The Excalibur Murders (27 page)

"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.

The room seemed smaller than a proper dungeon ought to be; it was not much more than a cell, really. The stone floor was covered with dirt; cobwebs filled the corners. Some living thing scurried away. The air was freezing. In the light from the torch, Merlin could see his breath.

Along one wall, a rough shelf was cut from the bedrock. Pellenore was curled up on it. But he was not asleep. Merlin saw the torchlight glint in his eyes.

"Hello, Pellenore."

"Merlin. Why have you come here?"

"Why, to visit. Why else?"

"Are you working with them?"

He didn't have to ask who Pellenore meant. "No, Pellenore. The beasts are all asleep."

"They're not. They've made themselves small. I can hear them scuttling around in the darkness."

"Mice. Rats, maybe."

"They are the beasts. And they are here. This is the very deepest heart of Camelot, and they have found me here."

Merlin crossed the cell and sat down on the edge of the stone shelf. "Enterprising beasts would find you anywhere, wouldn't they?"

The old man didn't like the sound of this. "Hold your torch toward me, will you please? I'm cold."

"It is icy here, isn't it? Camelot has an icy heart." He wedged the torch against the rock shelf and let it stand there.

"But hearts have veins and arteries, don't they? Besides, Camelot has an icy king now, too."

"Arthur is not a bad man, Pellenore. He is simply overwhelmed by having gotten what he wanted."

The old king rubbed his hands over the torch's flame. "This used to be mine, Merlin, you know that. The entire countryside. I was a good and fair king, or tried to be, and my people were happy, or seemed to be. The land was fruitful and prosperous. Then Arthur came and took it all away."

"He would not be much of a king without ambition."

"I had my lands, and then all I had was Camelot to rove around. And now I only have this cold little cell full of hungry little beasts."

"I'll have someone bring you a brazier of coals. No one wants you to freeze to death."

"Merlin, I miss the world. I want my world back." He beganto cry, and his voice broke. "Nothing has turned out the way I wanted it to."

"The world never turns out the way anyone wants it to, Pellenore. When I was young and living in Alexandria, anything seemed possible. I believed that with enough knowledge, I could accomplish anything. When I saw the chance to make Arthur king here, I saw my opportunity. Human society, I believed, was perfectible." He sighed. "At least I try to avoid being too foolish about it all. There is nothing more insufferable than an old fool."

Pellenore inched closer to the fire. "Everyone thinks I'm a fool, don't they?"

"You have lost so much more than any of the rest of us have ever gained."

"Except Arthur. He will lose it, too. But don't bother to warn him. He is a bigger fool than I ever was."

Merlin started to agree--started to explain that Arthur was a big enough fool to be blind to evidence he himself had asked for. But what would have been the point? "I only came here to make sure you are all right. A social visit, no more--and just listen to the two of us. A pair of sad old dotards."

"All hearts have veins and arteries. Otherwise, what good would they be? Thank you for coming, Merlin. Good-bye. "

Feeling as if he'd been dismissed, and finding it odd, Merlin stood to go. He felt a brief impulse to embrace Pellenore, but he resisted it. "I'll send those coals."

"Please don't bother. Why waste heat on rats?" Oddly, he smiled. "Or on dragons, or on old men, for that matter?"

The cold stone had made Merlin's bad leg ache even more. Limping and leaning heavily on his cane, he left. Tomorrow he would have to try and make Arthur see the light of reason. He was not at all certain he didn't prefer the cold darkness and the odd conversation of a mad old man.

The morning was overcast, one of those bright grey winter days. A cold wave had struck, and there were flurries.

Merlin had not slept well. So much depended on his meeting with the king, and he wanted to be as prepared mentally as he could be. Nimue came to his rooms early and found him sitting by the fire. "Are you all right?"

"My leg is bothering me."

"It will heal. I mean all right about Pellenore's arrest."

He exhaled deeply. "No. Of course not. Pellenore is harmless and I know it perfectly well. Arthur should, too."

"He wants a simple answer and he has it. He wants things to be clear and neat and easily explained. He's human. "

"Don't remind me." He looked at her. "If there were another race, other than the human race, I'd go join it."

"You're tired, that's all."

"Look at us. We have achieved such wonders. I have stood at the foot of the Pyramids, looking up in awe. I have beheld the Parthenon and wondered at its harmony and proportion. I have seen the grandeur of the Coliseum. Our race has achieved such magnificent things. And you tell me that being human means wanting things simple."

"For most of us it is."

He got to his feet wearily. "My leg is aching. I suppose it is the weather." He took a step, leaning heavily on his cane. "I have this to look forward to, for all the years remaining to me."

"I wish you'd say something optimistic."

"Optimistic meaning simple?"

"If you like, yes."

"I don't have time for this, Nimue. I have to go off and deal with the king. I hope he listens."

There were more than a hundred steps leading down to the ground floor; it seemed to Merlin that it took him forever to descend, even with Nimue's help. Then she went off to breakfast and he made the long walk to the king's tower. The halls were crowded, as they were each morning when the castle came awake. People came and went on their daily business; now and then one of them would jostle him, and his leg exploded with pain. Then there was the staircase leading up to Arthur's rooms.

Arthur was in a hearty mood. "Good morning, Merlin. Magnificent weather, isn't it? Cold always brings out the best in me. Remember all those battles we fought in winter? "

"Blood and snow. You fought them, I didn't."

"You're in your stern teacher mode."

"I suppose so. Or my melancholy one. Can I sit?"

"Of course."

"I've practiced medicine most of my life. You would think I would be able to do something to abate my own pain, wouldn't you?"

Arthur stared at him.

"Or maybe . . . Arthur, am I any good? Have people only said that I have helped them to humor me?"

"You're feeling somber. Getting old."

"Brilliant deduction."

"I've been wounded in battle more times than I can count. What's wrong?"

"Age, Arthur. Which, more and more, looks to me like the essence of life. The candle burns brightest just before it goes out."

"Nonsense. You're good for years."

"What a horrible thought. Is there no rest for me, then?"

"Not while I need you." He smiled, hoping it would help. It didn't.

"Arthur, I believe Pellenore is innocent."

"You want to conduct his defense?"

"I'm a scholar, not a lawyer."

"That's the first nice thing you've said, Merlin."

He shifted his weight. "Mark is up to something. He's been making secret visits--to Morgan, to Guenevere, probably to a lot of other minor rulers."

"Army business."

"You sent him, then?"

"No, of course not."

"Then . . . ?"

"Look, I've told you before. I've known Mark for years. I trust him. He was one of my first allies."

"You mean one of your first conquests, Arthur. He's bitter. He resents that you've appropriated his mines and his vineyards."

"He gets a portion of the profits. Surely that's fair."

"He doesn't think so. Can you have someone get me some water please?" He took a tiny envelope of powdered medicine out of his pocket. "A painkiller."

"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."