“Found them where?” Merlin’s voice was low; Nimue thought it was possible to hear skepticism in it.
“Come, sir, please. The king sent me to fetch you.”
All of them got to their feet, Merlin more slowly than the others. Brit watched him, wondering if it was the effect of his age, his injuries or unhappiness at this wrinkle when he was so certain he had solved the killings. They followed Greffys down the spiral staircase and through Camelot. Merlin, still walking with his cane, lagged behind the others. Torches lit the halls starkly. It became apparent they were heading to the wing where the petty kings were quartered.
“Greffys, I want you to tell me where they were found. Where precisely are we going?” Merlin had never sounded more grave, or more concerned.
“To Pellenore’s room, sir.” The boy kept walking and picked up his pace slightly.
“Pellenore had them.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, sir.”
“And were they being guarded by a dragon?”
Greffys looked back over his shoulder. “The king sent me for you, sir. He wants you there.”
In another few moments they had reached Pellenore’s quarters. Arthur was in the corridor outside, pacing, looking quite unhappy, talking to a young woman. Pellenore was a few feet away from him; he had pressed himself into an angle of the hallway, and the expression on his face said clearly that he was puzzled and alarmed. Four knights attended Arthur; one more, with sword drawn, stood over Pellenore.
“Merlin. Thank heaven you got here.”
“What is it, Arthur? What is this about?”
“This is Alarica. She is one of the household staff.” He turned to the young woman. “Tell him.” Merlin recognized her. He had interviewed her among the other household staff, briefly; she had known nothing of interest.
“Well, sir, I was cleaning out King Pellenore’s rooms, like I always do. With winter coming on and Midwinter Court almost here, I wanted to give them a more thorough cleaning-out than usual. As I was changing the bed linens, I felt something hard under the mattress. And there it was- Excalibur.”
“Under the mattress?”
“Yes, sir. It made me suspicious, so I looked under the bed, and there was the silver box.”
“It was just sitting there? Not wrapped or bagged or anything? ”
“No, sir. Just sitting there. I could see how it gleamed and I knew it must be valuable. And of course I recognized Excalibur. So I went to the king’s chambers and told him.” She looked around uncertainly. “I didn’t think it would cause all this commotion, sir.”
“No, of course not. Were these things there before now?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. Like I told you, I was being extra careful.”
Merlin turned and walked to where Pellenore was being held; he made himself smile. “Pellenore. Hello, Pellenore.”
The old man was trembling. “Merlin.” He took hold of Merlin’s sleeve. “You know me. You know I didn’t do this. The beasts-the beasts are behind this somehow. You understand. You know what the beasts are capable of. Tell them. Please, Merlin, tell them.” There were tears at the corners of his eyes.
“Pellenore.” Merlin made his voice soothing, hoping it would calm the man. “Pellenore, did you take these things? Did you kill the twins?”
“Those boys.” He stammered it. “No! Merlin, it was the beasts. It must have been them. They thrive on human blood. Please, Merlin, tell the king.”
“All right, all right, Pellenore. I believe you.”
For some reason this seemed to fill the old king with even more terror. His eyes widened and he began to shake quite violently. “Tell him! Tell him, please!”
Arthur made a signal, and two of the knights led Pellenore away at sword point. “Put him in the dungeon,” Arthur instructed them loudly. “Not the one where we kept the twins’ bodies. That would be much too grotesque, even if it would be fitting.”
Pellenore began shrieking and crying out irrational things about his dragons and griffins. The knights prodded him with their swords, and they all disappeared down the corridor and around a corner.
Alarica looked at Arthur; it was clear she didn’t understand what she’d done, or what her find had caused. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to cause so much trouble.”
“It’s all right. You did the right thing. Go to the kitchen and get some wine for yourself. That will calm you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Still clearly puzzled and unsure, the woman left.
Arthur turned to Merlin. “Well, there you have it. We have our killer.”
“Are you certain, Arthur?”
“How else could he have come into possession of this and the shrine?” He swung Excalibur a few times, plainly enjoying its heft. “I won’t need a new sword after all. I can send Pastorini back to Cornwall where he belongs.”
“Pastorini. Of course.” Merlin seemed pleased. “That explains it. May I see Excalibur, please?”
“What on earth for?” Arthur handed it to him.
“Would you say it is damaged at all, Arthur? Haft still firmly attached? Blade straight and true?”
