spread out below them. The sun was descending toward the faraway hills on the other side of the river, painting the sky with brilliant colors and filling the city with a golden glow.
When the group descended into the sanctuary again, Emil led them into a smaller side chapel where a glass cabinet held an elaborately decorated golden shrine.
“This is a reliquary,” Emil explained in a reverent voice. “A while ago, I mentioned that St. Stephen still held a protective hand over this great city. Let me show you what I meant.”
He slipped a coin into a slot, and a light came on inside the reliquary.
London joined the others in a collective gasp of amazement.
That was it, London remembered.
In a smaller glass container was a man’s right hand, cracked and withered with extreme age. It was clenched into a mighty fist and encrusted with pearls and other precious gems.
That was the object that had struck her with such awe when she was a little girl.
Emil said quietly, “This is the ‘Holy Right’ of St. Stephen himself, the founder of Christian Hungary. It is said that, when he died in 1038 AD, St. Stephen’s whole body decayed and crumbled except for his right hand, which has been preserved ever since—a symbol to all Hungarians of his guardian spirit.”
When the group returned to the sanctuary. Mrs. Klimowski was still in her pew, making the sign of the cross as she finished praying. She finally got up and rejoined the others, and they all walked out of St. Stephen’s.
Before they headed out to the restaurant, London gathered the group together in the broad stone square in front of the Basilica, where she called out their names from the list she’d made before they’d left the ship. Then they headed away into the twilit city, where lights were coming on everywhere, adding a new level of enchantment to their surroundings.
As they entered a lively, well-lighted pedestrian street where practically everybody seemed to be happy and smiling, London again remembered something that Ian had said to her before her flight.
“Hungary sounds like a very depressing place to me.”
London let out a small chuckle as she walked along with a spring in her step.
How wrong you were, Ian! she thought.
She breathed a sigh of relief at the sheer chance that had brought her here—a last-minute vacancy for a job that Jeremy Lapham considered her to be well-suited for. If this job hadn’t come along, she might be engaged to Ian by now. Flashing back to the chaos of her sister’s home, it occurred to her yet again that she’d narrowly escaped living exactly that kind of life.
I really got lucky, she thought.
At that moment, Mrs. Klimowski put her hand to her forehead and swayed a little.
“Oh, I don’t feel well. I must sit down! I must take my medicine!”
Emil stepped forward and offered her his arm with a gallant smile.
“Do not worry, madam,” he said. “The restaurant is only a few steps away. We’ll make sure you are comfortable then.”
“Thank goodness,” Mrs. Klimowski said to Emil, taking his arm. “You are most kind.”
As the group followed after Emil and Mrs. Klimowski, London heard the elderly woman grumble to Emil, “Are you sure this is the right place?”
They had arrived at a most unpromising edifice that bore the sign “Duna Étterem.” The brick facade had once been fairly elegant, with a jutting balcony and stone architectural motifs. But what appeared to be several layers of paint were peeling away, and the brick and stonework were positively crumbling in places. London couldn’t help but worry—had Emil led them to a condemned building by mistake?
Still escorting Mrs. Klimowski by the arm, Emil turned to London and smiled, as if to reassure her that this was indeed the right place.
“Well,” Mrs. Klimowski grumbled. “I’m hungry enough, anyhow.”
London thought the group looked rather glum as they entered, but inside, the restaurant was inviting and spacious, with low arching ceilings and candlelight everywhere. The tables were set with white tablecloths and perfectly folded napkins.
“This will do,” Gus commented.
“Very well indeed,” Bannister added.
Fortunately, the Duna Étterem wasn’t busy at the moment, so the host was able to arrange three tables where the group could sit together. Once seated, they were handed menus by a waiter named János, who began to greet them in excellent English.
Just then, Sir Reginald let out a sharp growl and poked his head out of the leather bag.
János stepped back, startled.
“Madam,” he said, “I’m afraid you can’t keep that dog