The Excalibur Murders (23 page)

Unruffled by the commotion around him, Merlin walked around the carriage, tossing more globes in the faces of the attacking knights. One by one they screamed, covered their faces and lurched off into the mist. Soon the skirmish was over. One of Accolon's men was badly wounded; the rest were all right except for minor cuts.

Britomart was quite all right. Out of breath, she joined Merlin. "I'll never scoff at your little marbles again."

"Science and reason defeat brute force every time, Brit." He bent down and washed his burning hand in a puddle.

"Nonsense. It worked for you this time. But if there had been more of them . . ."

"There weren't."

"There might easily have been. We were lucky."

"You and the others fought bravely, Brit. Bravely and skillfully. We all won this fight. Now let us get moving again before more attackers appear."

"There won't be any more. We've beaten them. And they have no way of knowing how many acid globes we have."

"A good deterrent, then."

"But we'll have to be watchful until we reach home."

Slowly, Accolon restored order. The wounded soldier rode in the carriage with Merlin; Brit rode his horse. And despite the fog and the unsteady ground, the party made good time. There were no more attacks.

They arrived at Camelot late the next night. The next morning, well rested, they met in Merlin's study. He was walking on a cane and seemed unconcerned about it, and the acid burns on his right hand were bandaged. Nimue asked what had happened, and Brit explained.

"Will you be all right, Merlin? I wouldn't like to see you walking on that stick all the time. Will your hand be scarred?"

"At my age, what difference does it make?"

"That's an absurd attitude to take."

Brit couldn't resist adding, "So much for a life based on reason."

But Merlin ignored them and unrolled Ganelin's chart. "Now. Let's put this together with what we've learned and see if we can't make sense of it."

SEVEN

TIN, WINE AND SILVER

"Now let us see. We think these triangles, which wander aimlessly all about the castle, represent Pellenore. Does that assumption make sense to both of you?"

Brit and Nimue nodded.

"Good. Then there are these stars, which also drift around but only on one side of the Great Hall. I surmise those stand for Mordred, right?"

Again, they indicated their agreement.

"And there are the crosses. If we were to connect them in a continuous line, we'd find them heading in a somewhat roundabout way for the refectory. Those may very well be Lancelot. That leaves our Mr. X. The Xs go in a more or less direct way toward Arthur's tower, where the killing took place. And our most probable guess for his identity is Mark of Cornwall."

"But Merlin," Nimue said, "the key word in what you said is guess. Arthur wants proof. He'll never agree to convict anyone based on guesswork with nothing concrete to back it up. Suppose the crosses are Mordred and the stars Lancelot? How can we prove it one way or the other?"

"We have statements from the suspects themselves. And we have what the servants saw, or in Gretchen's case, more than simply
saw
."

Nimue smiled at this.

"But there must be more of them. Ganelin would not have marked this chart without some basis. There must be more servants we have not identified yet who saw one or more of our suspects that night. I intend to find those servants. Ganelin found them; I will, too."

"But--" Something was bothering Brit and it showed. "We are still simply assuming Mark is the fourth suspect. We don't know. No one saw him, that we know of. Suppose it's someone else? Or suppose that trail of Xs goes somewhere other than to Arthur's tower? The chart doesn't extend that far. And suppose Mark really is Mr. X as you call him. Just because a servant saw him in the corridor is hardly proof he committed murder."

"Well, someone saw him--or rather someone saw some-one--because the chart is marked. Whether it was Mark . . . well, that seems likely to me. But that is what I want the two of you to discover." He sat back in his chair. Nimue had never seen him quite so stern; it was clear his wounded leg and hand were causing him pain. "In Cornwall."

Brit registered alarm. "You want us to go to Mark's territory? After the attack we suffered?"

"Arthur is sending official word to Mark that you will be visiting him, to discuss some military maneuvers for next spring. And you will have a larger escort than the one we had. He won't dare harm you."

"If he is the villain." Brit said this emphatically.

"He is."

"How can you sound so confident?"

