“Arthur is coming back? King Arthur? Our long-lost King is finally returning, in our lifetime? You never said anything about this before! What are our regular consultations for if you’re not going to share important information like this? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Somebody is shouting,” said Gayle, to no-one in particular. “And he’d better knock it off if he doesn’t want me to slap him with an earthquake.”
“Beg pardon, Lady,” said Sir Roland. “I fear I am ... overexcited.”
“Better,” said Gayle. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d all act like a bunch of schoolgirls when you found out you couldn’t be a part of this. You’re too close, too involved. You can’t do what’s necessary.”
“Who has a better right to be involved,” said Sir Percifal, “than those who have spent centuries preserving Arthur’s legacy, ready for his return? Hmm?”
“It has to be Taylor,” said Gayle, not unkindly. “He’s the only one who can do this. Get used to the idea, boys. And no, I can’t tell you why. Not yet. There are ... complications. Sometimes, things have to sort themselves out. So make John Taylor welcome amongst you, in my name. Or do my wishes mean nothing to you any more?”
“You are our Lady,” said Sir Percifal. “Our lives are yours. Yes.”
“Dear Percy,” said Gayle. “You were such a handsome boy. Now be good, boys, for goodness’ sake. And all things shall be made well.”
And then she rose, turned lightly on one foot, and leapt gracefully into the well. She disappeared from sight in a moment, taking all the water in the well with her. Sir Percifal sighed and shook his great head fondly.
“Well, that’s one way to avoid answering questions.” He looked at me with sharp and piercing eyes. “It would seem there’s no getting rid of you. No. That you are ... necessary. So be welcome amongst us while we work out how best we can aid you in your quest. Yes. Stop rumbling, Roland; the decision has been made. Hmm ... Sir Gareth; show Mr. Taylor round the castle. Get to know him. Give him the grand tour but keep him away from anything ... sensitive. Yes. You might bear Excalibur, Mr. Taylor, but you are not one of us. No. No. Off you go, the pair of you. The rest of us have to go off somewhere private and shout a lot.”
Sir Gareth took me on a walking tour of Castle Inconnu. The winding stone corridors seemed to go on forever, passing through halls and chambers and galleries beyond counting. He was happy to point out things of interest and not answer any questions I might have. He was also quite open about the fact that he was keeping me occupied, while the knights decided what the hell they were going to do next. But there were all kinds of interesting things to see, and I had a lot to think about. So I followed Sir Gareth past magnificent murals, through portrait galleries and banqueting halls, and past wonderfully carved fountains, until the sheer scale of things began to depress me. Architecture is all very nice, but you can have too much of a good thing.
“Don’t you have anywhere normal-sized in this castle?” I said finally. “Some of these halls are so big, I feel I should be adjusting my watch for different time zones.”
Sir Gareth chuckled easily. “Oh sure; these are only the public areas, designed to awe and intimidate the casual visitor. We don’t actually use most of this any more, except for the odd game of polo, or the occasional martial re-enactment. We live in the inner quarters, which are built on a far more bearable scale. Much more comfortable; you’d hardly know you were inside a castle. We’ve got Gameboys and everything. I’m afraid you’re not cleared to see the inner quarters yet. Feel free to ask questions, though; and I’ll try not to be too evasive.”
“All right,” I said. “Where is this castle, exactly? It’s not a part of the Nightside, or any of London’s other hidden worlds that I know of.”
“You’re not cleared for that information either. Everything about Castle Inconnu is a secret unless you’re one of us. And even we don’t know everything. We have many enemies, and one of our best safeguards is that no-one knows how to find us. We could be anywhere, any time, and for all I know we are. The Green Door is our only link to London Proper, and you couldn’t get through that Door with an enchanted battering ram. And now King Arthur is coming back ... Well, you can bet everyone up to and including the Grand Master is in major panic mode. Everything we ever dreamed and worked for is finally within our grasp ... and we’re not ready.”
“And possibly ... not worthy?” I said.
