A Tail of Camelot

by Julie Leung

  She puffed out her cheeks in frustration. “And even it we don’t run into him, we might end up someplace worse, like the Saxon camp!”

  Calib sniffed the air, trying to catch a hint of water, but it was hard when the cold made his nose runny.

  “We should head west,” he finally said. “Away from the mountains. We know Leftie’s lair is hidden in its foothills, so the farther away we get from them, the better.”

  Cecily nodded, and they began to distance themselves from the row of jagged peaks rising in the east like the teeth of a great sea monster.

  They trudged in silence, not daring to breathe a word. From time to time, they doubled back on their tracks, just in case more weasels were still prowling about the woods.

  As they traveled, worries crawled around Calib’s head like hungry fire ants. Even though it felt like a lifetime ago, they had only left Camelot yesterday morning. Calib wondered whether Kensington’s war party had reached the Darklings by now.

  “You know, they’re going to think we were kidnapped,” Cecily said, as if reading Calib’s mind.

  “Or that we’re traitors,” Calib added. They fell back into silence. Calib could feel every muscle ache, like he’d gone twenty rounds against the Hurler.

  Eventually, they heard the reassuring burbling of the river again. Cecily waded into an eddy to wash off some of the fish stench. Calib knelt down to splash icy water on his face. His stomach growled. He hoped General Gaius would come back for them soon. Without Merlin’s Crystal, they had nothing to bargain with.

  “Who do you think that weasel meant by the Manderlean?” Calib asked as Cecily used some twigs and her cloak to create a temporary tent over a pile of brown leaves. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it—like a nightmare that he’d forgotten upon waking.

  “It sounded as if the Manderlean was their leader,” Cecily said, burrowing into the leaf pile. “Whoever—or whatever—that is.”

  Calib nodded. He would remember the name and ask Sir Alric when they got back to the castle. Sir Alric often pored through the library scrolls, seeking inspiration for new contraptions. He was easily Camelot’s most knowledgeable mouse.

  Calib used his own cloak for a tent and covered himself with some leaves too. Settling in to wait for the great horned owl, he let his eyelids grow heavy.

  His dreams carried him back to Camelot. He was standing in the tapestry hall again, staring at his parents’ tapestry. His father still offered Merlin’s Crystal, glowing with bright blue flames.

  When beliefs as old as stone will budge, then minds as sharp as swords will be free, Sir Trenton said in Howell’s voice.

  Calib woke with a start. His heart and head were pounding. He sat straight up, fur prickling. Something was moving toward them.

  That thought had barely formed when his tent was suddenly whipped aside. A squirrel in a black hood stared at him with triumphant eyes.

  “Got ’em, boys!” he shouted to the other masked squirrels behind him.

  Before Calib could cry for help, the intruder grabbed a hold of his ear and dragged him out of the leaf pile. His other arm grabbed a sleeping Cecily.

  A net was thrown over the both of them. Calib counted three masked and hooded black squirrels standing around them with bows and arrows drawn.

  Darkling scouts.

  Two more descended from the trees above on ropes of ivy.

  “Wait! We’re not enemies!” Calib cried.

  “Funny,” one of the hooded squirrels growled. “You smell like our stolen food. And if my ears don’t lie, you sound like a pair of Camelot mice!”

  “We didn’t take your food! You’ve made a mistake!” Calib struggled to get out of the netting, but the thick rope was heavy, and the knots were tied tight.

  “Leftie’s orders are to capture first, ask questions later.”

  Quick as lightning, Cecily took out her sword and slashed at the rope, breaking apart the net. She struggled to pull Calib out after her.

  “That one is escaping!” said one of their attackers.

  A rock flew at Cecily from the trees.

  “Watch out!” Calib shouted. It hit the side of Cecily’s head, twisting her around. She dropped her sword in surprise and fell heavily on the riverbank. She began sliding toward the water.

  “Cecily!” Calib ran forward, but he was still tangled in the net. Every part of his body went numb as he struggled to get to his friend.

  “Victory!” A bloodcurdling screech echoed from above them.

