A Tail of Camelot (10 page)

T
ime was working against Calib.

He knew he would not be able to find an owl feather simply lying around the courtyard—but he
might
be able to find one in the Two-Legger throne room. King Arthur himself signed many laws into being with the feather of a rare snowy owl. But retrieving it would not be easy. It sat smack-dab in the center of the Round Table.

Calib broke into a run toward the throne room. Quickly climbing up into a curving tunnel with colorful panels lining one side, Calib found a loose tile and moved it aside,
emerging onto the stone ledge that circled the vaulted dome of the throne room.

From this vantage point, Calib could see the Two-Leggers gathering below. They milled about a circular table carved from rose-colored marble. Tall, high-backed wooden chairs surrounded it: the Round Table.

The table was more than just a table. It was a symbol of King Arthur's philosophy: a king should not have absolute power. True power came from many unified voices. It was the same philosophy that the mice of Camelot shared: “Together in paw and tail, lest divided we fall and fail.”

Calib scanned the faces. Only a dwindling number of King Arthur's advisers, servants, and squires still resided in the castle. A handful of old knights sat at their places at the Round Table, their adventuring days far behind them. The quill stand sat in front of King Arthur's seat. Calib's heart sank. The stand was too visible. He had no hope of sneaking past all the assembled knights.

He spotted a boy a few feet below him, his large ears poking out from a hideous velvet hat. It was the same boy who'd rescued Valentina—the same boy who'd actually addressed Calib as though expecting him to talk back. The Two-Legger was wearing a purple server's uniform and looked bored. He held a plate full of dried dates. Every few seconds, he would slowly dip one in a large cup of sugar and hand it to frail Sir Edmund, who was
seated at the Round Table.

Something white flashed in the boy's hat as he turned to pass a sugared treat. Calib's chest tightened. A barn owl feather poked out of the hat's brim.

The quill was beyond his reach, but Calib was desperate enough to make do with what he could get right now.

A blare of trumpets startled everyone in the room to attention. A tall, willowy woman strode in. She was dressed in an emerald-green dress that matched her eyes. A delicate gold crown sat high on her head, with thin braids entwining it into place. Queen Guinevere was a sight to behold.

She stood in front of King Arthur's seat at the table. The knights and advisers at the table stood and bowed, some more readily than others.

“Lord champions and knights, defenders of Camelot, thank you for meeting with me today,” she said in a clear voice that reminded Calib of Kensington. “I wish it were under better circumstances. I have reason to believe that Camelot is in grave danger.”

The crowd began to mutter. Calib's ears perked up. Did Queen Guinevere know about the threat of another war with the Darklings?

“I have looked into Merlin's Mirror and seen signs that trouble me greatly—”

“Bah, that old Merlin was a charlatan and a crook,” Sir
Kay interrupted. “I never saw his so-called magic with my own eyes!”

Queen Guinevere ignored the interruption. “We need to bring Arthur home as soon as possible. We have been vulnerable for too long.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” said one adviser whose face sagged with wrinkles, “there has been peace for years. We have no reason to suspect that there is any danger at all.”

Suddenly, the door to the throne room burst open as though a violent gust of wind had blown in.

“I beg an audience with the Round Table!”

The loud cry turned every head. Calib tilted forward on the ledge to get a better look.

A Two-Legger in worn leathers and a knit cap stood in the doorway. His face glistened with sweat, and his eyes roved around wildly as he gasped for breath. The man was in such disarray that it took Calib a moment before he recognized him as the local woodcutter, Gareth. He delivered firewood to all of Camelot, but he was not usually expected at the castle until noonday.

Two guards grabbed and held him back from reaching the queen, for he was still clutching his ax in his hand. “I must speak with the queen!” The man struggled to push past his captors.

“Release him,” Queen Guinevere said, raising her hand
for order in the throne room. “This man has kept us warm through many a winter. He may say whatever he wishes.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I bring news,” he gasped, still catching his breath. “The Sword in the Stone has reappeared. I came upon it in a vale near the sea, just standing there as if it had grown out of the ground overnight!”

Calib froze, wondering if he was about to learn more about the legendary sword. Judging from the astounded gasps, the Two-Leggers were just as bewildered as he had been.

Queen Guinevere was the first to recover.

“There are signs of trouble everywhere, it seems,” she said grimly. “The Sword in the Stone appears only in Britain's greatest hour of need.”