“The Lady gave Excalibur to you and not one of us,” said Sir Gareth. “That has to mean something. That maybe we’ve spent too long hidden away from the world. Some of us will be making the case for war; for taking our fight public, for the first time in centuries. If King Arthur is coming back, perhaps it’s time for the Final Battle against all the evil in the world, when all things shall be decided, once and for all.”
“I’ve been through a lot of battles like that,” I said. “Nothing ever changes.”
“This is different,” insisted Sir Gareth. “King Arthur reborn and returned will be a major player in everything that is happening, perhaps even the Major Player. Especially the upcoming elf civil war.”
“Is that still on?” I said. “What about the Peace Treaty?”
“Didn’t work. No-one ever thought it would. Neither side really wants peace—just some breathing space to muster their forces. Both sides want this war, John. Their survival as a race depends upon it. They’re dying out. No elven children have been born for ages; either in Shadows Fall, under Oberon and Titania, or in the Sundered Lands, under the returned Mab. They will fight their civil war here on Earth, destroying our civilisation in the process, then the surviving elves will take this world for their own again. And thus restore their ... vitality.”
“Could they really wipe us out while divided amongst themselves?” I said.
“Who knows what a species can do with its back against the wall,” said Sir Gareth. “We’ve always known they had weapons beyond our reach or imagination. Either way, it won’t be good for the Earth. Which is probably why the Lady Gaea is getting personally involved for the first time in centuries. I’d be worried if I were the worrying kind.”
“I did hear,” I said, “that the elves chose to leave this world, all those years ago. That they were running from something, and not us.”
“Presumably, things have changed,” said Sir Gareth.
“What makes King Arthur so important to the elves?”
“His stepsister was Morgan Le Fae,” Sir Gareth said simply.
“But who was she? I mean, yes, obviously, the clue is in the name. But was she an elf, a half-elf, or what?”
“Good question,” said Sir Gareth. “If you ever find out, please let us know. We’ve got libraries full of books, from official histories to personal accounts, and none of them can agree on an answer. So much knowledge was lost ... after the fall of Logres and the destruction of Camelot.”
“Merlin told me ... he never believed she was really family to Arthur,” I said.
Sir Gareth looked at me sharply. “Of course; you had dealings with the Satanspawn, in the Nightside. None of us could ever talk to him; the Grand Master would never allow it. He always said Merlin disgraced himself by not being there at Logres when he was needed the most.”
“He did say he regretted that,” I said.
“Not good enough,” Sir Gareth said flatly. “We do not forget, or forgive.”
“I don’t think he gave a damn what you thought about him,” I said. “He had far more serious sins on his conscience. Anyway, he’s dead and gone now.”
Sir Gareth looked at me thoughtfully. “Word is you knew him as well as any man could. You must write us a full report while you’re here, for our records.”
“No,” I said. “He and I were never friends, but ... some things should stay private. You knights made the decision to have nothing to do with him; and I think he’d want me to tell you to go to Hell.”
“Yes,” said Sir Gareth. “That sounds like him.”
We walked on in silence for a while, each of us thinking his separate thoughts. I knew a lot of things about Merlin that I was pretty sure the Knights didn’t. I knew Merlin wasn’t present for the final battle of Logres because he was obsessed with tracking down and killing the missing Morgan Le Fae for her betrayal of Arthur. By the time he was finished with her, and got back, it was all over; and Arthur was dead. Though Merlin did once admit to me that he wasn’t entirely sure Morgan was dead. Could she still be round, and ready to reappear, now that Merlin was gone and Arthur was coming back? One more thing to worry about ... I couldn’t tell the knights any of this; because if Merlin had wanted them to know, he would have told them himself. He must have had his reasons for maintaining his silence.
And I definitely couldn’t tell Sir Gareth that I’d met the living Merlin, back in the sixth century, taken his heart, and brought about his death. Or that while I was there, I’d briefly seen the living King Arthur, in his last communication with Merlin; in a sending, a dream walking, that arrived too late. Some things should be kept private.
