But it was not until we approached the upper reaches of the estuary and the outskirts of the town that I realised how literal such protection would be. From within the town itself there came a sound like a small earthquake, which whipped up the water around us and set the boat rocking from side-to-side. Sir Kay stood up in the prow. “Oh my sweet Heaven, what is it now? Some kind of aftershock?”
“I doubt it,” I said, for this noise had an entirely different tone to the cliff-side eruption. For one thing, it was nowhere near as sudden or violent. It sounded as if the earth had taken on an aquatic quality and was gurgling like a gentle brook. I joined Sir Kay in the prow and stepped up onto the carved wooden dragon-head to get a better view.
The streetlights of Cardigan illuminated a most curious sight. The very structure of the modern town was changing even as we approached the quayside, in front of our very eyes. A house was being dismantled by some unseen force. A pub was demolished from the roof down, slate by slate and brick by brick. In the empty plot created by this strange resettlement, a new construction was being built. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that an old construction was being re-built. For, out of the very depths of the earth, there began a steady bubbling up — a rubbling up, one might say — of a vast walled town and castle.
“Camelot,” whispered Sir Kay. “Lucas. What dream is this?”
†
The Master’s chamber in the Royal Tower was exactly as we had left it. From the well-made bed to the fire burning cheerfully in the grate, all was as I remembered it to be, as was everything else in Camelot. Not that memory could be wholly trusted after so long an absence, especially given my state of mind at that moment, which was, to put it mildly, a babbling bedlam of questions. I waited until they died down and picked the two most prominent conundrums. One: where were the people who lived and worked in the town of Cardigan that had, only moments ago, occupied this very spot? And two: had the former citizens of Camelot — its knights, staff and citizens — also returned along with the buildings, to take up their places in their home of old? This second question filled me with a sense of anticipation that was half excitement, half fear. I wasted no time in putting the Master to bed and leaving him to the care of a reluctant Sir Kay, while I made a thorough exploration of the premises.
A walk along the outer town walls answered the first question. All of the modern town of Cardigan lay just outside the Camelot walls. It was as if a giant child playing with bricks had pushed aside the town to make way for his Camelot construction, but still cared enough about his old models to leave them intact. My relief at this sight was quickly overwhelmed by the thought of an angry mob of locals seeking an explanation, but a thorough scan of the reconstructed streets of Cardigan outside showed them to be as deserted as Camelot within.
The view from the Gatehouse was slightly more informative. Here, several men and women had attempted to gain access to Camelot, but had barely got within three feet of the main gates before collapsing in a deep sleep, their snoring the only sound to be heard in the unnatural stillness of the night. And so it was that, when a high and desperate cry came from the direction of the Royal Tower, I heard it with a dreadful clarity, and ran with all haste to the source.
III
The Master was sitting up in bed and clutching the scabbard around his waist, as he tended to do at moments of high stress. Sir Kay’s relief when I ran through the door was palpable.
“Lucas, there you are! I’ve tried explaining, but he won’t listen.”
“Sire?” I said, attempting to remove the Master’s hands from the scabbard. “Sire, it is Sir Lucas.”
“What is this trickery? Is it Merlin’s work?”
“It is no trick, sire. This is very much Camelot.”
The Master took in the room in its entirety, ending with the empty space beside him on the double bed. “If this is Camelot, then where is…” He swallowed hard. “Where are all the people?”
“The old population do not seem to have returned along with the town and castle. As far as I can gather from my investigations, the three of us are the only ones here.”
At this, the Master released his grip on the scabbard and a little colour returned to his cheeks. “Sire, it is my belief that Camelot’s return is a side effect of summoning Merlin from the Otherworld,” I said.
“Then do not trouble me with details,” said the Master. “Bring Merlin to me at once.”
I glanced at Sir Kay for assistance, but he was busy looking in every direction save mine, whistling a tuneless melody. I cleared my throat. “I am afraid that will not be immediately possible, sire. Merlin was expelled from the gateway to the Otherworld with some degree of force.”
