Merlin's Mistake
Page 20
When Tertius got Giles in the mirror, he was asleep in the huge chair near the fireplace of his cottage while his sister, Lamorna, stirred a pot that hung there on a crane. He must have taken the message to be a dream, for when he woke with a start and talked to Lamorna, she looked interested, but only nodded and smiled. As a result, Tertius apparently had to go through the whole thing again before Giles got up, picked up his club and prepared to leave the cottage.
Tertius passed his hands over the mirror again, making the cottage disappear, and then sat down with a tired sigh.
“Tertius,” said Lianor, “are you sure you can do this?”
“Do what?”
“Everything. Lead the expedition to France, break the spell …”
“I don’t know. But whatever I do, I won’t have to do it alone. Brian will be with me.”
“I’ll do what I can,” said Brian. “But the responsibility will be mostly yours.”
“I know,” said Tertius. “And I wish it weren’t. But since there’s no one else, I must do what I can.”
It was beginning to get dark now, and when Stokely returned a short while later, he brought a pair of candles with him. He went directly to Merlin and stood there looking down at him.
“No change?” he asked.
“No change,” said Tertius. “And there won’t be one until the spell is broken.”
“What about food and drink?”
“He will not need any,” said Tertius. “He can stay this way for weeks, months, perhaps even longer. What about Trask?”
“He will take us wherever we want to go. We are to be at the harbor at dawn.”
“Then I think we should eat and get some rest, for we will have to be up early.”
Stokely nodded. He was still standing there, looking down unhappily at Merlin’s expressionless face, and again, Brian knew how he felt. It was not just incredible that Merlin should have been struck down this way, the victim of a spell, there was something sad about it too.
“Even though he knows and feels nothing,” said Stokely, “I would be happier if he spent this night at least in his own bed. Will you help me carry him there?”
“Of course,” said Tertius. And he and Brian helped him carry the enchanter down the stairs to a room on the floor below.
Supper was a silent meal. Though there was some talk about what they would need in the way of provisions for their expedition, Lianor did not take part in it. She had said nothing to Brian since their argument and said nothing to him while they ate, though he did see her talking earnestly to Stokely later on just before they all went up to their rooms.
The clink of arms and the sound of horses’ hooves woke Brian. He got up sleepily, went to the window of his room and looked out. It was still dark, for it was well before dawn. But a stable boy stood at the foot of the steps holding a torch, and by its light, he could see the men-at-arms that King Galleron had sent with them waiting outside the tower. As he watched, Lianor came out wrapped in her traveling cloak. She mounted Gracielle, waved to someone in the doorway of the tower, and rode off into the darkness followed by the men-at-arms.
Dressing quickly, Brian hurried down to the room below. Tertius and Stokely were both there, standing in front of the fireplace.
“Did I see the Princess Lianor leaving?” he asked Stokely.
“Yes, Sir Brian,” said the steward.
“Did she give you any message for me?”
“No, Sir Brian.”
Brian nodded as if he were not surprised, but he was both hurt and upset. And though he tried not to show it, it was clear from the way Tertius looked at him that he knew how he felt.
After they had broken their fast, they went out also. Merlin, as still and rigid as he had been before, had been wrapped in blankets and lay on a litter that was slung between two horses, one in front and one behind.
Gaillard, happy to see Brian, nuzzled him as he checked his saddle girth. Brian patted the horse and mounted. A thick fog was rolling in from the sea, and Stokely, riding a brown hackney, raised the hood of his cloak. The stable boy gave him the reins of the lead horse of the two that carried Merlin’s litter, and he rode off into the fog, followed by Brian and Tertius.
They rode across the headland on which the tower stood and down a path on the far side to a small harbor that was sheltered from the sullen gray waves of the North Sea by a breakwater. A broad-beamed, deep-bellied ship some sixty feet long was moored there. Its gangplank was out, and standing on the quay and holding a lantern was a heavy-set, gray-bearded man wearing sea-boots and a woolen stocking cap.
“Greetings, Master Trask,” said Tertius.
“A good day to you, Master Tertius,” said the captain. He raised the lantern, looking down at Merlin. “Though I should not say that, for this is as bad and black a day as I have ever seen.”
“It is that,” said Tertius. “This is my friend, Sir Brian of Caercorbin.”
Brian and Trask nodded to one another.