Especially as I still wasn’t sure whether I trusted the London Knights yet. Nothing does more harm than a good man doing good in a bad way.
“I’m surprised you guys know so much about me,” I said finally. “I wouldn’t have thought I was important enough to register on your radar.”
“Don’t be disingenuous,” said Sir Gareth. “It doesn’t suit you. We know who you are, and what you are, and what you’ve done. We always said we’d have to do something about you if you ever left the Nightside. Some kind of high explosive, probably. There was a lot of talk about whether we should intervene during the Angel War, then the Lilith War; but we held off. Partly because we really hate getting involved with the Nightside, but mostly because we were curious to see what you would do.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”
“And there have always been those amongst us who think we should ride into the Nightside in force and wipe you all out once and for all.”
“Well,” I said. “You could try ...”
“Quite. We have been keeping a more than usually close eye on the Nightside, recently. Ever since King Artur turned up there from Sinister Albion. That damned and corrupt dimension where a Golden Age was drowned in blood and horror. The only reason we haven’t gone there in force and put everything right the hard way is because we can’t find a way in. That Merlin is still alive, and protecting his own little infernal playground. Which is why we were so interested when King Artur appeared. How did he leave his world and enter the Nightside?”
“A Timeslip, presumably,” I said. “The Nightside is lousy with the things.”
“If so, we haven’t been able to find it. And we looked really hard.”
I gave him a stern look. “You people have been to the Nightside?”
“Hardly. We wouldn’t fit in. We’d be noticed. But we do have certain resources ...”
“Do you know what happened to Artur?” I said. “He seemed to vanish.”
“Haven’t a clue. Do you ... ?”
“No. Do you know why he came to the Nightside?”
“Yes. He wanted to get his hands on our Excalibur and make it his own because the Lady of his world refused him her sword. He was not worthy.”
“But what would Artur want with our Excalibur?”
“If he could seize it by force, and make it serve him, Excalibur would make Artur powerful enough to stand up to his Merlin,” Sir Gareth said patiently. “Artur might be King of Sinister Albion; but he still bows his head to Merlin Satanspawn if he wants to keep his throne.”
“Civil war everywhere you look,” I murmured. “Why can’t people just get along?”
Sir Gareth looked at me sharply. “Both sides of the Fae, and a great many other interested parties, would very much like to know where King Arthur is sleeping. Where his body lies, hidden and protected. Including us.”
“You don’t know?” I said, honestly surprised.
“We’ve never known. Whoever put Arthur to rest, dead or sleeping, went to great pains to hide him from everyone, friends and enemies alike. The London Knights have spent centuries searching, to no avail. And we only wanted to protect him. Many others would give everything they possess to discover Arthur’s hiding-place. Because whoever controls him potentially controls everything else. He is the greatest hero and warrior this world has ever known.”
“I take it we’re not only talking about the good guys here,” I said. “The bad guys want him, too?”
“Of course. Artur from Sinister Albion was corrupted by his Merlin. For all his many qualities, Arthur was just a man. He could be swayed, turned, dominated by an outside force. Excalibur was never the most powerful weapon in Camelot; that was always Arthur. And as he goes ... so goes the world.”
“I never know whether we’re talking about history or legend when it comes to Arthur,” I said. “Most of the stories say he was taken away, to sleep in Avalon.”
“What is Avalon?” said Sir Gareth. “Only a name. In the whole existence of our order, we’ve never found any place or any land called Avalon. No-one knows where Arthur is. And before you ask, no, he couldn’t be in Shadows Fall. That’s where legends go to die when the world stops believing in them; and the world still believes in Arthur. But now Excalibur has come back into the world, the chase is on. Everyone will be after Arthur; and it’s vital for the good of everybody that we get there first.”
