“Not everyone here becomes a knight,” said Sir Gareth. “Only those most suited to it. It’s not for everyone. The rest work at maintaining the castle’s infrastructure. There’s a lot of work involved, keeping a place this size running smoothly. And we are completely up to date, where we need to be. Everyone here knows how to use a computer. Though someone always wants to take it that one step too far. A few years back, one young man spent far too much time watching American television, and began enthusing about the benefits of organised productivity. He drew up plans for cubicle farms, and efficiency officers, and piped Muzak. He works in the sewage-disposal area now, for the good of his soul, and he’ll stay there until he’s learned the error of his ways.”
Sir Gareth finally led us up a long, winding stair inside a tower, opened a locked door at the very top, and ushered Suzie and me into a richly appointed study, with walls of books, tables covered in computers and monitor screens, and one very big heavy-duty Victorian desk, covered with piles of paper. He sat down behind the desk and gestured for Suzie and me to make ourselves comfortable on the visitors’ chairs set out before the desk. They were surprisingly comfortable. I was also surprised that Sir Gareth’s chair didn’t collapse under the weight of his armour, but I supposed all chairs in the castle were heavily reinforced, as a matter of course. Sir Gareth looked at me thoughtfully.
“Are we waiting for someone?” I said. “Only I thought you were supposed to be taking us to meet the Grand Master of the London Knights?”
“I have,” said Sir Gareth. He moved his left hand in a certain gesture, and his illusion spell collapsed. The young and easy-going Sir Gareth disappeared, replaced by a much older man with a very familiar face. It was Kae, Arthur’s stepbrother, last seen by Suzie and me in the sixth-century Strangefellows. Kae grinned at us, his eyes cold and commanding.
“Were you really expecting someone else?”
A large, blocky man, Kae now wore a simple but expensively cut grey suit. But I knew that under the suit lay the functional, compact musculature that comes from constant hard use and testing rather than regular workouts in the gym. I knew, because I’d seen it at close range back in the sixth century, when he and I went head to head, and he did his best to kill me and Suzie. He had a square, blocky, almost brutal face, marked with scars that had healed crookedly. Sitting there behind his desk, he had an almost overwhelming air of authority; of a man who could enforce his decisions through sheer brute strength, if necessary. His smile seemed friendly enough, but his eyes were watchful.
“Where did your armour go?” I said, just to be saying something.
“It disappears with the illusion,” Kae said easily. “It’s only there when I need it these days. I prefer suits. Nothing like wearing plate armour for centuries to make you appreciate well-tailored clothing.”
“And what happened to Sir Gareth?” I said. “Is he ... real?”
“Real enough. He’s me. A more approachable me that I developed to deal with outsiders.” Kae grinned again. “So much less intimidating, you see. And it makes things easier for dealing with everyday matters. Even a knight bloodied in battle can still get surprisingly bashful and tongue-tied round a survivor from the original Round Table, a man who actually knew Arthur and grew up with him. So I pretend to be Sir Gareth, and everyone else pretends it isn’t me, and we all get along swimmingly.”
“What was Arthur like, as a child?” said Suzie.
“A real pain in the arse,” said Kae. “Always running after his older stepbrother, wanting to be involved in everything, and throwing major sulks when he was excluded. Best student I ever had, mind. I taught him everything he knows about fighting.”
He stopped for a moment, as one of his computers chirped politely, and he took time out to run through his latest e-mails and make notes.
“The work never stops. Though computers do make things easier. You have to keep up with the times, especially when you’ve lived through as many as I have.”
“How ... ?” I said.
“How did I become immortal? Ha! It’s a long story, but I think you’ll enjoy it. If only because it’s steeped in irony. I was made immortal by that bad old, mad old sorcerer, Merlin. All his idea. I never asked for it. I happened to be present at Strangefellows when Merlin died, and yes, John Taylor and Suzie Shooter, of course I remember you. You made quite an impression. Partly because not many have fought me and lived, but mostly because you bashed my head in with my own mace. Luckily for you, I don’t bear grudges.” He looked at Suzie. “I also remember destroying your face. I felt bad about that afterwards. I’m glad to see it’s been repaired. Anyway, the story ...
