This isn't so bad, Shiro thought. I'm almost used to this beast. Just so long as it goes nice and slow. He really wasn't looking forward to Camelot. If this particular myth is turning out to be literal truth, what about some of the others? This Final Judgment thing could prove decidedly awkward. His mind cast back three years, and reeled in the recollection of his encounter with the Palan worshiper. He still didn't know why he'd spared her.
It had been a routine job -- some busybody had an orphanage on perfectly good land. She wouldn't sell, made noises about reminders, visible signs, forgotten communities, so forth and so on, ad nauseam. He'd been called in to correct maters. It was an ordinary transaction: 50% up front, the remainder upon completion of the job. They deposit the money in his secret account and he moves it to another one -- a professional doesn't take unnecessary risks. The job looked easy enough: twenty grams go into the furnace, and another 500,000 yen into the bank. Chi Real Estate lowers its offer on the land to cover his fee and to get across the point that they don't take 'no' for an answer. The woman even sees a hefty chunk of change, enough to salve all but the strongest pangs of guilt. Everybody comes out ahead except the brats who end up on the street.
The security system had been old, laughably easy to bypass. No backups. With everyone asleep, the rest should have been easy. He'd descended to the basement almost noiselessly, and found the boiler room without any trouble. The building plans had even matched the city records. It should have been quick, but somewhere he'd erred. Luckily, so had she. The tetsubishi were primitive but effective. She hadn't expected the caltrops, and her pained gasp gave her away. The old crone had come downstairs, carrying a long wooden stave.
Why didn't I just shoot? He'd yet to answer that one. Instead, he'd kicked the staff from her hand, spun her against the wall, and pressed his pistol to the nape of her neck. "There always has to be a troublemaker, eh? You might have survived; the place was going to burn, an 'accident.'. Now, now I have to kill you." Professionals were predictable; it was the amateurs who generally caused problems.
"Put that gun away, child. You'll kill innocent children. Why? For nothing." Her tone had been dismissive, as if he were wasting her time with banalities.
"No, for money." Stupid woman.
"Imbecile," she spat. "Do you really think they'll pay you? This isn't your precious Marketplace now. People care here, not all, but enough. Your employers can't leave any loose ends, like you. Inside two days you'll be dead." It had amused Shiro that, even then, he was often mistaken for one of the newcomers.
"Forty-eight more hours than you have. At the very least."
"You don't understand, and for that I pity you. We are part of the same tree, you, me, everyone. I am the cherry pit, and you are the blossom. I am plain, you are glorious; you are praised, I am unnoticed. The corporations point to you and say 'this is life.' To them I am hard, and spit out. But when I fall from the tree, life begins anew. When you fall, nothing." It was trite, silly, but spoken with such conviction Shiro holstered his pistol. Why? He still couldn't say. While he'd never killed anyone for uttering cliches, early in his career, a store owner had paid him to kneecap a mime. By all rights, the same principle should have been in force here.
"I'll be back later. If you are still here, you will be dead."
She had smiled. "You will not be back." He left, his mind in a funk. Fortunately, his body operated well enough without him to get safely away.
The woman had been right. The bastards had tried to cross him, even though he'd still had 72 hours to deliver. They'd tried to void the deposit and boobytrap his apartment. They'd gone after the wrong account, and the bomb hadn't paid off. Something had raised his hackles, and he'd managed to dive into the hallway in time. They'd even sent three ninja in case he got lucky. He had, they hadn't, and he was still riding the streak.
Had the old woman been smarter than she seemed and cut a deal with Chi Real Estate? He could never bring himself to believe that, even though it sometimes seemed the simplest explanation. If so, she'd covered her tracks well -- he'd checked. In the end, it didn't matter. Chi had crossed him, and that was going to cost them and their Kanawa overlords. Ever since, he'd been working at a discount when it came to plying his dirty tricks on Kanawa. From that, all sorts of convolutions had arisen to ensnare him.
Conn slowed his horse to drop back to the Oriental. "My eyes tire. It is your turn to scout. Do not fall off your horse this time." Shiro blinked as he brought himself back to the here-and-now. Was that humor from the do-gooder?
"Thank you for the advice. Care for another friendly game of cards?" It was Conn's turn to look discomfited. Last time, Shiro had returned his winnings; next time he might not. "Ah, well, to the front then." Riding through unpeopled lands still unnerved him. Buy land, then introduce modern medical theory for free and make a killing on the population boom, he comforted himself.
Within an hour they were among the outer belt of cultivated lands. Taken in by the aura of Camelot, the Knights missed the fearful, haunted looks of the peasants. Here, banditry and lawlessness were on the rise and those nobles who were not part of the problem sacrificed mercy to maintain good order.
More and better cultivated land rolled past the party, and the aberration was not repeated. That evening, Camelot proper finally came into view. In reverent awe, Brenden whispered, "Not bad for a former GS-11."
"Wow," said Anna, pretty much summing up things.
"If I am judged kindly after my death, only then will I see the likes again," muttered Montgomery Black.
