The Camelot Spell

by Laura Anne Gilman

  “And if it starts to glow—”

  “We go that way,” Newt said, finishing Gerard’s thought. For once, all three were in perfect agreement.

  Retracing their steps had no effect, but a foray down the road to where it split into two smaller lanes caused that area of the map to emit the faintest pale pink glow, like the moment before sunrise, and taking the left-hand turn made the glow darken to a deep rose color. But when they turned the two horses in that direction, the map faded back to its original, ordinary, unglowing self.

  “Wonderful.” Gerard stared at the map as though expecting it to apologize. Newt drew a deep breath as though he were about to make another comment about the uselessness of magic. Fed up, Ailis reached from her position behind Newt and grabbed the map out of Gerard’s hands. It felt warm to the touch, like something living. Her fingers tightened around it instinctively.

  “Magic’s not a cure-all. Haven’t you been paying any attention at all?” Some of this anger was directed at herself, she knew. Part of her had expected Merlin to come back with them and set everything right. She knew what he could do. She had been closer than any of them to the workings of the castle—she had heard all the gossip from the household servants and the queen’s ladies alike. And Merlin had given them what help he could. Still, she should have asked the question that had been gnawing at her. Something was changing inside Ailis.

  She had heard that voice more than once, and she had begun to feel an affinity for everything that was magic. She had no idea if that was good or bad, helpful or dangerous. Ailis didn’t dare mention these thoughts to the boys, especially Newt. She didn’t know how Newt would react at all. He didn’t like magic. But she thought maybe he liked her. And…she didn’t want to risk changing that.

  Anyway, magic wasn’t just a thing, like a sword. It couldn’t be handed off, no matter what gifts Merlin gave them, no matter what voices she heard in her head. None of that would change the fact that when they ran into something that three teenagers, two horses, and one sword couldn’t handle—and there was no question that they would—it was going to be bad.

  The next morning saw the three teens riding through a patchwork of fields and small, weather-beaten structures. There were people working in the fields, men and women wearing brown tunics bent over the crops, but they didn’t look up when the two horses went by.

  “That’s odd,” Gerard said. “When Sir Rheynold and I ride in from his lands—”

  “You’re carrying his banner, better dressed, and riding better horses,” Newt said bluntly. “We look like the tail end of a long journey, and not one well started, either. No reason for them to take note of us.”

  “Still. I don’t like it.” But the buildings were in good repair, and the workers looked well-fed and healthy, and if they had no curiosity about strangers riding through, then what affair was it of his? Though it did not bode well for asking questions if the workers took no notice of what was around them. Perhaps the master of these lands would be able to give them the information they sought.

  The trio passed by a neatly tended farmhouse, but when Gerard stopped to ask an old woman pulling water from a well where they might find a place to stay, she looked at him wide-eyed, like a frightened horse, and told him, in a soft tone he almost couldn’t hear, to “go to the Grange.”

  The Grange, as it turned out, was the largest, best-cared-for farm in the community. The main house was a sturdy structure of stone and wood, two stories high, and the cattle grazing about it looked well-fed and strong.

  “The map’s glowing,” Gerard said suddenly.

  “Much?” Ailis asked.

  “Just a little.”

  “Put it away. Quickly!” They didn’t know who their enemy was. They couldn’t trust anyone. But with luck, their first talisman was within reach. As an afterthought, Gerard took off his leather surcoat, with its identifying mark of Sir Rheynold’s household, and put it away, too. The master of the Grange might be educated enough to identify it.

  Riding into the yard, they were met by a servant who welcomed them in the name of the master, Daffyd, son of Robert, and offered them cool water. Gerard drank deeply—to do otherwise would have been insulting to the Grange’s hospitality. Ailis took a more shallow sip, while Newt barely touched his lips to the rim of the jar, swallowing dramatically as though he had taken a gulp. Hospitality was hospitality, and if they were to ask questions—and get answers—they had to win their host’s trust and respect. But Newt didn’t know that there was any need to be foolish about it, not with so much weighing on the successful conclusion of their quest.