“Then, what are we doing here? Why were you not immediately on his trail?”
“Because Camelot’s return was not the only side effect of summoning Merlin, sire.”
“The end of the world is nigh!” said Sir Kay. “The creatures of the Otherworld have been unleashed! Morgan Le Fay will return to lay waste to the earth!”
“Morgan?” said the Master, turning pale again. “She will want the Grail! She will want revenge.”
“We are doomed!”
“No… Take heart, Sir Kay,” said the Master. “The power of my half-sister is nothing compared to the magic of Merlin. He will reverse this mishap, and make everything right again.”
Sir Kay opened and closed his mouth several times before he spoke. “That is commendably optimistic, sire —”
“Three of us?” said the Master, suddenly.
“Sire?”
“You said the three of us are the only ones here, Lucas. We should be seven.” The Master’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Where is Lancelot?”
“I was coming to that, sire,” I said. “I regret to inform you that Sir Pellinore and Sir Perceval are missing. When the portal was opened there was something of an explosion —”
“It blew them to bits, and the Grail too!”
“We do not know that for certain, Sir Kay. It is true that they suffered a most dolorous blow from the blast. But we were separated from them by the landslide following the explosion, and do not yet know how they fared.”
“Where is Lancelot?” repeated the Master.
“Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain stayed at the cliff-side,” I said.
“There was a dragon,” said Sir Kay.
“They remained behind to ensure our escape from this dragon, and to see if they could bring aid to our fallen comrades.”
“I see,” said the Master, swinging his legs out of bed. “Yes. I see it all now.”
“In which case, sire,” I said, “perhaps you might turn your mind to our next course of action. This new Camelot seems to be protected by some kind of sleeping enchantment, but we cannot stay here for long. Soon the envoys of the modern world will be at our door.”
“Treachery,” said the Master. He began to pace back and forth in front of the hearth. “I knew this day would come. I have been lenient, yes, I have been very lenient with Sir Lancelot, allowing him to pursue the Eternal Quest with a certain degree of freedom. And this is how he repays me.”
“Forgive me, sire, but Sir Lancelot’s actions enabled us to escape. Even as we speak, I am sure he will be searching for Sir Perceval and Sir Pellinore.”
“Yet again, Sir Lancelot’s actions have endangered the Eternal Quest. You want my orders, Lucas? Go and find Merlin, so that by his arts he might close up this portal, and return the Eternal Quest to its previous state of secrecy. Well? What are you waiting for?”
“But what about the others, and the Grail?”
“The power of Merlin will see to all that. You are forbidden to contact the traitor Lancelot. Let him flounder in the wilderness and pay for his duplicity. Now go.”
“Yes, sire,” I said, and left the Royal Chambers. Sir Kay made to follow me, but the Master raised his hand. “Not you, Kay. You stay with me at Camelot.”
Sir Kay hesitated, and then nodded curtly. “
Of course. But with your leave, I would like to pay a visit to my old scriptorium.”
“Very well. But remain on the premises.”
Sir Kay followed me out of the Master’s chamber. He waited until we were out of earshot, then drew me aside. “He doesn’t give two hoots for the fate of Perceval and Pellinore. It’s like they never existed.”
“I am sure that is not the case, Sir Kay. The Master has a lot on his mind, that is all.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“What else can I do, but follow my orders? I trust that the Master will soon see for himself that he is wrong about Sir Lancelot.”
“Is he, though? Lancelot’s no stranger to the limelight, after all. In which case…” Sir Kay’s eyes glittered strangely.
“Sir Kay?”
“Never mind. Of course, you could always find out what Lancelot’s intentions are.”
“Out of the question. That would mean disobeying the Master.”
“But you wouldn’t be disobeying him. Not technically. You would still be finding Merlin.”
“I fail to see how, Sir Kay.”