Words failed. Before them lay a jewel, the embodiment of all that is noble in the human spirit captured by the stonewrights' work. Even the crenelated curtain walls and turrets, silver and pale blue by moon and stars, these grim reminders that war and strife might still sully the land, seemed noble. Flickering shadows cast by a myriad of bright torches chased each other playfully across intricate stonework. The visual concerto reached a crechesndo as they took in more details: Artisans' visions in stone and wood, soaring cathedral spires, the simple beauty of a small market plaza. The party gawked shamelessly for some time. Brenden rummaged for his camera. As he snapped off a roll of precious film, he muttered to himself, "No one will really understand, but I have to try."
Eventually, Anna shivered. "Well," she whispered tentatively, "it's time to finally earn our pay. Let's get ourselves together. This is it."
Brenden used his binoculars to scope out the gate protocol; the only other vehicle on the road was minutes ahead of them and just about at the gate. Now is not the time to screw the pooch.
A great deal of discussion and debate had, over the past week, gone into how the group wanted to make their initial impression. With reluctance, Anna had finally given in to Montgomery's suggestion that Alain and Shiro should be at the rear of the party. Montgomery's words had been excruciatingly polite, but Anna's stomach soured as she read between the lines; in whitest northern Europe it was a needless risk to show navy blue and yellow faces too prominently, at least at first. Anna had argued passionately against this, saying it was foolish to project the worst aspects of their nature on the denizens of Camelot, carefully avoiding inflaming matters by telling the Colour Sergeant exactly what she thought of the unashamed bigotry so prevalent in the Victorian mindset. This correctly civil but divisive two-sided debate unfolded in slow motion, as hours passed between each argument and rebuttal. The others said little, perhaps so as not to create unbridgeable rifts in the party, perhaps to see Anna's leadership put to the test.
Finally, Brenden approached Shiro on the sly. "You have an opinion, I'm sure. Perhaps this would be a good time to weigh in."
Shiro scrutinized Brenden openly, trying to fathom his motives. Brenden returned a bland, unreadable poker face. Finally, the saboteur decided. "You believe this mission is of overwhelming importance, correct?"
"Yes," answered Brenden.
Shiro nodded. "Operating on that assumption, I was quite prepared to take steps to eliminate every hostile and potential hostile who could threaten us. I can put up with being treated as a, umm, coolie. For awhile."
Brenden nodded seriously. "I don't like it, but if those are the rules of the game, and I hope they're not, I'll play by them if I have to. I think Anna knows this, but if she asks and I tell her the truth, I doubt Conn and Alain will ever trust me quite the same. Hell, I know it took me better than a year to win over Anna -- residual effects of the Agency's bad press and my talent for pushing buttons, I guess. I could lose her, too, then we'd really be up the creek. Look, you've had plenty of time to see how the wind is blowing, right?"
Shiro nodded and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a momentary grin. "Likely so."
"Fine. Tell Anna. I'll even make you a deal."
Shiro raised an eyebrow.
"If they expect you to press their shirts and it gets too bad, talk to me. I'll try to unruffle your feathers, sure, but if it really comes down to it, I'll help you wrap the bastard in a blanket, tie chains around it, and toss the body in the moat." Brenden's voice was flat and distant.
"You are serious?" Asked Shiro. Brenden's grim visage was answer enough. "I thank you for your offer but all I really need is your silence."
"Fine. If it's a nobody, we might get away with it. If it's someone important, we're fucked anyway."
"You think by telling me this, it is less likely I'll take mortal offense at something," Shiro accused.
"Of course," Brenden admitted. "But you should know I keep my promises. All my promises."
"I do know; your assumption is therefore correct."
After Shiro stated his willingness to go along with the Colour Sergeant's precaution, Alain came around, saying she was prepared to make sacrifices for the common good. Anna then gave in. To his credit, Montgomery apologized to the group, swearing a solemn oath that he was proud to serve with the group and by no means intended to offer insult, only to council caution. It helped.
So, the party approached Camelot's main gate, well lit and still open despite the late hour, with Brenden in the herald's spot, Anna, with Conn and Montgomery flanking her, five lengths behind Brenden, and Shiro and Alain in the rear. Alert sentries marked their approach. Brenden reined in when the guards barred his path symbolically with their halberds. The half seen archers in the towers flanking the gate were something else altogether.
"Who approaches Camelot?" formally challenged one of the guards.
"Lady Anna and entourage. We come to Camelot as envoys from a distant land." Brenden sat very still, hands resting on the pommel. Easy, easy. This shouldn't be a big deal, he told the butterflies in his stomach.
"Be welcome, then, friends." Brenden let out a sigh of relief. Before he passed between the barbicans and into the outer bailey, the guard leaned towards him and whispered, "Jesu forbid, but I fear you will be disappointed; the king is not holding court, or so the tales tell."
Brenden shrugged. "We have come a long way and at great odds. We will persevere awhile yet." The butterflies in his stomach turned to lead, plummeting with his hopes. Why can't we ever seem to catch a break? As his compatriots filed past, Brenden tarried, hoping to learn more. "Good man, we're strangers here, and it would be a terrible thing to innocently offer insult because your customs are strange to us. If there's anything more you can, in good faith, tell us, my gratitude would be great."
