“Well, sir, I was cleaning out King Pellenore’s rooms, like I always do. With winter coming on and Midwinter Court almost here, I wanted to give them a more thorough cleaning-out than usual. As I was changing the bed linens, I felt something hard under the mattress. And there it was- Excalibur.”
“Under the mattress?”
“Yes, sir. It made me suspicious, so I looked under the bed, and there was the silver box.”
“It was just sitting there? Not wrapped or bagged or anything? ”
“No, sir. Just sitting there. I could see how it gleamed and I knew it must be valuable. And of course I recognized Excalibur. So I went to the king’s chambers and told him.” She looked around uncertainly. “I didn’t think it would cause all this commotion, sir.”
“No, of course not. Were these things there before now?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. Like I told you, I was being extra careful.”
Merlin turned and walked to where Pellenore was being held; he made himself smile. “Pellenore. Hello, Pellenore.”
The old man was trembling. “Merlin.” He took hold of Merlin’s sleeve. “You know me. You know I didn’t do this. The beasts-the beasts are behind this somehow. You understand. You know what the beasts are capable of. Tell them. Please, Merlin, tell them.” There were tears at the corners of his eyes.
“Pellenore.” Merlin made his voice soothing, hoping it would calm the man. “Pellenore, did you take these things? Did you kill the twins?”
“Those boys.” He stammered it. “No! Merlin, it was the beasts. It must have been them. They thrive on human blood. Please, Merlin, tell the king.”
“All right, all right, Pellenore. I believe you.”
For some reason this seemed to fill the old king with even more terror. His eyes widened and he began to shake quite violently. “Tell him! Tell him, please!”
Arthur made a signal, and two of the knights led Pellenore away at sword point. “Put him in the dungeon,” Arthur instructed them loudly. “Not the one where we kept the twins’ bodies. That would be much too grotesque, even if it would be fitting.”
Pellenore began shrieking and crying out irrational things about his dragons and griffins. The knights prodded him with their swords, and they all disappeared down the corridor and around a corner.
Alarica looked at Arthur; it was clear she didn’t understand what she’d done, or what her find had caused. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to cause so much trouble.”
“It’s all right. You did the right thing. Go to the kitchen and get some wine for yourself. That will calm you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Still clearly puzzled and unsure, the woman left.
Arthur turned to Merlin. “Well, there you have it. We have our killer.”
“Are you certain, Arthur?”
“How else could he have come into possession of this and the shrine?” He swung Excalibur a few times, plainly enjoying its heft. “I won’t need a new sword after all. I can send Pastorini back to Cornwall where he belongs.”
“Pastorini. Of course.” Merlin seemed pleased. “That explains it. May I see Excalibur, please?”
“What on earth for?” Arthur handed it to him.
“Would you say it is damaged at all, Arthur? Haft still firmly attached? Blade straight and true?”
“Of course. Pellenore stole it, but why would he have damaged it?”
“If he had slept on it every night for all these weeks, would the blade still be straight? Wouldn’t it be bent?”
“What are you saying?”
“Besides, Pellenore is daft, not stupid. Why would he or anyone else sleep on a thing like this?”
“Get to the point, Merlin-if there is one.”
“I’m telling you that I still don’t believe Pellenore is our culprit.”
Arthur snorted derisively. “The stolen things were found in his room. That is evidence enough for me. Frankly, it’s a relief to have it all over and done with.”
“I can imagine.”
“My boys can rest in peace now.”
“Oh-so can we all.”
“Good. I’m glad you understand that. Now don’t go muddying the waters with a lot of claptrap about reason and logic. We have the killer, and it is the man I’ve suspected all along.”
“Arthur, will you listen to me?”
“We should have realized he’d do something horrible sooner or later.”
“Arthur!” He spoke loudly and firmly, then lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “We have to talk about this. Mark is-”
“We can try him during Midwinter Court. It will be good for people to see my justice in action.”
“Arthur, will you listen to me?”
The king sighed. “You would have to take the pleasure out of this moment. What is it?”
Merlin took him by the sleeve and led him to a corner out of earshot of the others. “Mark is up to something. We have evidence. Ni-Colin has heard him.”
Impatiently, he asked, “Up to what?”
“Let us talk in the morning. I’ll tell you about it then.”
“Fine.”
Very late that night, long after midnight, Merlin was sleepless. He knew he would not rest until the truth had been uncovered and justice done. Rising from his bed, he dressed and got a torch.
Holding the light aloft and leaning on his cane, he negotiated the steps awkwardly. The castle was empty. He could hear, now and then, the sounds of guards stirring in the corridors, just out of sight; otherwise the place might have been quite empty of people. Torches in wall sconces burned every dozen feet along his way. It occurred to him that with both of his hands occupied, he would be an easy target for any assassin who chose to strike-as they had struck him before. Would Pastorini attempt such a thing? he wondered. Had the metalsmith come alone or with soldiers? His footsteps and the tap-tap-tap of his cane echoed.
The corridor sloped downward. In a few moments he was in the dark bowels of the castle, and his light was the only one. Rats, snakes, other creatures less immediately identifiable scuttled out of his way as he progressed. Any one of them could have bitten him, but all he could think was, Poor Pellenore, reduced to these awful surroundings. And the deeper he went, the colder the air grew.
Ahead of him he saw the light from another torch-the guard’s light. The doors of unoccupied dungeons hung open, the interiors gaping at him horribly. He moved more quickly.
The single guard was sitting on a rough wooden stool, nodding off. An empty wine bottle lay on the floor beside him. Arthurian security. Twenty feet away, he cleared his throat loudly to rouse the man.
The soldier stirred and looked around groggily. Merlin recognized him as an old campaigner, one of Arthur’s stalwarts. He was in his fifties, too old for any kind of service but this, now. Merlin groped to remember his name but couldn’t.
For a moment the man registered alarm; then he recognized who was coming. “Merlin, sir.”
“Hello. I would say ‘good evening’ but that hardly seems appropriate down here.”
“No, sir. How long has it been since the king closed the dungeons? I never thought I’d see service down here. You look well.”
“You too. I wish I felt well.”
“Age gets us all, doesn’t it? A few months ago I felt a terrible spasm in my left arm. Since then it hasn’t worked properly, not at all.” Then he realized the oddness of the situation. “What are you doing here, sir?”
“I want to see the prisoner.”
“No one is permitted, sir.”
“Nevertheless, you know me. I am Arthur’s chief advisor. Let me in.”
Doubtfully, the man stood up and took the key from a loop at his waist. “You’re sure you’re permitted, sir?”
“Arthur won’t mind.”
The guard hesitated. “That isn’t an answer.”
“Yes it is. I’ll take responsibility if there should be any awkward questions asked.”
Plainly uncertain, the guard unlocked the door. The lock and the hinges were badly rusted from years of disuse; they creaked quite alarmingly. Merlin took his torch and went inside.