  Out of nowhere, General Gaius swooped in, grabbing Cecily before she hit the water. A volley of arrows came at the general, but he swerved out of the way. Banking hard, he started to turn around, doubling back for Calib.

  “Just get Cecily to safety!” Calib shouted.

  General Gaius nodded once and took off into the trees. He narrowly avoided the second round of arrows that whizzed by his wings.

  Rough arms closed in around Calib’s body, and he felt something hit his head from behind. As his vision faded to darkness, the last thing he saw was Merlin’s Crystal dangling from General Gaius’s neck as the owl carried Cecily’s limp body into the sky.

  CHAPTER

  30

  Calib awoke in a dark cavern lit by oily torches. The air smelled of dry leaves and singed feathers. He sat up, every muscle protesting as he did. The back of his head pulsed from where a squirrel had hit him.

  How long have I been out? Calib wondered. How long until the Camelot army arrives with their war cries?

  As Calib’s eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, he noticed gleaming eyes staring back at him. Every manner of Darkling creature—from crows to foxes, hares to squirrels—stood watching him just outside the light’s glow. The cave was packed and stuffy, and the sound of shuffling paws and rustling feathers echoed off the walls.

  A black crow stepped forward. His feathers were painted with green-and-red battle stripes.

  “Leftie, he wakes!” the crow squawked, addressing someone behind Calib. With a trembling belly full of fear, Calib turned.

  A fearsome lynx towered over him. The big cats were rare in this part of the world, and Leftie was by far the most fearsome of the few who still lived in Britain. His fur was a matted and mangy yellow. A patch covered the place where his right eye used to be. Thin red scars poked out from underneath the cloth. He was dressed in a kilt made of fur pelts, and on his paws, he wore rings decorated with short blades.

  Leftie grinned widely, displaying every one of his finely sharpened fangs.

  “My, my, look at what my squirrels have brought me,” Leftie hissed in Calib’s face. “A lost little Camelot mousie.”

  The animals in the cave cackled.

  “How much do ye reckon Camelot will pay to get one of their little ’uns back?” Leftie said, appraising Calib with his one good eye. “Too bad the other ’un got away; could have doubled our price!”

  Calib thought of Cecily. Hot, angry tears welled in his eyes. He prayed that General Gaius was able to get her to safety.

  “We’re here trying to save you, trying to warn you, and you tried to kill us instead!” Calib burst out. “My friend could be . . . She might be . . .” Calib didn’t dare to finish his sentence. He felt light-headed from anger and fear.

  “My squirrels did exactly as they were ordered. In this forest, we cannot have our enemies prancing about in our backyard like fairies,” Leftie said. His eye narrowed, and the smile had left his face. “These are dangerous days, and we do what we must to survive.”

  “And I suppose it doesn’t matter that you hurt innocent creatures in the process?” Calib shouted.

  “Spare me your righteousness!” Leftie unsheathed a scimitar and hooked Calib’s neck with it, forcing the mouse to stand on tiptoes to keep the blade from digging into his skin. “It is precisely the innocent I’m trying to protect! But I suppose all Darklings are villains to you. I should cut your mousey throat for everyone in this good company to see.”

  The m
etal pressed against his fur, and a few strands of fur hair floated down, severed by the sharp blade. Calib focused his terror on everything that was at stake: It wasn’t just his life or Cecily’s life hanging in the balance, but the lives of all at Camelot. If he pushed Leftie too far, it would do more harm than good. Calib needed the lynx to listen to him. He hadn’t come this far to be killed by an overgrown house cat.

  “What grows strong when the strong grow weak?” Calib croaked out.

  Leftie paused. His one good eye blinked a few times.

  “What did you just say?” He didn’t release Calib, but the scimitar trembled slightly in his paws.

  “I won Merlin’s Crystal from the owls,” he whispered. “We were bringing it to you, but you decided to attack us instead.”

  “It’s a useless piece of rock!” Leftie spat. “Obviously, the crystal didn’t give any ‘great strength’ to the owls, as they were unable to defeat us in the the Fellwater Swamps and had to flee!”