The guard stroked his chin. His fellow looked over, curious. Brenden leaned close, hoping. "Well," whispered the guard, "Ever since the Queen, uh, disappeared. . . ."
Brenden's shoulders sagged. "About the same time Launcelot -- Excuse me: Sir Launcelot du Lake -- took his leave of the King?"
The guard nodded. "The King hasn't been the same."
By main force of will, Brenden held his face impassive. "I see." Raising his voice so the other guard could hear him plainly, he continued. "You have done me and mine good service. I am grateful. If there is any service a good Christian knight can do for you in return, you have but to ask for Sir Brenden, Viscount Harms." Brenden produced two vintage Morgan silver dollars. "These are the coins of my homeland. Take one to your church, make a donation, and say a prayer of thanks for our safe arrival. Take the other to a good public house and you and your mates make a toast to the future friendship of our lands." Both guards looked over the coins carefully. They were strange, but good silver was good silver. They saluted Brenden smartly as he passed under the portcullis.
The party, save Anna, dismounted in the outer bailey, both to better control their horses among the noises and distractions of the city, and to give them a better chance to gawk. Every corbel on the inner curtain wall, which rose to at least twenty meters, was beautifully carved into an image of an animal or a saint. The inner portcullis was fashioned in a baroque style and ornately gilded. Even the murder holes of the inner gate complex blended seamlessly with the overarching fresco. Once inside the city proper, they were assaulted by a stunning diversity of sights, sounds, and odors. Flute, mandolin, and voice wafted on the breeze and brightly dressed crowds strolled through a cheerfully lit merchant district.
"I have seen the great cities of your world, Anna, but I never imagined such a riot could be in a land so like Aysle." Conn turned every which way, trying to take in everything. "Perhaps Aysle was so, in the brief time of the Delegate Legacy," he continued, more to himself than his comrades.
Urchins scampered towards them from all corners. "Show your horses to the stables, noble Lady?" cried one.
"Lead you to a fine guesting house, Lord?" asked another who zeroed in on Brenden.
A knight approached and shooed away the ragamuffins. "I am told you are envoys. I am Sir Dornard. In the name of the king, I greet you and welcome you to Camelot. I bid you guest at the palace."
"We are honored to accept," answered Anna happily. As the navigated the crowded streets, Brenden managed to get close to Anna and deliver the bad news, feeling bad at ruining her mood but relieved to share the burden. "Let's get settled, first. We'll figure something out," she sighed.
Alain and Montgomery split off from the party when Sir Dornard pointed out the royal stables. The two thoroughly brushed the creatures, and asked the blacksmith to check their shoes. Montgomery tipped the man liberally, brushing aside the smith's protests. "Does it not say the worker is worthy of his hire? You would not have me go against the Good Book, would you?" Unable to muster a counterargument, the smith surrendered. The elf and Colour Sergeant then went to track down their companions.
As the ranking noble, Anna rated the largest suite. The main chamber was large and airy, just like in the stories. Two bedrooms adjoined this room, a large one for her, and a smaller for her lady in waiting. She probably could have unpacked in less than ten minutes, but was taken by the loving craftsmanship lavished on every item in the suite. She walked around the room, picking up items, half fearful she would wake up from a most wonderful dream. I'd better not tell Alain they put her in servant's quarters, or I'll never hear the end of it, Anna thought. On the other hand, she gets to be with the horses -- I'm not supposed to know about such things. "Well, down to business," she addressed the stuffed head of the bearskin rug. She took one more good look around, drinking in details, then left to collect the others.
When she returned with Shiro, Conn, and Brenden, they found Alain and Montgomery inside, sitting on the rug. Anna got two more from her bedroom, and tossed them near the first. "OK gang, circle up. First order of business: Brenden, tell them the bad news." Brenden did. "Now, how do we get to King Arthur?"
"Show them the sword and demand to see the king."
"Too dicey." Brenden shook his head in negation. "What happens if they decide we're thieves? Would you let them string you up? Or slay good men without cause?"
"Brenden is right, Conn." Alain lay a hand on Conn's arm. "Think what either of us would do if someone brought Tolwyn's blade to us." Conn nodded thoughtfully.
Montgomery cleared his throat. "Eleven years ago, I had just been promoted to platoon sergeant in Second Platoon, C Company, First of the Eighth. Quite an honor it was, too. The company commander back then, Captain Hotchkins was his name, went through a very bad spell. His wife and daughters died in a fire. When mail call came and he got the letter from his brother, he went to pieces, he did." As he reminisced, his working class accent grew more pronounced. "The comp'ny was on detached duty; we were maintainin' base camp while the rest of the regiment was patrollin' , so there was no one to relieve him. My lieutenant, Lt. Wright it was, stepped up and kept things running the best he could. Did a fine job of it, too. He would have made colonel someday, easy, if he'd lived. A terrible loss it was. Anyway, Cap'n Hotchkins pulled himself together, some, just before the rest of the regiment came back, and things were still runnin' smooth as could be. The colonel complimented Cap'n Hotchkins on the fine job he'd done, but the non-commissioned officers, we knew who deserved the credit.
