becoming a lesser factor in her own decisions. 'All right,' she announced. 'I'll take you to Morsmere.'
We bound her hands behind her with the rope, then let her lead the way up the stairs. As we gained the upper story it quickly became apparent that her presence in the building had been a stroke of luck for us. The corridor at the top of the stairs turned away to the right, but the woman stepped up to the blank wall on the left and trod upon a cleverly concealed latch at the base. A section of the dark panelling slid away, and we followed her into the passageway thus revealed.
'Here.' She stopped and nodded her head at a door.
Without saying a word, Tafe deftly kicked the woman's feet from under her, lowered her to the floor of the corridor, then trussed her immobile with the rest of the rope. A strip of cloth torn from the hem of the nurse's uniform served as a gag. 'Wait-' the woman cried as Tafe wrapped it over her mouth, then only her fiercely glaring eyes were able to finish her message.
I pushed the door open and surveyed the room beyond. At least Merdenne had had the graciousness to furnish it in keeping with the noble stature of his captive. Heavy drapes coursed down the burnished walls, while a tasteful collection of Persian miniatures were grouped over the carved fireplace. A pair of large humidors clad in Morocco leather stood on one side of the intricate Oriental carpets. Several hundred volumes similarly clad and stamped in gold on their bindings filled the library shelves.
A large wing chair was turned away from us toward the window, though I could see a man's hand, brown- spotted with age, resting upon one upholstered arm. I opened my mouth to speak, then halted in perplexity. How was I to address him? Morsmere or Arthur? General or king?
My dilemma was resolved when he, apparently having heard the door opening, twisted about in the chair and leaned over the arm to look, at us. 'Yes?' he said. 'What is it?'
The voice was deep, resonant with authority and command, the face lean and strong-boned, with a high forehead below sparse grey hair. Grey also was the neatly trimmed military moustache. The eyes, deep set in his weathered face, reflected a sombre, almost melancholy nature, as though they were the repository of some ancient, oft-repeated tragedy.
'I- we- that is…' My tongue moved in confused stammering. 'General Morsmere-'
'Please.' He held up his hand. 'There's no need to maintain that fiction. Merlin sent you, didn't he? Or Ambrose, as you might know him. I've been expecting someone to come for some time now.' His voice seemed oddly weary, rather than pleased at our arrival.
'That's right.' I inclined my head in a bow of respect. 'My name is Edwin Hocker and my companion here is called Tafe. That's all. We've come to take your highness out of here.'
''Your highness',' he said, and sighed. 'Please don't burden yourself, Mr. Hocker, with the empty trappings of courtly etiquette. Arthur is all the name and title I ever wished.' He rose and faced us, clutching the chair's arm for support. 'And I'm afraid I must further disappoint you both. I don't think I'm going to be leaving here.'
'But, my dear sir, why not?' I stood dumbfounded at this development. Nothing was turning out as I had anticipated. Instead of being cheered at the prospect of his release, he seemed grimly displeased by it. 'You know, don't you, that your England has need of you?'
'Merdenne – as he calls himself now – has gloatingly informed me of the whole situation.' Arthur drew himself a little straighter. 'It is not ignorance that keeps me here. No, not ignorance, but rather the opposite. I have not lived these many lives without remembering something from each. And that knowledge wearies me.' His old soldier's face seemed even older now, as though the skin were being pulled back toward the skull.
'What- what do you mean by that?' I suddenly felt chilled, as if a wind from some dark corner of the Earth had come into the room. From the corner of my eye I could see Tafe grow pale as well.
'I'm old,' said Arthur. 'Older than you could ever know. I've lived many times, and fought and died many times, and now I'm called to defend my England once more – but why?' The last word was a cry of bitterness breaking from his lips. 'Did I live and die all those times so that a few children of England could grow fat while the many sweat out their drab lives in the dark holes of the cities?' His trembling hand flew toward the window, from which the dark shapes of the tenements could be seen. 'And beyond our shores,' he said with weary disgust. 'Did I defend England so that other lands could be made to suffer our will, their people ground beneath our heel for our profit? Oh, how tarnished our English honour has become! How strong the armour that covers a rotted heart!' His mouth tightened below his burning eyes.