“Of course. Pellenore stole it, but why would he have damaged it?”
“If he had slept on it every night for all these weeks, would the blade still be straight? Wouldn’t it be bent?”
“What are you saying?”
“Besides, Pellenore is daft, not stupid. Why would he or anyone else sleep on a thing like this?”
“Get to the point, Merlin-if there is one.”
“I’m telling you that I still don’t believe Pellenore is our culprit.”
Arthur snorted derisively. “The stolen things were found in his room. That is evidence enough for me. Frankly, it’s a relief to have it all over and done with.”
“I can imagine.”
“My boys can rest in peace now.”
“Oh-so can we all.”
“Good. I’m glad you understand that. Now don’t go muddying the waters with a lot of claptrap about reason and logic. We have the killer, and it is the man I’ve suspected all along.”
“Arthur, will you listen to me?”
“We should have realized he’d do something horrible sooner or later.”
“Arthur!” He spoke loudly and firmly, then lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “We have to talk about this. Mark is-”
“We can try him during Midwinter Court. It will be good for people to see my justice in action.”
“Arthur, will you listen to me?”
The king sighed. “You would have to take the pleasure out of this moment. What is it?”
Merlin took him by the sleeve and led him to a corner out of earshot of the others. “Mark is up to something. We have evidence. Ni-Colin has heard him.”
Impatiently, he asked, “Up to what?”
“Let us talk in the morning. I’ll tell you about it then.”
“Fine.”
Very late that night, long after midnight, Merlin was sleepless. He knew he would not rest until the truth had been uncovered and justice done. Rising from his bed, he dressed and got a torch.
Holding the light aloft and leaning on his cane, he negotiated the steps awkwardly. The castle was empty. He could hear, now and then, the sounds of guards stirring in the corridors, just out of sight; otherwise the place might have been quite empty of people. Torches in wall sconces burned every dozen feet along his way. It occurred to him that with both of his hands occupied, he would be an easy target for any assassin who chose to strike-as they had struck him before. Would Pastorini attempt such a thing? he wondered. Had the metalsmith come alone or with soldiers? His footsteps and the tap-tap-tap of his cane echoed.
The corridor sloped downward. In a few moments he was in the dark bowels of the castle, and his light was the only one. Rats, snakes, other creatures less immediately identifiable scuttled out of his way as he progressed. Any one of them could have bitten him, but all he could think was, Poor Pellenore, reduced to these awful surroundings. And the deeper he went, the colder the air grew.
Ahead of him he saw the light from another torch-the guard’s light. The doors of unoccupied dungeons hung open, the interiors gaping at him horribly. He moved more quickly.
The single guard was sitting on a rough wooden stool, nodding off. An empty wine bottle lay on the floor beside him. Arthurian security. Twenty feet away, he cleared his throat loudly to rouse the man.
The soldier stirred and looked around groggily. Merlin recognized him as an old campaigner, one of Arthur’s stalwarts. He was in his fifties, too old for any kind of service but this, now. Merlin groped to remember his name but couldn’t.
For a moment the man registered alarm; then he recognized who was coming. “Merlin, sir.”
“Hello. I would say ‘good evening’ but that hardly seems appropriate down here.”
“No, sir. How long has it been since the king closed the dungeons? I never thought I’d see service down here. You look well.”
“You too. I wish I felt well.”
“Age gets us all, doesn’t it? A few months ago I felt a terrible spasm in my left arm. Since then it hasn’t worked properly, not at all.” Then he realized the oddness of the situation. “What are you doing here, sir?”
“I want to see the prisoner.”
“No one is permitted, sir.”
“Nevertheless, you know me. I am Arthur’s chief advisor. Let me in.”
Doubtfully, the man stood up and took the key from a loop at his waist. “You’re sure you’re permitted, sir?”
“Arthur won’t mind.”
The guard hesitated. “That isn’t an answer.”
“Yes it is. I’ll take responsibility if there should be any awkward questions asked.”
Plainly uncertain, the guard unlocked the door. The lock and the hinges were badly rusted from years of disuse; they creaked quite alarmingly. Merlin took his torch and went inside.
The room seemed smaller than a proper dungeon ought to be; it was not much more than a cell, really. The stone floor was covered with dirt; cobwebs filled the corners. Some living thing scurried away. The air was freezing. In the light from the torch, Merlin could see his breath.
