Itching with curiosity, Nat reached up and pulled out a volume entitled The Time Traveler’s Compendium to Edible Fungus. A quick look inside proved to be boring but quite disgusting in parts. A book with a lurid cover featuring shrunken heads was entitled Who Do Voodoo? by someone with the unlikely pseudonym of I. Smallhead. Another was called Faerie Magick: Yuck, that sounded girlie! He scanned the rest. On the lower shelves were books with titles like: Doppelgängers, Are You Who You Think You Are? and Cutlery Bending with the Mind — Is There Ever Really a Point?

When Iona and Woody returned, Nat was engrossed in Blood & Guts Volume II: The Role of the Lycanthrope in Her Majesty’s Service.

“Are there really werew — lycanthropes in the army?” he asked Iona, his eyes wide.

“Only in the Special Air Service,” said Iona briskly, handing Nat a glass of pinkish liquid. “But never mind that just now. I’ve something special for you, something which will help you understand Woody far better than any old talk on lycans can.”

She pointed to the large refectory table at the end of the room where Woody was carefully setting down a small tray. Looking out of place among all the ancient artifacts, the large table was set up with the state-of-the-art computers and electronic equipment that Nat had heard humming earlier. Close up, they looked even more impressive.

“Not bad, huh?” said Iona, amused at the boys’ reverent expressions. “But that’s not what I want to show you. This is why I asked you here.”

Iona’s voice betrayed her excitement as she placed a large book in front of the boys.

Nat felt his heart miss a beat. The book looked ancient, as though, like Iona, it belonged in another time. He couldn’t wait to see what it contained, only just resisting the urge to snatch it from Iona’s hands. The faded leather cover was embossed with an elaborate gold design on the front, which glittered subtly in the dim light. The title was almost indecipherable; then Nat realized in disappointment that it was written in French. (His French was pretty bad.)

“These,” said Iona proudly, “are the original chronicles of my ancestor, Sir William de Gourney, the very same man whom Temple Gurney is named after. William was a Knight Templar, part of an elite band of warrior monks; I suppose you could describe them as a sort of medieval special forces.”

“Cool,” murmured Nat, still not knowing where this was leading.

“Nine centuries ago, Sir William journeyed to the Holy Land in the company of King Richard …”

“The Lionheart!” gasped Nat.

“… on the Third Crusade.” Iona nodded, smiling. “Sir William completed the writings when his crusading days were over. The chronicle disappeared about a hundred years later, along with the Templar gold and other priceless treasures.”