'But the Morlocks,' I said in desperation. 'Surely, even if everything you say is true, as many Englishmen themselves would agree, surely your land deserves a better fate than that!' Stirred by emotion, I crossed the room and gripped his arm – how frail it seemed! 'That light – England's light is buried, but not gone out. Would you see it die forever?'
'If it did die,' said Arthur quietly, 'then this would be my final life, my final death, and I could rest at last.'
I let go of him and drew away, my breast suddenly filled with anger and shame. 'Then go to your rest!' I spat out. 'Englishmen will fight and die without you, no matter how lost the cause.' I turned from him, but before I could take a step my shoulder was grasped by his hand.
'Stay.' His voice, though still melancholy, had a measure of, warmth in it. 'I can see from you that that light is not so weak or buried so deep as I had feared.' He went on as I faced him again. 'If I was filled only with despair, how much easier it would be. But my heart still loves the green island beneath the dark spots of decay, my hands still raise to defend it. My bitter feelings would not be so strong if Merdenne had not contrived to weaken my nobler instincts.'
'He has… enchanted you?' The recall of our adversary to my mind stiffened the skin along my arms.
Arthur nodded, turned and stepped – the shuffling stride of an old man! – toward the bookshelves. From its resting place atop a row of books he drew a long, cloth-wrapped bundle. 'This is Excalibur,' he said. 'Merdenne leaves it with me as a taunt.'
I took the bundle from his hands and unswaddled the weapon. A long blade, not ornate but impressively functional. Yet it seemed unnaturally light, as though made from some inferior metal. Disturbed by this sensation, I frowned as I studied the legendary sword. Tafe stepped up beside me and looked at it lying across my hands.
'There are runes,' said Arthur. 'Inscribed along the blade. From them I derive my knowledge of my true self, and the strength that accompanies that knowledge. Tell me what you see written there on the blade.'
My eyes moved along the shining length of metal. 'Why… they've faded!' I gasped. 'The runes are hardly more than scratches! How could these be read?' I lifted my astonished gaze to his saddened face.
'Yes,' he said mournfully. 'How could they? This is Merdenne's work, and I fear it means the end of all England's hopes.'
'But couldn't Ambrose do something about it? His power is as great as Merdenne's. Surely he could find some way of reversing whatever has been done to the sword.'
Arthur slowly shook his head. 'The power of Merlin is bound up with Excalibur's fate as well, though to a lesser degree. Merdenne has struck at us both through this damnable cleverness, and hobbled us beyond our capacities to set aright.'
I shook my head and bent down to pick up the cloth at my feet. 'What's done can be undone,' I pronounced as I straightened up, sounding braver than I felt in my heart. 'It's sad to see a noble weapon like this one degraded but if it can't be restored, then perhaps a Gatling artillery piece will serve as well to convince the Morlocks of their poor judgment.'
A tired smile lit the old warrior's noble face. 'Words fit for knighthood, my son, but-'
'Come.' A desperate bravado had animated my spirits. I tucked the re-wrapped sword under one arm and grasped Arthur's elbow with my other hand. Tafe stepped to his side and caught his other arm, 'My lord Arthur, we've dawdled here long enough. A little perambulation is good for the heart.' Between us we nearly had him off his feet as we propelled him toward the door.
'Well,' said Arthur, 'I would like one more good lager before it's all too late. Merdenne serves the most wretched pale stuff.'
'A fine idea.' I said with all the heartiness I could muster. 'On to the public house.' My hand reached for the brass knob of the door
He watched the movements of his opponent's hands with interest. 'Castling?' said Dr. Ambrose in smiling reproach. 'Surely that's a time-wasting defensive move, uncalled for at this point in a game. You should press your advantage. I'm already down two pawns.'
