A Tail of Camelot (9 page)

“W
e have to hide!” Cecily whispered.

The thudding footsteps were coming closer, and candlelight spilled around the corner. Calib tried to run from the cage, but his tail was stuck. Sweat broke down his back.

“Now!” Cecily was practically shrieking. She grabbed Calib's tail and pulled hard. Calib bit on his tongue to stop from yelping. Finally, it slipped free. He ran with Cecily to hide inside the mouth of a stuffed bear. Calib knew the bear was long dead, but he couldn't stop worrying that
at any second the mouth would clamp shut and the teeth would sever him in two.

A Two-Legger boy entered the room with a candle in one hand and an empty sack in the other. He hadn't grown into his lanky limbs yet, and his ears and nose were far too big for his face. But his eyes were an earnest-looking gray color that struck Calib as familiar. Then he remembered—this was the same boy who'd tried to talk to him on the night of the Harvest Tournament!

“I could have sworn this led to the food stores,” the boy muttered. He began to rummage through the items strewn about the room. He moved quietly for a Two-Legger. Calib wondered if he was sneaking around too.

The boy turned his attention to the cages and began peering inside them. Calib shrank farther into the shadows and watched as Cecily did the same. Valentina froze in place, perhaps hoping to pass as a stuffed bird.

In one of the cages, the Two-Legger found a small hunting knife. He set off a small cascade of cobwebs and dust as he reached high and grabbed it. Some of the dust fell on Valentina's beak. The crow sneezed and lost her balance.

The boy jumped and nearly dropped his candle.

Valentina toppled over onto her side, her wings still tied up in the chains. She let out a small, defeated squawk. Calib winced, fearful of what would come next.

“Now, how did you end up in here?” the boy asked, walking over to the caged bird. He set the candle down next to the cage and examined the hinge of the door. He pulled out the small hunting knife.

Calib held his breath as he watched the knife's tip descend. But the boy wasn't aiming for the bird. Carefully, the Two-Legger used the knifepoint to push the spring that Calib had just abandoned. A second later, it bounced out with a pop!

The boy smiled and continued to work on the second hinge. The crow cocked her head to the side and watched with curiosity.

“You look like you're a long way from home,” the boy whispered to Valentina as he concentrated on wedging the knifepoint between the spring and the hinge. “I know the feeling. Now, hang tight. I almost have it loose. . . .”

The door fell open with a clang. Valentina remained still. The boy peered at the crow and then reached out his hand.

“Don't be afraid,” he said gently. “I'm just going to untangle you, all right?”

The Two-Legger gently unwound the necklace from her wings. Once she was free, Valentina stretched out her wings to their full span and bowed graciously to the boy.

Grinning, the boy bowed back. Without warning, Valentina flew off into the next room and disappeared into the darkness.

The boy let out a soft laugh. “I guess it's time for me to fly the coop too,” he said. “Once I find the food, that is.”

He turned to leave the room but paused to look over his shoulder at the bear's mouth. Calib and Cecily gripped each other. After a moment that seemed to last an age, the boy shook his head.

“Must be seeing things,” he muttered, making his way back up the stairs.

As soon as he left, the two mice tumbled out of their hiding place.

“The Two-Legger did it!” Cecily said excitedly.

“Yes, but where did Valentina go?”

The two mice ran into the next room and squinted into murky darkness.

“Pssst, up here!” Valentina's head peered down at them from a small jutting brick. “Now, how do I get out of here?”

“I know a way,” Calib said, recalling his wild ride with Howell earlier that night.

He retraced his steps back to the loose panel in the wall. “There's a tunnel here that leads down to the ocean.”

It took two mice and one crow pushing as hard as they could to budge the stone open a few inches. Pressing her wings close together, Valentina managed to squeeze through into the wider tunnel.

“Thanks to you, my clan will not starve this winter,”
Valentina said. “I will remember your kindness, Calib and Cecily, should you make your way to Leftie's lair. Good luck with everything!”

“Good-bye!” the two mice chorused in return, waving.

Valentina flew down the tunnel. The sound of her flapping wings faded into silence.

G
alahad clung to the side of the tower wall like a stranded billy goat. Climbing down from the window of the squires' quarters had seemed like a good idea. But he hadn't accounted for all the extra weight in his bag. And he also hadn't expected the stones of the wall to be so tightly packed together.

After ten minutes, he still hadn't reached the ground. He tried to find a crevice for his toes and accidentally trod on the cloak he had stolen from Sir Kay. Galahad lost his footing and fell, crashing through the branches of a lilac
bush on his way down. He landed hard on his back. The contents of his pack stabbed painfully into his shoulders.

“I'm afraid there's no way out of here except by the cliffs.” A woman's voice broke through the night.

Galahad rolled over and looked up at the amused face of a lady. Her dark hair hung loose past her shoulders, adorned by a simple circlet: Queen Guinevere.

