by Jack Porter
Over the next little while, we talked about the various options. Elaine raised the possibility of me and Galahad pretending to be Blackcoats. But that idea was discarded. If the Blackcoats were going to search a place like this monastery, they would bring a full squad with them. Not only would the Order not believe we were who we claimed, but in the unlikely event that they did, they were actively hiding Anwen from the Blackcoats. Unless Galahad and I stumbled across Anwen within moments of our arrival, the Order would simply find some way to vanish her in front of us.
I asked Meghan if she had some sort of magic that might help. But she shook her head.
“If I had a lock of Anwen’s hair, or a small tube of her blood and fingernails, then I could help locate her,” she said. “But as for helping you search this monastery? If it is as extensive as Galahad describes… I’m not sure what you would like me to do.”
I didn’t know either. The problem was that I didn’t know the extent of Meghan’s power. I didn’t know what she could or couldn’t do.
“Couldn’t you work up a spell to make us all invisible, or something?” Elaine asked.
“I could. But it wouldn’t be easy. A spell like that – the effort I would have to put into it, I would prefer to keep in reserve, in case we may need it.”
There was something about her tone that suggested she had a specific need in mind, and it sounded ominous. My mind conjured dozens of possibilities, each worse than the last, but before I could ask her, she continued.
“And besides, it is relatively easy to search through such a place without being challenged.”
All three of us looked at the witch with uncertain expressions. “How so?” Galahad asked.
Meghan turned her attention to the old man. “You just have to look like they do.”
Simple. Obvious. I was a thief, and had lived my whole life by that rule, and hadn’t even thought of it. If you wanted to pick someone’s pocket, you did so by not looking like a thief.
I didn’t look like a thief. Didn’t act like a thief. When I worked the crowds at the market, for example, I looked and acted just like everyone else.
This was just the same.
“Robes and habits,” Elaine said, clarifying Meghan’s words even further. “But how will we get our hands on those?”
“I guess we’ll just have to ask the some of the members of the Order,” I said.
The other big question.
So, searching the premises no longer looked as daunting, but it still didn’t answer the question of how to get in. In the end, we settled on a general plan, with Galahad tapping his network to find the details we would need to know. In essence, we figured that in a monastery like the old man described, there would have to be all sorts of deliveries made on any given day. Likely, that was how Anwen would be smuggled in herself. If we could find out when or how, then perhaps we wouldn’t need to bother investigating the monastery at all. But if this was not possible, then we would use such a delivery as our cover and go from there.
As we firmed up our intentions, I looked around at my co-conspirators. A witch, a swordswoman, an elderly spymaster, and me. Each of us had, during the course of the conversation, effectively committed to helping Anwen, who was a stranger to most of us. Yet perhaps to Galahad, she was a symbol of his life’s work, to remove the crown from King Arthur. For Meghan, perhaps the woman was no more than an adjunct of my drive for a purpose. Perhaps the enchantress still held hopes that I would one day strive for greater ambitions, as Galahad obviously hoped as well. But for now, she seemed to be content to help me in this more modest endeavor.
As for Elaine, her motivations were not as clear. Perhaps she was going along with it out of a sense of duty. She was her father’s daughter. Or perhaps she understood that finding the woman was important to me, and so was willing to help for that reason.
Although, I thought there was something more.
As we discussed our plans, I could see the fire and determination in the swordswoman’s eyes. I thought that perhaps this was what Elaine lived for. The excitement of doing something that mattered.
And it did matter. It might have seemed a small act. Finding someone who wished to remain hidden. But in doing that, we were acting directly against the interests of the King, and all of Lancelot’s Blackcoats, who even as we continued to plan, were out there hunting for me, Anwen, and Rolf.
There was danger involved, and no real reward for ourselves.
And yet, I didn’t even consider for one moment not going through with it.
Finding Anwen might not have been my life’s true purpose. But it was the right thing to do.
The planning session drew to an end, with none of us actually voicing the question of what we would do once we had found Anwen and whisked her away. Perhaps none of us wanted to jinx the plan by talking about what happened after. Perhaps none of us actually knew what would come next. Either way, when all that needed to be said had been, and we had agreed when next to meet, Meghan and I moved to leave, with Elaine electing to stay behind with her father.
The old spymaster walked Meghan and me to the door and showed us out. But instead of simply closing the door behind me, the old man looked me in the eye, considered me for a moment or two, and nodded once. “This is not the goal I have set for myself,” he said. “But it is worthy, nevertheless. And it is giving you and I the chance to work with each other. Perhaps, for now, that is enough.”
I sensed that he was leaving a lot left unsaid, and felt a certain relief because of that. At the same time, I found my own feelings matching his own.
I liked the old guy. I didn’t want to let him down. But that was a long way short of joining his quiet rebellion to seize King Arthur’s crown.
35
Meghan stayed with me at the Goose and Quill. It was an easy decision to make, and yet, as the enchantress and I headed upstairs, with her in her younger, more beautiful guise, I caught Ember looking at us through hooded eyes, and couldn’t help but feel a sense of regret.
