Grailblazers (29 page)

The result was the massive outburst of knightly energy which swept Christendom, playing a major part in the fall of Albion. In due course, Atlantis did indeed find the Grail, and re-lose it so thoroughly that it has stayed lost ever since. Just in case, however, the Chief Clerk made a secret note of its whereabouts, which he then put in a safe place; to be precise, in the library of Glastonbury Abbey.

After the Dissolution of the Monasteries, however, the library was dispersed; and a certain manuscript found its way into the hands of one Gabriel Townsend, bookseller of Stratford-upon-Avon. When Townsend fell into debt and was sold up by the bailiffs, a local man called John Shakespeare was attracted by the picture of naked angels illuminated on the flyleaf and bought it. To prevent his wife finding it, he wrapped it round the pendulum of his clock.

Where, of course, it has remained to this day.

 

It's all right for them, Toenail muttered to himself.

They can sit there stuffing themselves with Bakewell tart and digestive biscuits, because they've got no imagination. They can't see what's going to happen when we get caught.

He gritted his teeth and returned to the job in hand, which was sewing a button back on Galahaut's pyjama jacket.

‘Are you sure you won't have another biscuit?' the girl was saying. ‘Go on, there's plenty.'

Boamund, who had eaten seven biscuits, three slices of fruit cake and a scone, all washed down with four cups of tea, shook his head politely and subconsciously longed for a nice slab of cold roast ox. Galahaut, who had a digestion like a cement mixer, helped himself to a coconut pyramid.

The girl tried to think of something to say. In her dreams, of course, it had all been much simpler; it always is. All her life she had known that one day, a handsome young knight would call in on this gloomy old castle on his way somewhere, and Father would happen to be out, and she would offer the knight tea, and they would talk

... She had insisted on having this room converted from a subsidiary boiling-oil store into a nice little sitting room with flowery pink curtains and frilly cushions. She had spent hours - thousands of hours—baking and icing, so that when the moment came there would be plenty of fresh, home-made things to eat to go with the tea. She had thought of everything; except, of course, what she was going to say. That, she had somehow assumed, would come naturally.

‘It must be wonderfully exciting,' she said, ‘being on a quest.'

‘Oh, it's not as wonderful as all that,' Galahaut drawled, leaning back in his chair and hoping the light through the arrow-slit would catch his profile. ‘Most of it's just plain, hard slog. Hours in the saddle, out in all weathers, nights under canvas or just huddled under a blanket against the rain ...'

Toenail snorted, but nobody heard him. Had the girl chosen to ask him, he could have pointed out that the Haut Prince refused to spend the night anywhere that didn't have at least two stars and a southerly aspect, and insisted on his own private bathroom. And the fuss he made if the bed wasn't properly aired ...

The girl nodded eagerly. It was hard to decide which of them was the more romantic, really; the world-weary thin one with the pimple, or the strong, silent one with the pink face. On the whole, probably the pink one; but it was too early in the story to choose.

‘This quest,' she said, ‘I bet it's terribly dangerous.'

‘Um,' said Boamund. ‘Hope not.'

The girl laughed prettily. ‘Oh, you're so modest,' she replied. ‘I'm sure you're not the least bit scared.'

Boamund fidgeted with the tablecloth, while Galahaut broke in and said that without fear you can't have courage. That did for the conversation what a damp towel does for a burning chip-pan, and the girl offered them another cake.

‘That bell's still ringing,' the girl observed. ‘I wonder what on earth it can be.'

The two knights glanced at each other. ‘Probably just a loose connection in the wiring,' Galahaut said. ‘Always going wrong, burglar alarms. We used to have one at the Castle, but next-door's cat was always setting it off so we took it down again. Nobody ever takes any notice of them, anyway.'

The girl looked surprised. ‘Don't they?' she said.

Galahaut shook his head. ‘Not usually. This is delicious angel cake, by the way. Did you make it yourself?'

Inside Boamund's heart, a great coiled spring of anger was being compressed, slowly and painfully, until he felt sure that he could stand it no longer. Damn Gally, he thought. I never liked him. Why did I bring him with me? Why couldn't it have been Lamorak or Turquine or one of the others? Old Turkey would have wandered off to look for the socks by now, and I could have ...

‘Actually,' he said - it was the first thing he'd said for ages - ‘I think it's time we were going. Come on, Gally.'

Galahaut raised his eyebrows. ‘What's the rush?' he said.

‘You know perfectly well.'

‘No I don't,' Galahaut replied. ‘You must excuse my friend,' he said to the girl. ‘So impatient.'

Boamund had gone bright red. ‘Thank you, Sir Galahaut,' he said, as stiff as a newly laundered shirt. ‘I don't need you to make my apologies for me.'

‘Someone's got to do it,' Galahaut replied, grinning. ‘Pretty nearly a full-time job it can be, sometimes.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘You understand plain Albionese, I take it.'

The girl's heart beat faster. They were going to fight! And because of her - yes, of course it was, knights only ever fight among themselves because of a lady. How marvellously, unspeakably thrilling!

Toenail edged across to the coal-scuttle, climbed in and shut the lid firmly.

‘By God,' Boamund was saying, ‘if there wasn't a lady present, I'd have a good mind to jolly well ...'

‘Jolly well what?'

‘Jolly well ask you what you meant by that.'

‘Well then, I'll save you the trouble of asking. I mean you're a liability, young Boamund. Can't take you anywhere, never could. Do excuse him,' he said to the girl. ‘He always gets a bit over-excited if he eats too much chocolate. I remember once at school—'

‘Sir Galahaut!'