One of the knights jeered. “Right. And whoever frees it next will be king!”

Angry murmurs rippled around the room.

“That's treason you're talking about!”

“Is it really? We haven't heard from King Arthur in months. Perhaps it is he who has abandoned us.”

Arguments began to break out.

The big-eared boy stepped half a pace nearer to Calib's spot on the ledge. This would be the perfect time to make his move, Calib thought, now that everyone was busy yelling.

Think like a Christopher. Think like a Christopher.

If the boy took one more step to the left, Calib might drop down neatly onto the boy's hat from above. But if he missed, it would be a very long fall to the flagstones below.

The boy took a shuffling step to the left to avoid being elbowed by a knight who was waving his arms around as he spoke.

Calib closed his eyes, curled into a ball, and rolled off the ledge . . .

Hurtling down, down for what seemed like forever . . .

Before landing lightly on the soft brim of the hat.

Calib's head spun as he righted himself. He could not tell if he had just been laughably stupid or startlingly brave.

Calib scooted over to the owl feather. He grabbed it and pulled hard, but it would not come free. He examined the feather closely and saw that it was secured to the boy's hat with thread. Calib carefully placed his teeth around the thread and began to nibble. As he chewed, the entire hat began to tip. Calib clung to the fabric. He realized with horror that the boy was reaching for his hat.

Calib pulled the thread with all his might, but the feather was still too tightly sewn. Calib ducked behind the feather and prayed the boy's hand wouldn't stray too close to him.

“Galahad, why have you stopped serving?” snapped Sir Edmund.

“Sorry, sir,” Galahad said politely. “My hat is itchy.”

“I'd expect more fortitude from Lancelot's son,” grumbled the old knight. “No wonder you ended up in the kitchen.”

This is Sir Lancelot's son? I'm sitting on Lancelot's son, Galahad?
Calib was a little awestruck. No wonder the boy had arrived at the castle under Lancelot's banners. Regaining his wits, Calib ducked out from beneath the feather and continued to gnaw at the troublesome thread. He didn't see Galahad drop the date. He only felt a sudden vertigo as Galahad squatted down to retrieve it. He held on to the feather for dear life as it tilted forward dangerously.

Calib felt a shadow fall over him. He looked up. A craggy Two-Legger's nose almost brushed against Calib's whiskers.

All the color drained out of Sir Edmund's face. He began choking on his date. Alarmed, Galahad stood again and thumped the knight across the back. Sir Edmund coughed. The date shot from his mouth, catapulted across the Round Table, and hit a sleepy-eyed adviser on the forehead.

The old knight took a few ragged breaths, and his face turned rumpled and red.

“Are you all right, sir?” Galahad asked.

“Raaaaaaaaaaat!” Sir Edmund shouted, pointing a gnarled finger at Galahad.

Or rather, at Calib.

All eyes in the court zeroed in on him.

With a loud squeak, Calib leaped off Galahad's hat and onto the table, kicking the plate of dates on his way down. The platter flipped and clattered to the ground violently. Dried dates fell around Calib like boulders. Sugar showered the table in a white cascade, covering him with it.

Calib dashed across the glittering surface, praying he wouldn't be struck by a stray date. The air was filled with thunderous explosions of shouting. Blood pounded in his ears. He had never been so scared in his life.

Wrinkled hands reached out to snatch him, but he dodged them one by one. He ran toward the queen and skidded to a stop at the table's edge. It was a long drop to the floor, and he was sure he wouldn't make it without breaking something.

“What in the . . . ?”

Calib sat up and looked at Queen Guinevere's surprised face. Confronted with Her Majesty, Calib did the only proper thing that came to mind: he stood on his hind legs and bowed deeply.

A nearby guard sprang forward, unsheathing his knife.
He raised the blade high, ready to slam it down on Calib.

“Don't!” shouted Galahad. He leaped forward to block the guard's arm, but was only successful in pushing Sir Kay out of his seat.

There was a sudden flash of orange fur, and Calib found himself staring into the caramel eyes of a massive orange tabby cat. He caught a glimpse of white, needle-sharp teeth before the feline's jaws snapped shut around him.

“P
lay dead,” the large cat whispered between her teeth.

Even though every instinct told him to fight, squeak, and run, Calib did as he was told and went limp.

“Lucinda, no!” cried the queen. “Not on the Round Table!”