I didn’t say anything. But I did wonder if perhaps certain elements inside the London Knights might not prefer it if Arthur were to stay sleeping, even if found. That they might even take steps to ensure he never awoke. Because if he did, would he approve of what the London Knights had become? Of all the things they’d done, and made of themselves, in the fifteen hundred years since Logres? They may have meant well; but we all know what road is paved with good intentions.
We moved on, into the Hall of Forgotten Beasts. A long hall whose walls were decorated with the severed, stuffed, and mounted heads of fantastical creatures that were no longer a part of history. The only remaining examples of hundreds, maybe thousands, of exotic beasts. I walked slowly past row upon row of glassily staring, slack-jawed heads. Some I recognised, some I’d heard of, and some that were perhaps completely unknown now, outside of Castle Inconnu.
“For a long time, hunting was a central part of knightly tradition,” said Sir Gareth. “We don’t do it any more, of course. We’re all conservationists now. But we still take a pride in this hall. It took brave men to hunt these beasts and bring them down.”
I didn’t say anything, walking on and on past the dead heads of once-noble creatures. I had no doubt many of them had been man-killers in their day; but it still seemed to me that slaughter, no matter how necessary, shouldn’t be something you took a pride in. You did it because it needed doing, not because you had a gap on your trophy wall. It was only a step from there to mounting the heads of your enemies on spikes over your door, where everyone could see them.
A unicorn’s head stared sullenly out from the wall, its skin still blindingly white though the curlicued horn was cracked from end to end. A gryphon, with a bullet hole left unrepaired in its forehead; a basilisk with no eyes; and a dire wolf with moulting fur, its jaws forever snarling defiance. And, protruding way out into the hall, a dragon’s head, at least fifteen feet wide, its scaled hide a dull bottle-green. The eyes were clearly glass and looked like no-one had dusted them in a while. I finally stopped before one head I didn’t recognise, and Sir Gareth stopped with me.
“This is the fabled Questing Beast. It eluded us for centuries though many knights went after it, tracking it all across Europe. Finally brought down by Sir Bors, in 1876. One shot, from four hundred yards.”
“How very sporting,” I said.
The Questing Beast’s head was an odd mixture of beast and bird. And perhaps it was my imagination, but to me the Beast looked old and tired and pitiful, and maybe even a little
resigned. It had outlived the time it was meant for, and the menaces it understood, like swords and lances, and finally died from an attack it never even saw coming.
I looked back down the Hall of Forgotten Beasts, and it did not seem a place of pride to me. All I felt was a quiet air of melancholy.
“You have to understand,” Sir Gareth said defensively, “every beast here preyed on people. It was a knight’s duty back then to hunt these creatures down and protect the innocent from attack. No-one thought about preserving endangered species. These days we only hunt bad guys, the real monsters of the world.”
I looked at him thoughtfully. “Lots of monsters in the Nightside. You ever go hunting there?”
“I told you,” Sir Gareth said steadily. “We stay out of the Nightside.”
“Because Merlin was there?”
“It’s all about territory,” said Sir Gareth. “You should understand that, John.”
We moved on again and came to a long stone gallery where the walls were covered with long rows of framed portraits, reminders of those who’d fallen in service with the London Knights. There were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands, stretching away into the distance. The most recent were photographs, showing men of various ages, all striking the same stiff pose and determined smile. These gave way to black-and-white, then sepia prints, and finally to painted portraits, in the varying styles of the times. The same stiff pose, though, the same determined smile. All the way back to stylised images of the original knights of Arthur’s Camelot. Painted sometime after, I assumed, though of course I could be wrong. Merlin’s court was famous for its anachronisms. I stopped before one portrait.
“Kae,” I said. “Arthur’s stepbrother.”
“Yes!” said Sir Gareth. “You do get round, don’t you?”
“You have no idea,” I said. “Really.” And then I looked at him as a thought struck me. I looked back and forth, at all the images of the original Round Table. “These knights are all from sixth-century England. So how come they’re wearing suits of the kind of plate armour that didn’t arrive until hundreds of years later?”
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