He nodded. “Or Lancelot, or whichever one of her minions looks to be guilty.”
“Do I have to go to Morgan’s realm, too? I’d rather not.”
“I hadn’t thought of it, but it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to take you there. No sense taking the chance someone might recognize you.”
“Thanks.” She was plainly relieved. “When do we get started?”
“First thing tomorrow, if Brit is free then. Or now, if you’d rather.” He unrolled the chart on the dining table. “I keep looking for a pattern in this.”
“Maybe there is none.”
“That would be our luck. One thing stands out, though. The crosses, Xs and stars are all on one side of the Great Hall.”
“If it is the Great Hall, Merlin. I mean, I know it looks like it, but I knew Ganelin better than you did. That could just as easily be a diagram of some damn fool sports thing he was thinking about.”
“That’s exactly what we need. A positive attitude.”
She shrugged. “I’m only trying to be helpful.”
He focused on the chart. “But these triangles-they’re spread out all around. See?”
She studied it. “You’re right. On both sides of the hall and in every corridor.”
“Only one creature goes gadding about the castle that way. I think the triangles must represent Pellenore.”
Her soup was getting cold. She picked up her bowl and drank it off. “That makes sense. As much sense as anything about Pellenore can. I’m still hungry.”
“You’re a growing boy.” He smiled a sweetly sardonic smile. “I just ran into Pellenore in the hall, on my way here. We had the oddest exchange. His lunacy has always struck me as lightweight. But he was saying the strangest things. He’s smarter than I ever thought, and better educated, and even more perceptive, in his way.”
“So how do we verify that the triangles are his? I mean, a crazy old man…And he’s been here for a thousand years, hasn’t he? Who would remember him from before?”
“I knew him then, slightly. But he went mad almost at once after Arthur defeated him and took everything away from him. There was never much chance to decide what I thought of him before- before he-” He made a twisting gesture.
“It’s all ancient history to me. Where were his lands?”
Merlin looked surprised. “You don’t know? They were here.” He pointed downward, emphatically. “Camelot was his castle, and the shires around it were his domain.”
Nimue whistled. “I had no idea.”
“No one your age ever understands anyone older. The world began when you were born, didn’t it?”
“Don’t be condescending, Merlin. But then, there must still be-”
“Exactly what I was thinking. There must still be people here who served in his household. People who knew him then and know him now and understand what happened to his mind.”
“Were any of Arthur’s knights his?”
He wrinkled his brow. “I’ve never followed the knights’ dongs all that closely. It’s possible. Brit will know, or Arthur will. But there must be someone here.”
“Who knows him now? Who does he confide in?”
“Heaven knows.” He took the last of the bread and bit into it. “The dragons, I suppose.”
“I’m still hungry. Where are the bloody servants?”
“Off in those pantries you mentioned, sleeping.”
“Damn. I want more soup.”
“Do we need servants for that? There’s a fire in the hearth. I could use some, too.”
And so the next morning Britomart met the two of them in Merlin’s study. She was half-asleep and kept yawning then excusing herself.
“Bad night, Brit?” Nimue was full of energy. “You should be wide awake and ready for work, like me.”
“Be quiet. If there’s anything worse than a morning person, it’s a self-righteous morning person.”
Merlin got between then and recapped for Brit what they had deduced about Ganelin’s chart. “If we can match our four suspects to the four kinds of symbols…” He smiled and let the thought finish itself.
Brit yawned again, more widely than before, and picked up the map and inspected it closely. “If this really is a diagram of the castle, then…” She wrinkled her brow. “Let’s see. This is the Great Hall, at the center. And this shows only part of the rest of the castle. It leaves off ten yards or so in any direction. But…” She looked around, as if something she saw might correspond to something Ganelin had sketched. “The servants’ quarters, the storerooms and the stables are off to the right of the hall. There are triangles in every hallway.”
“Very Pellenore-like, wouldn’t you say?”
She nodded. “Or at least, not very Mordred-like or Lancelot-like. Do you have any food around here? I need something to wake me up.”
“Sorry. I can send a page to the refectory for you, if you like.”
“No.” She was becoming absorbed with the chart. “I’ll cope till I can get there myself. And on the other side of the hall are the corridors leading to Arthur’s tower and yours, the rooms where the knights live and the refectory. Crosses, Xs, stars.” She looked up at him. “They radiate from the Great Hall. It might almost be possible to connect them into direct lines.”
Merlin looked over her shoulder. “That’s true for the crosses and Xs. The stars seem to wander a bit.”
