Merdenne tapped his fingertips upon his king and one rook. 'I must confess,' he said, 'that by strict logic you are correct. The nagging hunch I act upon is completely irra tional. But all through the game I've had this compulsion to safeguard the king.' He moved the pieces about to their new positions. 'In the Orient, though, I learned that not all is dictated by logic.' He leaned back in his chair and regarded the board.
A moment of silence passed in the room, empty except for the two chess-players, then Merdenne stiffened bolt up right, his pale face contorted in rage. 'The king!' he shouted. 'You've deceived me! Your accomplices-'
'Perhaps,' said Ambrose mildly, 'like your old friend Suleiman, you need to learn the value of pawns.'
With a choked cry Merdenne leaped to his feet and dashed his fist to the centre of the chessboard, scattering the pieces in all directions. The diners at the nearest tables looked with shocked amazement at the reappear ance of the two men. Merdenne's chair crashed backwards as he ran toward the door, knocking aside a waiter in his path.
Ambrose drained the last of the Latour from his glass before he stood, dropped several bills upon the table, and followed his double out of the restaurant.
But even as my hand reached for the knob, the door burst into flames. Arthur, Tafe and I drew back as one. The unnaturally bright, devouring heat of the blaze revealed its origin. 'Too late!' I cried. 'Merdenne is upon us!'
'The window,' said Tafe. She let go of Arthur's arm, pushed the massive wing chair to the wall, lifted and toppled it through the glass in an explosion of glittering shards. I tugged loose one of the long drapes and knotted one end to a bent section of the now empty window frame.
As though from old habit, Arthur took command. 'You go first,' he said to me. 'I'll need your assistance below.'
Glad to be free of the stifling heat – the one entire end of the room was by now in flames – I stepped over the sill and rapidly lowered myself down the drape, then let go and fell the last few feet to the ground.
Arthur tossed the bundled Excalibur down to me, then half-clambered, half-slid down the drape. I caught and steadied him when he dropped the last distance. Tafe was only halfway down the drape's length when the knotted end burned free from its mooring. She fell heavily upon her back in a shower of sparks.
I helped her to her feet and she nodded to indicate that she was all right. The three of us hurried away from the inferno that Merdenne had made of his clinic in a vain attempt to trap us. Behind us, the walls of the building began to collapse, sending gouts of dizzying heat across the red-lit lawns.
'Here!' A voice shouted to us, carrying across the hubbub of the crowd that had gathered around the iron fence. I spotted Ambrose signalling and pointed him out to Arthur and Tafe. We turned our steps toward the spot and soon were separated from him by only the iron bars of the fence.
A group of good-hearted young Londoners, always ready to participate in any excitement, extended their hands through the bars like steps and helped us mount over the top railing. One by one we dropped down into their midst, then were collared into a group by Ambrose. As we began to work our way from the scene of the holocaust one of the cheerful mob shouted after me. 'Hey, mate! You forgot your parcel!' The fellow tossed the bundled Excalibur over the heads of his comrades. I caught it, yelled a quick thanks to him, then hurried after the others.
5
This was the voice that had laid out the plans for the routing of the Saxon armies from the shores of Britain. In a rough castle, a fortress of hand-hewn stone and little light, this voice had given its orders and words of encouragement to the generals who served as comrades. And outside the walls this voice had roused the common fighting man, no less comrades for their lower rank; roused them to a fighting pitch that was like the true and murderous edge upon the inscribed blade that a scarred hand raised to glisten in the sun of those heroic Fifth Century days.
Now the voice was weaker, that of an old man, tired and weighed down with the cursed work done upon him by our adversary. In the ill-lit groggery near the river docks that Ambrose had led us to, as I sat and listened I tried to connect in my mind the old man Tafe and I had rescued with the powerful legends that were buried deep in the English soil and spirit. Was this really Arthur, the defender of Britain? Even now, after all I had seen and risked, doubt gnawed at my heart. How damnable was Merdenne's trickery that it could create such confusion! I drew my attention away from the darkness I carried inside and returned it to my comrades.
The pretence of 'General Morsmere' had been dropped by all, in contrast to the pseudonym that still clung to him who would have been more rightfully called Merlin. Perhaps this indicated something about the essential character of the two figures – forthright warrior and devious magician.
Arthur lifted his beer with both frail hands wrapped about the mug and sipped at it. The recent exertions of his escape had left him considerably weaker than before – frighteningly so. He carefully set the beer back down on the table and continued speaking.
'This is how it came to pass,' said Arthur. 'One morning in my suite at the Savoy, I awoke and found myself dizzy and sweating as if frightened by my dreams. Upon rising from my bed I discovered that I was barely able to stand due to the trembling in my limbs. The weakness advanced throughout the day, accompanied by the most soul-numbing despair I had ever felt. Finally, in an attempt to restore my spirits and fight off the spell being laid against me, I opened the secret compartment in my military chest and took out my cherished Excalibur. The devastation of my hopes was total when I found it as you have seen, diminished in weight and the sacred inscription all but blotted out. I knew then that a dread evil was upon me. Merdenne arrived with the evening's darkness and I had no strength to resist him. Soon, thanks to his arrogant boasting, I was made aware of how my strength had been leeched away.' He paused to moisten his throat again.
I glanced over at Ambrose with some unease. I had somehow expected that these two comrades of ages past, their lives so intertwined through the pages of English legend, would bear some special regard for each other and that these feelings would be apparent upon their being reunited once more. But I was unable to detect any such warmth between them. Was Ambrose so repelled by the change wrought upon his hapless friend to spurn him thus? How frail, I mused, are even the hearts of the immortals.
'It was done with that damnable device for Travelling through Time.' Arthur's voice trembled with rage. 'That Machine which the Morlocks stole from its murdered inventor – a sorry fool he! With the Time Machine Merdenne was able to travel to different points in history when Excalibur was not yet come into my hands. Through his own arts he located the sword at these different times and brought each one back to this time. Three times he did this, and thus diluted my powers.'
My brow creased in puzzlement. 'I'm not sure I understand,' said I.
'The power that is embodied in Excalibur,' said Ambrose calmly, 'is a constant sum at all times. What Merdenne has accomplished is to bring four Excaliburs into being at one time. Thus, that power is now divided among the four swords – leaving Arthur similarly weakened.' Oddly, he seemed not at all surprised by the revelation.
'But the inscription,' said I. 'What reason is there for the runes being almost obliterated?'
'Not obliterated,' said Arthur. 'But obscured. The meaning of the runes is scattered among the four swords. If there was but one Excalibur once more, then the inscription could be read again.'
'This seems hopeless, then.' My glance darted from one face to the other. 'Even if we could obtain the duplicate swords from wherever Merdenne has hidden them, we couldn't return them to their proper time without the Time Machine which the Morlocks control. And how would it be possible to wrest the device from them without first restoring Excalibur and Arthur to their full powers? Frankly, gentlemen, I can see no way out of this deadly conundrum.' The logic of my arguments weighed on my soul. Across the table the aged Arthur looked even further sunk into bitter reflection.
Ambrose's fingers formed a cage in front of his impassive face. 'Well put, Hocker,' said he. 'Indeed, there would be little chance of rectifying the situation by merely reversing the steps through which Merdenne created all