“After you left, I woke up to a splitting headache and a hell of a thirst. I found a bottle behind the bar, and only then noticed Merlin, dead in his chair, with his chest split open and his heart missing. Cheered me up no end. I still blamed him for betraying Arthur by not being there when he was needed, at Logres. I leaned over to spit in his dead face; and his eyes snapped open. I all but shit my britches. I jumped back and let out a yell they could have heard on the Moon. Merlin rose to his feet and smiled at me. He was dead, but he was moving. I never knew he could do that.
“But never forget: Merlin could remember the future as easily as he could the past. When he could be bothered. So it shouldn’t surprise any of us that he put a great many spells and protections in place to ensure he would still be able to take care of business, even after he was dead. I suppose I should really have got the hell out of there; but I was too angry with him. I still had so much to say ... So I stayed, and yelled at him, and he stood there and let me rant. He could be surprisingly understanding, sometimes. When I was finally finished, he nodded once, then told me Arthur’s story wasn’t over yet. And that I still had an important part to play in it.
“He used his magics to bring Arthur’s body to Strangefellows, from where it had been lying in state at Glastonbury. It just appeared before us, out of nowhere. Arthur had been dead for months, but he looked like he was only sleeping. You have to remember, we didn’t have much in the way of embalming, back in the sixth century. It was all burn them up or stick them in the ground, before the smell got too bad. Arthur should have been well on his way to rot and corruption. Instead, he looked like he might sit up and start talking at any moment. It was all part of Merlin’s advance preparations. He was the best of us all, said Merlin. How could I let death rob us of a man like him? I always knew he had a duty beyond the simple dream I gave him ... I had a Vision, you see; I saw Arthur leading an army made up of all of Humanity, in one great Final Battle against Evil ... I asked Merlin, Who is he fighting against? But if he knew, he wouldn’t say.”
Kae broke off there to look sharply at me. “Is this it? Are you bringing Excalibur to Arthur because the Final Battle is upon us?”
“Not as far as I know,” I said. “I’m just the messenger boy in all this. I haven’t seen any Signs ...”
“I can’t help noticing Arthur didn’t turn up during the Angel War,” said Susie. “Or the Lilith War ...”
“Far too small,” said Kae. “The London Knights fight bigger wars than that year in and year out ... that Humanity never knows of, of course. We deal in matters too great for even those high-and-mighty Droods. They’re only secret agents; we’re warriors.”
I had to ask. “Do the two of you ever disagree over who has responsibility, or jurisdiction?”
“We ... tend to operate in different areas,” said Kae. “Not entirely by accident. Now, on with the story. We’re finally getting to the good stuff. Merlin told me to pick up Arthur and follow him down into the cellar under Strangefellows. There wasn’t much there; a few barrels of beer, a still, hardly room to swing a cat. Which back in those days was a popular indoor sport. Merlin waved his hand, and suddenly there was a great stone cavern stretching out before us. Merlin looked at my face and laughed; and I didn’t care for the sound of it. The dead aren’t supposed to laugh.
“I was carrying Arthur i
n my arms, like a sleeping child, his head pressed against my breast. We might only have been stepbrothers, but Arthur always treated me as though I was his brother by blood, before and after he became King. Many better men than me had his ear; but he always listened to me. I looked after him while he was growing up; and he spent the rest of his life looking after me.
“Merlin had me lay Arthur down, to one side, then had me dig two graves. He could have conjured me up a spade, but no, I had to dig those graves with my bare hands. I don’t know how long it took. My fingers were raw and bloody by the end. And all the time I was working, Merlin was crouched down beside Arthur, whispering in his ear. One dead man talking to another. I couldn’t hear what he said.
“When the two graves were ready, I laid Arthur out in one while Merlin clambered down into the other. I covered Arthur over with dirt, crying as I said my good-byes to his sleeping face, and when it was done I patted the rough earth down with my bare bloody hands. And then I had to cover Merlin over. He grinned up at me the whole time, staring up at me with unblinking eyes. I thought I’d shit myself all over again.
