Lara Croft and the Blade of Gwynnever

by Dan Abnett

  “It is,” said Lara. “It will cost less than the alternative, and I’m talking in terms of money, since that’s what matters to you.”

  “How so, Miss Croft?”

  “Have you considered the archaeological value of an historic site, Minister?” said Lara. “Of this historic site, in particular?”

  “Touché, Miss Croft,” said Ms. Johnson. “What do you consider the findings might be with regard to the national importance of this particular archaeological dig site?”

  “I think it could be argued that Candle Lane is, perhaps, the most important site that has been uncovered by archaeologists in Britain...I don’t know...ever!” said Lara Croft. “I imagine a site like that would be preserved indefinitely, would possibly become a World Heritage site. I can’t imagine the cost of processing a site like that, of making it available for study by historians and archaeologists, internationally.

  “Then, of course, there’s public interest. Imagine if this site became as popular as, say, Stonehenge. Of course there’d be the cost of access, of making the site safe for visitors, of building a visitor centre. This is London, after all. The costs would run to billions of pounds. I wonder if this government has that kind of money in its budget.”

  “You think that might be a possibility?” asked the Minister.

  “I could almost guarantee it,” said Lara. “Of course, the investigations would take a great deal of time. Archaeology is a slow science. The dig would have to continue for two, possibly three years. Studies would have to be made. There would be answers, eventually.”

  “You’re holding me to ransom, Miss Croft.”

  “I have concerns, Minister. Of course, even if the site didn’t prove to be as important as I believe it is, the Crossrail schedule would be compromised, and it would still have to be diverted.”

  “Indeed,” said Ms. Johnson.

  “You could look at it this way,” said Lara. “If you bury the site without further delay—if you do so on the grounds of hazard materials with respect to the Dornier—you’ll be saving yourselves and the taxpayer a vast amount of money.”

  “At this time, there is no way to know the composition of the chemicals in the weapons, how they escaped, or how they were released into the atmosphere,” said Ms. Johnson, almost to herself. “There is no way to know whether there is a reserve of the chemicals, or whether they might continue to be a danger.”

  “More money,” said Lara. “Science doesn’t come cheap. How long is it going to take for your scientists to answer all your questions? Then how much longer to make the area safe for machines and a workforce? How long to do the risk assessments? How long to comply with the health and safety regulations? What happens when the unions get involved?”

  “I’m not sure that’s any concern of yours, Miss Croft.” Ms. Johnson frowned at Lara.

  “Maybe not,” said Lara, sitting back, relaxing in her chair. “I was down there, though. Remember? I had that experience. I have no idea how this is going to affect me for the rest of my life. I saw Annie Hawkes in that facility. Am I going to turn into that? If that happened to an entire workforce... Wow! That wouldn’t just cost you money; it’d be a national scandal. That could cost the government an election.”

  Lara was suddenly hungry. All the tension she’d felt knowing that she’d have to go head-to-head with the government had dissipated. She had Ms. Johnson in her pocket, and she knew it. She’d left the Minister of Defence with only one choice. They would shut the site down, and they’d do it fast. Crossrail would be rerouted, and the entire episode would be over.

  Ms. Johnson gathered herself together and stood, reaching out to shake hands with the Viscount.

  “Thank you for arranging this meeting, Charles,” she said. “And I’m sure I needn’t tell you that everything you heard stays in these four walls.”

  “Of course, Minister,” said Charles.

  Theresa Johnson turned to Lara, and they, too, shook hands.

  “Thank you, Miss Croft,” she said. “This conversation has been most enlightening.”

  “I’m happy you think so, Minister,” said Lara. She didn’t stand.

  As the door closed behind the Minister of Defence, Charles looked at Lara, wide-eyed, and let out a long breath.

  “Wow!” he said. “That was pretty impressive. Do you realise you just influenced government policy?”

  “No, Charles,” said Lara. “I just got the job done, and I got it done fast. Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

  They both stood.

  “No, thank you for the lesson in firm negotiating,” said Charles, embracing Lara again before showing her out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:

  LARA CROFT

  London

  “You did what?” asked Carter. He put his cup down and dropped his head a little, aware that people were looking at him. He hadn’t intended to cause a scene, but he was clearly horrified.