‘Sir Boamund. If only you could see how ridiculous you look.'

Boamund reached slowly into his pocket and drew out a glove. Actually, it was a woolly mitten with the fingers cut off, but it would have to do.

‘My gage,' said Boamund. ‘If you will do me the honour...'

‘What do you want me to do with your glove, Bo? You lost the other one again, have you?'

‘Sir Galahaut ...'

‘Always were a terror for losing gloves. At school Matron made you tie them round your neck with a bit of string.'

‘Very well.' Boamund picked up the glove and slapped the Haut Prince across the cheek. ‘Now, sir ...'

‘Don't do that, Bo, it tickles.'

Oh God, thought Toenail. I suppose I'd better do something, before they hammer each other into quick-fry steak. Carefully, he raised the lid of the scuttle and lifted himself out. Then he tiptoed across the room to the door, opened it, and left.

‘Don't pretend you don't understand,' Boamund was saying. ‘That is unworthy of you.'

‘Honestly, Bo, I haven't the faintest idea what you think you're talking about. Please stop drivelling, you're upsetting the lady.'

‘I ...' Boamund was lost for words. All he could think to do was to take out the other mitten and dash it in the cur's face.

‘There,' Galahaut said, ‘it was in your pocket all the time.'

‘That does it. I demand satisfaction.'

The Haut Prince giggled. ‘You what?' he said.

‘You heard. You're a knave, a cad and a blackguard, and ...' Boamund delved back into the archives of his mind, ‘you cheated in falconry.'

A red curtain of rage swept unexpectedly across Galahaut's consciousness, obscuring everything else. ‘What did you just say?' he gasped.

‘You heard,' Boamund snarled. ‘At the end of the summer term back in '08. You bought a cage of white mice from the pet shop, and you—'

‘It's a lie!'

‘It's not,' Boamund retorted. ‘I found the receipt in your tuck box.'

‘And what were you doing looking through my tuck box?'

‘That's beside the point. You used those mice to—'

‘So that's where my Aunt Ysoud's fruit cake got to!'

‘You used those mice—'

‘Greedy pig!'

‘Cheat!'

The girl looked at them, puzzled. Well, at any rate, they were definitely going to fight.

Von Weinacht jumped down from the sleigh and called for his axe.

It had taken two hours - two
hours
!
—
for the pick-up sleigh to arrive, and then the tow-rope had broken, one of the reindeer had escaped, and they'd flown the wrong way over the Harris Ridge. The Graf took the axe from a trembling page and advanced towards the malfunctioning sleigh. He'd give it metal fatigue!

He noticed the alarm, and snapped his fingers imperiously.

‘All right,' he yelled, ‘I'm back now, you can turn that God-awful racket off!'

Radulf, who had come out to meet him, was trying to tell him something, but von Weinacht couldn't be bothered right now. All he wanted to do was give that worthless heap of Nipponese junk a service it would never forget.

‘Excuse me.'

Something was tugging at his sleeve.

The Graf looked down and saw a dwarf. He frowned. Years since he'd seen a dwarf about the place. The last one, he remembered, had handed in his notice and gone south to work in the diamond mines. Funny.

‘Excuse me,' the dwarf repeated, ‘but could you possibly spare a moment? You see, two dangerous knights have broken in, and—'

‘Knights?' Von Weinacht scooped the dwarf up in one enormous hand and held him about an inch from his nose. ‘Knights?'

‘Yes, sire, two knights. Boamund and Galahaut, sir. They're in your daughter's sitting room. Having tea.'

‘Tea!' Von Weinacht roared, dropped the dwarf, and broke into a run. Toenail picked himself up, rubbed his elbow vigorously, and followed.

He just hoped he was in time, that was all.

‘Will these do?' the girl asked.

It was odd, she was saying to herself, I thought knights always had their own swords. In all the books she'd ever read, a knight didn't go anywhere without at least one sword, sometimes two. Still, there it was. Sometimes, she felt that she didn't really know an awful lot about real life.

‘Thanks,' Boamund said gruffly. ‘That'll do fine.'

‘I found them,' the girl was saying, ‘in Father's study. He's got lots of swords and things in there. I think he collects them or something. I brought swords, but there's axes and flails and maces and daggers too, if you want them.'

‘Just swords will do fine,' Galahaut said. ‘Unless, of course, Sir Boamund wants a shield or anything. He always insisted on having a shield at school.'

‘I did
not.'

‘And if he couldn't have one, he used to burst into tears.'

‘At least I didn't put an exercise book down my front when I was tilting.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘You heard.'

‘There are some books in the library,' the girl put in helpfully, ‘if anyone wants one.'

Boamund drew his sword from its scabbard. It was very cold. ‘Shall we get on with it?' he asked. ‘That is, if Sir Galahaut is ready.'

‘Perfectly ready, thank you.'

‘After you, then.'

 

Von Weinacht stood outside the sitting room and caught his breath.

‘In there?'

Toenail nodded.

‘Right.'

One kick from the Graf's enormous boot sent the door flying open. But the room was empty.

Oh God, Toenail thought, I was too late. They've gone off to fight it out; there'll be nothing left but torn clothes and a hundredweight of minced knight. Bugger.

‘I thought you said ...'

‘They must have left, sir,' Toenail replied. ‘Gone somewhere else, I mean.'

‘Somewhere else?' There was an extra edge to the Graf's voice, which implied that it was bad enough their being there at all without them moving about like a lot of migratory wildfowl. ‘Where?'

‘Somewhere where there's plenty of room, I expect,' Toenail replied. ‘You see, they were wanting a fight ...'