“Without a doubt, Sir Kay.” I read the passage again, for my curiosity had not subsided. I risked further inquiry. “It is only that — and I feel foolish for voicing the thought, especially to one as well-read as yourself, but —”
“Lucas…”
“Do you think it is possible that the ‘dark hour’ and ‘dire deed’ —”
“Go on…”
“— might refer to the act of summoning Merlin, and not to the circumstances that inspire the summoning?” Sir Kay took the book from my hands. “Sir Kay?”
“Sssh!” he said, and read to himself, mumbling through his lips. Inside the cave, the shuffling sounds had ceased. “Dark is the… dire…” muttered Sir Kay.
“Dark is the hour, and dire the deed!” shouted the Master within the cave.
“Hmm,” said Sir Kay, furrowing his brow. He turned over several brittle pages.
“But the need is great! T’is great indeed!” the Master continued.
“Ah,” said Sir Kay, scanning some text towards the back of the book. “You know, it might be a good idea to postpone this for a minute, Lucas.”
“Merlin from your slumber, cross the wide green sea!”
A gust of wind whipped along the shore and riffled the pages of parchment. “Sire!” I called into the grotto. “Sir Kay feels it prudent that we pause the incantation!”
“For I, King Arthur, do wake and summon thee!” said the Master.
The setting sun disappeared behind a bank of black clouds. The beach was plunged into sudden night. The sea, moments ago as smooth as pressed linen, became rough and squally. “Is there additional information?” I said.
“You could say that, yes,” said Sir Kay.
There was a sound like a loud clap of thunder, followed by a hot blast of air. The Master was thrown backwards out of the cave and landed at our feet.
VII
I stood over the fallen body of the Master, and once again time seemed to slow to a standstill. For a terrifying moment I thought the anomaly from the nightclub had caught up with me, but when I shook my head the sensation passed. I checked his pulse; he had been knocked unconscious by the blast, but was otherwise intact. “Attend to him,” I said to Sir Kay, and ran inside the cave.
The interior was illuminated by a point of purple light on the floor, no wider than a two pence piece, yet dazzling in its intensity. As I watched, the point widened and extended up into a column, as if someone under the ground had switched on a very powerful torch. As soon as this beam of light struck the cave roof, the entire cliff-side shook and the floor rumbled beneath my feet as if from an earthquake. Forked tongues of violet lightning sparked off the beam, licking the cave walls hungrily. I ran back outside, partly from fear of electrocution, and partly to see how far the shaft of light extended. Sir Kay was shouting something. Further down the beach, Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain were running towards us, all of them transfixed by the top of the cliff.
Turning and looking up, I saw that the beam of light had sliced clean through the top of the cliff, quadrupling in width and lashing wildly into the sky like water from a giant hose. With sickening accuracy the beam whipped down to the car park, towards the form of the Grail upon the car roof. For an instant I saw Sir Perceval attempting to pull the cauldron clear, attended by a howling Sir Pellinore. Then the giant beam of light connected with the Grail, and the car and everything surrounding it exploded.
“Perceval!” cried Sir Kay, and started to run back to the fire-ball.
I grabbed his arm. “You must stop this, Sir Kay!” I shouted above the rumbling.
“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “It doesn’t say how!”
I ran back inside the cave, where the beam had grown to the width of a serving platter, its wild carvings sending rubble raining down from above. I could hear Sir Lancelot calling my name from outside the cave mouth, but I pressed forwards. Shielding my head as best as I could with one arm, I squinted into the blinding light. A hooded head was sticking out of the hole in the floor. I could see nothing of the face beneath the cowl, but it could only belong to the wizard.