"Now, everything seems right and proper here. If the king isn't doing a proper job of kinging it, somebody's got to be taking up the slack. The smithy was run proper and all, and the walls are up to snuff, so who's taking care of things? We find out who, and explain things, and I'm sure we'll manage. Might even shake up the king," Montgomery trailed off, uncharacteristically tugging on his moustache in contemplation.
The was a moment of stunned silence; this was the longest monologue by far anyone could remember the taciturn Victorian ever uttering. "Multiple sentences, wow. No, seriously, that's an excellent piece of advice. Keep it up," Anna encouraged.
"Agreed," Brenden added amidst general nods of enlightenment. "So, who's the man?"
"Or woman," Alain interjected.
"Not likely," Anna corrected. "Especially since the queen is AWOL; this is pretty much a man's world. Better hope Merlin's more enlightened. And, no, Brenden, the word is enlightened, not misguided."
Brenden snorted in good humor. "I've been married to a werewolf for nearly two years. If I had an unenlightened bone in my body, it would have long ago been pulled out and used as a chew toy."
"As for who we need to see, we won't find out chatting in here. Here's the plan: Conn, why don't you and Shiro make the rounds of the city and keep an ear to the ground. Montgomery, try to buttonhole some of the knights. Alain, why don't we try the straight ahead approach and find a chamberlain or something and ask for an audience. Failing that, we can take a walk in the garden or something and listen to inane gossip from the ladies. Brenden? Hmm." Anna pondered a moment. "I don't know. Fake left, then go deep. We'll all meet back here tomorrow, say noonish.
"Ummm, that is, if all of you don't mind. I know you're not grad students."
"It's OK, coach," Brenden smiled. "Faking left now. When you don't see me doing spook stuff in the endzone, throw." He rose, dipped left, then strode into the hallway, with Conn close behind.
Shiro uncoiled, and bowed to Anna. "Anything you'd like me to requisition while I'm on the town?" Anna graced him with a sour frown and the Colour Sergeant rolled his eyes as he, too, got up to leave.
"Well, Alain," asked Anna after the others left, "Shall we powder our noses and be ladylike?"
"I do not powder my nose," replied the elf with a theatrical arch of her eyebrow.
"Guess not. Talc would look kinda silly. How about smearing on some India ink to hide the gloss?"
"Remind me to summon a fat snake into your pillowcase."
"Good, the mongoose hasn't eaten in awhile," deadpanned Anna, leaving Alain speechless for once.
Conn wandered through the busy streets, traveling where his whim took him. Shiro kept station a few steps behind, observing the Ayslish warrior with amusement. He is actually unbending; he is playing tourist. I would have given long odds against it.
Suddenly, Conn stopped. Shiro, busy dodging vendors, almost ran into him. "Master Shiro?"
"Yes?"
"Where do you think we should go? Whom should we seek out?"
Shiro had a ready answer. "Why don't we try to find a tavern in the foreign merchants quarter. We should be able to learn some interesting things. After that, we can make plans for the morning."
"Yes, that makes good sense. I suspect I can lead us to that part of the city."
True to his word, Conn quickly lead them to a likely tavern. "Like I thought: Laid out just like an Ayslish city," he noted with some pride. The two entered, and grabbed a table in the busy common room. Smells from the kitchen and the fireplace overrode everything else, but the rushes on the floor were clean, so there probably wasn't much unpleasant to cover up.
"Now what?' asked Conn.
"We order food and drink and listen. If nothing else, our coin should draw some attention. Look at the crowd. Merchant folk; there's not likely to be a brawl here." Shiro remembered less pleasant taverns in London, where his trade had brought him, and tensed slightly, despite his words.
Information was not long in coming. One nearby merchant, well into his cups, waggled an unsteady finger in what could be charitably described as the general direction of one of his peers and said noisily, "Eric of Hastings, you have the Devil's own luck. Yes, you do. I've been in the city a fortnight, a fortnight, d'ya hear, trying to get someone to something about the bridges that washed out on the King's Highway last autumn. You, you've been here what, two days? The word is they've already decided to increase the patrols in the northlands." A loud, beery belch capped his diatribe.
The second merchant shook his head. "It's all in who you know. If you haven't learned that by now, Howell of Britanny, you should have staid a swineherd," he sneered. Less unkindly, he continued, "Go home. Go to bed."
The retainer cum bodyguard of the first man, still steady on his feet, took the advice and half carried the drunk merchant away. Shiro sidled up to Eric of Hastings even before the man returned to his supper. Eric's own bodyguard started when he realized Shiro was now sitting at the table.
"Do we have business?" asked Eric of Hastings, pushing his bodyguard back into his seat with a steady hand.
"Perhaps," admitted Shiro. Conn watched from the sidelines, readying himself just in case.
"You're a strange looking fellow with a stranger accent. Where are you from?"