She traced them with a fingertip. “Who could have been wandering about like that? And why? It seems so aimless.”
There was a tapping at the window. Merlin’s raven Roc was there. He opened the window to let him in, and the bird flew onto his shoulder. Merlin reached up and stroked its head. “I think we can only get so far using the chart alone. There are other ways to proceed. If we can start eliminating the suspects, one by one, then the one left must be the killer. If the chart backs up what we suspect, that’s one more level of certainty.”
“Makes sense, I suppose.” Brit yawned still again.
“You suppose?”
“I’ve never been involved in anything like this before.”
“None of us has, Brit.”
Nimue shivered in the cold air from the window. She got up and pulled it shut. “I think we all agree that Pellenore is the most unlikely suspect, don’t we? So he should be the easiest to eliminate.”
“Exactly.” Merlin rubbed his hands together like a man about to cut into a succulent steak. “What do you remember about Pellenore from the time when Arthur defeated him, Brit?”
“It’s been years. More than a decade.”
“I know. Try and remember. I was busy trying to get the country functional again, or I’d remember myself. I’d like to find some people who knew Pellenore then. And some who are close to him now, if there are any.”
She concentrated. “I don’t remember a lot. But after the battle, a lot of his knights defected to Guenevere or headed to the Continent to go off on their own quests or whatever. A good knight can find service at just about any court in Europe.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why some of us are still here…”
“Hmm. It sounds vaguely ominous. But are any of them still here?”
“I think most of them are dead, or gone.”
“His servants, then? Did any of them stay with him?” She shook her head as if she was trying to clear it. “I don’t think so. Why would anyone stay with a losing king? There’s no advancement in that.”
The raven fluttered its wings and squawked, and he reached up to quiet it. “Damn. I wonder if Arthur remembers anyone.”
“It can’t hurt to ask.”
And Arthur did.
There was one knight in particular, he recalled, named Byrrhus. He had been among the oldest of Pellenore’s company, and he had signed on to Arthur’s service after the climactic battle. But he had retired and left Camelot soon after that. “He sends me odd notes now and then. Half of them make no sense at all. But he’s alive. Can you imagine it? A knight moving into a quiet, peaceful existence still alive and with all his limbs and both eyes intact.”
Britomart didn’t like the sound of that and said so.
Merlin enjoyed her discomfort. “Face facts, Brit. You’ve chosen a dangerous line of work.” He turned to Arthur. “I don’t suppose you know where he retired to?”
He rubbed his chin. “Londinium, I think. Or London, as the residents call it now. Yes, I’m sure of it. I remember he had opened an inn. It was called… let me think… it was called Nero’s Nose or something of the sort.”
“Fine.” Merlin rubbed his hands together like an eager child smelling cake. “Then to London we go.”
“Are you serious?” Brit sounded extremely unhappy. “Have you ever been there? It’s the dreariest town in England. It only flourished when the Romans made it their headquarters. Once we drove them out of the country…”
“We’re not going for a holiday, Brit. We have a job to do.”
“Suppose he’s dead? Or senile?”
“We’ll know that soon enough.”
London was a small, sleepy town on the banks of the Thames River. It consisted of a few score houses, a shaky wooden bridge spanning the river and a few decrepit shrines to the Roman gods, some of them still in use. The place was dominated by the ruins of a Roman garrison where children played at being soldiers.
When Merlin, Brit and Nimue arrived there after half a day’s travel, it was raining. Brit got a bright red cloak out of her luggage and wrapped herself in it. Merlin told her it made her look like a fallen woman.
“Be quiet.”
The river ran swift and muddy. Overlooking everything were the remains of a Roman fort built of large, dark stones. The long outer wall was dotted with watchtowers. Despite the rain there were children playing atop them. But only the front wall was intact; as they moved past, they could see that the others had huge gaps in them.
They stopped on the hill overlooking the town and took it all in, and Brit voiced her disdain for the place again. “Look at it. What a dump. There isn’t even a decent pub, just a few inns where you can buy gritty beer and sour wine.”
“You know this place. And not just casually.” Nimue’s tone was accusatory. “Why haven’t you said so?”
“There are some things I don’t like to remember.”
Merlin was suspicious, too. “Where are you from originally, Brit?”
She frowned and gestured at the place before them. “From that.”
“Oh.”
They spurred their horses. None of them could wait to find an inn with a good fire and to dry off. To their surprise, the streets were paved with large stones. “The Romans,” Brit said with a