“Merlin!” I shouted, over the escalating din. “Close the portal!” The hooded head shook from side to side and the figure rose up through the hole to mid-torso. “We have made a mistake!” I cried. “Go back!” The wizard was now out as far as his waist. A bolt of lightning sent another shower of rubble down on my head. With a loud thooming rush, Merlin shot clear out of the ground and up through the hole in the roof. The cave mouth was nearly blocked by debris and, as I squeezed out through the remaining gap, another rock fall closed it up behind me. I scrambled to my feet on the shore just in time to see the body of the cloaked and hooded wizard flying into the air through the violet beam, which now flowed up over the fields and towards the eastern horizon in a rainbow-like arc. As soon as Merlin had gone the sky cleared and the sea fell calm. The beam of light lost its roaming intensity and streamed vertically up into the heavens with the steady pulse of a geyser.
But there was still the aftershock to contend with. The cliff above us convulsed violently. With the help of Sir Lancelot, I dragged the Master clear of the inlet as the remaining part of the cliff-side collapsed into the sea, cutting us off from the beach and the smouldering car park, and stranding us on the jagged rocks. On our precarious perch, Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain, Sir Kay and I stood around the body of the unconscious Master, while the rising tide lapped at our feet.
Yesterday One
I
There was no escaping it. The Master was not where he should have been, and that was most disturbing.
Today being the first day of the Winter Feast, I had risen an hour earlier than usual to pay particular attention to the King and Queen on their anniversary. This morning, however, my knock was not answered with the customary “Enter, Lucas.” Neither, after an appropriate interval, was a second, more vigorous rapping. Inclining my ear to the heavy oak door of the Royal Chambers, I could hear the sound of only one person sleeping within. Sure enough, a cautious look revealed the Queen alone and deep in slumber, the King having already risen and no doubt attending to some thoughtful surprise for when his beloved awoke.
I closed the door softly and crept back along the landing, where my silent exit was compromised by a sudden collision with a woman at the top of the stairs. The goblet and tray I was carrying flew out of my hands. I was quick enough to recover the tray in mid-air, but missed the goblet, which was on the point of hitting the flagstones when the interloper caught it.
“Oh, my goodness, you frightened the life out of me!” the stranger said. My natural instinct upon discovering a trespasser in the Royal Tower was to reach for my sword, but I was so impressed with her reflexes with the goblet that I stayed my hand. “Are you alright? Can I help you?” she asked. Lost for words at such impertinence, I took a moment to note her uncommonly striking eyes, gleaming like burnished bronze. I quickly recovered my composure. “It is I who should be asking that of you,” I replied, perhaps more curtly than I intended. “This is the Royal Tower. Only my most senior staff and I have free access.”
“But I am staff.”
It was all I could do to restrict my response to an indignant cough. “Forgive me, but you are certainly not. I am Sir Lucas, Royal Butler. There is not a single person working at Camelot above my jurisdiction. If you were a member of staff, I would certainly know of it.”
“Sir Lucas! But it is you I am looking for. I am Beaumains. Your new deputy.”
A pale hand was put forward in greeting, and I shook it. A kitchen worker’s hand, rough and worn yet strong and supple. Immediately I understood the source of our confusion, and felt rather foolish. “Of course. I should have realised from the accent. Forgive my surprise, but you were not expected for several days,” I said.
“My ship was blessed with a fair wind from France, and I took little rest on the road to get here in time for the Royal Anniversary. I bring a gift, from King Ban.” A shoulder bag was opened to reveal
a gold plate studded with gems.
“Sir Lancelot’s father is most generous,” I said. “Still, you really should have waited for me at the Gatehouse instead of entering the Royal Tower.”
“Pardon me, Sir Lucas. But I am eager to meet them,” she smiled.
“So are all who come to Camelot. But they, at least, find the patience to wait until the King and Queen are washed and dressed.”
Beaumains’ smile waned. “I was keen to get started in my work. That is all,” she said.
I began to feel the same sense of self-reproach I get whenever I am a touch too severe with my apprentice, Gwion. “Enthusiasm is, of course, highly commendable. But enthusiasm without discipline is like a sword without a scabbard. Sooner or later, you will cut yourself.”
“I will try to remember that,” she said.
“Good.” A rather uncomfortable silence ensued. “The goblet. It was… well caught,” I said at last.