"The East," Shiro allowed.
Wheels started turning behind Eric of Hasting's eyes. "The east, you say?"
"Yes." Shiro let the merchant reach his own conclusions.
"You are a merchant?" At Shiro's nod, he continued. "How can we help each other." The freight he put on the word 'help' told Shiro he had found the right man.
"My ship is in London, newly come in from, well, just let us leave it at the East. I have tariffs to pay, letters of credit to expedite, cargo to unload, guilds to be won over, and so on. I have had some difficulty accomplishing these things. It seems to me that a clever man, who knew how to get things done, could save me a great deal of time and effort. Enough that I could afford to be quite generous."
"What is your cargo?" asked Eric, plainly envisioning usurious markups on exotic items.
"Spices, silk, that sort of thing," Shiro answered blandly. "Some holy relics from my homeland."
Eric mouthed the question, "Prester John?" Recovering quickly, he asked, "How far would your generosity extend?"
Shiro allowed himself a smile. "Until my letters of credit are established, my flexibility is somewhat limited. Let us make this simple: Would one part in twelve of my cargo suffice?"
To his credit, at least in Shiro's way of looking at things, Eric clamped down on his own facial expressions. "I believe so, but I also think some token of good faith is in order."
"Yes." What to offer in the way of glass beads? After a moment, Shiro reached into the folds of clothing a produced a carbon steel hunting knife. I've got two more. His tough luck if they're too high tech to last long around here. "My ship is not carrying much in the way of such items, so they will remain scarce."
Eric and his bodyguard watched with wide eyes as Shiro drove it deeply into the table, pried it loose, then cleanly ripped it through a swatch of cloth that Eric produced. Shiro placed the blade on the table. Eric's bodyguard hesitantly reached for the knife. Shiro nodded, and he picked it up, running calloused fingers along the edge. Eric nodded, leaned in, and whispered, "Sir Kay, the seneschal, is the man you need to see."
Later, after plentiful food and more plentiful drink, as Shiro and Conn headed back to the palace, Shiro felt the weight of Conn's eyes on his back. "You know, in the end it was even a fair trade. If he sells the knife quickly enough, he can make quite a bit of money for the one piece of information he gave us. The rest was window dressing." Shiro laughed. "Eight and a third per cent of nothing is still nothing."
Conn remained silent.
Anna may have directed him to mingle with the knights, but to Montgomery Black, they were officers, and his place was with the troops. As the night watch wore on, and the city finally quieted, he found himself heading to the walls. At the base of the stairs leading to one of the towers, he was challenged from the gloom. "Who goes there?"
"A soldier, new to the city," was his reply. Dissembling was not something he came to easily, hence the truth, though in way that sidestepped potentially awkward questions.
"Let me get a torch. Hold still." In short order, a footman in mail approached from a heretofore unseen guard niche. "Well, you're dressed strangely enough, and I've never heard that accent. Look, curfew started better than an hour ago; you shouldn't be out. You're liable for a fine and night in the dungeon."
"Oh. I see. I did not realize." Only true in the sense that he was unsure of the magnitude of the punishment. All Gaean cities had curfews, though few right thinking people would willingly be out at night, when evil walked the land.
"Well, seeing as you're probably new to the city, I guess we can let this by. Let me tell my serjeant, and I'll see you back to wherever you're staying. Wouldn't do for the city watch to grab you."
"A fine fellow you are," said Montgomery.
"A small favor from one soldier to another. Bide awhile." The footman returned quicker than Black expected and the two started walking, the footman's torch an island of light in the now darkened city.
"That was right quick. The walls are in good hands."
"We have to be alert," said the footman ruefully. "An enemy can only kill us and sack the city if we're napping. If Sir Kay catches us on one of his surprise visits, well, Jesu save you, because no one else can."
Brenden stifled another yawn. It was too bloody early to be up and about, but he had work to do. In the grey pre-dawn mist, he walked the streets purposefully. Only the bakers were up, and the wonderful smells drifting across the city reminded his stomach all too keenly that he had yet to break his fast. His nose led him to the military stables, where the smell of baking bread was overpowered by other, less pleasant, odors. Count warhorses. Assume three to five fighting men per warhorse: Knight, man- or men-at-arms, and squire or squires. How much agricultural excess to support a fighting man? Damned if I remember, but I'll make more notes on agricultural methods and let the experts back home figure it out.
"Can I help you, milord?" asked a stable boy who appeared from out of the mist.
"Yes, I hope so. I'm just arrived in the city. Our embassy had some trouble awhile back and we're short on horses. I thought this would be a good place to find out who might be selling."
The stable boy scratched his head. "Clever of you to come here. Yes, I might know a thing or two, but I really can't put off my chores. The Master of Horse doesn't take kindly to slackards."
A born entrepreneur, this one. He'll go far. "I can imagine. Well, let's see if I can't help you figure out a way to stay on his good side." Silver clinked.
"Well, old Baron Dwyffed has two yearlings that'd make good riding horses, and his horse flesh is some of the best. You might talk to Sir Caradoc, but he thinks his animals are better than they are."