“Do you have a safe, warm place for Merlin?” asked Stokely. “I would see him bestowed before we board ourselves.”
“He shall have my cabin,” said Trask. Calling two of his men, he had them unstrap the litter and carry it into a cabin in the sterncastle.
Standing on the cobbles of the quay, Brian looked at the beamy, blunt-nosed ship with its high forecastle and sterncastle. The name on her transom was The Swallow of Whitby. And though he knew nothing about ships or the sea, it seemed to him that he had never seen anything more unlike a swallow.
Master Trask, returning to the quay, saw the expression on his face and misread it.
“Nay, Sir Brian,” he said. “Look not so uncertain. She is as well-found a cog as you will find on the entire coast. She will take you safely not only to France but much further if need be.”
“I’m sure she will,” said Brian. “Shall we board now?”
“Aye,” said Trask. “The horses first.”
Again he called to his men and two of them took the horses that had carried Merlin’s litter and tried to lead them aboard. But made nervous by the motion of the ship and the slow rise and fall of the gangplank, they reared, neighed and backed away.
“Wait,” said Brian. “Let me take Gailliard aboard. They will follow him.”
Leading the charger to the head of the gangplank, Brian talked to him soothingly for a moment. Gaillard snorted, tossing his head, then walked behind Brian across the swaying gangplank and down the incline into the ship’s open hold.
Brian tied him to an iron ring, then turned. As he had thought, where Gaillard went the others followed, and in a few moments, all the horses were aboard and safely tethered.
In the meantime, Master Trask had taken his place at the tiller. Tertius was standing near him, and climbing the ladder that led up to the sterncastle, Brian joined them.
“All secure below?” called Trask.
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered one of the sailors.
The captain began giving his orders. The lines fore and aft were let go and hauled in. Two seamen swarmed up the backstays as nimbly as squirrels and unloosed the lashings of the large, square sail, letting it drop and making it fast. Though the fog was still thick, a gentle, but steady, northeast wind was blowing. The sail filled and bellied, and the ship moved away from the quay and out toward the breakwater.
Brian looked back. The houses of the port were disappearing in the fog, and his mood was as heavy and gray as the weather: not because of the difficulty of the task they faced and its dangers, but for reasons he would not have confessed to anyone. This was the first time that he and Lianor had been separated since they met, and while he knew that she was angry with him, he still could not accept the fact that she had gone off without a word to him.
The Swallow sailed out through the opening in the breakwater, and Trask set her course south. When she was clear of the headland, the wind freshened, and she began pitching slightly to the send of the sea.
“I’m not sure how th
e horses will like this,” said Brian. “Perhaps I’d better look at them.”
“Perhaps you should,” said Tertius.
Brian went down the ladder again into the open hold. He had not seen Stokely since they boarded the ship, but he caught a glimpse of him now. He was at the far end of the line of horses, his hood pulled forward and his cloak wrapped closely about him against the chill and the damp. Brian loosed Gaillard’s girth, took off his saddle and laid it on the planking of the hold. He did the same thing for Tertius’ gray palfrey. The two horses that had carried Merlin’s litter did not seem too uneasy, and Brian glanced past them, then stiffened. The last horse in the line was not Stokely’s brown hackney but Gracielle.
“What are you doing with the princess’s horse?” he asked angrily.
The cloaked figure turned. It was not Stokely. It was Lianor.
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About the Author
Born in New York City, Robert Newman (1909–1988) was among the pioneers of early radio and was chief writer for the Inner Sanctum Mysteries and Murder at Midnight—forerunners of The Twilight Zone that remain cult favorites to this day. In 1944 Newman was put in charge of the radio campaign to reelect Franklin D. Roosevelt. He was also one of the founding members of the Radio Writers Guild, which became the Writers Guild of America.
In 1973 Newman began writing books for children, most notably the Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt mysteries. The series takes place in Victorian London and follows the adventures of two teenage amateur detectives who begin as Baker Street Irregulars. Newman has also written books of fantasy, among them Merlin’s Mistake and The Testing of Tertius. His books based on myths and folklore include Grettir the Strong, and he has published two adult novels.
Newman was married to the writer Dorothy Crayder. Their daughter, Hila Feil, has also published novels for children and young adults. Newman lived his last days in Stonington, Connecticut.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1970 by Robert Newman
Cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-4976-8605-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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