“Thank you,” said Beaumains.
“Your reflexes do you credit. As do your references. I understand your family served King Leir?”
“My grandfather.”
“And Sir Lancelot speaks of you in the most favourable terms.” At this Beaumains glowed, and it was such a pleasing sight that I resolved there and then never to consciously diminish it.
“But where is Lancelot? I have missed him so much,” she said.
“At present, Sir Lancelot is away questing. We are expecting his return any day now. It would be a noble adventure indeed to keep him away from the Winter Feast. But please,” I said, moving to the spiral staircase, “this way. There is much to be done. We will not have time for a leisurely tour. Yours will have to be of the working variety.”
“They are the best kind,” said Beaumains.
“I could not have put it better myself,” I said.
†
From the Royal Tower we walked out along the castle’s eastern wall. To our right lay the inner courtyard and the staff quarters, where bleary-eyed night workers mumbled greetings to their fresh-faced daytime counterparts. Below us, to the left of the castle wall, lay the sleeping town of Camelot, and past that the fortified enclosure of the town’s outer wall. The world beyond was still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness, save for the roadside torches lighting the bridge over the river. By this illumination, the vague outlines of men on horseback could be seen approaching the main gates in close procession.
“They arrive in droves,” said Beaumains.
“It has been like this for days,” I replied. “Thanks to Sir Lancelot, this year’s Christmastide will see record attendance levels.”
“No man can best him in combat,” said Beaumains. “It is a sight to see.”
“Sir Lancelot is a knight of the highest skill,” I agreed, “and his custom of sending vanquished foes to pay tribute to the Queen is testament to his nobility. However, it is a year since he first went out to extend the King’s justice. I confess that even I was not prepared for the sheer scale of his vanquishings. Do not forget, Beaumains, once these knights have paid their tribute, they all require food and lodging. Then there are the guests arriving for the Royal Anniversary, and the attraction of the Knighting ceremony. Add to their number the usual volume of challengers and questers approaching the Round Table, not to mention those seeking the renowned hospitality of the King’s winter hearth, plus the population of the town and castle, and we have a Camelot that is stretched to the seams.”
“Bursting with life,” she said with a smile.
“I would not have it any other way,” I agreed, liking her even more. “It’s taken many years, but King Arthur has finally brought light to this dark land. Providing a fine, fierce feasting is the least we can do. Although, it would be enormously helpful if they did not all arrive at once. Perhaps I will speak to Sir Lancelot and see if we can arrange some sort of vanquishing timetable, to spread the burden over the feasting year. If even a hundred vanquishees could be forwarded to Whitsuntide, it would do much to lighten the load.”
We had reached the end of the wall and the steps leading down into the Great Hall. Beaumains was about to start down the first of these, when I held out a restraining hand. “Not that way,” I said. “Let me show you how Camelot is able to take any strain its guests care to place upon it.” I walked towards the end of the wall, and turned to see a suitably surprised expression on Beaumains’ face as I stepped between the turrets and disappeared.
II
We descended the steep winding staircase and into the clanking, hissing, bustling realm of Lower Camelot. All along the main corridor, numerous pages zipped by, conveying service apparatus, running errands and delivering messages.
“I was involved in the construction of Camelot from the design stages,” I said, stepping aside to allow a platter of fruit to pass by. “As a result, I was able to ensure the domestic realm was constructed first — directly on top of the foundations, and beneath ground level. The hidden entrance we just came through on the turret wall is one of hundreds situated throughout the town and castle, providing staff with hands-on access points between Upper and Lower Camelot. My plan was to maximise service, efficiency and guest satisfaction, whilst providing as little disruption as possible and remaining out of sight to the untrained eye. Over the years this has, I am pleased to say, become something of a staff philosophy.”
“Ingenious,” said Beaumains, peering into the kitchens and jumping back as a waiter appeared under a teetering pile of plates. “But I will get lost down here for a hundred years.”