Queen Guinevere picked up her cat and placed her gently on the ground. Calib found himself unceremoniously carted through the throne room in Lucinda's mouth, which smelled distinctly of tuna. As Queen Guinevere's favorite pet, Lucinda was accustomed to fine seafood rather than mice.

Peeking through the gaps between Lucinda's sharp teeth, Calib could see Queen Guinevere dismissing the court. Calib bounced against the cat's rough tongue as she wound her way through an open door into the queen's private garden. She deposited him, shivering and saliva drenched, into a patch of dead rosebushes.

“Merlin bless you, Lucinda!” Calib gasped. He wiped long strings of spit from his face. Wet fur in a winter wind was a recipe for getting sick, but he didn't care. “You saved my life!”

Lucinda's squashed-in tabby-cat face gave her a permanent look of disgust. She bopped Calib on the head with a paw.

“Do you know how much trouble you mice have caused me today?” she hissed angrily. “Stay out of trouble. Next time, I'm letting the knives fall where they may.”

“Yes, Lucinda,” Calib said as she bounded away. He knew her threat was an empty one. Lucinda was indebted to the Camelot mice. When she was a kitten, Lucinda had fallen into the queen's garden pond. Only the mice had responded to her mewlings for help. In gratitude, she had promised to always be their ally.

Calib waited until the cat was out of sight before he scoured the wall for a way to get back into the throne room. He had come so close to getting an owl feather!

He grabbed a nearby vine and began to scale the stone
wall toward the stained-glass window with the missing pane. Huffing and puffing, Calib reached the ledge with throbbing paws. He peered in through the panel.

The throne room was now almost empty. Galahad was kneeling beneath the Round Table, picking up spilled dates that had rolled underneath. The quill was completely out in the open and ready for the snatching.

Calib squeezed through the empty pane and climbed onto the back of the throne, careful to avoid detection. Sliding down to the arm of the chair, Calib hopped onto the Round Table. A field of white sugar crystals lay before him like fresh snowfall. Calib darted and leaped into a nearby fruit bowl for cover.

One of Sir Kay's pages walked by, a surly-looking boy with thick brows. He made a point to scuff more sugar across the marble floor with his boots.

“Can't even hold a platter properly. Why did anyone think you would ever hold a sword?” he sneered as he sauntered out of the room.

Galahad scowled but stayed silent as he went to fetch the mop. A tug of sympathy pulled at Calib's insides. It seemed to him that there were Warrens in just about every species. Plus, the Two-Legger had helped to free Valentina. And he'd tried to keep Calib from getting a knife to the tail.

Calib wanted to do something for this boy in return.

He had never talked to a human before, but he thought he would try now. Seeing his own paw prints in the sugar, an idea struck him. He took his tail and began to scratch out a short message in the sugar.

Once he was satisfied with what he had written, he turned his attention back to the quill. Yanking the feather from its stand on the Round Table and balancing it carefully across his shoulders, Calib hopped off the table and glided to the safety of the closest mouse tunnel.

As he floated to the ground, he remembered his grandfather's words to him in the tapestry hall:

You do not have to bear your burdens alone. “Together in paw or tail, lest divided we fall and fail.”

In that moment, Calib decided he
would
ask Cecily to join him. An extra pair of eyes and paws on his quest could only help. His mission was too big and too important to do on his own—bigger, even, than becoming a squire.

Calib headed straight toward the training grounds, where the pages were sure to be practicing, in preparation for whatever lay ahead. He felt of a twinge of jealousy when he saw Devrin helping a first-year page with his grip on the wooden practice sword. He quickly turned away from them and scanned the arena for Cecily.

He saw Warren and Barnaby running laps—but no Cecily.

Her best friend, a kitchen maid named Ginny, however,
was nearby. She was serving lunch—barley soup from a squash gourd.

“Greetings, Ginny!” Calib said brightly.

Ginny yelped and dropped her soupspoon, splattering both of them with broth.

“I don't know anything! So don't ask!” she squeaked, whiskers twitching.

“I only wanted to see if you've talked to Cecily today,” Calib said, confused by her behavior.

All at once, Ginny burst into big, gasping tears. She swiped her tail across her eyes to mop them up.

“I'm sorry, Calib. I told her it was a bad idea, but she wouldn't listen. I didn't think she was serious about going. I tried to stop her, I really did,” she said shakily.

Calib's stomach knotted into pretzels.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “Where is she going?”

Ginny stared at him, more tears brimming in the corners of her brown eyes.

“She's gone to see the owls.”