"Thank you. Can you describe their armorial markings so I can find them?"
"Well, that might take some time, and if the stables aren't ready for Sir Kay's inspection, well, I don't think the Master of Horse will keep all the trouble for himself."
Brenden reached in his pocket again. That piece of information is cheap at twice the price.
Anna wore an outfit that befitted her station and felt like a fool. None of that awful lead-based makeup for me, thank you very much. Count your blessings, she counseled herself. Waiting in the large anteroom, with dozens of jaded old biddies and ruthless young social climbers playing dominance games around her and Alain did little to improve her mood while she maintained what she, in her heart, knew was a fruitless vigil. Desmond Morris would have a field day here. Can we switch places? "Alain, if this goes on much more, I'm going to scream," she whispered through clenched teeth.
"I could turn someone into a frog. That wrinkly old one, I think: she already has the voice," Alain soothed.
"Don't tempt me." Anna sighed and forced herself not to fidget.
An interminable time later, there was hushed noise and motion as one of the large doors leading to the courtroom swung open. A splendidly dressed middle aged man strode through. He moved with the grace and strength of a lion, and his hands were still heavily calloused. A score of whispered slanders and vituperations trailed off, leaving the tail end of one conversation embarrassingly audible: "Sir Kay, what a catch. . . ."
"Lady Anna?" asked the man as his eyes marked a red-faced matron with amusement, then found Anna and Alain in the crowd.
"Yes?" asked Anna as she stepped forward.
"I am the seneschal, Sir Kay. I regret having to tell you the king is taken ill and cannot see you today. I am profoundly sorry." His voice, a masterful baritone, matched his frame and bearing perfectly.
"A great pity. God grant the king a speedy recovery. . . ." Anna trailed off, hoping to entice Sir Kay to speak further.
He did not take the bait. "Yes, yes," he agreed. "I pray you pardon me; other matters press, I am afraid." As he turned, Anna thought he heard him half mutter and half pray, "God grant he recover soon -- for us all." A chamberlain closed the courtroom door behind him.
"Well, I think we've just been well and truly blown off," exhaled Anna with some annoyance. "Now what?"
"I can work on Linfir's Little Frog spell," offered Alain.
"Later, let's get outta here and change."
They regrouped to lunch in Anna's room. Miraculously, Montgomery's coffee went down smoothly. After the brief but pleasant repast, they got down to business, each relating his or her experiences. After Anna opened the floor to discussion, Brenden spoke first.
"So, Sir Kay is our man?" he asked..
"So it would seem. Now, do we go to him, or approach one of his underlings? I could tell them I'm Prester John's emissary," Shiro's tone was detached; this was an academic exercise to him. Then, with more feeling, he went on. "There is something else to consider: Is there any reason why Sir Kay would want the king back in control? Right now, he's got the best of both worlds. He might not approve of our intentions."
Conn glowered and Shiro blanched slightly, despite himself "I do not know your world, and for this I am glad. Does anyone there know of honor?" Conn ground out the words in disgust.
"Oh, and the next man who thinks about usurping his brother's throne will be the first?" sneered Shiro, recovering.
Conn half stood up before Brenden put a hand on his shoulder. "Easy Conn, Shiro's just being prudent as he sees things. Yeah, his world is different, but how would you have drawn in the Vikings?" Brenden did not want a scene. "Anyway, I think we can take it as a given that Kay's one of the good guys. Now, how do we buttonhole him quickly?"
"I should think he'll be at Matins tomorrow. Today is Saturday, after all."
Brenden smacked his forehead. "Anna, I quit. Montgomery is doing all my thinking. If anyone sees my brain, tell it I'm lonely."
"Well, let's make it an early day. If you want to play tourist, fine, but don't get into any trouble you can't get yourselves out of, and try to get a good night's sleep," Anna suggested. "Conn, Alain, please, tomorrow, whatever you do, don't ask why there's a man nailed to the Sword of Dunad." The two Ayslish storm knights rolled their eyes and made allowances for Anna's frayed nerves.
Their carefully laid ambush came off with nary a hitch; as Sir Kay and entourage emerged from the cathedral moments ahead of the rest of the crowd, Anna and Alain appeared from the side door leading from the women's section as Brenden and the others approached from the front. Brenden plunged in, "Sir, we must have words with you."
"Oh, you are the envoys who arrived the day before yesterday. I am deeply sorry, milady," he nodded to Anna," but at present I cannot--"
"As you value your king, you will hear us out," Alain interrupted.
Kay blinked. Brenden swallowed, hard, toying with the idea of suddenly being somewhere else. Kay's bewhiskered cheeks reddened ominously as he stepped towards the elf, then he stopped short as her tone registered. She had not threatened, but predicted, maybe even pleaded. His piercing gaze scrutinized her closely. The elf did not flinch, and he could detect no malice. His eyes moved over the rest of the party. He gave an unconscious nod as he passed over Conn; Goodness was plainly on the barbarian's features. "I know not whether that was threat or promise. Either way it must be dealt with. There," he gestured to the chancery off the cathedral, "in a quarter hour." He and his retainers tromped off, and it seemed a dangerous storm cloud passed.
