The Camelot Caper (11 page)

“No.”

“Oh, you're about as romantic as—as an oyster.” Jess sighed. “Imagine—King Arthur! I remember now, this is the Isle of Avalon that the books talk about. It doesn't look much like an island now,” she admitted doubtfully. “Was it ever?”

“Dunno.”

Jess made exasperated sounds and flipped the pages of her book.

“Yes, it was. Not in water, but in marshland. ‘Linked to the main uplands by a narrow tongue of land running southeast—'”

“Will you stop that!” David snatched at the book and she ducked, clutching it.

“Aren't you interested in King Arthur?”

“No, I'm much more interested in Cousin John.” He scowled at her, and then said maliciously, “It probably wasn't Arthur they found anyhow. When was it—twelfth century? Those credulous boobs probably dug up some old abbot and decided he ought to be Arthur. Even the bones are gone now, there's no way of knowing what they found, if they found anything, and didn't invent the whole story.”

“You're the kind of guy who would tell little kids there isn't any Santa Claus. The bones survived till the Dissolution. What's the Dissolution?”

“Henry the Eighth, you ignorant colonist. Don't they teach any civilized history in your country?”

“I know all about Henry the Eighth,” Jess said coldly. “He declared himself head of the church and stole all the monasteries. He had six wives, and I can name them all. Which I'll bet is more than you can do.”

“Ann Boleyn,” David said. “Let's meander over this way. I thought I saw a familiar form by the Abbot's Kitchen. Katharine of Aragon. Anne of Cleves. Uh…”

“Catherine Howard, Catherine Parr, Jane Seymour. What's this part?”

“Kitchen, cloister, refectory,” David said with resigned patience. “Or rather the foundations of same, the upper parts are gone. I don't think I am very happy. Have you noticed how dark it's getting?”

He was right. The shadows on the grass had faded as the light dimmed. One bright star hung low in a darkening sky. Just then an unharmonious but peremptory noise from the direction of the entrance made David glance at his watch.

“Closing time. Jess, look here—I know you haven't been watching, but I have. Neither of those blokes has left.”

“So, they're staying till the last minute.”

“Possibly. But I am beginning to have a strange premonition. This way, please. Let's go back to the entrance, and lurk.”

It was not difficult to lurk; the ruins provided splendid cover, with strategically placed gaps for spying. From behind a wall of the Lady Chapel they could see the part of the path directly in front of the turnstile, and it was not long before their vigilance was rewarded by the sight of Villain Number Two. He strolled by them, his hands in the pockets of his baggy trousers, his lips pursed in a whistle, and went out the exit without so much as a backward glance.

Jess caught David's eye, and saw, reflected, her own question. Algernon was the last man to seek out the holy ruins of Glastonbury for their own sake. Why had the precious pair come here? And where, now, was Cousin John?

Wherever he was, he meant to stay there. The last tourists straggled out, the caretakers closed the gift shop and ticket window. The last footsteps died away; and a profound stillness gathered, with the dusk, over the towering ruins of King Arthur's Isle of Avalon.

 

By this time the adventurers were in the crypt, behind an altar. David had insisted on the retreat, not only to avoid any vigilant custodians checking on absentminded visitors, but to give himself, as he expressed it, time to think. Jess didn't feel that the crypt was conducive to thought, except thoughts of murder, ghosts, and decay. It was not totally black-dark, being open at one end where the Galilee joined onto the Lady Chapel; but the high remaining walls of the latter structure cast shadows, thick shadows which left the lower portion in darkness. The place felt damp and smelled damp. But, she had to admit, it had one advantage. No one could approach their hiding place without being seen and heard.

“I'll bet he sneaked out when you weren't looking,” Jess whispered. “David, how are we going to get out? We can't stay here all night.”

“Oh, we can get out. Hop over the turnstile and bang on the gate till someone comes.”

“And how do we explain our failure to hear the all-out signal?”

“I can think of one explanation,” David said, and chuckled evilly.

“You have a low mind. Let's go look for him, since we're here.”