“Think about it. You’ve got more chance of finding Merlin with the help of the others than you have on your own, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but —”
“So, by finding Lancelot, you will still be finding Merlin, and serving the Eternal Quest. Which is what Arthur wants, after all.”
I was beginning to concede that Sir Kay had a point. “Then again,” he added, “you’ve got enough on your plate just getting out of Camelot in the first place. How on earth are you going to cover any distance, with no transport, and with the entire world alerted to our presence? You’ll be arrested in five minutes flat. Of course, I could have told Arthur that, if he’d bothered to ask. But oh no, I’m nothing more than a glorified typewriter. Anyway. Best of luck,” Sir Kay patted me on the shoulder and headed for the scriptorium, leaving me alone on the landing.
Sir Kay was not overstating the difficulties presented by the Master’s orders, whichever way I chose to interpret them. It was then that the glimmer of an idea came to me. I cannot say that I cared for it. In fact, as soon as the idea started to take shape, my entire mind rebelled against it. But the more I tried to wipe it out, the more ground the thought gained, like a stubborn stain that grows in prominence for all one’s efforts to remove it. I yielded to its logic, and resolved to make my way to the Great Hall at first light.
IV
Early next morning, I peered into an empty fireplace with no small amount of trepidation. The hearth was stone cold but, even if a roaring fire had burned within the grate, I could not have been more reluctant to put my hand inside. I kneeled by an inglenook and inspected the wide expanse of the chimney. Nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief. But suddenly a finger of sunlight poked through the window, illuminating the back of the fireplace with such brightness that I recoiled as if burned. Regaining my wits, I noticed that this dazzling intensity was caused by the very object I was reluctantly seeking.
At the back of the chimney, suspended on a protruding stone, hung a thin silver necklace with an amber jewel strung upon it. I carefully reached in, minding not to touch the gem with my hands, and held it before me. The rising sun caught the ornament again, sending splashes of golden light dancing about the tapestries on the wall like hungry moths. There was no mistaking it. Against all odds, the amulet of teleportation had remained where I had left it, confiscated from young Gwion and cast in anger to the back of the fireplace at that long ago Winter Feast, never to be retrieved. Until now.
With a ceremonial slowness I lowered the chain over my head. The amulet itself was the size of a small fist. It hung between my ribcage, and the unfamiliar weight caused my head to lean forwards, as if the jewel were demanding my attention physically as well as mentally. This was just as well, as I had completely forgotten how to work the thing. I tried to cast my mind back through the centuries. I seemed to recall that they operated by control of thought; that the amulet-wearer simply had to visualise the person or place he wanted to go to, and he would be taken there in a heartbeat. If that were so, then I quailed at the mental diligence required to use it effectively. But I had to test it nonetheless.
My first impulse was to see how matters fared with my fellow knights. I was sorely tempted to go straight to Sir Lancelot, but it would be highly unwise to start my teleportation experiments on such a scale. I decided instead to picture somewhere in the immediate vicinity; a safe environment where my sudden appearance would be less obtrusive. I settled on the scriptorium. I closed my eyes and thought of the word ‘scriptorium.’ I opened one eye. There was a slight blurring at the corner of my vision, but other than that I was still very much in the Great Hall. Perhaps, then, one had to touch the amulet at the same time? I placed my right hand onto its cool, smooth surface. I took the first in a series of increasingly deep breaths. This time, as well as thinking of the word ‘scriptorium,’ I tried to picture something of the room as I remembered it. The high wooden shelves. The neat rows of rolled parchments. Scores of archived vellum tomes, the accumulated wisdom of the ancient world.
As I did so, I became conscious of a sea change in my thoughts. Although my memory of the scriptorium was weak and inaccurate, the very act of thinking about it brought the place vividly to life. My ears experienced an alteration in pressure, as of a sudden difference in altitude, accompanied by a soft, low popping sound. All at once the shelves of the scriptorium appeared, and I realised that I was standing directly in front of them. Unfortunately, so was Sir Kay, gathering materials from a writing bench. He turned towards me, and only the large stack of parchments piled up in his arms prevented him from seeing me quickly disappear again.