Along one wall, a rough shelf was cut from the bedrock. Pellenore was curled up on it. But he was not asleep. Merlin saw the torchlight glint in his eyes.
“Hello, Pellenore.”
“Merlin. Why have you come here?”
“Why, to visit. Why else?”
“Are you working with them?”
He didn’t have to ask who Pellenore meant. “No, Pellenore. The beasts are all asleep.”
“They’re not. They’ve made themselves small. I can hear them scuttling around in the darkness.”
“Mice. Rats, maybe.”
“They are the beasts. And they are here. This is the very deepest heart of Camelot, and they have found me here.”
Merlin crossed the cell and sat down on the edge of the stone shelf. “Enterprising beasts would find you anywhere, wouldn’t they?”
The old man didn’t like the sound of this. “Hold your torch toward me, will you please? I’m cold.”
“It is icy here, isn’t it? Camelot has an icy heart.” He wedged the torch against the rock shelf and let it stand there.
“But hearts have veins and arteries, don’t they? Besides, Camelot has an icy king now, too.”
“Arthur is not a bad man, Pellenore. He is simply overwhelmed by having gotten what he wanted.”
The old king rubbed his hands over the torch’s flame. “This used to be mine, Merlin, you know that. The entire countryside. I was a good and fair king, or tried to be, and my people were happy, or seemed to be. The land was fruitful and prosperous. Then Arthur came and took it all away.”
“He would not be much of a king without ambition.”
“I had my lands, and then all I had was Camelot to rove around. And now I only have this cold little cell full of hungry little beasts.”
“I’ll have someone bring you a brazier of coals. No one wants you to freeze to death.”
“Merlin, I miss the world. I want my world back.” He beganto cry, and his voice broke. “Nothing has turned out the way I wanted it to.”
“The world never turns out the way anyone wants it to, Pellenore. When I was young and living in Alexandria, anything seemed possible. I believed that with enough knowledge, I could accomplish anything. When I saw the chance to make Arthur king here, I saw my opportunity. Human society, I believed, was perfectible.” He sighed. “At least I try to avoid being too foolish about it all. There is nothing more insufferable than an old fool.”
Pellenore inched closer to the fire. “Everyone thinks I’m a fool, don’t they?”
“You have lost so much more than any of the rest of us have ever gained.”
“Except Arthur. He will lose it, too. But don’t bother to warn him. He is a bigger fool than I ever was.”
Merlin started to agree-started to explain that Arthur was a big enough fool to be blind to evidence he himself had asked for. But what would have been the point? “I only came here to make sure you are all right. A social visit, no more-and just listen to the two of us. A pair of sad old dotards.”
“All hearts have veins and arteries. Otherwise, what good would they be? Thank you for coming, Merlin. Good-bye. ”
Feeling as if he’d been dismissed, and finding it odd, Merlin stood to go. He felt a brief impulse to embrace Pellenore, but he resisted it. “I’ll send those coals.”
“Please don’t bother. Why waste heat on rats?” Oddly, he smiled. “Or on dragons, or on old men, for that matter?”
The cold stone had made Merlin’s bad leg ache even more. Limping and leaning heavily on his cane, he left. Tomorrow he would have to try and make Arthur see the light of reason. He was not at all certain he didn’t prefer the cold darkness and the odd conversation of a mad old man.
The morning was overcast, one of those bright grey winter days. A cold wave had struck, and there were flurries.
Merlin had not slept well. So much depended on his meeting with the king, and he wanted to be as prepared mentally as he could be. Nimue came to his rooms early and found him sitting by the fire. “Are you all right?”
“My leg is bothering me.”
“It will heal. I mean all right about Pellenore’s arrest.”
He exhaled deeply. “No. Of course not. Pellenore is harmless and I know it perfectly well. Arthur should, too.”
“He wants a simple answer and he has it. He wants things to be clear and neat and easily explained. He’s human. ”
“Don’t remind me.” He looked at her. “If there were another race, other than the human race, I’d go join it.”
“You’re tired, that’s all.”
“Look at us. We have achieved such wonders. I have stood at the foot of the Pyramids, looking up in awe. I have beheld the Parthenon and wondered at its harmony and proportion. I have seen the grandeur of the Coliseum. Our race has achieved such magnificent things. And you tell me that being human means wanting things simple.”
“For most of us it is.”
