J. M. C. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

Table of Contents

SHARPER THAN A SWORD

They came to a place where the ground was soaked and the fog was denser than it had been everywhere else. Accolon looked into the carriage and told them they'd be slowing down.

"Not too much, please." Merlin wanted to make Camelot by sunset tomorrow, if possible.

"We'll do our best. But the ground is treacherous."

"We're anxious to get back to Camelot, Accolon."

"Yes, sir. But--"

"But what?"

"We are being followed again."

"Splendid."

A moment later the sounds of scuffling came from outside the carriage. Swords clanged; voices were raised. Accolon shouted orders.

Merlin and Brit looked out to see they were surrounded by a dozen or more armored soldiers. Brit drew her sword and jumped out to join the fight. Slowly, patiently, Merlin stepped outside onto the soft, damp ground and reached into his pocket. When one of the attackers came at Merlin with sword drawn, he produced one of his glass globes and smashed it into the man's face...

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THE EXCALIBUR MURDERS
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / July 2008

Copyright (c) 2008 by John M. Curlovich.

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ONE

A DEATH AT CAMELOT

"Good heavens, look at them, Colin. They actually enjoy hitting each other. And hurting each other. I don't think I'll ever get used to that." Merlin stood at the window at the top of his tower in Camelot. A large raven sat perched on his shoulder, and another one sat on the windowsill beside him; he fed them from a pocketful of bread crumbs. Below in the courtyard knights were exercising, which meant drilling with sword and shield. The clang of metal on metal rang clearly, as did their cries and grunts.

"They slice each other to slivers, then come to me and expect me to heal them," he grumped.

"You are a wizard, after all."

"Be quiet. I am a modestly skilled doctor, no more, and you know it."

Merlin's study was large and circular. Rough stone walls were lined with shelves of scrolls and parchments. There were four chairs and a rough-hewn wooden table. Some manuscripts were spread out on it; his assistant held another one and studied it. It was nearly sundown. Two torches gave the light.

"They seem fixed on the belief that the only reasonable way to resolve a conflict is by hitting someone or something. "

The assistant read without looking up. "I'm surprised more of them don't kill each other."

"There are accidents all the time."

"I mean actual murders. You know them, Merlin. Jealousy, rivalry, spite..."

Merlin leaned against the window. "We're a civilized court, Ni--Colin."

"Nonsense." The assistant put down the scroll and joined Merlin at the window. "I wish you'd call me by my right name when we're alone. If I'm not careful, I'll actually start to think I really am Colin. Not that I don't enjoy being him. Cutting my hair, dyeing it and donning men's clothes was perhaps the smartest thing I've ever done."

"Excuse it, please. Force of habit." Below them, one of the knights sustained a deep wound; blood flowed. Merlin turned away from the sight. "But then you wouldn't want me to slip and call you Nimue in front of anyone else, would you? You're my apprentice--my male apprentice--for a good reason. For several, in fact."

"I went along with this because I wanted to, Merlin. Are you saying I should never have let you talk me into it?"

"It wasn't difficult. You weren't exactly reluctant."

Merlin turned his back and made himself watch the spar-ring knights again. "I don't know how they do it. I didn't have that much energy, or that much competitiveness, even when I was young. The knight who was injured will be up here soon, expecting me to treat his wound."

"You're the most competitive man at court, Merlin. It just doesn't express itself physically, that's all."

"I am no such thing."

"You are and you know it. You never stop. Doing everything you can to counter ignorance and superstition. Chipping away at foolishness and wasted effort. Trying your level best to turn Camelot into a court worthy of modern Europe instead of the Bronze Age backwater it is."

He turned to face her. "You know perfectly well why I want you disguised as Colin. Morgan and the women of her court would be relentless if they knew you'd abandoned them and their assorted gods and goddesses to study with a champion of reason."

"I can handle my dear cousin Morgan le Fay."

"Do you know how many of the corpses in the cemetery thought that? She's vicious when she thinks she's been crossed. She is named for the death goddess, after all."

"You don't fool me, Merlin. You want me to pretend to be a boy for your own reasons."

"Don't be preposterous." He pulled a wooden stool to himself and sat down.

"Merlin the Wise Man. With a carefully calculated image: pure, devoted to reason, unsullied by anything as base as emotion. Or lust." She smiled and went back to her stool. Another raven flew into the room and landed at the edge of the table not far from her; she stroked its head. "You don't want people to think you might be in love with a woman thirty years younger than yourself. Or even just sleeping with her."

"For the excellent reason that I am not."

She hopped up onto the window ledge. "Besides, I think having me pretend to be someone I'm not gives you a kind of vicarious pleasure. I'm a constant reminder that the others at court aren't as clever as you."