J. M. C. Blair_Merlin Investigation_01 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ONE - A DEATH AT CAMELOT

  TWO - MERLIN TAKES CHARGE

  THREE - ANNA

  FOUR - THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS IN EARNEST

  FIVE - THE SPIDER’S HOUSE

  SIX - THE LAND OF WOULD-BE WITCHES

  SEVEN - TIN, WINE AND SILVER

  EIGHT - THE PHANTOM OF CAMELOT

  NINE - ILLUSIONS

  TEN - KING AND COUNSELOR

  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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  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / July 2008

  Copyright © 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.”

  “I don’t have that kind of ego.”

  “You’re a courtier, exactly like the rest of them. You do.” She grinned. “Besides, I have my own personal reasons for wanting to hide.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What would those be?”

  “Never mind.” She stretched and yawned. “You’ve been giving me too much homework. How long do you think we can get away with this, anyway?”

  “As long as we need to and want to, I imagine. It’s been more than six months.”

  Before she could respond, there was a loud knock at the door, it flew open and King Arthur strode in. Arthur, tall, athletic, virile, broad-shouldered. He had bright reddish-yellow hair; some people called him the Sun King, which seemed to fit. Middle age was creeping up on him; he was not quite as fit as he’d been in his youth. But he was beaming and alive with energy. “Merlin, we’ve found it!”

  Merlin and Nimue jumped to their feet. Nimue bowed. “Your Majesty.”

  Arthur seemed surprised to see him there. “Oh, hello, Colin. How are your lessons coming?”

  “Just fine, Your Majesty.”

  “It’s such a pity you’re a scholar. You’ve got a good strong frame. The best build of any young man in Camelot. You could make a fine knight.”

  She glanced at Merlin from the corner of her eye. “Horses make me nervous.”

  “Oh.” Arthur seemed uncertain whether Colin was serious. “But you’d get used to them, surely.”

  “I—”

  “Arthur.” Merlin spoke up firmly. “As happy as I am at your ambition for my apprentice, I can’t help wondering what brings you up here.”

  Arthur stopped short. “It’s what I said.”

  “All you said was that we’ve found it. Who are ‘we,’ and what exactly is ‘it’?”

  Arthur looked from Merlin to Colin and back. “Why, the stone of course.”

  “Stone? What stone? What the devil are you talking about?”

  Arthur sat down, rested his back against the wall and put a leg up on the table. “The stone. The Stone of Bran. You’ve heard me talk about it often enough. You still let those damned birds in here?”

  “Be careful of those scrolls, will you? They’re not replaceable. ”

  Arthur grinned. “I’m the king. I can replace anything I want.”

  “Not those.”

  “Anything.” He said it firmly. “If we can’t find them here, then somewhere else. Rome, Alexandria, Constantinople, someplace. I’m the richest man in England, remember?”

  “Yes, you have enough plunder to buy what you want— if it exists. But Arthur, these books are precious. Look—this is a manuscript of Sophocles in his own hand. And this—an original Plotinus, an unknown essay on reason. There may not be any other copies in the world.”

  “You told me the Stone of Bran didn’t exist, too. It does. We have it.”

  Merlin stepped to the table and carefully rolled up his manuscripts. The raven on his left shoulder clambered across his back to the right one. “There is,” he said emphatically, “no such thing. For the excellent reason that there is no such being as the god Bran.”

  “Don’t blaspheme the gods, Merlin. They have a way of getting their revenge.”

  “Arthur, what is this stone? I mean, who found it and where?”

  Arthur smiled a satisfied smile and pretended to examine his fingernails. “Percival found it. In Wales.”

  “In Wales?” Merlin laughed. “What is it made of, then? Mud and onions?”

  “Scoff all you like. The stone is real. And we have it.”

  Nimue sat up. “Am I missing something? I’ve never heard of this—this—”

  “Stone of Bran,” Arthur said patiently. “It figures in any number of ancient legends, Colin. A skull-shaped stone. Originally fashioned by the god Bran. Some even say it is his own divine skull. And it has mystical powers. It works wonders.”

  “Gods have skulls?”

  “I only said that was one of the legends. But the stone is shaped like one. I’ve wanted to get my hands on it for years. Sent knight after knight out questing for it. It could actually bring peace to Camelot.”

  “That,” Merlin said emphatically, “would be a wonder on the order of Creation.”

  Arthur ignored him. “It might even reconcile my wife to the fact that she’s my wife.”

