“It’s that bad?” He sent a page for water.
“You need to ask? Did you know Mark has a silver mine?”
“What?!”
“You heard me. They found silver in one of the tin deposits. I presume that is where Pastorini got the silver for the shrine he made for you.”
“Silver.”
“Silver, yes.”
The page returned with a ewer of water and poured a cup for Merlin, who stirred his powder into it and drank it at once.
When the boy was gone, Arthur asked, “You’re certain about this? Silver?”
“He told Colin so himself.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why would he tell Colin a thing like that?”
He dodged the question. “And Colin overheard a conversation between two of the mine’s guards as well.”
“Silver.” Arthur whistled. “I’ll have to talk about it with him. He should be here for court in a couple of weeks.”
“I’d wear armor.”
“He is not the killer, Merlin. Whatever he’s up to, it must be for the good of the country, secret mines and all. We have our villain, and he’s in jail. That’s that.”
Merlin sighed. “I’ll be going, then.” He started to stand.
“Not yet. I told you-I need you.”
Merlin sat again. “For what now?”
“I need your scholarship.”
“Amo, amas, amat. Veni, vidi, vici.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Merlin. I’m serious.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, now that we have the Stone of Bran back, I need you to do some serious research. The stone has power. I want you to learn how to unleash it-how to control it.”
“And I suppose you want me to learn this in time for court?”
Arthur was pleased. “Exactly.”
But Merlin wasn’t, and he didn’t try to hide it. “And if I can’t? If after all it is only a piece of sculpted quartz?”
“It is the Stone of Bran, Merlin. If anyone can master it, you can. Go and do it. Consult with Morgan if you must; do anything you have to. But learn the secret.”
Wearily, he stood. “Yes, Arthur, of course.”
A young soldier rushed into the room. “King Arthur, sir.”
“Walter.” Arthur smiled an artificial smile. “Walter of Londinium. Do you two know each other?”
Merlin had seen the man about Camelot, but they had never actually met. Arthur introduced them. But Walter had something on his mind, something evidently urgent. “Sir, I just went to take King Pellenore his breakfast.”
“Yes?”
“He’s gone.”
Arthur froze. Slowly, he said, “Repeat that.”
“The cell is quite empty, sir.”
“That isn’t possible.”
Suddenly Merlin burst out laughing. “Of course. He tried to tell me last night, but I was too tired or too slow to grasp it.”
Arthur rounded on him. “You were with him last night?”
Merlin nodded, still laughing. “This castle used to be his, remember? He knows it better than you or I could, every hidden passage, every concealed corridor. He tried to tell me that, but I didn’t hear him properly.”
“What were you doing there?”
Merlin shrugged. “I went to see him. He’s an old-no, friend would not quite be the word, but we have known each other a long time. That precious man. You all think him mad, and he’s made fools of you.”
Angry, seething, the king turned back to young Walter. “Find him. Search. There must be a way out of the dungeon. Discover it. But find me that man.”
Walter saluted crisply and rushed off.
“It’s no use, Arthur.” Merlin’s laughter was starting to abate. “Pellenore, crazy old Pellenore, has won. He’s beaten you. Can’t you see that? These old castles are riddled with hidden hallways and secret passages. Whatever madman planned this place must have included them in his plans. For Pellenore. He could live in them for months-maybe years-like a phantom. The mad old king has won.”
“Go to your damned library, Merlin, and learn about the stone. Do something useful. And for God’s sake, stop laughing at the rest of us all the time.”
“I can’t help it. Nothing is funnier than a human being with delusions of control.”
“I am the King of England, damn it. I will not be the object of ridicule, not for you and certainly not for Pellenore. Go and do what I ordered you to do. Learn how to master the Stone of Bran.”
Not hiding his amusement, Merlin stood to go. He realized with pleasure that his painkiller had started working already. “Yes, Arthur. Of course. All you have to do is order up miracles and you will get them.”
“Get out of here, Merlin. I’ve never lost my temper with you before, but there is a first time for everything.”
“Yes, Arthur. Of course.”
“I want miracles.”
“Yes, Arthur.”
And so the hunt for Pellenore began. Teams of knights, squires and pages scoured Camelot, checking walls for hidden seams and secret hinges, to no avail. One team found a hidden door in the armory; other than that, the search turned up nothing.
Arthur himself oversaw the search of Pellenore’s dungeoncell. “There must be a hidden passage. There must.” But none was found for the longest time. Then by chance Arthur sat on the stone ledge, leaned back against the wall and felt the stone shift slightly. No one could find a latch or spring mechanism, but when main force was applied, the stone swung back, revealing a long, dark-and perfectly empty-corridor.
It was thirty feet long and ended in a blank stone wall. More force was applied, but these stones proved unyielding. Worse yet, there was no sign anyone had been there for years; the floor was littered with dirt and debris and cobwebs hung undisturbed. There were no footprints, no hand-prints, nothing.
Merlin couldn’t resist observing that there might be other passages as well, that this might not be the one Pellenore had used in his escape. Arthur fumed.
But over the following days, Pellenore was seen, or rather evidence of his presence was seen. Food disappeared mysteriously from the kitchen. Blankets and clothing were taken from knights’ rooms. A maid, tidying Accolon’s chambers, shrieked in terror and ran when a man emerged from a wall there. He took a pillow and vanished again. No one knew where the mad king would appear next, and given his supposedly homicidal bent, everyone was on edge.
“I want him found.” Arthur addressed a gathering of his officers and knights. “I want him found, do you all understand that? Midwinter Court will be happening soon. I’ll be sending out heralds to summon everyone. We can’t very well have Pellenore leaping out of walls, terrifying our visitors. Or worse yet, slaughtering them.”
And so the hunt continued-and continued to be fruitless.
Merlin watched it all, deeply entertained. “Wanting to isolate Pellenore and incapacitate him, Arthur has done the reverse. ”
Nimue was anxious, like everyone else in Camelot. “Has it occurred to you that he may be right? That Pellenore may actually have killed the twins? That whatever Mark is up to may be unconnected?”
“And I suppose you think the old man’s dragons and griffins and whatnot are real?”
“No, of course not. But he thinks they’re real. He could easily have killed the boys, for whatever mad reason, then convinced himself it was really his imaginary beasts who did it.”
“Better still,” Brit added, quite diverted by it all, “they may actually exist.”
“Dragons that kill with swords? Of course.” He snorted.
“I know you, Merlin.” She scowled at him. “I know the way your mind works. You’ve never liked the military. You want Mark to be the murderer.”
“I feel guilty about all of the wars I set Arthur on, yes. When I rigged the-when he pulled Excalibur from the stone, I expected him to become king peacefully. The idea was to use people’s superstition against them, and for their own good. Instead there was nationwide warfare. Death and bloodshed on a vast scale. Do you really think I think framing Mark for the murders would atone for that? If you do know the way my mind works, you must know better than that.”