I didn’t think Meghan noticed. Yet as we lay together, our passion spent, she interpreted my quiet sigh correctly.
“Let me guess,” she murmured into the darkness. “The blonde woman seems to be more than a barmaid. She is the cause of your sigh?”
I had never spoken about my love life with Meghan before, and wasn’t entirely sure how she would respond. But that didn’t stop me from answering honestly.
“Yes,” I agreed. But I didn’t add anything else to the conversation.
“She is jealous of your other women,” Meghan replied. It wasn’t a question. More like a statement of fact.
“I think so,” I said.
In the silence that followed, Meghan shifted her weight. But she wasn’t moving away or anything like that. Simply moving to a more comfortable position. “There’s something I’m not sure that you know,” she said. “There’s a reason I have hinted there could be more to your future.”
It wasn’t what I expected her to say. I expected her to talk about women, about my girlfriends. But instead, she had gone with another, less comfortable option.
It seemed as if Meghan and Galahad both had the same end goal in mind for me, although, for the most part, Meghan kept it more to herself.
It was my turn to shift in the bed, and I did so while wondering how I might turn the conversation to something less irritating.
The enchantress gave a low chuckle. But she wouldn’t be dissuaded. “You have a gift, Mordie. That tavern woman, Galahad’s daughter, even Galahad himself. They have all seen it. Been touched by it. I dare say there are dozens, maybe hundreds of others who have felt it as well. The blonde woman, perhaps she doesn’t understand quite what it means, but she’ll come around.”
It seemed that the woman I knew as Meghan, but who had once been called Morgana, wanted to talk in riddles. Despite myself, I had to ask for clarification.
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.
“You make people love you,” sh
e said. “Or, at least, you are able to make them fall in love very quickly. If you were a narcissist, or naturally arrogant, it would be a bad thing. But you aren’t. Sure, maybe you have the odd rough edge or two, but when it comes down to it, you are a decent human being. Combine that with your gift, and you could be a truly great ruler for a place like Camelot.”
I lay in bed, thinking about Meghan’s words. Part of me wanted to get angry. The other part of me wanted to ask how certain she was that Ember would come around. But the first thing I actually said seemed more important than either of those.
“You don’t mind that I see other women?” I asked.
It was too dark to see more than faint shadows in the room, but I thought I could sense the enchantress smiling. “I’ve known who you are for your whole life. Or at least, I have known what you had the potential to be. The King had a touch of your gift also, at least when he was younger. And when I met you again, even though it was not your best hour, I could see it within you. I know who you are. I know how unlikely it is you will change. And, honestly, I don’t know if I would choose for you to do so.”
She hadn’t answered my question. Not exactly. But it was good enough.
Now all I needed was for Ember, Elaine, Rosylin, Florence, Maisie, Cassandra, and Lady Emmeline, as well as all the others, to come to the same conclusion.
The thought was enough to bring a smile to my face, and I drifted off to sleep wondering if perhaps Meghan could just whip up some sort of potion to help.
36
Galahad did more than just seek additional information. He located a carter who was scheduled to deliver a load of supplies to the monastery and paid the man a handsome fee to act in his stead. It was a truly miserable afternoon, but there could be no delay. We knew where Anwen was at that time but had no clue how long she would be there, and no idea where she would be heading next.
The four of us – and Sir George – braved the rain with our hoods up, and made our way through the sodden streets to the monastery, with me and Galahad sharing the seat up front, and Meghan and Elaine sharing the back with ninety jugs of red wine and two sides of beef.
Neither of the girls complained about the travel arrangements. At least they were under cover, out of the rain.
There wasn’t much to say as we plodded along, the single, solid draft horse apparently immune to the wet, and as happy to obey Galahad’s relaxed control on the reins as it would have been for the usual driver. Despite the wet and the early gloom that came with it, I was excited. I knew there were a million things that could go wrong, however, so did what I could to rein that excitement in.
Before we had left for the monastery, Galahad had offered a stern warning.
“The Blackcoats are out in force today,” he said. “My informant took pains to warn me that it seems as if they have got wind of something. And they may have done. We may not be the only ones to have received news of Anwen’s location.”
Perhaps it was the old spymaster’s warning, or perhaps there was something else going on as well. Despite the undercurrent of tension – or perhaps because of it – I had been feeling the eyes of strangers upon me for much of the day. It was like someone was tickling the small hairs on the back of my neck, and not in a good way. Several times, I found myself turning about, expecting to see someone hiding in the shadows. But each time, I had seen no one.
Nor was I the only one to be uneasy. Sir George seemed skittish as well, although for all I knew, that could have been just him picking up on my own anxiety.
Even so, I resolved to keep my eyes open, and did my best to watch every direction at once.
It turned out that I was wasting my time. We made it to the monastery without any surprises, and Galahad, with the place’s layout having been described to him in great detail, guided the cart right up to the kitchen entrance.
“Here we are,” he said, his demeanor and intonation the spitting image of a hardworking man having reached his goal. No more than that. If anyone had thought to look, they would have seen nothing unusual about his behavior at all.