  “Arthur.” Merlin adopted the tone of a stern school-teacher talking to a dim student.

  But Arthur was in too buoyant a mood to be scolded. “Yes, scholar?”

  “I don’t doubt Percival found some kind of stone, maybe even one carved into a skull. But it is not magical. Work, study, scholarship, patience, even a bit of love—those are the things that will civilize England and stop all this constant infighting. No stone, magic or otherwise, can do that. We have to put our faith in ourselves, not a lot of arcane claptrap.”

  “We’ll just see, won’t we?”

  “I can’t stand it when you turn smug.” He added ironically, “Your Majesty.”

  “I know. That’s why I do it. Merlin, indulge me in this. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t. I’ll be the first to admit it. But if the stone is real—just think of the possibilities.”

  “If pie cured leprosy . . .”

  “You spend too much time inhaling book dust.”

  Merlin was about to tell the king that he himself ought to spend more time with books when the door opened. One of Arthur’s squires, a tall young man with bright red hair named Borolet, looked in. “Excuse me, Majesty.”

  Before he could say anything else Nimue spoke up. “Ganelin! How are you?”

  “I’m Borolet. Hello, Colin.”

  “Oh. Borolet, then. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Borolet turned to the king. “You wanted me to remind you when the council meeting is set to start.”

  Arthur sprang to his feet. “Just so. I can’t wait to tell everyone the news.” He stepped toward the door.

  “Arthur, don’t.” Merlin was frowning deeply. “Hold off. At least wait and see what Percival actually brings.”

  “He who hesitates is lost, scholar.”

  “Fools rush in, king.”

  For the first time Arthur seemed deflated. “You really think it might be a—a mistake?”

  “There’s a remote possibility of it.”

  The king took a deep breath. “I’ve already told Mark.”

  “Good heavens, Arthur. You know how he prattles. And you know how superstitious he is. He couldn’t keep a secret like this to save his life.”

  “Oh—and I sent word to Morgan.”

  Merlin sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Morgan? Why on earth did you do that? Arthur, when will you get the hang of kingship? Power is about discretion. About keeping secrets, if you want to look at it that way.”

  “She is the high priestess, after all. She deals with the gods. Even though, as everyone knows, you are a powerful sorcerer.”

  “Stop it, Arthur.”

  “You are. Everyone says so. Any man as learned as you must have ent
ered into a pact with the dark powers. It’s common knowledge.”

  “It may be common but, Arthur, it is not knowledge.”

  “Look at these birds. They do as you tell them. No wonder people think you’re a kind of enchanter.”

  “Because I’ve trained a few ravens? Be serious.”

  “You’re a wizard. It’s common knowledge.”

  He stiffened. “It is nonsense, not knowledge.”

  The king chuckled. “You shouldn’t let yourself grow annoyed so easily. It takes all the fun out of it. Anyway, when the stone gets here, I want Morgan to conduct some kind of ceremony, consecrating it to Camelot or England or some such.”

  “ ‘Some such’?”

  “She’ll know the proper form. You know what I mean. It’s an important relic. Its arrival here will be an event. Besides, we need something to liven this place up.”

  “Why not just watch the knights in the courtyard trying to slaughter each other?”

  “Really, Merlin.” Arthur sighed. “You’re such a killjoy.

  It’s a good thing you’re as smart as you are or you’d end up in a dungeon someplace, on principle.” He put on a wide smile. “We’ll talk later. Are you coming to council?”

  “I’ll be along.”

  “Good. I want you there. Mark will be there. I want to announce the news before he has the chance to gossip it all over the castle.”

  “Why isn’t he off in Cornwall, refining tin for you? Or seducing every woman he can get his hands on?”

  “He’s here, Merlin. He’s my chief military advisor, and tensions with the French are getting worse.”

  With that he rushed out of the room, leaving Merlin and Nimue to bow to the empty space where he’d been.

  A moment later Borolet looked into the room again. “You shouldn’t disagree with him that way, Merlin. He is the king, after all.”

  “And I’m his chief counselor. Disagreeing with him is my job. Evidently eavesdropping is yours.”

  Borolet turned to Colin. “My brother and I are going to do some wrestling later. Would you like to join us?”

  Nimue stiffened slightly. “No thank you.”

  “Arthur was right. You’re a couple of sticks-in-the-mud.” He looked from one of them to the other, grinned a smart-ass grin then left, pulling the door shut loudly behind him.