Galahad stared at her, his mouth open, before remembering himself and propping himself up on one knee. “I'm sorry, Your Majesty! I—I—was just taking in some night air when I, um, slipped.”

“I see,” Guinevere said, one eyebrow raised. “And you felt it necessary to carry all your belongings on this night stroll?”

Bathed in pale starlight and wearing a long white cloak over her nightgown, Queen Guinevere resembled a ghost of her daylight self. The first winter snowflakes whirled past her like playful sprites. She looked at Galahad with green eyes that seemed to take in more than just his face.

“It, um, always helps to be prepared,” Galahad lied, glancing up to see if the queen was angry.

Guinevere smiled. “Rise, Galahad, son of Sir Lancelot. And do not worry. I often have the same thoughts as you.”

“I'm not sure what you mean. I was just taking a walk—”

“And I am not so dim-witted that I don't see the castle for the cage it can be,” she said gently.

Galahad's shoulders slumped.

“I don't suppose you'll help me run away?” he ventured.

She laughed softly and shook her head. “Come, walk with me.”

The queen motioned for Galahad to follow her. They arrived at the garden's center, where a still pond covered in nearly frozen lily pads awaited them. Guinevere picked up a branch and pushed away some of the plants, revealing the dark water underneath.

“I found this among my things, shortly after Merlin disappeared,” Guinevere paused. “I think he meant for us to use it.”

From the pocket of her dress, the queen removed a hand mirror. It was small, no larger than the palm of her hand. The handle and frame were adorned with iron roses and thorns. Guinevere took care to avoid the thorns as she lifted the mirror to reflect the water.

“I know that you wish to make your own way in the world, but I believe there is a higher calling for you right here. I'm afraid my talents were never as strong as Merlin's, but perhaps you will have better luck. Could you tell me what you see in the mirror?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Galahad said, feeling confused. He was not sure what Guinevere thought he would see.

Galahad stooped and turned to look in the mirror. At first, he saw nothing but the ripple of the moon in the
pond. But after a moment, the water reflected in the mirror began to bubble and swirl, changing to a bloodred color. Fire wreathed the inside edges of the mirror. Galahad felt nauseated, like he might fall into that abyss. Shaken, he forced his eyes away and stumbled back.

“I don't understand,” Galahad said, sitting back on a stone bench to steady himself. “Everything turned red and fiery. What does it mean?”

“Then it is as I feared. Blood, smoke, and flame mean only one thing,” Guinevere said. Her lips were set in a grim line. “War is coming.”

I
t felt like Calib had only just closed his eyes when a fully armored Devrin barged into the dorm, clanging a pair of salt spoons above her head.

“Rise up, cheeseheads! Everyone is to report to Goldenwood Hall immediately! No breakfast, no lollygagging!”

Calib groaned. He had gotten almost no sleep in the night. After he and Cecily snuck back to their beds, Calib had lain awake, half expecting his role in Valentina's escape to be uncovered at any minute.

Devrin began shaking the shoe in which Warren was nestled.

“Go away!” Warren threw his pincushion pillow at her as he fell out of the shoe.

“Take it up with Sir Kensington yourself. All the knights are already there and armored up!”

“What for?” Barnaby grumbled. “Are we redoing the Harvest Tournament?”

Devrin rolled her eyes. “Fair warning, everyone, Kensington is in a foul mood this morning.” She left with a final crash of spoons.

Crankily, the pages got out of their beds. While the mice around him put on their colorful page uniforms, Calib put on a gray winter tunic instead. His demotion to kitchen mouse stung like a splash of ice water to the snout.

The Goldenwood Hall was drafty at dawn. Only a few sparse torches offered any warmth. Calib shivered as he filled everyone's thimbles with elderflower tea. The knights sat in their seats on the grand stage, shifting uncomfortably as they adjusted their armor.

Other inhabitants from the castle began to trickle in. They milled around the stage, sleepy and disoriented. Farmer Chaff, head of the field mice, was in deep conversation with Signor Molé of the garden moles. The moat otter leader, Ergo Toggs, sauntered in, followed by other representatives. Calib also recognized the guild leader for the shrew seamstresses and the porcupine carpenters.

“
Zut alors
, why have we been called at such an early
hour?” Cecily's mother yawned widely.

“This was a call to arms,” a church mouse said, stroking long whiskers. “It hasn't happened in at least ten years!”

“I don't see why we larks have to be bothered by such nonsense,” said Flit, general of the bell-tower larks. “And without a proper Feather Offering!”

“A proper what?” asked Madame von Mandrake.

“To be granted a proper audience with a bird commander, one must present them with a feather from their own kind,” the bird said a little impatiently. “The custom applies to all birds, from the meekest sparrow to the fiercest owl.”

At the mention of owls, Calib scooted closer to listen more carefully.

“When Commander Yvers was in charge, he never forgot a feather. And we were
never
woken before dawn.”