  “Why are you the only one not smiling?” asked Lara, sipping from a large cup of coffee, a lovely pattern drawn in the foam on the top. “Have you noticed how relaxed and cheerful everyone seems to be?”

  “I just...” began Carter, putting his hands around his coffee cup. “I just don’t understand what you’re saying, Lara. I was there. We were both there. I really need you to explain what happened.”

  “I told you,” said Lara. “I got it shut down. Candle Lane is being buried, and Crossrail is moving on.”

  “But why?” asked Carter. “What about the chamber, the obelisk, the sword, Lara? What about Gwynnever’s sword?”

  “London really does seem to have turned around, doesn’t it?” said Lara. “Everything felt so grim, so vicious and despondent. Look around. There’s hope in the air again.”

  “I don’t want to talk about a change in the weather,” said Carter. “People are always in a good mood when it’s sunny. I want to talk about why you’d want to bury an important site like Candle Lane. There’s never been anything like it found on British soil, and now, no one will ever study it. The public will never get to see those finds.”

  “You don’t get it, do you, Carter?”

  “I don’t, Lara. I really don’t get it at all.”

  “I’m not talking about a change in the weather,” said Lara. “All the misery up here, in London, all over the country, it was because of what happened at Candle Lane. It was because of what Florence Race did in Nefertiti’s tomb. It was because Gwynnever’s sword was disturbed, stolen, and abused.”

  “And that’s why you shut it down?” asked Carter.

  “And that’s why I shut it down,” said Lara. “Some things are just too precious, too important. Gwynnever’s sword is one of those things. There’s no place for it on earth, no museum, no glass case where it would be safe.”

  “It was safe in your hands,” said Carter.

  “Even if that’s true,” said Lara, “that’s too much responsibility for one person. Besides, you know what they say: ‘Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ We might not live in a perfect world, or a perfect country, but in Gwynnever’s time there was no such thing as democracy. They needed great leaders then. Gwynnever was the right woman, in the right place, at the right time. I’m not interested in replacing her. The country doesn’t need another Gwynnever, and it certainly doesn’t need me. It needs a compassionate society and a working democracy.”

  “But what about the archaeology? What about the work? You didn’t want to study the chamber, find the connections to other sites?” asked Carter. “I’d have killed to work on that stuff.”

  “More than we killed already?” asked Lara. “I think there’s been enough death, don’t you?”

  “More than enough,” said Carter, slumping back in his chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

  “Gwynnever’s sword is back where it belongs. You saw it. You saw
how the sword fit the stone. It couldn’t have been more perfect. That’s its home. If it has a job watching over the good of the nation, it will do it from there. We’ve been more or less okay for millennia. I think we can trust the process.”

  “I can’t say I’m not disappointed,” said Carter.

  “Me neither,” said Lara. “But at least we had something that a lot of other archaeologists didn’t have... Talking of which, drink up. It’s almost visiting hours.”

  “Lara Croft and Carter Bell to see Annie Hawkes,” said Lara at the reception desk. The nurse checked a list and smiled at Lara.

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s room 307. That’s the third floor. You’ll find the lifts at the end of the hall, on the right. Ms. Hawkes will be delighted to see you.”

  “Thank you,” said Lara.

  “It doesn’t look as if we’ll be chased out of here this time,” she said to Carter, as the lift doors closed and she hit the button for the third floor.

  “Lara!” said Annie, almost before Lara was in the room. She got up from her chair and met Lara in the middle of the room with a warm hug. “And Carter!” she said, hugging him, too. “How lovely of you to come. Take the chairs. I’ll sit on the bed. They don’t like visitors sitting on beds. I’m sure they think I’m going to be contaminated with something or other.” Annie laughed.

  “How are you?” asked Lara. “You seem much better than the last time I saw you.”

  “You were here?” asked Annie. “Nobody told me.”

  “I did pop in,” said Lara.

  “It was pretty dreadful,” said Annie. “But, honestly, I don’t remember much about any of it, except some of the dreams. Bloody Nazis.”

  “They told you what happened to you?” asked Carter.

  “They must have told you, too,” said Annie. “You were there. I assume they ‘debriefed’ you. Didn’t you sign the Official Secrets Act? Of course, I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I imagine it’s all right to talk to you, since we’re in the same boat.”

