“Hello, London Knights. I’m John Taylor. From the Nightside. I need to talk to you concerning something that’s a lot more in your line of work than mine. If it helps, Julien Advent vouches for me. If it doesn’t, I never met the man. Look, this really is something you want to know about. It’s Arthurian as all hell, and the words deep shit and approaching fan should be taken into consideration.”
Still nothing. Arrogant bunch of pricks. I was considering the soothing properties of giving the wall another good hard kick when, almost without realising it, my hand rose and took a firm hold on the invisible hilt rising behind my shoulder. And the moment my bare flesh made contact with the ancient bone ... old, old words came to me.
“I bear Excalibur, the Sword of Morning, the Hand of Albion. In the name of the Lady who has granted me her power, and in the name of the man who last wielded it, the once-and-future King, I demand audience with the last defenders of Camelot.”
And the Green Door was suddenly there before me, very real and very solid, as though it always had been there and always would. I took my hand away from Excalibur’s hilt, and the Green Door opened slowly before me, retreating silently and not at all invitingly—revealing only an impenetrable darkness beyond. I took a deep breath, held my chin up, and walked right into it. Never let them think they’ve got you cowed, or they’ll walk right over you. The darkness swallowed me up, cold and limitless, and I barely had time to wonder whether I’d made a terrible mistake when a blast of light dispelled the darkness, and just like that I was standing in the entrance hall to a medieval castle.
Which was pretty much what I’d been expecting. The London Knights are firmly steeped in tradition. I looked cautiously about me. There was no-one round to greet me, or any signs of human habitation at all. Only great towering walls of a rich creamy white stone, spotlessly clean, without any trace of decoration. The whole place could have been built the day before. Every separate stone in the massive walls had been set so tightly and so perfectly together that no mortar was needed. And that takes real skill and expert measurement.
I appeared to have the whole great open space to myself. No-one there, and not even any windows or arrow slits through which I could be observed. I took a quick look behind me, but of course the Green Door was gone, replaced by a blank and very real wall. There was an open archway straight ahead of me, in the far wall. Silence filled the entrance hall, so complete I could hear my own breathing. A silence that seemed pointedly judgemental. I had no doubt I was being watched. So I stuck my hands in my coat-pockets, slouched, adopted a jaunty air, and strolled towards the open archway as though I had all the time in the world.
The sound of my footsteps hardly seemed to travel at all, not even a hint of an echo, as though the sheer massive size of the hall were soaking up the sound.
It took me a while to cross the long hall, and by the time I got to the archway it was filled with a heavy iron portcullis. I was pretty sure it hadn’t been there when I started walking, and I was pissed off enough to take this new snub personally. I glared at the portcullis.
“Lift this bloody thing right now. Or I’ll show you all a really nasty trick my mother taught me.”
There was a pause, then the iron portcullis rose silently before me, without any sound of straining mechanisms. I love it when a bluff comes together. I stuck my nose in the air and strode haughtily through the narrow stone tunnel into another great hall. The same creamy white stone as before, but richly adorned with hanging tapestries and colourful pennants, in sharp vivid shades of crimson, emerald, and gold. Huge silver crucifixes were mounted on the walls, between magnificent stained-glass windows depicting scenes from the lives of the Saints. The flooring was polished marble, with huge mosaics presenting scenes from the past—of knights in their armour, clashing armies, blood and mud and the fight for a dream.
I felt a very real lightening of the spirit, a feeling of calm and burdens lifted; the light was crystal clear, and even the air tasted fair. I relaxed a little, despite myself. I’d seen more impressive places in the Nightside, but not many. As medieval castles went, this one went all the way. But I still couldn’t help noting that the splendid crystal-and-diamond chandeliers at each end of the hall contained electric light bulbs rather than the usual massed candles. I stopped to study them for a moment, and when I looked down again, there were a dozen knights in full armour standing before me.
I hadn’t heard them come in. In fact, given the sheer weight of the armour they were wearing, I should have heard them approaching half a mile away. Clearly, I was meant to be impressed, so I nodded casually, as though I’d seen it all before, and much better done. My first thought was how ... practical, and functional, the suits of armour looked. They weren’t ceremonial, or works of art, or even symbols; this was battle armour, designed to keep its wearer alive in even the most dangerous of situations. Gleaming steel, from head to foot; expertly fashioned, and completely unadorned. No engraving or ornamentation, not even a coloured tabard over the torso to add a touch of colour. Steel helmets covered their entire heads, with only a Y-shaped slots for the eyes and mouths.
For a moment, I was reminded of the knight in dark armour I’d seen on the station platform, back in the Nightside. The nightmare armour that stood in utter opposition to the forces of chivalry before me.
The knights were still staring silently at me. I wondered whether there was some special password I was supposed to use; I still remembered the Word my quarry had used to get in all those years ago. But considering what had happened to him, I didn’t think I’d use it. The knights were trying to impress and/or intimidate me, but they really should have known better. If there was one thing that anyone should know about me, it’s that I don’t do impressed or intimidated. I considered drawing Excalibur and doing something dramatically destructive with it; but that might make me seem weak, in their eyes. And it seemed to me that the castle would be a very bad place in which to appear weak.
So I struck a casual pose and smiled easily at the knights, as though they were on parade in front of me. “Hi. I’m John Taylor.”
“Oh, we know who you are,” said an amused voice from within one of the steel helms. “Your reputation spreads a lot further than this.”
The knight speaking took off his helmet and tucked it casually under his arm. He had a fresh, cheerful face, with short-cropped blond hair and very blue eyes. The warmth in his smile gave every appearance of being genuine. He had the open, easy kind of charm you tend not to see a lot of in the Nightside. An honest, straightforward agent of the Good; exactly like the London Knights were supposed to be. I was immediately suspicious, but I gave him my best open smile in return.
“Hi!” said the knight, stepping forward and extending a mailed glove for me to shake. I grasped it firmly, and he gave it a good solid shake, like a young clergyman who played rugby on the side. “I’m Sir Gareth. Welcome to Castle Inconnu. I see you’ve noticed the electric lighting. We are a part of the twenty-first century, you know. We have central heating, indoor plumbing, cable, and broadband. We’re traditionalists, not barbarians. Sorry we had to give you a bit of a hard time getting in, but we live in dangerous times. You of all people should know that. You’re one of the people who makes these times dangerous. And you really should have known better than to drop the Victorian Adventurer’s name. He’s been persona non grata round here for years. But ... you say you have Excalibur. And you knew the old Words ... So here we are. Despite your really quite appalling reputation.”