“We'll have to wait for moonrise. I didn't bring a torch.”

The wait seemed interminable, but it could not have been more than an hour in objective time; and when the moon did rise Jess forgot her cramped limbs.

The far wall of the Lady Chapel had three arched windows, the one in the center higher than the two on either side. They showed, at first, only as star-sprinkled shapes of black against the deeper black of the wall. Gradually they paled, and Jess caught her breath as the moonlight spilled through the silvered tracery and lay like water on the inner floor. When David moved, she followed him in a kind of trance.

Stonehenge by moonlight had evoked history,
restoring a simulacrum of something which had existed three thousand years before. Glastonbury, under a full spring moon, was sheer romance, a shining ghost of what had never been, a truth that was eternal because it had lived, never in time, but in the hearts of men. The colors were gone; only black and gray and glaring white defined arches, carvings, foliage; Jess would not have been surprised to see the bark Malory described come gliding across the shimmering grass, with the three mourning queens and the still figure of the hero at their feet.

A rude noise from David broke her poetic reverie.

“Hssst! Look there!”

The dark figure, featureless in silhouette, was no vision out of Malory, but it was almost as incredible. Motionless against the silvery space between the mutilated piers of the crossing, it seemed to be swathed from neck to heels in something that resembled a monkish robe. Jess clutched at David. The silhouette moved, flapping its long sleeves like wings; then it glided behind the farther pier and vanished in the shadows.

“What on earth?”

“It's Cousin John, all right,” David said
grimly. “Doesn't he have fun, though? Let's see what he's doing.”

David flung himself down on his stomach and began to crawl. Jess followed, muttering curses; she wore a new pale-blue summer suit which had a semifitted jacket and a skirt which fitted only too well, being extremely tight and short. The dew had settled on the grass; she was immediately soaked from her chest to the hem of her skirt.

The low stone wall which sheltered them was followed by the higher shelter of the only remaining section of the nave walls. They now had to cross the same open section, between the piers, which the figure had already crossed, and David stopped, presumably to consider this problem. Jess was more preoccupied with her skirt, which she had pulled up to facilitate crawling. As she tried to adjust it, David looked back. His eyes popped.

“Haven't you ever seen a girl's legs before?” she demanded, in a hoarse, aggravated whisper.

“Never under such provocative conditions…sssh. We'll have to make a dash for it. Take my hand.”

They darted across the open space; when they reached the sheltering shadow of the far pier, David caught her and swung her into his arms.

“None of that now,” she muttered, poking him.

“I just want to talk to you.”

“It seems to me I've heard that—oh! What's that?”

A rustling, like the frisson of dried leaves, or the leathery wings of a giant bat…David dropped Jess and whirled around, in time to see the cloaked figure flit mysteriously across the far end of the nave and duck behind a pile of stone. He started out after it. Halfway to the stone pile he stumbled, floundered grotesquely, and fell.

Jess's heart stopped. There had been no shot, but…An arrow? A poison dart?

“You are a fool,” she told herself; but she was relieved to see David beckoning her to join him. He had simply tripped. The grounds were well kept, but protruding stones and bits of foundation, carefully preserved, were hazards to runners.

“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked, dropping down on the grass beside him.

“No. I was just thinking—”

“Oh, Lord! Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you—there he goes again.”

He was on the southern side of the ruins now, among the buried foundations of the domestic offices.

“All right,” David said, sighing. “What I was thinking was that there may be some point to this fatiguing sport; and the point may be to separate us. Keep with me, can you?”

“Oh. Oh! Do you think Algernon could have sneaked—snuck—uh—”

“Try ‘crept.' I think too much, that's the trouble, and I know too little. But I prefer to take no chances. Come along, let's play games with Cousin John. How I'd love to get my hands on that capering comedian!”