“Precisely! The head cook needs her beauty sleep!” Madame von Mandrake said, and the conversation returned to the time of day.

Calib lightly tapped Flit's wing. “I was just overhearing what you said, General,” he began, trying to sound casual. “So, in theory, if one wanted to talk to an owl leader, one would need an owl feather?”

The lark eyed him quizzically. “
In theory
, yes. If you can show them one, they will honor your right to speak with them. They should listen—but it won't stop them
from eating you after you've talked.”

Calib nodded, feeling queasy. His mind knotted with the problem of getting an owl feather, nevermind the prospect of getting eaten.

Everyone hushed as Sir Kensington entered the room. Kensington's fur was washed and combed straight back, giving her a severe impression. The crosshatched scars along her snout were more noticeable than ever. Her armor, while not new, was recently oiled, and someone had hastily sewn commander stripes onto her cloak. Calib felt a hollow ache pulse in the back of his throat as he saw Commander Yvers's crown sitting atop Kensington's head.

Kensington walked to the Goldenwood Throne and sat in it for the first time. The energy in the room shifted visibly as all the knights sat up a little straighter. Calib's insides bristled. Even though he knew the throne was meant for Camelot's leader, it still felt like only Commander Yvers should sit there.

“We have not heard a call to arms in many years, Sir Kensington,” remarked Ergo Toggs.

“I'm afraid it is Commander Kensington now,” she replied. “Last night, our guards intercepted a Darkling crow raiding our stores. They discovered a cryptic message in her pouch and brought her back here for questioning.”

Scandalized whispers rippled through the audience.

“And where is the prisoner now?” asked one of the otters.

Calib threw a quick glance at Cecily, who was standing by the main door. He saw that her dark eyes were wide, mirroring, he was sure, his own expression.

Commander Kensington drew in a sharp breath. “Sometime in the night, the crow escaped.”

Cecily shrank back against the wall. Calib's paws began to tremble. He tried to keep his face blank as an explosion of outrage sounded from the audience.

“How?” one of the porcupines asked over the hubbub. “
How
is that possible?”

“All we know is that she had assistance,” Commander Kensington said darkly. “Only a few of us were even aware of the crow's capture. For that reason alone, I believe there is a spy among us.”

There were renewed shouts and protests.

“I have discussed the matter with my knights,” Commander Kensington said, raising her voice to be heard. “At this time, we have no choice but to declare open war against the Darklings.”

The hall went silent.

Shocked, Calib kept pouring Sir Percival's tea even after the cup was full. He quickly mopped up the spillage with his sleeve.

“I will lead a force to confront Leftie himself,”
Commander Kensington announced, her voice brittle and hard. “We depart at noon, after we've marshaled enough supplies for the journey.”

Calib wanted to scream. It was wrong, all wrong! If Commander Yvers were here, he would put a stop to it. But he wasn't here, and Calib had no proof to prevent the inevitable bloodshed.

The guilt was unbearable. He couldn't simply stay there, pouring tea, knowing that he and Cecily had ignited the war they had been trying to prevent.

As the knights began to discuss the details of their attack, Calib casually dumped out the rest of the tea into a nearby plant. When he returned to serve Sir Alric, he let out a squeak as though surprised to find the kettle empty.

“I guess I'll need to get back to the kitchen for more tea!” Calib said loudly, hoping he sounded convincing.

He hopped down from the stage and rushed out of Goldenwood Hall, trying to ignore the panic worming through his insides. He knew he had no hope of outpacing the seasoned soldiers, no matter how big of a lead he got. His only chance now was to convince the owls to give him Merlin's Crystal and then fly to Leftie's mountain lair.

And in order to do that, he would need to get his paws on an owl feather.

“Wait for me!”

Calib turned to see Cecily running toward him.

“You aren't going to see the owls without me, are you?” she asked breathlessly when she caught up to him.

“Wait a whisker,
we
are not going to see the owls,” Calib said, stopping in his tracks. “I'm going alone. You're still a page. If you got in trouble, you'd lose your chance at becoming a knight! I have nothing left to lose.”

“What good is being a knight if I can't do any good?” Cecily crossed her arms. Her neck fur bristled with annoyance. “Scared that a girl will show you up?”

“That's not it at all!” Calib protested. His whiskers twitched irritably. “I just don't want to worry about putting anyone else in danger. You saw what happened to Barnaby when he—”

“You're comparing me to
Barnaby
?!” Cecily was visibly angry now. Her upper lip was pulled back slightly, revealing her teeth.

“Look, I'm bad luck!” Calib said. “I—I can't be responsible for something terrible happening to you. I can't be responsible for you, period.”

Cecily's face hardened. “Fine,” she said coldly. “I don't want to be a
burden
.” She spun around and bolted in the other direction.

Calib watched Cecily run away. An apology formed on his tongue, but he held it back. Better Cecily be angry
at
him than in danger
with
him.