“I based the overall design on a series of concentric ovals. The outer circles support the town and grounds, while the inner serve the castle. If you lose your bearings, simply follow the blue line on the wall, and you will eventually get back here: the centre point of the Lower Great Hall.”
This area now stretched ahead of us, a vast room containing a network of lifts and pulleys, pipes and troughs, crossbeams and timber scaffolding, illuminated by torches set deep in the walls.
“Even our biggest castles have nothing on such a scale. What is this?” Beaumains had stopped by the central conveyor belt.
“A swift way of sending items from one end of the Lower Great Hall to the other.”
“Magic?”
“Nothing of the sort! It is powered by a diverted underground stream which also provides Camelot with a constant supply of fresh water.”
I guided us into an alcove and stepped up onto a wooden platform — one of many situated along the walls — and adjusted the balance of the counterweight for two. “You may find the following sensation takes a while to get used to,” I said, and released the control lever. The lift winched us swiftly into the air. Beaumains gasped and gripped my arm, only letting go when we came to a smooth halt facing the back of a tapestry that hid the lift from view. I moved it aside for her to step shakily into the light and space of the Upper Great Hall.
I was pleased to see that my three Heads of Staff had already arrived for the morning meeting. Eric’s eagle eye observed two kitchen hands staggering beneath the weight of a freshly-spiced boar, skewered on a spit as long as a lance. Bedwyr called out instructions to a page stacking wood in the eastern fireplace, concerning the best arrangement for maximising burning time. On the upper dais of the Round Table, Enid swept the walkways clear of any mice unwise enough to linger in her path. I gave a discrete cough to notify all three of the start of the meeting.
“A very good morning to you all. I would like to begin by introducing my new deputy Beaumains, with whom you will all be working closely. Beaumains, this is Bedwyr, Head Waiter; Enid, Head of Housekeeping; and Eric, Head Chef.” All three nodded and smiled in greeting. “Now then, Bedwyr. The seating plan.”
“Filling up fast. Twenty or so left on the lower tables, but I’ve not checked with Geraint yet for overnight arrivals.”
“Then we will have to find more dining space outside the Hall, and prioritise accordingly. Enid, did you speak to Mordred about volunteering some roo
ms in the West Wing?”
“Tried yesterday,” said Enid, folding her arms. “But he says he needs the space for all the guests he’s invited to see him get knighted.”
“He’ll be lucky. The smart money’s on Gawain, not that midden mouth,” said Eric.
“All the same, he won’t budge,” said Enid. “Reckons it’s the very least the Master can do, when by rights he should have his own rooms in the Royal Tower. Then he told me to mind my own business and bail out his bedpan.”
“He should thank his lucky stars he’s not bunking up with the horses,” said Eric.
“Please, Eric. I understand that Mordred can be a demanding, not to say difficult, guest –”
“Guest? Ha! Guests leave.” said Enid.
“But he is first and foremost the King’s brother, and I would remind you to keep that in mind at all times. Enid, tell Mordred that the West Wing will be cleared for emergency accommodation, whether he likes it or not. Any guests he has invited himself will have to take their turn on a first come, first served basis like everybody else. If he has any quarrel with you this time, then point him in my direction.”
“Yes, Sir Lucas.”
“Eric, any dietary requirements Bedwyr should be aware of?”
“Only Sir Marrok. His curse hasn’t been lifted, so he can’t eat nuts or drink any mead which may contain traces of nuts.”
“Thank you. Finally, has anyone seen the King this morning? He was not in the Royal Chamber.”
“Owen left breakfast early to meet him at the armoury,” said Bedwyr.
This was of modest concern. Upon leaving the King the previous evening, he had made no mention of departing Camelot, and certainly not on any business that would require a trip to the armoury.
“Very well. I may have cause to leave Camelot temporarily this morning. I will entrust Beaumains to your capable hands, to get better acquainted with your respective areas of expertise. Eric, perhaps you would start with a tour of the kitchens?” The three Heads moved to go about their work, Eric waiting to accompany Beaumains. “Beaumains will catch up with you in a moment, Eric.”
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