A Tail of Camelot (8 page)

A
pile of scattered straw lay in the wooden frame where Galahad's mattress was supposed to be. His pillows and blankets were nowhere to be found.

Galahad scanned the dormitory room for the culprits, though it was not hard to see who they were. A few pages were poorly concealing their laughter, and in the center was their leader, Malcolm.

Exhausted after washing dinner dishes all evening, Galahad felt his last shred of patience evaporate. He marched up to Malcolm and the rest of his lackeys.

“All right, I get it. You don't like me,” Galahad said, crossing his arms. “I don't want to be here with you, either. So just give me back my bedding, and I'll find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

“Oh yeah, kitchen nun, what if we already chucked it into the manure pile?”

Galahad hesitated, unsure whether Malcolm was bluffing. Fighting had been forbidden at the nunnery. Would it get him in trouble here?

“What, nothing to say without your father around?” Malcolm taunted, edging in even closer until he was mere inches from Galahad's face.

“I've heard that his father doesn't even want him,” said one of the pages in Malcolm's cohort.

“Ha!” Malcolm's warm breath hit Galahad square on the nose. “I bet he's ashamed. I bet he left the castle just so he wouldn't have to look at your ugly face.” Malcolm flicked Galahad's ear for good measure.

Rage shot through Galahad like a lightning bolt. Without thinking, he threw a punch that connected squarely with Malcolm's eye.

“Fiiiiiiight!”

The shout brought all the pages running in from the other rooms. They circled around Malcolm and Galahad like a pack of wolves. Malcolm brought Galahad down, and the two boys rolled onto the floor. Galahad tried
to counter Malcolm's rapid-fire punches and kicks. He'd never been in a fight before, but Malcolm obviously had. The bigger boy managed to sock Galahad in the stomach, knocking the air out. Before Galahad could recover, Malcolm had him in a headlock.

“What is going on here?” A gruff voice cut through the commotion. The pages rushed back to their bunks like nothing had happened. Malcolm and Galahad were still on the ground, locked in a struggle.

Sir Kay stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and his nostrils flaring. His usual boorish scowl was made somewhat less frightening by his lavender-colored night robes.

“The new boy is picking fights!” Malcolm promptly let Galahad go. “He says he doesn't even want to be here!”

Galahad's face felt like one giant bruise. Something warm trickled down his forehead. He reached up, and his fingers came away from his brow sticky and red with blood.

Sir Kay raised a dismissive hand. “Save it for later—you know the rules. No fighting outside of the training arena. Malcolm, you've earned yourself extra stable duties for the next month. Galahad”—Sir Kay turned his attention on him—“tomorrow, you will begin a new assignment as Sir Edmund's personal assistant. The rest of you pages will run extra laps tomorrow for waking me up.”

The collective groan was quickly silenced by Sir Kay's warning glare.

“Being a page of Camelot is an honor bestowed upon few. Take care to remember that, all of you.” He pivoted out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Bruised and fuming, Galahad lay down on the pile of straw and pretended to go to sleep. He'd made his decision. He knew what he had to do.

Late into the night, when he was sure everyone around him was fast asleep, he snuck out of the dormitory with all his belongings tucked under his arm.

He would need to steal enough food to last him at least three days. The woods outside the castle were rumored to be full of many threatening creatures . . . but they couldn't possibly be any worse than those he'd encountered at Camelot.

C
alib stood alone in the kitchen, scrubbing dirty dishes in a big basin. The injustice of everything that had happened earlier in the evening still filled him with bitterness. A clean dish slipped out of his hands, dropping back into the gray water.

“Rat whiskers!” he cursed.

A small giggle made Calib turn around. Cecily was standing at the kitchen entrance.

“Come to have a good laugh?” Calib said, heat rising behind his ears. Cecily was the last mouse he wanted to run into while he had flecks of food all over his fur.

“Sorry,” Cecily said. “I came to help, honestly. As the head cook's daughter, I've learned to do the dishes quickly so I could have more time for training.”

Cecily stood next to Calib and attacked the dishes with a ruthless efficiency. She soaped several at once, before plunging them into a pot of clean water to rinse them.

“Thanks, Ceci,” Calib said sheepishly. The chore went faster with an extra set of paws.

“I heard that you pulled quite the stunt today,” Cecily said above the clatter of plates. “Speaking with wolves and coming to the defense of a crow!”

“And look what good it did me,” Calib grumbled, gesturing to a pile of dishes.