But I was a little more wired. I tried not to flinch at the man’s words, and had to slow down my nervous desire to leap out of the seat and get on with it. Instead, I offered a casual stretch, clambered clumsily down, and surreptitiously eyeballed the wall behind which was our target.
Though not as impressive as the main city walls that separated inner Camelot from the rest, and nowhere near on the scale of those of the castle, the monastery walls were still stout and formidable. They joined several of the buildings together, the chapel, the kitchen and alehouse, and even one wall of the Order barracks. I had no doubt that I could scale the wall within just a few seconds, and figured Elaine probably could as well, but I didn’t figure either Galahad or Meghan was the wall scaling type. And anyway, it would be hard to explain what I was doing, if I happened to be seen on my way down.
So instead, I wandered to the back of the wagon and glanced in under the canvas canopy that was keeping the beef and the jugs of wine dry.
“Are you ready?” I asked the women. In answer, Elaine nodded sharply, and Meghan held out her hand so I could help her down from her seat.
As I did, Galahad was already banging on the kitchen door, and it wasn’t very long before it opened, and one of the Order monks stepped out.
He was a short, rotund man who wore the plain, brown robes common to many of the orders of this type, and I knew at a glance that it would be too short for either Galahad or me.
“Yes?” the monk said, looking at Galahad, me, and Meghan with little more than curiosity. “What is it you want?”
“We have you wine,” Galahad said, as casual as you please. “And your beef. Where do you want it?”
The monk frowned, looking hard at Meghan, as if he was wondering what a woman like her would be doing on a delivery run. It was a fair question, but he never asked it out loud. The three of us were doing our best to act as if all was as it should be, and the monk had another question in mind.
“Where is Daff?” the monk said.
With Meghan on the ground next to me, I reached in and grabbed the first two jugs of wine, one in each hand, and turned as if to go in.
“Daff’s got the squirts something awful,” Galahad offered without hesitation. “Asked me and the boy here to fill in. Said there’s ninety jugs of this that your guys are waiting on. Where do you want it?”
Maybe if it hadn’t been raining, the short monk would have been more inclined to ask further questions. But Galahad’s act portrayed just the right combination of boredom and irritation at the weather, and with me standing there holding a jug of wine in each hand, the man basically had little choice. After less than a heartbeat to consider, the portly monk nodded. “Inside, to your left. There is storage there for the both of them. Be careful. The floors are slippery on account of the rain.”
And just like that, I made my way into the monastery kitchen as if I had every right to be there, with Meghan le Fay following me closely. I found a likely place, put down my jugs, and looked around at a vastly vibrant, bustling room with half a dozen members of the Order, men and women both, bustling about as they prepared the evening meal for some unknown hundreds of others. Meghan was looking around with a measured eye. She turned to me and said, as casually as you please, “This will work. Give me a few seconds.”
And with that, I left her standing there, retreating to the outside, and closing the door.
By then, Elaine had climbed down out of the wagon and joined Galahad in the mud.
“What’s happening?” the fierce woman asked, and I could see she was itching to draw her weapon.
“As we discussed,” I replied. “Meghan is taking care of it.”
As indeed she was. Even though I was outside, and Meghan was inside with the members of the Order, I still felt it. A wrench, as if I had been turned suddenly sideways. And with it, the stench of magic. I didn’t know exactly what Meghan was up to. She had just said to let h
er take care of this part. And so we had.
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I caught a wisp of green magic escaping from the door, and then the door opened, revealing Meghan standing there. She smiled at us. “Come in,” she said. “Pick a robe. There are plenty to choose from.”
With some trepidation, I was the first through the door with Elaine and Galahad hard at my heels.
Inside the kitchen, everything had changed. No longer was it a place full of bustling activity. The members of the Order who had drawn cooking duty were all still there at their workstations.
But instead of busily going about their duties, they were slumped over, or lying on the floor.
“Are they dead?” Elaine asked, her voice filled with shock.
“Just sleeping,” Meghan reassured her. “But they won’t wake, no matter what we might do. We have at least an hour, perhaps more.”
“So, we will plan for only an hour,” Galahad said.
The four of us quickly stripped the robes from four of the unconscious members of the Order and put them on over our regular clothes. In less than a minute, we were transformed, and I doubted that a casual glance would be enough for anyone to say we didn’t belong.
“Right,” I said. “If we split up, we can cover more ground. If you find Anwen, get her out of here. Convince her any way that you can. We will take her back to your hiding space,” I said, indicating to Galahad, “and then figure out where to go from there.”
We each set off in a different direction, with Galahad heading toward the main chapel, Elaine heading for the living quarters, and me covering the various outbuildings. Meghan elected to stay behind, to keep an eye on the people she had put to sleep, and to deal with anyone who should happen to wander over to ask questions.
In my mind, we didn’t have the full power Meghan’s magic had gained us. Not a full hour, but an unknowable length of time less than that. Inevitably, something would happen, and we would need to revise our plans pretty quickly.