First thing that morning all three of the birds were outside the window, tapping earnestly. He let them in and fed them some stale bread crumbs. Then they gathered near the fireplace, though not too close.
Mark arrived first. He gave every indication of having slept well and soundly despite the night’s events and the pervasive chill. “Good morning, Merlin.”
“It is not a good morning. This is only the beginning of November. It’s way too early in the season for this kind of weather.”
Mark beamed. “I love the cold.”
“You’re a dangerously unbalanced man.”
“Relax, Merlin. It’ll warm up again.”
“Maybe the weather will. I’m not at all certain that I will myself. Cold has a way of settling deep in my bones. When that happens nothing warms me up but soaking in a hot tub of water for a long time, which I find equally unpleasant.”
Mark pulled up a stool and sat with his legs up on the table. “You’re getting old.”
“Arthur always tells me I was born old.”
“He has a point.” For the first time he noticed the ravens, huddled a few feet from the fire. “You’re still keeping those damned birds.”
Merlin scowled. “Colin is supposed to bring some warm spiced wine. That’ll help warm us up.”
“Wine always helps everything.”
“You’re one of Arthur’s men, all right.”
As if on cue the door opened and Nimue came in, carrying a large pot of steaming spiced wine. “Good morning. Let’s put this near the fire before it gets cold.”
Mark sprang to his feet. “Not till I get a cupful for myself. ”
The ravens scuttled away, watching Nimue warily. There was an iron hook at the fireplace. She hung the wine pot then walked to the window. “Look at it out there. The world has turned white and pure.”
“The world,” Merlin said carefully and pointedly, “has not been pure since Pandora opened her box.”
“Who?” Mark looked into is cup. “There’s too much cardamom in this. Who on earth is Pandora?”
“A myth. Never mind.”
Britomart knocked and came in. “Morning, everyone.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say good morning,” Merlin grumped.
“I just met Pellenore in the hall as I was coming here. Even he’s unhappy about the cold. He says his dragons have gone into hibernation, like bears.” She smiled. “So now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Is Ganelin coming? And Arthur?”
Nimue stirred the pot. “They should be here soon. Would you like some hot wine?”
“Please. Anything warm.”
At the window Merlin looked down to the courtyard. There was some activity. It took him a few seconds to realize Morgan and Mordred were there with their servants. Apparently, they were trying to leave, exactly as Guenevere had the night before. But the guards had been doubled and given strict orders. No one, not even the high priestess, was going to get out of Camelot today.
He turned to the others. “It looks as if another of our suspects is trying to get away.” He explained what was going on below.
Brit swirled the wine in her cup then tasted it. “Morgan can’t be a suspect, can she? I mean, she was there in plain sight the whole time-on the dais.”
“But Mordred wasn’t,” Nimue volunteered. “I saw him leave the hall just after his mother took her seat.”
“Maybe he had to use the privy, Colin.” Mark got up and refilled his cup. “I did.”
“And did you see him there?” Merlin asked.
“Don’t be absurd. You know how many loos there are in Camelot.”
“I’ve never actually counted.”
Brit took a seat across the table from Mark. “I wish we didn’t have to deal with this. I wish… I don’t know… I guess I wish Borolet was still alive.”
Merlin crossed to the fireplace and got wine. “He was in training to be a knight. That more or less precludes a natural death for most people.”
“I’m still here.” She took a long swallow of wine. “There’s not enough cardamom in this.”
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside. Whoever it was was walking slowly and heavily. Then the door opened and Arthur came in. He looked as if he hadn’t slept; he was pale and drawn, and there was nothing like his usual energy. “Morning, everyone. Cold day.”
“Shrewd observation, Arthur.”
“Why don’t you save the sarcasm for once, Merlin? I’ve had a terrible night.”
Merlin and Nimue exchanged glances; it was tempting to comment on what they’d seen at his window, but they both kept tactfully quiet about it. She asked Arthur, “Is Ganelin coming?”
“Yes. I want him here. But he may be late. I think he had an even worse night than I did. What happened is only beginning to sink in for him.”
Suddenly, Merlin was in his element. “He has lost not merely his brother but his twin. That must be devastating for him. Philosophers have theorized what accounts for twin births. The usual explanation is that they are halves of a whole, and that neither is ever quite complete without the other. If Ganelin is feeling that-”
“Whatever he’s feeling can’t be pleasant, Merlin.” Arthur avoided looking at him. “The question is, who could have wanted the shrine and the stone badly enough to kill Borolet so horribly to get them?” He looked around the room hoping someone would answer, but they were all watching him and waiting for him to go on. “Do any of you have any ideas?”
No one else spoke up, so Nimue did. “I think we all know who the suspects are, sir. At least the obvious ones.”
“And who are they, Colin?”
She hesitated. “Well… Guenevere and Morgan.”
“My wife and my sister.” His voice broke. “No, each is a monster in her way but I can’t believe that of either of them.” Then he brightened slightly. “They were both there in the Great Hall, in front of half the nobles in England. How could either of them-”
“They weren’t alone, Arthur.” Britomart got to her feet and began pacing. “They have servants. Friends. Devotees. I saw Lancelot leave the hall myself. Other people saw Mordred go.”
“Mordred? That spindly, watery, spidery bas- nephew of mine? He could barely hold a broadsword like Excalibur let alone wield it properly.”
“What about Lancelot, then?” Mark looked into his empty cup, thought about getting more wine then put the cup on the table instead. “I mean, he’s dense and everyone knows it. But this was hardly a crime that required much thought.”
Arthur was looking more and more out of his depth. “I’ll ask Guenevere about it.”
“She’ll defend him.” Merlin was surpassingly firm. “She’ll never admit her stud knight could have done this. Especially if she told him to.”
“Even so. I’ll talk to her. What else can I do?”
“While you’re at it, then, ask her why she tried to sneak away under cover of darkness. Even if she wanted to leave, the sensible thing would have been to go by daylight and in better weather.”
The king fell silent. After a long pause he said, “I want you to find this killer, this assassin, by Midwinter Court. I want to announce then that he’s been brought to justice. Do what you need to do to find him.”
“I want to help.” Without anyone noticing, Ganelin had slipped into the room. He stood pressed against the door, looking sad and frightened.
“Ganelin.” Merlin smiled. “Come in and sit. Let Colin give you some warmed wine.”
“No thank you, sir. But I heard what you said about my losing not just my brother but my other half, my other self. That is so true. I can’t remember a time when he was not there, beside me. My memories stretch all the way back to the cradle and our mother, Anna, and there was always Borolet next to me, warming me, comforting me with his presence. Last night the world seemed completely empty to me. If King Arthur”-he nodded in his direction-“had not held me and calmed me, I would have gone mad.”
So it was Ganelin they had seen in Arthur’s window. Nimue and Merlin exchanged glances but kept silent.