“Well, I want to hear it from the mouse's mouth.”

Calib recounted his adventures at the beach, including the reappearance of the Sword in the Stone and Howell's request. “And the tail couldn't have brushed by Warren from where he stood. He's lying, I just know it!”

Calib braced himself for ridicule, but Cecily only looked thoughtful.

“You're right,” she said slowly, as if she was picturing it for herself. “I was sitting right behind the champions' circle. There's no way the assassin could have come by there.”

“Well, it's my word against his, so it doesn't mean much,” Calib said.

“But it does,” Cecily said. “If Two-Bits didn't do it,
then we're preparing for war against the wrong enemy.”

“But no one will believe me!” Calib said. “And even when they do find the Sword in the Stone, Sir Owen will probably say it's
more
proof that the Darklings are planning to attack Camelot.”

“
I
believe you.” Cecily took Calib's paw in hers and squeezed it. “Now we just have to prove it to everybody else. I think we need to make a visit to the cellar and talk to Valentina.”

“You know where she's being kept?” Calib asked.

Cecily nodded. “Sir Kensington tasked me with delivering food to the prisoner.”

Calib gulped. Talking to the prisoner would mean more rule breaking. But he knew Cecily was right. They had to be sure they were preparing for war with the right enemy.

The two friends quickly wiped off their paws. Leaving behind a shining tower of clean dishes, they took off down the tunnels that led to the storage cellars deep underneath the castle.

There, the air felt dry and cool and smelled of salt. Cecily lit a small match to use as a torch, illuminating their immediate surroundings and casting long shadows. Enough food had been packed in these sprawling caverns to last the entire castle through the winter ahead. Bunches of dried cod hung from the ceiling like scaly chandeliers. Barrels of lard and smoke-cured meats lay stacked against the walls.

Scurrying alongside the barrels, they slipped through a large crack in the back wall that led into another room—one that even Two-Leggers avoided. Calib saw why as soon as they entered. It was where they kept King Lot's prized possessions.

When King Arthur and his knights first arrived at what was now Camelot, the land had been in control of an evil Saxon king named Lot.

An avid hunter, Lot would turn many of his kills into personal trophies. The heads of deer, bears, and wildcats lay scattered about, each of them frozen in their last deadly snarls. Calib knew they'd been some of the luckier ones. King Lot had a habit of keeping animals in cages and forcing them to fight for their survival. He and his men would organize these matches for their own amusement.

Now, stacks of the empty cages lined one wall, ranging in sizes for various animals. A shiver raised the fur on the back of Calib's neck.

Cecily pointed to one of the birdcages sitting atop a nearby table.

“That's her,” she whispered. They began climbing up the side of the cages, using the wires as pawholds. Once they reached the table, Calib saw that Valentina still had her wings pinned behind her. The crow's head was bowed nearly beak to chest.

“Hello, uh, Madame Valentina,” Calib ventured, stepping nearer to the cage.

Valentina Stormbeak swung her head around and squinted into the dark.

“Tiny fur-beasts,” she said wearily. “Come nearer and I'll peck your beady eyes out.”

“I'm Cecily, and this is Calib,” Cecily said. “Are you hungry? I wasn't sure what crows ate, but I brought you this.”

She took out a package of candied walnuts from her satchel and held it out with her paw. Calib was impressed by how still her paw was. The crow narrowed her eyes and then turned to look at Calib.

“I know you,” Valentina said, her voice softening. “You are the one who tried to protect me.”

“We don't believe the Darklings killed Commander Yvers either,” Calib said. “We need to find out who did before war breaks out.”

After a moment's pause, Valentina stretched out her neck and gobbled up the walnuts hungrily.

“Thank you,” she said in between swallows. “I'm glad someone at Camelot can still think sensibly. We Darklings have enough to worry about with winter coming. Why would we start a war now?”

“You said that your stores had been raided,” Calib asked, remembering Howell's warning about a new evil at work. “Do you know who took your food?”

Valentina shook her head. “No. Not exactly. Something
prowls the woods at night, stealing supplies and killing at whim. Leftie is our only hope of outlasting the winter.”

“Leftie the lynx?” Calib asked. “But he's ruthless and cruel!”

“Haven't you ever heard that the sharpest claw protects the softest heart?” The crow shifted her pinned wings with a slight squawk. “He is the only one capable of uniting the Darklings against whatever lurks out there.”

“Could you send a message to Leftie?” Cecily asked Valentina. “And ask him to come and clear his name?”