He got to his feet wearily. “My leg is aching. I suppose it is the weather.” He took a step, leaning heavily on his cane. “I have this to look forward to, for all the years remaining to me.”
“I wish you’d say something optimistic.”
“Optimistic meaning simple?”
“If you like, yes.”
“I don’t have time for this, Nimue. I have to go off and deal with the king. I hope he listens.”
There were more than a hundred steps leading down to the ground floor; it seemed to Merlin that it took him forever to descend, even with Nimue’s help. Then she went off to breakfast and he made the long walk to the king’s tower. The halls were crowded, as they were each morning when the castle came awake. People came and went on their daily business; now and then one of them would jostle him, and his leg exploded with pain. Then there was the staircase leading up to Arthur’s rooms.
Arthur was in a hearty mood. “Good morning, Merlin. Magnificent weather, isn’t it? Cold always brings out the best in me. Remember all those battles we fought in winter? ”
“Blood and snow. You fought them, I didn’t.”
“You’re in your stern teacher mode.”
“I suppose so. Or my melancholy one. Can I sit?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve practiced medicine most of my life. You would think I would be able to do something to abate my own pain, wouldn’t you?”
Arthur stared at him.
“Or maybe… Arthur, am I any good? Have people only said that I have helped them to humor me?”
“You’re feeling somber. Getting old.”
“Brilliant deduction.”
“I’ve been wounded in battle more times than I can count. What’s wrong?”
“Age, Arthur. Which, more and more, looks to me like the essence of life. The candle burns brightest just before it goes out.”
“Nonsense. You’re good for years.”
“What a horrible thought. Is there no rest for me, then?”
“Not while I need you.” He smiled, hoping it would help. It didn’t.
“Arthur, I believe Pellenore is innocent.”
“You want to conduct his defense?”
“I’m a scholar, not a lawyer.”
“That’s the first nice thing you’ve said, Merlin.”
He shifted his weight. “Mark is up to something. He’s been making secret visits-to Morgan, to Guenevere, probably to a lot of other minor rulers.”
“Army business.”
“You sent him, then?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then…?”
“Look, I’ve told you before. I’ve known Mark for years. I trust him. He was one of my first allies.”
“You mean one of your first conquests, Arthur. He’s bitter. He resents that you’ve appropriated his mines and his vineyards.”
“He gets a portion of the profits. Surely that’s fair.”
“He doesn’t think so. Can you have someone get me some water please?” He took a tiny envelope of powdered medicine out of his pocket. “A painkiller.”
“It’s that bad?” He sent a page for water.
“You need to ask? Did you know Mark has a silver mine?”
“What?!”
“You heard me. They found silver in one of the tin deposits. I presume that is where Pastorini got the silver for the shrine he made for you.”
“Silver.”
“Silver, yes.”
The page returned with a ewer of water and poured a cup for Merlin, who stirred his powder into it and drank it at once.
When the boy was gone, Arthur asked, “You’re certain about this? Silver?”
“He told Colin so himself.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why would he tell Colin a thing like that?”
He dodged the question. “And Colin overheard a conversation between two of the mine’s guards as well.”
“Silver.” Arthur whistled. “I’ll have to talk about it with him. He should be here for court in a couple of weeks.”
“I’d wear armor.”
“He is not the killer, Merlin. Whatever he’s up to, it must be for the good of the country, secret mines and all. We have our villain, and he’s in jail. That’s that.”
Merlin sighed. “I’ll be going, then.” He started to stand.
“Not yet. I told you-I need you.”
Merlin sat again. “For what now?”
“I need your scholarship.”
“Amo, amas, amat. Veni, vidi, vici.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Merlin. I’m serious.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, now that we have the Stone of Bran back, I need you to do some serious research. The stone has power. I want you to learn how to unleash it-how to control it.”
“And I suppose you want me to learn this in time for court?”
Arthur was pleased. “Exactly.”
But Merlin wasn’t, and he didn’t try to hide it. “And if I can’t? If after all it is only a piece of sculpted quartz?”
“It is the Stone of Bran, Merlin. If anyone can master it, you can. Go and do it. Consult with Morgan if you must; do anything you have to. But learn the secret.”
Wearily, he stood. “Yes, Arthur, of course.”
A young soldier rushed into the room. “King Arthur, sir.”
“Walter.” Arthur smiled an artificial smile. “Walter of Londinium. Do you two know each other?”