"Because, Brit, of the attack on you, or on Petronus, at the garrison in Corfe. The guards were killed. They would never have let Lancelot get that close to them. Or anyone else, for that matter.
Except Mark
. They would have recognized him as the commander of the army, and they would have let him approach, never expecting him to strike them."

"Good point."

Nimue studied the chart, looking doubtful. "But still, we'll be terribly vulnerable."

"You have the advantage of knowledge. Mark doesn't know that we know."

"He must suspect, at least, or why follow and attack us?"

"He knows we know he's up to something. He can't possibly know we think he is the murderer. And as I've said before, the very fact that the man we suspect is also the head of the king's armed forces makes for a very delicate situation. How can we know what kind of loyalty he has among the other commanders, and among the troops? I can't tell you how deeply I hope I'm wrong about this. But everything I know suggests Mark is the one."

"I can find out about the other commanders." Brit was looking increasingly unhappy. "I can make some discreet inquiries, among knights I know I can trust."

"When you get back from Cornwall. And remember, you mustn't do anything to force Mark's hand. Be subtle, be indirect and pick up whatever you can learn. Use all the guile you have."

"Guile isn't much good against armed swordsmen, Merlin. "

"No, but it is priceless against blunt stupidity."

"Why do I not find that comforting?"

"Arthur will provide a large enough escort to keep you safe. Discover what you can."

Looking unhappy, or at least severely dubious, Nimue and Brit rose to go. Just as they were leaving, Merlin said, "And Colin? Use
all
the guile you have."

"Uh . . . yes, Merlin."

Nimue followed Brit down the stairs, past the spot where she'd found Ganelin. Suddenly Brit turned on her. "What did he mean by that?"

"I--I don't know."

"Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"I don't know what you mean. My name is Colin. You know that."

"There has been talk about a young woman who fled from Morgan's court. Mordred's betrothed. She disappeared about the time you came here."

"N--no."

Merlin appeared at the top of the staircase. "Come back here, both of you."

Slowly, sullenly, they climbed back to his study.

He closed the door behind them and leaned against it, wincing from the pain in his leg. "Now, Brit, what exactly are you suggesting?"

"Someone from Morgan's court may be here in Camelot. And there have been murders. Can you not guess what I'm thinking?"

"Colin was with me in the Great Hall when Borolet was killed."

"Are you certain? You yourself just said that he's full of guile."

He sighed sadly and looked at Nimue. "Tell her."

"But I--"

"Tell her!"

And so Nimue confessed to Brit that she was not really Colin, not really a boy at all.

"So you see, Brit," Merlin added when she was done, "I've known all along. I've encouraged Nimue to carry on this masquerade."

Brit looked doubtful. "What have you known? How can you know what loyalty she feels to Morgan le Fay?"

"There is no doubt in my mind. Colin--Nimue is loyal to Arthur and Camelot and everything it represents. I've heard her complain about Morgan's superstitious nonsense often enough. And no one sane could want to marry a horror like Mordred."

Brit was unconvinced but kept quiet.

"We can't start fighting among ourselves, Brit. We have to trust each other. This kind of squabbling is the worst thing we can do."

"I suppose you're right."

"I am and you know it. Time is short. Midwinter is approaching fast, and it is more important than ever. It may be the last chance we have to lure Mark here unsuspecting."

"But without proof--"

"I can provide proof. I've commented recently about using people's superstitions against them. And Mark is as gullible as anyone. That will be his undoing. But we need him to come here, unsuspecting and without his guard up. Ensuring that will be your job. When you get to Cornwall, comfort him, flatter him, make him believe his position is secure."

"Merlin, I want to know what you're up to. What are you planning?"

"In time, Brit. Go to Cornwall. Everything depends on the two of you getting Mark to lower his guard." Softly, he added, "Please. We are too far into this investigation to let it come apart now."

And so the next morning Merlin saw Brit and Nimue off to Cornwall. Their carriage was larger and heavier--and better protected--than the one they'd used on their visit to Morgan, and a detachment of sixteen armed soldiers escorted them.