“Kawkaw!” Valentina laughed. “Why would Leftie leave the safety of the Darkling forest and put himself in danger just to prove that he didn't do the crime you're wrongly accusing him of?” she asked.

“Then maybe
we
can go to
him
,” Cecily said staunchly. “As a show of good faith?”

“You saw how Sir Kensington punished me just for collecting shells,” Calib pointed out. “Going to speak with Leftie in his lair would be treason
and
suicide.”

“It wouldn't be easy, mousling,” Valentina said thoughtfully. “But it
is
possible. You just have to offer something he wants.”

“What could we possibly offer him?” Calib asked. “A creature as fearsome as he is could take anything he wanted.”

“Not everything,” the crow replied. She ruffled her
feathers. “Leftie seeks Merlin's Crystal from the owls.”

Calib felt his heart speed up.
Merlin's Crystal.

“What's that?” Cecily asked.

Valentina's beak opened in surprise. “You mean this little fur-beast does not know about Merlin's treasures?”

Sometimes Calib forgot that Cecily and Madame von Mandrake had only moved to the castle just a year ago. Cecily shook her head.

“Before Merlin disappeared,” Calib said, eager to share one of his favorite stories, “he entrusted treasures to the three animal factions—those who live in the Darkling Woods, in Camelot Castle, and in the Fellwater Swamps. Leftie and the Darklings were given a hand mirror with which they could see the future.”

“We had used Merlin's Mirror to help us predict the seasons,” Valentina added softly. “But the treasure was smashed in a Saxon raid not long after it was given to us. We resorted to raiding only to survive.”

“As for the owls,” Calib continued. “General Gaius Thornfeather was given Merlin's Crystal, a gem that supposedly unlocks great strength to those who know how to wield it.”

“And what about us?” Cecily asked, sounding excited. “What did we get?”

Calib gestured to the space around them. “This castle,” he said. “According to my grandfather, Merlin entrusted
the protection of Camelot, his greatest treasure, to us. We call it Merlin's Promise. For as long as we mice live off Camelot's food, we must protect those who make it.”

Calib did not mention that there were some in Camelot who believed that Merlin
did
give Commander Yvers another, secret treasure. But if he had, Yvers kept it a closely guarded secret. Not even his most trusted knights nor his grandson knew for sure.

“So why does Leftie want Merlin's Crystal?” Cecily asked.

“Leftie wants to figure out how to unlock the crystal's great strength and use it against whoever has been stealing our food. We need it more than the owls now,” Valentina said. “Something evil lurks in our woods at night. And Commander Yvers's assassination is only a piece of a larger plot against us.

“Unfortunately, the owls have refused Leftie's request to use Merlin's Crystal to fight the threat.”

Cecily nodded. “I've heard that the Owls of Fellwater Swamps never side with anyone but themselves.”

“That's not
exactly
true,” Calib said quietly, rubbing the white fur patch on his ear. “The owls intervened on the castle's behalf at Rickonback River.”

“After your father convinced them to,” Cecily added, also remembering.

Valentina blinked rapidly. “
You
are Sir Trenton's son?”
She hopped closer to the bars of her cage to get a good look. “But of course, I see the resemblance now. If anyone can get the owls to listen, it would be
you
!”

“My father was the
only
mouse who ever emerged alive from the owls' nest, and the stories say he had Merlin's help,” Calib protested. “It's too risky.”

He thought of Sir Tormund the Foolhardy, who had gone to visit the owls fifty years ago and was never seen again. Only his blood-speckled copy of
Dialects of Taloned Fowl
was found. It was still on display in the library.

“But war could be declared any second,” Cecily pointed out.

“I'm afraid I can't be much more help from here,” Valentina said sadly. “And because of my own weakness, my clan will starve.”

“Maybe there is a way for us to get you out,” Calib said, his sense of justice overcoming his apprehension. He would likely be exiled from Camelot for good if it was discovered that he'd freed the crow, but he knew that she had been wrongly imprisoned. Freeing her was the honorable thing to do.

The cage had no latch or lever and only a single small keyhole. The key itself was likely hanging around the neck of Sir Kensington. But Calib found the cage door's spring-loaded hinges. He tried to wedge his tail into the hinges and pop out the springs.

Suddenly, Cecily grabbed his shoulder. “I think I hear footsteps!”

“No one comes down here but the mice,” Calib began, but then he paused, for he heard it too. Loud, plodding footsteps that could only belong to one kind of beast: a Two-Legger.