  Calib’s fear, which he’d been trying to hold back, now flooded his entire body. If Leftie didn’t want Merlin’s Crystal anymore, he had no way to bargain for his life or for peace. He began to shake.

  Seeing this, Leftie sneered. “What makes you think I wanted that pebble in the first place?”

  Act like a Christopher!

  Calib drew himself up to his full three inches. “Valentina Stormbeak told us you did on the night I helped her escape from Camelot!”

  At this, concerned chatter broke out among the crows.

  “You must think I’m some newborn kitten,” the lynx snarled. “Valentina has not been heard from in three days. She was flying south to bring her clan to the fold. She was supposed to return yesterday. For all we know, she could be in your dungeon right now.”

  Calib’s stomach did a double flip. Had Valentina been recaptured?

  Leftie released him roughly. “Council, what do you say? Do we spare the prisoner, or do we dispose of him?”

  A handful of woodland creatures came forward into the light, forming a half circle around Calib. The mouse guessed from their markings and clothes that these were the leaders of the various Darkling tribes. There was a fierce female fox, a vixen with rusty red fur. Much of it was streaked with green-and-brown paint, as if to camouflage her colors better. A hare wore a long coat of copper chain mail, and his ears were decorated with a row of spiky hoops. A badger’s head nearly touched the cavern ceiling. On his front, he wore a tortoise shell as a breastplate.

  “I say we kill this one,” a black squirrel declared, “and send those Camelot scum a message.”

  “You don’t understand!” Calib piped up, desperate to turn the tide in his favor. “The Saxons and their weasels are here. They’re invading again. And I have reason to believe they killed my grandfather, Commander Yvers! Please, you just have to listen.”

  “Yvers murdered, eh?” Leftie’s voice was emotionless, but his eyes flickered with surprise. “It was only a matter of time before the old fur ball got what was coming to him.”

  “Yvers was the greatest commander who ever lived!” Calib lashed out again.

  “Quiet, mouse,” Leftie said. “Or we will gag you with your tail. Master Jans Thropper, your thoughts?”

  “It’s not worth the risk to keep him alive,” the hare said, the hoops in his ears clinking together. The badger in the tortoiseshell armor gave a low growl in agreement.

  “The mouse-knights would have us bear the brunt of the attacks while they wait behind their high and mighty walls,” the hare added.

  “Who knows what secrets this one has already gleaned as a spy,” the badger said.

  “Quite right, Master Lylas Whitestripe,” Leftie said, nodding to the badger.

  “Perhaps we’re being hasty,” the vixen said doubtfully. “I knew Commander Yvers to be a decent beast.”

  “Aye, and his grandson is a fine one as well,” a voice spoke up from outside the circle. “So paws off that mouse!”

  CHAPTER

  31

  “Valentina!” Calib bolted straight for the weary-looking crow, and they shared a fur-and-feather hug.

  “Hello, Master Calib,” Valentina said with a quick affectionate nibble of his ear.

  “Now do you believe me?” Calib said, turning to the lynx.

  “What Calib says is true,” Valentina said. “He helped me—at great risk to himself—when Camelot accused us of Commander Yvers’s murder.” Valentina bobbed her head at Calib. “I did not think you would truly pay us a visit, however. You are very brave, Calib. Very brave or very stupid.”

  Leftie scrutinized Calib and Valentina. Behind them, a host of new crows was filing into the cavern. Space was becoming tight, and the tension among the Darklings seemed to grow with it.

  “This cave is getting too crowded,” the fox said to Leftie in a low voice. “I mean no disrespect. But we simply don’t have enough food for everyone. Not if you continue taking in refugees.”

  “I will not turn away any beast to face the winter alone, even it means we all go a little lean,” Leftie said.

  “‘A little lean’?” Lylas said, shaking his head so that his tortoise shells clicked together. “We’ll starve to death!”

  Calib thought of all the animals stuck in this cave, living off mere scraps, and he remembered the ample amount of food in Camelot’s cellars. The dried, salted fish and drying herbs, the barrels full of oats and barley, and the drams of dandelion and elderberry cordial. It just didn’t seem right that the Darklings should starve because they happened to live in the woods.