Just before they left, Nimue took Merlin aside. "I'm afraid, Merlin. She doesn't trust me. And how sure are you that she isn't loyal to Mark?"

"Brit is one of my oldest, closest friends here. I'm as sure of her as I can be of anyone."

"Mark is one of Arthur's oldest friends, remember? And Britomart thinks I'm working for Morgan."

"I've noticed the tension between the two of you before. I was never certain what caused it. But it will pass. Get to know her. You'll like her and she'll like you."

Uncertain, unhappy, she got into the carriage with Brit, and the column left Camelot.

Then Merlin headed to the castle library, where one of the copyists was working on something for him. "Good morning. Is it ready?"

"Nearly, sir." The copyist was a slender young man in his late twenties. "It's simple enough."

"Fine."

"Are you certain you don't want any illuminations or enhancements? It's so plain." He wrinkled his nose. "Unattractive. I can do better work than this."

"Just a plain, straightforward copy of the chart, please, with no crosses, triangles and such."

"Yes, sir. It will be ready in an hour or so."

"Fine. Bring it to me then, will you? I'll be in my tower."

Next he went to Arthur's tower and found Greffys. "I should be ready this afternoon. You've explained to the servants what I want?"

"Yes, Merlin. But--"

"But what?"

"They're suspicious."

"Who wouldn't be? But they must understand that we're investigating the murders. And they must understand that they themselves are not under suspicion. Tell them that. Reassure them. I'll do the same when I talk to them."

"Yes, Merlin. I thought you wanted the investigation kept secret."

"The time for that is past. I think we should be ready to begin by mid-afternoon. Bring the first of them then."

"Yes, sir."

"And Greffys?"

The boy had turned to go; he paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

"You've done a fine job so far."

The squire beamed. "Thank you!"

And so at mid-afternoon Greffys brought the first of the servants to Merlin's study. She was one of the kitchen girls, a buxom redhead in her early twenties. And she was plainly nervous.

"Good afternoon." Merlin smiled in a way he hoped was fatherly and reassuring. "You are Alice?"

"Yes, sir."

"Has Greffys, here, explained why I want to talk to you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You understand, my only interest is in the informationyou might be able to provide. No one thinks you've done anything out of line."

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

"Yes, sir."

"Uh . . . yes."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you remember the night of the ceremony for the Stone of Bran?"

"Yes, sir."

"The night Borolet was killed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you say anything besides 'yes, sir'?"

"Yes, sir."

He sighed. "You recall that night, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where were you?"

"Sir?"

"When we all gathered in the Great Hall, where were you?"

"In the kitchen, sir, making honey cakes."

"As I remember it, the supply of those ran out early."

"Yes, sir. They didn't tell us there would be so many people. I--"

"That's all right, Alice. When you were finished with your duties, where did you go?"

"I--I had to go to the loo, sir."

"And did you see anyone on your way there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who?"

"I saw Morgan le Fay's son."

"Mordred? Where did you see him?" He unrolled the copy of Ganelin's chart. "Here. You see--this is the Great Hall and all the corridors that lead from it. Can you show me where you were when you saw Mordred?"

"Yes, sir." She squinted at the chart; she seemed to be working to remember. Then she extended her index finger and pointed. "Here."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"He asked me how to get to the--to the privy."

"I see."

"So I gave him directions and he went off--in the wrong direction. He was so lost. He was so cute."

"I don't believe I've heard anyone else describe him that way. Did you see anyone else in the hall?"

"No, sir."

"I see. Fine. Thank you very much, Alice."

She stood, made a shy curtsy, turned and left.

Merlin got out the original chart. The spot where she'd painted was almost exactly where Ganelin had marked one of his little stars. It looked as if Merlin's guess had been right. Each represented a place where someone had seen Mordred.

The carriage and its escort made good time on the journey to Cornwall. The weather was sunny and dry and the roads were good. They stopped at Winchester for a midday meal. Brit said she knew the town and one particular inn where the food was always good. Accolon, who was again in charge of the escort, posted soldiers outside the inn.