"Smooth, Alain, real smooth. Test the waters, don't boil them." Brenden worked on regulating his breathing again. "It looks like it worked out, this time. Just don't do that again when I'm standing in the way, alright?"
"But Brenden, is it not your job to cool the waters I set to boil?" Alain asked so innocently Brenden knew she was trying to get his goat. And doing a damned fine job of it, too.
"You're still mad about the Nile Empire, right?"
"Certainly not," Alain sniffed. "Even if I were, I would not endanger our mission. However, we could not let this opportunity pass us by."
"I had best fetch the sword," Conn broke in. "Would you care to accompany me, Alain?"
After they left, Brenden turned to Anna. "She certainly can get attention when she wants to. Next time, I'll strap her down, you knight her."
"Yeah," muttered Anna; it seemed one of the few safe things to say in a world that had nearly fallen apart scant moments ago.
Fifteen minutes later, the Storm Knights gathered outside an oaken door. Brenden gently rapped twice. A moment later it swung inward.
"Please, come in. Won't you have a seat?" Kay gestured towards a table and seven chairs. Displaced clerics could be heard squawking in the distance, but the noise quickly faded.
Once they were seated, Kay settled into the remaining chair and dismissed his guards. "Now then, who are you? Why are you here? What was intended by your statement this morn? God help you if you mean this land ill."
"May I introduce Lady Anna Shaffer, Ambassador Plenipotentiary of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second. With her, we are Master Shiro Tomobiki; Sir Conn Dragonslayer; Colour Sergeant Sir Montgomery Black; Alain Mirandoor, Sorceress; and I am Lord Brenden Marshall Lewellyn, Viscount Harms. We come from a very distant land to seek the Pendragon's aid. As a show of good faith, we have brought a gift for the King." Brenden nodded to Conn, who unwrapped Excalibur and laid it on the table.
Kay blinked, then leaned forward. He grasped the hilt of Excalibur, and his voice hardened dangerously. "That was stolen from our good King. How did you obtain it, and why are you really here? You, sir, claim to be Viscount Harms. I have been there, and it warrants no Viscount. This Queen Elizabeth, over what land does she hold sway?"
"Sir, we are from England, and this sword was brought to us in London, our London." Let's see if that shakes him.
"Now look here, I've no time for tales from thieves or madmen."
"Is one of the Sidhe of this world? Your own clerics and sages will tell you nay. Yet here she sits, plain as day. What about Master Tomobiki? Have you seen his like before? Can you place my accent, or that of Lady Anna? What I say is truth. We come from England at Her Majesty's request. A different England."
"Let me explain," Anna began in her best classroom voice. "We are from a, um, a different place. Are you familiar with the planets?"
"A strange question, fit for sages. Let me see." Sir Kay pondered, still plainly upset. "Eudoxus held there are 33 celestial spheres, Earth at the center, then the moon, then the planets and finally the fixed stars. The spheres of the moon and Earth are material, flawed by sinful man. The outer spheres are perfect and God dwells on the sphere of stars. Aristotle said there are 55 spheres. I never understood why my foster brother insisted we spend valuable time learning such things." He looked upward, as if recalling a lesson learned long ago. "What boots it?" he asked, returning harshly to the present.
"Ummm, well," Anna stumbled.
"We are from the spheres next to you," Alain pounced.
"The spheres next to us?" Kay looked puzzled. "The spheres next to. . . ." he murmured. "The spheres next to. . . ." His hands moved as though assembling an intricate model. Whatever unlikely tale he had braced himself to hear, this went far beyond it. For some moments, his lips moved silently, as if he were piecing together certain words for the very first time, feeling their fit. He studied Alain, as if noticing her blue skin for the first time. Shiro, too, was subject to Kay's scrutiny. If these are lunatics, it is a clockwork madness, organized and meticulous Could this be yet another of Morganna's plots? Then why return Excalibur? It's loss has done more to unman Arthur than Launcelot's treachery. The large one seems too noble by far to play us false. But then, too, had been Launcelot, damn his soul. Finally, he decided. "I can scarce credit your tale, but you have returned Excalibur, and though strange is your seeming, I feel no evil in your heats. Whatever else you say, the fey one was correct in one thing; the King, my foster brother, withers away. He has lost his will to live, and as goes he, so goes the kingdom, despite all I and the rest of his loyal subjects can do. He bid the Knights of the Round Table to seek the Grail, as a sign. Well, he is a king. I am only a knight's son. This will have to be sign enough for me. I will take you to him. Pray, pray all of you that it is enough." It took an effort not to get left behind in the room; the die cast, Sir Kay wasted no time at all.
Kay led them to the palace, past the doors that had barred Anna and Alain the day before, and into the royal household. He led them outdoors again, through well manicured gardens, and to a spectacular residence. Inside, down several passageways was an ornately carved door. A pair of mailed yeomen flanked it. They drew swords as the group approached.
