“Works of art,” he said.
I couldn’t stop to set them free. There were too many. I had to save my strength for the fight ahead and hope there’d be time later.
Finally, after so many horrors and brutal indignities that I’d actually started to become numb to atrocity, we came at last to the Court of Camelot. And, of course, Merlin had kept the worst till last. Two huge doors of beaten brass stood before us, covered in deeply etched satanic workings and blasphemous designs. Severed hands and feet had been nailed to the doors, in patterns that made no sense. The doors opened slowly before us, and Blaise crashed to a halt. Suzie and I stopped and looked back at him.
“Aren’t you coming?” I said. “I thought you were going to watch, while Merlin did nasty things to us.”
“I know better than to enter unless invited,” said Blaise. “He’ll send for me when he wants me.”
I looked thoughtfully at the slowly widening gap between the two doors. “What’s in there, Blaise?”
“The dead and the damned.”
“Ah,” said Suzie. “Knew I should have dressed up formal. And brought more grenades with me.”
“We’ll have to improvise,” I said. “Shall we go?”
“Let’s,” said Suzie.
“But first things first,” I said, and punched Blaise right in the face. He reeled backwards, blood spurting from his ruined mouth. Suzie stepped in behind him and cracked him round the back of his head with the butt of her gun. He bent forward, as though he were bowing to me, and I rabbit-punched him. Blaise hit the floor hard and didn’t move again.
“Shouldn’t have been a mouthy little shit, Blaise,” I said.
“Got that right,” said Suzie.
We marched into the Court together, smiling cheerfully, our heads held high. It was a huge open space, full of a dull, murky, blood-red light. The smell hit me first; bad as the outside land had been, this was worse. Blood and offal and filth, but concentrated, as though someone had chosen to make perfume out of it. The massive walls were covered with the flayed bodies of all those who had defied or spoken out against Merlin or sought to change the world he’d made. Thousands of them, with their skins sheared away to show glistening red muscle and splintered bone. Pinned to the wall like so many trophies, so many mounted butterflies. Still alive, enduring agonies that should have killed them, maintained on the very edge of death by Merlin’s magic. He fed on their pain and was content.
The marble floor was stained with blood and filth and scattered human offal. Some old, some new, piled up here and there, or kicked aside to make rough passageways. From the high beamed ceiling hung massive chandeliers, made from human bone and gristle, with candles fashioned from human fat. They gave off a thick greasy smoke that hung heavily on the air. There were braziers with irons heating in them, and iron maidens with fresh blood round their bases, and all kinds of instruments of torture, ready for us. One man had been recently dissected, all of his parts cut out and separated, pinned to a large display board. His heart still beat, his lungs still moved, and—like all the others—he was still somehow alive.
I knew what all these things were, without having to be told; there was a low-level information spell operating in the Court. Merlin wanted his visitors to know what happened here. So he could stamp out the last little bit of hope they brought in with them.
Merlin Satanspawn sat on his great iron throne at the very end of the Court. Hugely fat and naked, and happy in his evil. He beckoned for Suzie and me to approach, with one plump, blood-stained hand. I headed straight for him, as though that was what I’d intended all along. I didn’t look down at what I was striding through. Suzie stuck close beside me. I made a point of not hurrying. In a place like this, small victories were sometimes all you’ve got. I took the time to study the woman sitting on the iron throne next to Merlin’s. Incredibly tall and inhumanly slender, she was also naked; but her ivory pale skin was marked with intricate tattoos, from her bald head to her clawed feet. Celtic and Druidic designs, mostly. Her ears had points, and her eyes were golden. Elven blood. A halo of flies buzzed round her head.
There were no more knights in dark armour, no guards, not even any courtiers. Merlin wanted no witnesses to see him forced to bargain with Stark for the sword Excalibur.
I came to a halt a wary distance short of the two thrones and nodded casually to Merlin. Suzie sniffed loudly. Merlin smiled happily on both of us.
“Allow me to introduce Morgan Le Fae,” he said. “Now I am King, she shall be Queen. Because it pleases me.”
“She reminds me of my mother, Lilith,” I said. “And not in a good way.”
“My mentor,” said Morgan, in a harsh, rasping voice. “Long ago, now. And my ancestor, of course. So welcome, cousin. The family can always use an infusion of fresh blood.”
“Okay,” I said. “That was creepy, on a whole bunch of different levels.”
“Are you an elf?” said Suzie, with her usual bluntness. “I thought Merlin killed all the elves here.”
“All but this one,” said Merlin. “I thought she had ... potential.”
“I never liked the others anyway,” said Morgan.
“I’m not here to talk to you,” I said. “Stark! Stark, where are you? Come on, I know you’re here; I Saw you.”
He stepped out from behind Merlin’s throne and met my angry gaze impassively. He still wore his fine armour, the helmet tucked under one arm, but the gleaming steel had been fouled with blood and filth and gore. His face was empty, blank of any emotion. There was no sign of Excalibur anywhere about him, and a chill touched my heart as I wondered whether I was too late after all. If he’d already given Merlin the sword ... But no; Stark wouldn’t give up Excalibur without getting what he wanted first. And there was no sign in the Court of his wife Julianne, living or dead.
“You took your time getting here,” Merlin said to me. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“You know how it is,” I said. “Taking in the scenery ... things to do, people to kill. You do know we killed King Artur? Suzie blew his head right off, so I wouldn’t recommend trying to bring him back.”
“His conversation never was that thrilling,” said Merlin. “But I take your point. Yes, I knew he was dead the moment it happened. Pity ... After all the trouble he caused me, I would have enjoyed killing him myself. And the example I would have made of him would have traumatised generations. Still, I would have killed him anyway even if he hadn’t run away. I don’t need him any more. I’ve finally grown tired of the old stories. No more Arthurs; none of them were ever as much fun as corrupting the original. Fallen saints always make the best sinners ... Now I am King, and I have taken Arthur’s sister as my Queen. Ah, the progeny we’ll have.”
“Oh puke,” said Suzie.
“Speaking of family,” I said quickly, “we met your brother on the way here. Prince Gaylord the Damned. We sent him back to Hell with his tail between his legs.”
“Made him cry like a baby,” said Suzie. She let her shotgun drift from Merlin to Morgan Le Fae and back again.
Merlin laughed abruptly and clapped his hands together in glee. “Happy news! You have done me a service, John Taylor; I owe you! And since I can’t stand to owe anyone anything, your suffering shall be legendary, even in Camelot.”
“Big talk,” said Suzie, “for a fat man with no clothes on.”
“Don’t taunt the fat psychopath sorcerer,” said Stark, unexpectedly. We all looked at him, but he had nothing else to say.
“Stark will be leaving us soon,” said Merlin. “Once we’ve closed our little deal. And then, through him I shall make contact with Queen Mab and her army of elves and use them to conquer your world. Ah me, a whole new world to play with ... I can hardly contain myself.”