I opened my eyes back in the Great Hall and sat down to catch my breath, for I was weak at the knees and shaking all over. I was overwhelmed by a conflicting series of emotions: elation at the feat I had just accomplished, guilt at betraying an old principle, and relief at not being caught in the act. One thing I knew for certain; I had been entirely correct in banning their use. Such an experience could very easily become habit-forming.
Disobeying the Master’s orders, on the other hand, could certainly not, and yet that was precisely what I had to do next. I reminded myself that I was serving the Eternal Quest by doing so, and attempted to gather the necessary resolve. I was on the point of touching the amulet, when I stopped myself. How could I have been so stupid? There I was, about to attend to my fellow knights, without anything in the way of weaponry to bring to their aid!
I teleported to the armoury, surprised but also pleased at how much easier it was the second time. I selected a sword each for Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain, and, on reflection, one for Sir Pellinore and Sir Perceval, in the happy event of their being found overnight. These I packed in a long hessian drawstring bag, designed for carrying two or more swords comfortably about one’s person, which hung behind my back with the reassuring ballast of a knapsack. It would have felt all the better for the addition of a thermos of tea and a packet of sandwiches, for they were sure to be in need of refreshment, but I thought it best to be on my way. This small act of preparation had settled my nerves, and was enough to help me muster the confidence required to close my eyes, touch the amulet, and picture Sir Lancelot in my mind.
There was a soft, low popping sound.
Immediately followed by a loud, high, roaring sound.
I opened my eyes to find myself several thousand feet up in the air, plummeting to earth with all the grace of a man with four swords tied to his back.
V
My first thought was that the amulet had been bewitched by some ill enchantment and delivered me to my doom, and that this was what happened when one compromised the hard-earned principles of a lifetime. In fact, I reflected as the wind thundered in my ears, I jolly well deserved it, and should think myself lucky it was nothing worse. This bout of self-pity was fleeting, and I tried to focus my mind on teleporting back to the G
reat Hall. This was rather difficult, as that portion of my mind not concerned with my imminent appointment with the ground was trying to figure out how to stop myself from performing a series of sickening somersaults. I pictured the Hall as best as I could, and reached for the amulet.
It was not there.
I tore frantically at my neck and torso, only to see the amulet falling just below me, down towards the shape of a large white cloud. A white, dragon-shaped cloud, the size of a single-decker bus from head to tail, with a man clinging to its neck and repeatedly punching it. Either I was hallucinating cloud formations as I approached certain death, or the amulet had indeed transported me to the vicinity of Sir Lancelot. I turned my body upside down, the better to reduce wind resistance and sky-dive down to my target. I came level with the white dragon in time to see the amulet hook around its tail and fall towards the point where it joined the beast’s hide.
With both hands I grabbed the tail, as thick as a human thigh and thrashing at the air like an angry serpent, and hung on with all my strength. I reached along the tail to where the amulet was wedged around the scaly skin. The necklace had no clasp, and I pulled uselessly at the chain. Clearly it could only be removed by pulling it back the way it came.
The dragon presumably employed its tail as a sort of rudder, for the addition of my weight caused it to rear up in flight, sending Sir Lancelot falling backwards. The dragon turned its head to determine the source of the de-stabilising influence, then flicked its tail sharply upwards. The tail buckled beneath my hands, sending me flying forwards onto its back; a not unwelcome development, as the dragon then sent a jet of flame at the spot I had recently occupied. The flame singed the dragon’s own tail, and it uttered a screech of pain that tore at my ears. From my new perch on the beast’s haunches I crawled, using its sparse tufts of spiny hair as handholds, to where Sir Lancelot had once again reached the dragon’s neck. En route I was able to build up a more complete picture of the situation.
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