The game was “hide-and-seek,” and there had never been a better place for it; a pack of children would have run wild. Shadows, trees, rocks and ruins; open doors and gaping windows and grassy banks—there were a hundred places in which to hide, and a dozen ways out of each one. The black-cloaked figure seemed supernatural. It vanished into shadows from which no escape seemed possible, and materialized yards away. It did not run, it floated; and the folds of its black garment billowed in the breeze, giving it impossible shapes, as fluid and amorphous as an amoeba. Jess could have sworn that sometimes it stood still and flapped its arms at them.

After a merry romp clear across the grounds, around the octagonal angles of the Abbot's
Kitchen, and over the spot which had been the cemetery, they cornered it, finally, in the Lady Chapel, which was one of the few places that had corners. Both pursuers were soaked to the skin, and Jess's feet were cut, since she had made the mistake of trying to run barefoot. Still, they must have looked formidable as they advanced on the figure that cowered against the chapel wall. Jess was too intent on their quarry, which had already demonstrated convincingly its ability to dematerialize, to spare a glance for David, but she could feel his fury, and knew that he must be glowering. She couldn't believe that they had almost caught the flitting, elusive shadow of a man; and David shared her doubts, for he said suddenly,

“Keep an eye out behind us, Jess.”

She whirled, half expecting to see Algernon's saturnine dark features at her shoulder. The long expanse of the chapel lay silent and untenanted; the moonlight left one wall in shadow but picked out every graceful detail of the interlaced arcade midway up the opposite wall.

David was now within ten feet of the fugitive, who had backed into the farthest corner, half-crouched, his draped arms up before his face. Step by slow step the pursuers closed in. David's outstretched arms were almost touch
ing the shrouded heap of blackness when, with terrifying suddenness, it rose up—only on tiptoe, but at that time, and in that place, the effect was like something soaring up on flapping wings. The outstretched arms beat up and down, and the folds of the cloak flew. Then the figure darted at them, fingers clutching.

Jess tried to fall down. To his eternal credit, David stood firm; but he did flinch as the swooping blackness leaped at him, and the arms he had extended moved, quite involuntarily, into a position of defense. The black-draped arms embraced both him and Jessica, banged them together like cymbals, and let them fall.

Neither was hurt, but both were considerably amazed. For three short but decisive seconds they sprawled, motionless; it took another three seconds to untangle themselves from one another and from the cloak in which the fugitive had wrapped them.

David, the first on his feet, bolted for the doorway. Jess followed more leisurely, carrying the cloak. She found David outside, waving his fists.

“Gone?” she inquired.

“Damn, damn, damn, damn—whoops, there he goes!”

He ran off. Jess wrapped the cloak around
herself; she was soaked with dew and perspiration, and the extra covering felt good. She was too tired to run, and too disgusted to try; from where she stood she had an excellent view of Glastonbury by moonlight, and also of the last scene of the second act of their little drama. Or was it the third act?

The running figure, now uncloaked, made no attempt to conceal itself; it moved as quickly as it could, as if heading for some definite goal. It made a slender, agile silhouette against the pale stone of the wall which bounded the Abbey grounds on the south. At the wall itself the figure stopped, and coursed up and down as if in search of something. David ran madly, but he was still some distance away when the black figure made its final move, and even after its earlier performances, this one left Jess gaping. He lifted his arms, hands together as if in an archaic incantation to pagan gods; then he swarmed up the wall as easily as if he had levitated.

David's lope slowed; then he threw himself forward. He was too late. The agile shape poised itself on top of the wall, flinging one arm out in what looked like a mocking salute. Then it vanished. A moment later David plowed to a halt at the base of the wall and began pounding on it with his fists.

Jess lifted up the trailing skirts of the cloak and broke into a slow trot. When she reached David he was leaning up against the wall, staring pensively at the sky.

“Shall we go home?” she asked tactfully.

“Yes, let's.”

“How?”

David heaved a deep sigh.

“I shall lift you on top of the wall. You will then toss over to me the rope which you may—or you may not, but I rather think you may—find there.”

“Is that how he got up? I thought he flew.”

“So did I, for one frightful moment. If they took the rope with them, you'll have to locate the village bobby, and tell him your boyfriend got locked in.”