Merlin had seen the man about Camelot, but they had never actually met. Arthur introduced them. But Walter had something on his mind, something evidently urgent. “Sir, I just went to take King Pellenore his breakfast.”
“Yes?”
“He’s gone.”
Arthur froze. Slowly, he said, “Repeat that.”
“The cell is quite empty, sir.”
“That isn’t possible.”
Suddenly Merlin burst out laughing. “Of course. He tried to tell me last night, but I was too tired or too slow to grasp it.”
Arthur rounded on him. “You were with him last night?”
Merlin nodded, still laughing. “This castle used to be his, remember? He knows it better than you or I could, every hidden passage, every concealed corridor. He tried to tell me that, but I didn’t hear him properly.”
“What were you doing there?”
Merlin shrugged. “I went to see him. He’s an old-no, friend would not quite be the word, but we have known each other a long time. That precious man. You all think him mad, and he’s made fools of you.”
Angry, seething, the king turned back to young Walter. “Find him. Search. There must be a way out of the dungeon. Discover it. But find me that man.”
Walter saluted crisply and rushed off.
“It’s no use, Arthur.” Merlin’s laughter was starting to abate. “Pellenore, crazy old Pellenore, has won. He’s beaten you. Can’t you see that? These old castles are riddled with hidden hallways and secret passages. Whatever madman planned this place must have included them in his plans. For Pellenore. He could live in them for months-maybe years-like a phantom. The mad old king has won.”
“Go to your damned library, Merlin, and learn about the stone. Do something useful. And for God’s sake, stop laughing at the rest of us all the time.”
“I can’t help it. Nothing is funnier than a human being with delusions of control.”
“I am the King of England, damn it. I will not be the object of ridicule, not for you and certainly not for Pellenore. Go and do what I ordered you to do. Learn how to master the Stone of Bran.”
Not hiding his amusement, Merlin stood to go. He realized with pleasure that his painkiller had started working already. “Yes, Arthur. Of course. All you have to do is order up miracles and you will get them.”
“Get out of here, Merlin. I’ve never lost my temper with you before, but there is a first time for everything.”
“Yes, Arthur. Of course.”
“I want miracles.”
“Yes, Arthur.”
And so the hunt for Pellenore began. Teams of knights, squires and pages scoured Camelot, checking walls for hidden seams and secret hinges, to no avail. One team found a hidden door in the armory; other than that, the search turned up nothing.
Arthur himself oversaw the search of Pellenore’s dungeoncell. “There must be a hidden passage. There must.” But none was found for the longest time. Then by chance Arthur sat on the stone ledge, leaned back against the wall and felt the stone shift slightly. No one could find a latch or spring mechanism, but when main force was applied, the stone swung back, revealing a long, dark-and perfectly empty-corridor.
It was thirty feet long and ended in a blank stone wall. More force was applied, but these stones proved unyielding. Worse yet, there was no sign anyone had been there for years; the floor was littered with dirt and debris and cobwebs hung undisturbed. There were no footprints, no hand-prints, nothing.
Merlin couldn’t resist observing that there might be other passages as well, that this might not be the one Pellenore had used in his escape. Arthur fumed.
But over the following days, Pellenore was seen, or rather evidence of his presence was seen. Food disappeared mysteriously from the kitchen. Blankets and clothing were taken from knights’ rooms. A maid, tidying Accolon’s chambers, shrieked in terror and ran when a man emerged from a wall there. He took a pillow and vanished again. No one knew where the mad king would appear next, and given his supposedly homicidal bent, everyone was on edge.
“I want him found.” Arthur addressed a gathering of his officers and knights. “I want him found, do you all understand that? Midwinter Court will be happening soon. I’ll be sending out heralds to summon everyone. We can’t very well have Pellenore leaping out of walls, terrifying our visitors. Or worse yet, slaughtering them.”
And so the hunt continued-and continued to be fruitless.
Merlin watched it all, deeply entertained. “Wanting to isolate Pellenore and incapacitate him, Arthur has done the reverse. ”
Nimue was anxious, like everyone else in Camelot. “Has it occurred to you that he may be right? That Pellenore may actually have killed the twins? That whatever Mark is up to may be unconnected?”
“And I suppose you think the old man’s dragons and griffins and whatnot are real?”