  “Ah, young gentles, welcome!” The master of the Grange was a square-shaped, sly-faced man, ruddy-skinned and dark-haired, with odd blue eyes that were too sharp for his open-handed actions. Newt was reminded of a dog he’d worked with once years ago. Excellent bloodlines, but it had a nasty streak a mile wide. You’d think it was tame to the hand, and then it would turn and savage you.

  He was very glad now that he hadn’t swallowed any of this man’s water. Not that he thought Daffyd, son of Robert, would poison them…but you never thought that dog would attack, either.

  “How may I help you, young gentles?”

  “Board for the night, if you might have the space,” Gerard said. “A hot meal would be welcome as well.”

  The landowner smiled wide at them, and Newt thought there might have been sharp edges on his teeth. “And for this boarding? Will you do a day’s work for me?”

  Gerard stopped, caught off guard. He had never been asked for payment before. Occasionally, when Sir Rheynold left, there would be a touch of the hand, coins exchanged, but it was in the way of thanking, not required in advance. Newt was right. This was very different from what he was accustomed to. He didn’t know what to say in response.

  “We will work for our board,” Ailis said, praying her lighter tone would pass for that of a beardless boy. “Half a day’s worth is fair bargain.” Her encounter with the bandits had given her the confidence to try and haggle. The bandits could have killed them, or worse. All this man could do was send them away. “I have training in the kitchens. My companions are trained to work the stables.”

  The farmer stared at her, then at the boys. “I do not need kitchen work nor stables. But my fields are rich this season, and I have not enough workers to toil there. Fair trade, shelter and sustenance for a day’s work?”

  “Half a day,” Gerard said. They needed information, a chance to investigate the map’s message, but they could not risk spending more time here if there was nothing to be gained.

  “Half a day, then,” the master agreed. “But for now, come! Your horses will be well cared for while we determine where you will best earn your keep here.”

  The three of them dismounted and handed their reins to the servant who had offered them the water. Before they were led away, Gerard lifted the saddlebag with the map off its hook and draped it over his shoulder, his expression daring anyone to say something about it.

  Nobody did.

  “I would rather be in the kitchens,” Ailis said, “with Cook in a bad mood.”

  Gerard was too tired to respond.

  They were weeding: Tiny green sprouts were to be protected, while the equally tiny but differently shaped green sprouts next to them were to be pulled and tossed into the sacks they’d been issued. Hours ago Gerard had given up trying to tell the difference and was taking the weeds Ailis pulled and putting them into his sack. Freed from having to carry one herself, she was able to work quickly enough to not bring down the wrath of the man Newt had immediately dubbed the slave master, who stalked the sides of the field looking for workers who seemed to be slowing down.

  The Grange servants seemed to fall into two categories: stolid, silent types who handled their baskets and hoes with the casual skill that came from years of practice, and more sullen-looking workers, who hacked at the ground indifferently. Neither type was particularly friendly, although Gerard admitted that he didn
’t have much experience with servants at this level. Perhaps it was entirely normal. He thought about asking Ailis, but she had always worked in the castle under much gentler conditions. She likely wouldn’t know either.

  Newt might know, but he had separated from them early on, joining forces with another weeder, and was now working in another section of the field. Occasionally they would see him stand and stretch, casually looking around to make sure they were still within eyesight. But there was no opportunity to speak with him.

  “Care to place a wager that Master Daffyd”—and Gerard made the title an insult—“has gone through our belongings?”

  “Or had his servants do it. They give me the shivers, some of them. Their eyes are dead. Have you noticed? Like there’s no one inside. Ugh.” Ailis shuddered at the thought, then said, “The map?”

  Gerard inclined his head to the saddlebag, which he had brought with him, defying any of the locals to make a comment. “Is safe. I wasn’t going to trust it out of my sight.”