“That was when he told me he’d made me immortal, so I could guard the secret until Arthur was needed again. Sometimes I think it was Merlin’s last gift; other times, his last curse. Merlin also set a geas on the bar Strangefellows, so that it would endure, and his descendents would run it forever, protecting the secret that lay beneath.”
“Okay,” I said, “Hold it right there. Merlin’s descendents . . . I’ve often wondered about that. He never had any children that I know of. Unless Nimue ...”
“Hardly,” said Kae. “But he did have a fling with an immortal called Carys Galloway, the Waking Beauty.” He paused to see if I recognised the name, but I had to shake my head. You can’t know everyone. “Anyway, she had a child by him, and this established a long line of descendents and bar owners, bound by the geas to Strangefellows, to serve Merlin’s will. Arrogant old bastard. Though of course the bar owners were only ever told of Merlin’s grave, not Arthur’s. No-one ever knew but me.”
“Alex is going to freak,” said Suzie.
“King Arthur,” I said. “The King Arthur, the Pendragon himself, is buried under Strangefellows? And always has been? I have no idea what to say to that.”
“I do,” said Suzie. “But it involves a whole bunch of really inappropriate language.”
“I started the rumour about Arthur being taken away to Avalon,” said Kae. “It’s a made-up name. Never was any such place. I didn’t want anyone looking for Arthur’s remains, particularly since it looked like he was only napping. I knew he wouldn’t have wanted to be worshipped and adored, his unchanging body a relic to be fought over by the various Church factions, as religious currency.”
“So ... is Arthur actually dead, or not?” said Suzie, who always liked to be certain about these things.
“Yes, and no,” said Kae. “Let’s say ... not all the way dead. Merlin put an old magical protection on Arthur; though he never told him, because he knew Arthur wouldn’t approve. Arthur always liked to say that for all he’d done, he was just a man. That any man could do what he’d done, if he’d only commit himself fully. That was what the Round Table was all about—to show we were all equal. What safer place could there be for Arthur to lie sleeping, than buried next to Merlin, who could still protect him even after he was dead? And, of course, Merlin’s sheer presence was still so powerful that it helped to hide Arthur’s. And, finally, who would look for King Arthur’s grave under a cheap and sleazy dive like Strangefellows?”
I looked at Suzie. “He’s got a point.” I turned back to Kae. “So now what?”
“Now,” said Kae, “we go back to the cellars under the bar and dig up Arthur. How else are you going to give him Excalibur?”
Except, Kae sat there, staring at nothing, making no move to get up. He seemed to be looking at something far away, perhaps far away in the past. It was only too easy to forget I was looking at a man fifteen hundred years old, with a lot of memories to look back on.
“After all these years,” he said finally. “Now the time has come, I’m still not sure I’m ready. I still feel guilty that I survived Logres when so many better men did not. That Arthur died, and I didn’t. I would have given my life for him.”
“He’s Arthur,” I said. “He knows that.”
One long and mostly uneventful journey later, we all ended up at Strangefellows bar. I had worried how Kae would react to the Nightside, him being Grand Master of the London Knights; but he seemed more amused than anything. Strangefellows looked rather better than the last time I’d seen it; Alex had cleaned up most of the damage. But the place was still pretty empty. There was no sign anywhere of Betty and Lucy Coltrane. A few customers had ventured back in. A handful of Burroughs Boys, out on the nod, being roughly gay and talking in cut-up sentences. An alien Grey and a Lizardoid, sitting opposite each other in a back booth, sharing their troubles over a bottle of Mother’s Ruination. And a couple of beat cops from some medieval city, waiting patiently for someone. They looked like they could punch their weight. The man had a scarred face and an eye patch, and a bloody big axe. The woman had long blonde hair in a plait that ended in a steel weight, and a really mean attitude. You get all sorts in Strangefellows.
The piped music was playing a selection of Marianne Faithfull numbers; always a sign that Alex Morrisey was in an even worse mood than usual.
