They descended into a cavern with walls constructed of bone.

No, Eleanor realized, not constructed of bone, but built of dirt and lined with niches. Graves. Judging by the crumbled look of the skeletons, they'd discovered the most ancient part of the castle crypt. In this place, death was so old it's stench had changed to nothing more than earth and dust and yet a stench permeated the air.

Lydia pressed close to her great-grandmother.

Dazzling white light from an electric lantern illuminated the space. Refracted from countless dust motes, it created a sparkling mist behind which stood the jolly housekeeper, holding a pickaxe and her lover's son. The young man leveled a revolver straight at the newcomers. The ground before the two would-be thieves had been torn into and a stone chest with a thick wax seal around the edge sat on the edge of the hole. Primitive etchings covered every surface. Eleanor's mind reeled and she realized that, until that moment, she'd never been one hundred percent certain the treasure was real.

"Drop your gun, detective," the younger man said. His voice echoed around the stone room, a nightmare chorus that chilled Eleanor's marrow.

"Why in the name of God would I do that?" the detective asked.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Mrs. Stojanovski said. "You can just walk away. I'm no thief. By all rights this is mine."

"No. The treasure belongs to Lord Novak." Eleanor hoped her wavering old lady voice held some note of authority.

"The Novaks are nothing." Mrs. Stojanovski waved her arms around herself. "My ancestors were here before these bones had life. My people. Mine! Not theirs! They were invaders. Foreigners. Brutes. They don't even understand what this is." She knelt down in front of the chest. "My people knew the true gods of this land and this was the gift those gods gave us." Her gaze met Eleanor's, not jolly, but fierce and deadly. "They gave it to us, and now it will be ours again."

"The Novaks have ruled this land for centuries," the detective said.

Mrs. Stojanovski ran her fingertips along the stone engravings. "What do centuries mean to the gods?"

The two men remained still, pointing their weapons at each other. 

"I suppose you think you have some rightful claim as well?" the detective asked.

The other man's lips twisted into a sneer. "This gun says I do."

"This gun says you don't. You're both under arrest for theft and high treason. I suggest you come quietly."

Mrs. Stojanovski rose to her feet. "That's not going to happen." She raised the pick axe over the box. 

"No, don't!" The man reached for her with his left hand, lowering the gun he clasped in his right.

Lydia raised her own arm and loosed a projectile.

Time lost all meaning. Eleanor watched the little candy-bar-sized phone spin end-over-end through the air toward the housekeeper. The missile found its mark,  square between the eyes. Mrs. Stojanovski staggered back, gasping. The pickaxe fell to the floor with a clatter, sending more dust into the electric-lantern lit air.

Eleanor knew an opportunity when she saw one. She raced as fast as her tottering old legs would carry her. 

With a snarl, the man with the gun raised his weapon once more and Eleanor had no doubt it was now Lydia he had in his sights. A vision of the dead man obscured her vision and she squashed it with all the haste she'd employ in squashing a cockroach on her kitchen floor. Her fingers wrapped around a knitting needle. She yanked it from the bag and jabbed the blunt end against the man's ribs. "You might get a shot off, junior, but you're going down too unless you drop that gun right now. You have no idea how fast I can pull the trigger on this thing."

His wide brown eyes met hers. 

She narrowed her gaze and put a little more force behind the needle.

His Adam's apple bobbed, the gun clattered to the ground, and time resumed its usual pace.

In a moment the detective had both of the criminals in handcuffs. He read them their rights. 

"It's mine," Mrs. Stojanovski whimpered again and again.

"It's not even real," Eleanor said. "We'll make sure that's well understood, far and wide. You dug a deep hole and all you found were legends and old bones."

"Hey!" The young man's exclamation made them all jump. "You never even had a gun, just some stupid old knitting needle!"

Eleanor looked down at the aluminum needle with its wide flat circle on one end. "I meant to use the other end," she said. "You're lucky I'm getting old and I make stupid mistakes, or you'd be holding your guts in now." 

The kid went nuts screaming about crazy old ladies and promises that he'd be king some day.

The detective delivered a solid right hook and the thief crumpled like an autumn leaf. "They'll never learn they ought not run." 

"Vlad, dear, did you get all that?" Eleanor asked.

"He says yes," Lydia said.

"Good boy. Lose the last few minutes of it, will you?"

Lydia listened for a moment and passed on Vlad's reply. "He's already on it." 

Eleanor pressed a shaky hand to her breast. "Dear. Well." She took a deep breath. "First we get these two upstairs and secure them. Then, we get this chest out of here and hidden away someplace safe until Lord Novak can deal with it as he sees fit. Then, we go and let the world know that the crown prince is not a villain before the country breaks into riots. We need to move quickly."

Lydia wrapped her arm around her grandmother's shoulders. Go sit down, Nana. You were amazing. I can take care of things from here."

Eleanor indulged herself for a moment by leaning into her great-granddaughter's love, then she bent and picked up the shattered phone. "Yes, child. I believe you can take care of things from here. I'll be sure the replacement for this is included in our expense reports. It was the very latest highest-end model, right?" She winked.

"The kind that's great for listening to music," Lydia confirmed.

"I'm sure Lord Novak will be more than happy to buy you a new one."