"I vouch for these," Sir Kay stated. "As you love your king, let us pass."
The guard on the right unbarred the door, and opened it. "As you command, sir."
Kay led them into a small room. A second door was in the opposite wall. Kay opened it, and stepped inside. He moved quietly, almost reverently, and the others followed his lead into a shadowed chapel.
"My Liege, Brother, these strangers seek an audience with you." There was no response from the care-worn figure sitting on the backless stone chair that was the room's only furniture, head bowed, lost in remembrance. Pale light from one window high up the south wall was drunk up by the shadows.
Brenden's mouth and throat dried. Here we go, for all the marbles. No pressure, Brenden, no pressure. "Your Majesty, revered Worthy, we come from far, far away seeking your aid. For a thousand years, it has been said that in our land's hour of darkest need, Arthur Pendragon, King of All Britain, would come to us. That time is now, Majesty: We fail before diabolic powers. We need you."
The bowed head tilted upward nearly imperceptibly.
Conn jumped into the opening. "We bring you this, Majesty," he intoned. He lay Excalibur in the king's lap. By Alain's reckoning it was about ten heartbeats before anything happened. Then a tear splashed onto the blade, then another, and another. Soon the king wept openly. His audience held their silence, unsure what to do or say.
Finally, in the whisper of a man long ill and just beginning the road to recovery, King Arthur spoke. "What miracle has returned Excalibur to me? What peril do you face? Do Mordred and Morganna war on distant lands?" Before anyone could answer, he cried, "Oh, God, grant this be a sign of Your Mercy!" and wept again.
Finally, Sir Kay spoke. "Sire, they say they come from another sphere, one next to ours. I suppose I believe them; they are good folk for all their strange ways. Their sphere, their world, they say, is a distorted reflection of our own. God's ways are ever mysterious to us, Brother, but if evil threatens that portion of Creation, can we fail to give aid?"
"Your Majesty's brother is correct. In our world, Your Majesty's name is a legend from our past, though England yet endures. The Britons are united under a single queen. It is said that in England's greatest hour of need, King Arthur will return. Arthurus, rex quondam rexque futurus, you are called. That hour is now. Our knights and soldiers have searched for a passage here, and found Excalibur along the way. They knew the time was at hand and gave their lives bringing it to us despite our enemies. Now we return it to you and ask your help. Lady Anna Shaffer is the Queen's Ambassador Plenipotentiary."
Anna produced her bona fides at this. Arthur gave the slightest of nods and Anna plunged on. "Your Majesty, we are at our rope's end. I come from another place to beg your aid. The enemies of everything good and right press hard upon us. We want your help. We need your help. Will you treat with us?" Anna felt strangely calm as the words flowed out, as if she were only watching as someone else spoke.
Brenden took an unobtrusive step back; this was Anna's show now.
"Another sphere? A different England?" King Arthur looked from one face to another, finally settling his gaze on his foster brother. "You believe them?" At Sir Kay's nod, Arthur sighed. "This is a sign, but its interpretation is beyond me. If only Merlin were here to advise me. Where are you, teacher and old friend?" The last was a whisper to himself. He gazed upward as though answers were carved into vaulted ceiling, then slowly looked down to Anna. "I cannot decide this alone, therefore I charge you; find Merlin and escort him back to Camelot that he may take his rightful place as the chiefest of my advisors. I, and the kingdom, have suffered for his absence. Then we will be better able to consider your request. I am most grateful you have returned me my sword, but swords do not think. I require Merlin's wisdom in this matter. If this is truly your England's most dangerous hour, God will be with you and you will win through. Sir Kay will see to all your needs; this much can I offer you now."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Brenden answered for Anna upon seeing her crestfallen look. He wanted to add a great deal more, but it wouldn't be politic; the last word was a prerogative of monarchs. Get off the fence before you get a splinter up your ass! Good people are dying right now, dammit! Brenden knelt, then retired, not turning his back. That meant he had to work extra hard on keeping his feelings off his face.
The others followed suit, with more-or-less good grace, although Conn required some prodding from Alain. He wields this sword? He is worthy of this sword? Perhaps he is possessed, even as Lady Ardinay was. Sir Kay joined them back in the garden a few moments later.
"Sir Kay, we'll need provisions and maps," said Anna bluntly.
"I will do what I can. I will also try to bend my King's ear to your message, but he is my liege and I am loyal. Still, you accomplished more than I dared hope."
After leaving Sir Kay with their requests, they again retired to Anna's suite.
"Well, now what?" Irritation tinged Shiro's query.
"We find Merlin, of course," replied Alain.
"Great, we find Merlin. Any suggestions on where to start? I just hope time moves more slowly here. There's a war going on, in case you've forgotten."
"Ease up Shiro. Anna and I know the legends. Merlin's supposed to be in a cave in Cornwall. We'll start tomorrow. We've made it this far; we won't fail."
"I hope this lead doesn't turn out to be another wild goose chase like Stonehenge." Shiro shook his head.
"Whatever transpires, for good or ill, I doubt it will be quite that simple," predicted Montgomery.