Kae looked about him as I led the way to the long wooden bar at the end of the room. “Hasn’t changed that much since I was last here. Still a dive. And the ambience is just short of actually distressing. The whole place could use renovating. With a flame-thrower.”
By this time, we’d reached the bar. Alex glared at Kae. “I heard that! Would you like to say Hello to Mr. Really Big Stick, who lives behind the counter?”
“Ease off, Alex,” I said. “This is a London Knight in disguise.”
Alex smirked. “Well, colour me impressed. Nice suit. What does he want me to do, polish his helmet?”
“Yes,” said Kae. “This is one of Merlin’s line. He thought he had a sense of humour, too.”
“What is a London Knight doing here?” Alex said to me, ostentatiously ignoring Kae. “Bearing in mind that I’ve still got that nuclear suppository the Holy Sisters of Saint Strontium gave me, round the back somewhere.”
“Well,” I said, “it turns out it wasn’t only Merlin who was buried in the cellars under this place. King Arthur’s down there, too. And we are here to dig him up, so I can give him the sword Excalibur. Oh, and by the way, this is Kae, stepbrother to King Arthur, last surviving Knight of the Round Table.”
There isn’t much that can throw Alex, so I stood there and quietly enjoyed the way his jaw dropped, his eyes bulged, and he couldn’t get a word out to save his life. Suzie took the opportunity to lean over the bar and help herself to a bottle of gin.
“I should have been told!” Alex said, finally, and very loudly. “This is my bar! I had a right to know!”
“You were safer not knowing,” said Kae, entirely unmoved.
“Safer?” said Alex. “I live in the Nightside! I’ve had all Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in here, playing bridge!”
“He has a point,” I said. “Don’t be upset, Alex. What we didn’t know, we couldn’t accidentally let slip, or be made to tell someone else.”
“Hell with that,” said Alex. “Do you have any idea how much money I could have made, running guided tours? Can you imagine how much tourists would have paid, to take photographs of each other, standing over Arthur’s grave? I could have been rich! Rich!”
“And that is why we didn’t tell you,” said Kae. “Or anyone else of your misbegotten line. You couldn’t be trusted. A secret can be kept by two men, but only if one of them is ignorant.”
“Did he just call me ignorant?” said Alex, dangerously.
“I’m sure he meant it in a nice way,” I said.
Alex sulked. “No-one gives a dam
n for the poor working-man.”
He finally calmed down and let us behind the bar. Suzie was still sucking noisily on her bottle of gin, but Alex had enough sense not to make a fuss. He opened the heavy trap-door that led down to the cellars and lit an old storm lantern he kept handy. Electricity doesn’t work down in the cellars. Something down there doesn’t like it. Alex held the lantern out over the stone steps leading down, but the pale amber light couldn’t penetrate the darkness below. Kae looked over his shoulder.
“Dark,” he said. “It was dark then, too. All those years ago. Merlin always did like the dark. Said it felt like home.”
Alex looked at me. “John ... What is he saying?”
“He buried Merlin and Arthur here, fifteen hundred years ago,” I said.
Alex surprised me by nodding. “What goes round, comes round. Let’s get this over with before my customers rob me blind in my absence.”
He led the way down the smooth stone steps, and we all went down after him, sticking close together to stay inside the circle of amber light. The steps seemed to descend a hell of a lot further into the impenetrable darkness than I was comfortable with. I had no idea how deep we were, under the bar, under the Nightside. The air was close and clammy, and there was an almost painful feeling of anticipation. Of something important, and significant, waiting to happen. Waiting to be brought back into the light after fifteen hundred years in the dark.
The steps finally gave out onto a packed-dirt floor. The bare earth was hard and dry as stone. I remembered Kae saying how he’d dug two graves out of this earth with his bare hands. A blue-white glare appeared slowly round us, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Alex put his lantern down at the foot of the steps and looked uncertainly about him. We were standing at the beginning of a great stone cavern, with an uncomfortably low ceiling. Hundreds of graves stretched away before us in more or less neat rows, just mounds of earth with simple, unadorned headstones.
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