘The Trojan Horse . . .’ Nobody said.

Iolanthe nodded. ‘It’s really all kinds of cool, but it’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to examine him.’

She pointed at one of the towering statues embedded in the right-hand wall: a beautifully preserved, fifty-foot-tall statue of a man with handsome features and dressed in ornate robes. The statue was astonishing in its detail. The rings on the man’s hands were perfectly realised in stone, as were his piercing eyes, strong nose and curly hair.

And nestled on that curly hair, also carved from stone, was a crown.

‘This statue,’ Iolanthe said, ‘is of Priam, the King of Troy. And that on his head is a copy of his ancient crown.’

Nobody risked a smile.

‘This is great,’ he said. ‘And, all things considered, it wasn’t all that hard—’

Right then, chillingly, a voice came from the darkness.

Chloe’s voice.

‘Hello, Iolanthe. Took you long enough to get here.’

The voice was distorted. It was coming from an unseen speaker or cell phone of some kind.

‘You know, I once read about a terrible fire at the King of Land’s hunting estate in Wales sometime in the 1800s—one that destroyed many treasures—but I wasn’t sure if the Crown of Priam was one of those treasures, so I had to check. It didn’t take me long. I knew exactly where to send my people to look in the Royal Hall of Records. I spent a lot of time in that place reading and exploring when you were gallivanting around the world attending all those glittering royal parties.