“No, of course not. But he thinks they’re real. He could easily have killed the boys, for whatever mad reason, then convinced himself it was really his imaginary beasts who did it.”
“Better still,” Brit added, quite diverted by it all, “they may actually exist.”
“Dragons that kill with swords? Of course.” He snorted.
“I know you, Merlin.” She scowled at him. “I know the way your mind works. You’ve never liked the military. You want Mark to be the murderer.”
“I feel guilty about all of the wars I set Arthur on, yes. When I rigged the-when he pulled Excalibur from the stone, I expected him to become king peacefully. The idea was to use people’s superstition against them, and for their own good. Instead there was nationwide warfare. Death and bloodshed on a vast scale. Do you really think I think framing Mark for the murders would atone for that? If you do know the way my mind works, you must know better than that.”
“I know there’s a murderer loose and we’re all in danger. Wouldn’t you say so, Colin?” Since their journey to Cornwall together, Brit and Nimue had found a measure of respect for one another; at least the active suspicion and hostility between them had abated.
“I don’t know what to think,” Nimue said. “I’m still new here. Merlin knows everyone so much better than I do. But-”
“But what?” Merlin was losing his patience.
“But-can we afford to take the chance?”
Suddenly, his face lit up with a broad smile. “Of course! That’s it!”
It caught Brit off guard. “You know where he’s hiding?”
“No. But I’ve suddenly realized how to flush the real killer out of secrecy.”
“How?”
“Never you mind. I’ll explain in good time. But it relates to what we’ve been talking about.”
Brit frowned. “I can’t stand you when you’re smug and cryptic.”
“I know, I know.”
“Then stop it. Explain yourself.”
“Not now. I have to find the king.”
Merlin rushed through the castle as quickly as he could on his injured leg. Just as he reached the foot of Arthur’s tower, he met Greffys. “Is he up there?”
“No. He’s in the Great Hall with the heralds.”
“Good. I only hope I can catch him in time.”
Together they headed for the hall, Merlin limping behind the boy. People gaped as the two hurried along corridor after corridor. No one could remember seeing Merlin in such a hurry, wounded leg and all. His cane tapped the stones like a woodpecker.
They found Arthur sitting on a table in the Great Hall with a plate of honey cakes in front of him. On the other side of the hall two dozen of his heralds had gathered and were waiting for him to finish his treat and address them.
“Merlin, Greffys, have one of these. The cooks are getting better.”
“So am I, Arthur.” Merlin beamed. “I’ve found it.”
“Found what? What the devil are you talking about?”
Merlin looked around and lowered his voice. “The stone-I’ve found the key to unleashing its power.”
The king gaped at him. “You’re joking.”
“No.”
“Did Morgan tell you?”
“No, Arthur, I found it myself. I’m not called the greatest scholar in England for nothing, you know.”
“What is it, then? Tell me.”
“Not yet. I still have to track down some details. But I’m glad I’ve caught you before you sent the heralds out.”
“You want this announced?”
“To everyone. I want the whole country to know the power the Stone of Bran has given us.”
“This doesn’t sound like you, Merlin. What power?”
“The power,” he said slowly and carefully, “of life and death.”
Arthur fell silent for a moment. “It is that powerful?”
Merlin nodded gravely, in his best “sage” manner.
“You’re right. All England must know of this. This will make us the greatest power in Europe.”
“If not in the entire world.” Merlin was pleased at the way this was going. If Arthur believed his tale, then it seemed likely that most everyone would. “Have the heralds announce it. Tell them I shall demonstrate at Midwinter Court. Everyone in England will see the truth then.”
“Excellent work, Merlin.”
“And it might be wise to have military escorts accompany the heralds, at least the ones who are summoning Morgan, Guenevere and Mark. Just to make certain they accept your gracious invitation.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “We know who did the murders, remember?”
“Yes, of course, Arthur. I simply want to make sure, that’s all.”
“You’re up to something. But I’ll do it.”
“Oh, and something else occurred to me.”
“Yes? What?”
“Have you given much thought to the entertainment for court?”
“No, I can’t honestly say that I have. Why?”
“While the heralds are out, have them look for Samuel Gall’s company of actors. They are the best in the country. Have them summoned here to perform for the assembled nobles.”
Arthur bit into another cake. “I will. But it isn’t like you to worry over performers. What’s back of this?”
“Why, Arthur.” He was all innocence. “I simply want your court to be memorable, that is all.”