  “Camelot needs more defenders, and you need more food,” Calib said hurriedly, before he could change his mind. “If the Saxons rise against us, none of us will be safe. We could work together.”

  The silence that followed this outburst was absolute. The Darklings looked at Calib as if he’d offered a share of lost treasure. For a long time, no one spoke.

  “If Camelot promises us food and shelter, that’s where I vote we go,” Valentina said. “Anyone who lets pride get in the way of providing for their clan . . . Well, that’s no leader at all.”

  “All I know is that the little ones are hungry,” said a ragged-looking squirrel.

  “Or we could attack the castle ourselves and take the food!” Lylas the badger bared his teeth in a mean smile.

  “And you think we have the might to mount that kind of attack?” a crow asked. “We’re barely able to protect what little food we have left. We have no fighters to spare.”

  More arguments broke out: crows squawked and badgers grumbled and squirrels chattered shrilly at one another. Calib resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands. It was as if he was in the council room at Camelot all over again. Calib recalled how many times Commander Yvers had worked to unify the various animals at Camelot. Whether it was forging an alliance with the moat otters or listening to the endless complaints from the bell-tower larks, Commander Yvers had always known how to restore order.

  Calib yearned for his grandfather’s kindness and patience, the way he’d found Calib in the tapestry hall on the very day he was too afraid to compete in the Harvest Tournament. How long ago that seemed.

  Spotting a little outcropping of rock that formed a platform, Calib leaped nimbly on top of it. He cleared his throat.

  “Can I have your attention, please?” he shouted above the din. No one even looked at him.

  He cupped his paws to his mouth and tried again.

  “PLEASE, CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!” Calib shouted again at the top of his lungs.

  As the Darkling leaders finally quieted, they turned to Calib, surprised that such a loud voice could come from such a small mouse. But with all eyes on him now, Calib’s confidence seemed to shrink back into a tiny ball.

  “I have no right to tell you what to do,” Calib said, addressing the crowd in a squeak. He wished he had Commander Yvers’s deep, soothing voice—but wishing, he knew, would not solve anything. He was a small mouse with ragged ears, and a
squeak of a voice, but he would have to be enough. “Camelot has a motto: ‘Together in paw and tail, lest divided we fall and fail.’ That applies to you, our Darkling friends, as well.”

  Leftie looked at him, weighing his next words carefully.

  “Since you are so eager to share your opinion,” he said. “How do you plan to put paw and tail together, as you say?”

  Calib took a deep breath. At least Leftie was listening to him.

  “First, we need to clear Two-Bits’s name,” Calib said.

  “Two-Bits?!” Leftie let out a big guffaw. “What’s poor Two-Bits got to do with it?”

  “Two-Bits’s tooth has been used as evidence of his role in killing my grandfather,” Calib explained. “Sir Percival said he found it on Commander Yvers when he was examining the body.”

  Leftie gawked at him. “Why, that big baby couldn’t hurt a fly! The answer to your mystery is solved easily enough: he had his tooth removed just last week. In fact, your healer, Sir Percival, pulled it for him. Two-Bits?”

  Calib felt as if he’d been doused by ice water as the black squirrel stepped forward reluctantly. His jaw was still bandaged together. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap.

  “Poor thing’s been chewing poppies to numb the pain,” Leftie said. “He’s had to hibernate early.”

  Calib felt the ground spinning beneath him. He closed his eyes, steadying himself on the cavern wall. Of course. The traitor in Camelot.

  “Sir Percival Vole!” Calib said in a harsh whisper, piecing everything together. “Sir Percival has been framing Two-Bits as Commander Yvers’s murderer. . . . He must have convinced Warren to lie. . . .”

  But why would Sir Percival, a Knight of the Round Table, do such a thing?

  “Typical Camelot behavior,” scoffed Jans Thropper. “And we’re supposed to believe this scruff of fur when he says he wants to help us?”

  Calib ignored that.