  Ailis stopped, her hand closing around a particularly stubborn weed. “Do you think—”

  “I didn’t like the look in his eyes,” Gerard said, putting his hand around hers and yanking. The weed came up, knocking them both on their backsides.

  “Thank you ever so much, brave Sir Weed Killer.” Ailis made as though to curtsey, impossible in her rough trousers, and stopped only when she realized how odd that would look to anyone who might be watching. It wasn’t the big things, like lowering her voice or passing water privately, that made pretending to be a boy so tricky. Small things were what caught you out, every time. If only it were acceptable for girls to travel like this; boys had the freedom to!

  “Very. Funny.” Gerard sat up, decided that only his dignity had been injured, and wiped the dirt off his hands. “I know that there is no work without its own worth, but this is an experience I would have gladly gone without.”

  A low chuckle from behind made both of them start and look around.

  “There are worse jobs, youngster. There are many worse jobs.”

  The speaker was an older man, his face lined from years in the sun, his silver hair pulled back into a knot at the back of his neck.

  “Perhaps.” Gerard tossed the weed into his bag, and offered his hand to the stranger. How much had this old man heard? He made a resolution to be more careful, minding his speech. “I’m Gerard.”

  The older man looked at his hand, then shook his head and took up the hand clasp. “Beren.” He looked at Ailis, and she nodded her head shyly, rubbing her hand on the side of her trousers as though to clean them, but actually spreading more dirt over them to disguise the slenderness of her fingers. “Aili,” she said, giving her childhood nickname which could have belonged to a boy or a girl.

  “You’re new here.” It wasn’t a question. “Old Daffyd hired ye for the season?”

  “We’re only passing through,” Gerard said, nudging Ailis so that she started weeding again. They had wanted to talk to people, yes, but there was no reason to attract unwanted attention by seeming to slack off on their work. “Just paying for a night’s room and board.”

  “Passing through, are you?” Beren looked at them carefully then shrugged. “No concern of mine,” he said, almost to himself. “Offered you shelter, did he?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Nah, nah, nothing. Only best be careful where you lay your head.”

  “We’re almost done,” Gerard said. “Half a day was our agreement. So we’ll be gone soon.”

  Beren’s expression at that made Gerard wary. “Is there something you want to tell us?” the squire asked as he took the weeds from Ailis’s hand and tossed them into the sack.

  Beren shook his head, retreating from his earlier friendliness. “On your own, you are. As we all are.” And he would say no more.

  Ailis and Gerard exchanged worried glances but had no choice but to go back to work.

  “You smell.” Newt knelt on the rough wooden floor and began to remove his shoes.

  “So do you.” Gerard tossed his clothing into a pile and used a ragged towel to wipe himself off. There had been limited water offered for them to bathe with when they came in from the fields. Ailis had looked so pitiful, the two boys had agreed without speaking to let her have it all. They could hear her now, behind a hastily erected screen, splashing and humming. By the time they had finished dressing, the noises had stopped and she came around the screen, dressed, with her hair laying wet over her shoulders and her face scrubbed pink.

  Gerard looked longingly at the thin pallets they had been given. A far cry from his bed back home, but right now it was worth a solid gold piece to him, if he could only lie down for an hour or five. But they had been invited to meet with the master of the Grange before the midday meal. From the way Newt’s stomach had been growling, Gerard didn’t think either of his companions was going to like that bit of news.

  “I feel so much better,” Ailis declared, braiding her hair up again. “I feel I could take on anything right now.”

  “Well, that’s good. Because we’re about to.” Newt and Ailis turned in confusion to look at Gerard. “A servant stopped me on the way up. Daffyd wants to see us, personally, before we go down to dinner.”

  “So?”

  Gerard shook his head, exasperated by Newt’s question. “The map said that one of the talismans was here, didn’t it?”

  “It glowed. We still don’t know what that means. It could just mean that we’re moving in the right direction. Or that someone here has information we need. Or…anything!”