  Lara cast a warning glance in Carter’s direction.

  “I guess they put us through the same process,” said Carter. “I’m not sure we’re supposed to talk, even among ourselves.”

  “You could just tell me if there’s much to talk about,” said Annie. “They say it was all hallucinations. The site... In my mind it was fascinating, important, but they say it was all in my imagination because of the gas.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” said Carter.

  “They’re shutting everything down and burying it,” said Lara, “because of the toxic gas. So I guess that’s the end of that.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” said Annie, almost indignant.

  Lara and Carter shared another glance.

  “What do you mean?” asked Carter.

  “Have you any idea how bored I am in here?” asked Annie. “I’m over the worst, and they’ve reduced my medication. My GP will be able to monitor my recovery. I’ll be home in a couple of days.”

  “That’s great news,” said Lara.

  “I can’t wait to get back to work,” said Annie. “As soon as I get the all clear, I want to get back on the Crossrail project.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Carter.

  “Do you know of anyone who’s better qualified?” asked Annie.

  “Absolutely not,” said Lara. “Are you sure you’d want to do it, after all you’ve been through?”

  “Of course I’d want to do it. It’s my job. How many times do you suppose we’re going to dig up and disturb Nazi weapons of mass hallucination, Lara?” Annie Hawkes laughed. “Crossrail is a godsend.”

  “How do you work that out?” asked Carter.

  “How often do we get an excuse to go under London and dig around?” asked Annie. “How often do we have this kind of access to the millennia of history buried under our city? This could be a golden age for British archaeology, and I don’t plan to miss that boat.”

  “Well, then, I hope you’ll make me part of your plans,” said Carter Bell.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Annie Hawkes.

  “As a door closes, somewhere a window opens,” said Lara as she and Carter left the hospital.

  “Waxing philosophical?” asked Carter.

  “I’m just saying you get another bite of the cherry,” said Lara. “I know how disappointed you were that I let the Candle Lane site go.”

  “You were probably right about that,” said Carter.

  “I know I was right about it. Annie’s right, too, though. There’s a lot of history under London, and Crossrail has still got a long way to go.”

  “Maybe I should thank you for shutting down Candle Lane. Rerouting the line could open up a whole swath of new possibilities for archaeology.”

  “It certainly could,” said Lara. “And you should definitely call me the next time something weird and wonderful happens.”

  “This couldn’t possibly happen again,” said Carter. “You heard Annie. This was a one-off.”

  “I agree,” said Lara. “You’re unlikely to find another downed Nazi airplane carrying a payload of weapons of unknown, possibly lethal, hallucinogenic gas. And if you did, you’re not going to find it at an ancient Egyptian site.”

  “It does sound fantastical when you say it like that,” said Carter.

  “That should tell you that just about anything’s possible,” said Lara. “That’s the wonder of archaeology, Carter. That’s why we do what we do.”

  “So I should call you,” said Carter, “the next time I find something interesting or hazardous or dangerous? I should call you the next time someone goes mad, or something gets stolen...or the next time the M.O.D. storms onto a site?”

  “You should definitely call me,” said Lara. “You’ll know when.”

  About the Authors

  Dan Abnett is a multiple New York Times bestselling author and an award-winning comic book writer. In comics, he is known for his work on the Guardians of the Galaxy for Marvel and Wild’s End for Boom! Studios, and is currently writing Aquaman. His 2008 run on the Guardians of the Galaxy formed the inspiration for the blockbuster movie. He is a regular contributor to the British 2000AD, with series including Kingdom, Lawless and the classic Sinister Dexter. He also writes screenplays, and has written extensively for the games industry, including Alien:Isolation and Shadow of Mordor. Dan is published in well over a dozen languages and has sold millions of books worldwide. He was educated at St Edmund Hall, Oxford, and lives and works in Maidstone, Kent. Follow him and Nik Vincent on Twitter @VincentAbnett

  Nik Vincent began working as a freelance editor, but has published work in a number of mediums including advertising, training manuals, comics and short stories. She has worked as a ghost writer, and regularly collaborates with her partner, Dan Abnett, writing novels and in the games industry. Nik was educated at Stirling University, and lives and works in Maidstone, Kent. Her blog and website can be found at www.nicolavincent-abnett.com