  Gerard considered that. “Even if Daffyd does have the first talisman, how will we know what it is? It could be anywhere. It could be anything. If we could figure out some way to question him—”

  “That assumes he’d be willing to help us, and that we could believe what he says,” Ailis pointed out. “I don’t think he’s to be trusted.”

  “He’s not,” Newt agreed. “I spoke with some of the workers. They would not speak ill of the man.”

  Ailis shook her head. “How does that—”

  “There’s no slave so well-treated that he will not speak ill of his master. The only man who is silent is one who’s afraid.”

  “So speak carefully,” Gerard interrupted. “Better yet, don’t speak at all. Let me talk to him.”

  “What? You don’t think we can—” Ailis started, her expression indignant.

  “No. I don’t. Come on, Ailis. Think for a moment. You didn’t even want him to know you were a girl. The minute you start to talk for any length of time, he’ll know. You think he’ll listen to you then? And Newt—”

  “I’m not ashamed of who I am,” Newt retorted.

  The squire threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m not saying you are. But I know men like this Master Daffyd. They’re proud. The way he treated us, like we’d agree to whatever he said just to get fed? You said it yourself, Newt—we weren’t impressive. If we had been—if I’d ridden in here with Sir Rheynold—he’d have been all over us like a dog hoping for a bone.” Gerard shook his head. “I’m not trying to be cruel, honestly. But the only way to talk to someone like this is from a position of strength. And neither of you can do that.”

  “You just spent half the day digging weeds. What makes you think he’s going to recognize you as any better than us?” Ailis meant the words to sting, and they did.

  “I have a better chance than either of you.” But Gerard’s voice, previously confident, began to waver a little with doubt. The sight of the servants slogging back from the field, half of them without any animation or casual talk at all, had unnerved him more than he would admit.

  “We’re doomed.” Newt sat down on the one stool in the room and put his head in his hands. “And I’ll never get my supper.”

  The moment they entered Daffyd’s study, Newt felt the unease he’d experienced before jump in intensity. A sideways glance showed that Ailis was equally nervous, if the way she kept rubbing her hands f
lat against her shirt was any indication. Almost in passing, Newt noticed that when she did that, the fabric pulled tight across her chest. He hadn’t noticed before, much, but they were going to have to find her a jacket or vest of some kind if she was going to keep passing as a boy.

  “Ah…Ready to be on your way, are you?”

  Daffyd sat in a heavy chair, his back to the one window in the room. The sun came through at such an angle that he seemed almost surrounded by the late afternoon light. If you looked directly at him, you had to squint or risk being blinded. Newt had seen better in bit-player shows. But this was Daffyd’s ground, and that made him worth watching. Even if that idiot Gerard didn’t seem to realize it, bulling forward with bluster wasn’t going to win the day.

  “We thank you for your hospitality. But yes, after the midday meal we will be ready to be on our way.”

  Newt had to admit, the way the words dripped off the other boy’s lips, you’d think he was Arthur himself being gracious to unworthy underlings. An annoying twit, yes, but a well-trained annoying twit. Gerard was almost as good as he thought he was.

  “Not so quickly, my young sirs,” Daffyd said, stretching his legs out in front of him.

  Newt tensed. He didn’t like the sound of that. Not at all.

  “I have a challenge for you. A game of sorts, if you will.”

  “And if we won’t?” Newt asked quietly under his breath.

  Daffyd went on without hearing him. “I have in this room my most valuable possession. If you can tell me it true, it is yours.”

  Ailis looked at Newt, then at Gerard. Newt looked back at them blandly, not showing his unease on his face. It felt like a trap somehow. Adults didn’t simply make offers like that, not to random travelers and especially not to young travelers without status.

  Ailis spoke for them all. “And if we cannot tell you what that possession is?”

  Daffyd smiled, and Newt was certain he saw sharp teeth this time. “Then you stay and work my lands.” And with those words, the three could feel the weight of something falling around them, sealing them into the room.