by Julie Leung
Calib braced himself for ridicule, but Cecily only looked thoughtful.
“You’re right,” she said slowly, as if she was picturing it for herself. “I was sitting right behind the champions’ circle. There’s no way the assassin could have come by there.”
“Well, it’s my word against his, so it doesn’t mean much,” Calib said.
“But it does,” Cecily said. “If Two-Bits didn’t do it, then we’re preparing for war against the wrong enemy.”
“But no one will believe me!” Calib said. “And even when they do find the Sword in the Stone, Sir Owen will probably say it’s more proof that the Darklings are planning to attack Camelot.”
“I believe you.” Cecily took Calib’s paw in hers and squeezed it. “Now we just have to prove it to everybody else. I think we need to make a visit to the cellar and talk to Valentina.”
“You know where she’s being kept?” Calib asked.
Cecily nodded. “Sir Kensington tasked me with delivering food to the prisoner.”
Calib gulped. Talking to the prisoner would mean more rule breaking. But he knew Cecily was right. They had to be sure they were preparing for war with the right enemy.
The two friends quickly wiped off their paws. Leaving behind a shining tower of clean dishes, they took off down the tunnels that led to the storage cellars deep underneath the castle.
There, the air felt dry and cool and smelled of salt. Cecily lit a small match to use as a torch, illuminating their immediate surroundings and casting long shadows. Enough food had been packed in these sprawling caverns to last the entire castle through the winter ahead. Bunches of dried cod hung from the ceiling like scaly chandeliers. Barrels of lard and smoke-cured meats lay stacked against the walls.
Scurrying alongside the barrels, they slipped through a large crack in the back wall that led into another room—one that even Two-Leggers avoided. Calib saw why as soon as they entered. It was where they kept King Lot’s prized possessions.
When King Arthur and his knights first arrived at what was now Camelot, the land had been in control of an evil Saxon king named Lot.
An avid hunter, Lot would turn many of his kills into personal trophies. The heads of deer, bears, and wildcats lay scattered about, each of them frozen in their last deadly snarls. Calib knew they’d been some of the luckier ones. King Lot had a habit of keeping animals in cages and forcing them to fight for their survival. He and his men would organize these matches for their own amusement.
Now, stacks of the empty cages lined one wall, ranging in sizes for various animals. A shiver raised the fur on the back of Calib’s neck.
Cecily pointed to one of the birdcages sitting atop a nearby table.
“That’s her,” she whispered. They began climbing up the side of the cages, using the wires as pawholds. Once they reached the table, Calib saw that Valentina still had her wings pinned behind her. The crow’s head was bowed nearly beak to chest.
“Hello, uh, Madame Valentina,” Calib ventured, stepping nearer to the cage.
Valentina Stormbeak swung her head around and squinted into the dark.
“Tiny fur-beasts,” she said wearily. “Come nearer and I’ll peck your beady eyes out.”
“I’m Cecily, and this is Calib,” Cecily said. “Are you hungry? I wasn’t sure what crows ate, but I brought you this.”
She took out a package of candied walnuts from her satchel and held it out with her paw. Calib was impressed by how still her paw was. The crow narrowed her eyes and then turned to look at Calib.
“I know you,” Valentina said, her voice softening. “You are the one who tried to protect me.”
“We don’t believe the Darklings killed Commander Yvers either,” Calib said. “We need to find out who did before war breaks out.”
After a moment’s pause, Valentina stretched out her neck and gobbled up the walnuts hungrily.
“Thank you,” she said in between swallows. “I’m glad someone at Camelot can still think sensibly. We Darklings have enough to worry about with winter coming. Why would we start a war now?”
“You said that your stores had been raided,” Calib asked, remembering Howell’s warning about a new evil at work. “Do you know who took your food?”
Valentina shook her head. “No. Not exactly. Something prowls the woods at night, stealing supplies and killing at whim. Leftie is our only hope of outlasting the winter.”
“Leftie the lynx?” Calib asked. “But he’s ruthless and cruel!”
“Haven’t you ever heard that the sharpest claw protects the softest heart?” The crow shifted her pinned wings with a slight squawk. “He is the only one capable of uniting the Darklings against whatever lurks out there.”
“Could you send a message to Leftie?” Cecily asked Valentina. “And ask him to come and clear his name?”
“Kawkaw!” Valentina laughed. “Why would Leftie leave the safety of the Darkling forest and put himself in danger just to prove that he didn’t do the crime you’re wrongly accusing him of?” she asked.
“Then maybe we can go to him,” Cecily said staunchly. “As a show of good faith?”
“You saw how Sir Kensington punished me just for collecting shells,” Calib pointed out. “Going to speak with Leftie in his lair would be treason and suicide.”
“It wouldn’t be easy, mousling,” Valentina said thoughtfully. “But it is possible. You just have to offer something he wants.”
“What could we possibly offer him?” Calib asked. “A creature as fearsome as he is could take anything he wanted.”
“Not everything,” the crow replied. She ruffled her feathers. “Leftie seeks Merlin’s Crystal from the owls.”
Calib felt his heart speed up. Merlin’s Crystal.
“What’s that?” Cecily asked.
Valentina’s beak opened in surprise. “You mean this little fur-beast does not know about Merlin’s treasures?”
Sometimes Calib forgot that Cecily and Madame von Mandrake had only moved to the castle just a year ago. Cecily shook her head.
“Before Merlin disappeared,” Calib said, eager to share one of his favorite stories, “he entrusted treasures to the three animal factions—those who live in the Darkling Woods, in Camelot Castle, and in the Fellwater Swamps. Leftie and the Darklings were given a hand mirror with which they could see the future.”
“We had used Merlin’s Mirror to help us predict the seasons,” Valentina added softly. “But the treasure was smashed in a Saxon raid not long after it was given to us. We resorted to raiding only to survive.”
“As for the owls,” Calib continued. “General Gaius Thornfeather was given Merlin’s Crystal, a gem that supposedly unlocks great strength to those who know how to wield it.”
“And what about us?” Cecily asked, sounding excited. “What did we get?”
Calib gestured to the space around them. “This castle,” he said. “According to my grandfather, Merlin entrusted the protection of Camelot, his greatest treasure, to us. We call it Merlin’s Promise. For as long as we mice live off Camelot’s food, we must protect those who make it.”
Calib did not mention that there were some in Camelot who believed that Merlin did give Commander Yvers another, secret treasure. But if he had, Yvers kept it a closely guarded secret. Not even his most trusted knights nor his grandson knew for sure.
“So why does Leftie want Merlin’s Crystal?” Cecily asked.
“Leftie wants to figure out how to unlock the crystal’s great strength and use it against whoever has been stealing our food. We need it more than the owls now,” Valentina said. “Something evil lurks in our woods at night. And Commander Yvers’s assassination is only a piece of a larger plot against us.
“Unfortunately, the owls have refused Leftie’s request to use Merlin’s Crystal to fight the threat.”
Cecily nodded. “I’ve heard that the Owls of Fellwater Swamps never side with anyone but themselves.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Calib sa
id quietly, rubbing the white fur patch on his ear. “The owls intervened on the castle’s behalf at Rickonback River.”
“After your father convinced them to,” Cecily added, also remembering.
Valentina blinked rapidly. “You are Sir Trenton’s son?” She hopped closer to the bars of her cage to get a good look. “But of course, I see the resemblance now. If anyone can get the owls to listen, it would be you!”
“My father was the only mouse who ever emerged alive from the owls’ nest, and the stories say he had Merlin’s help,” Calib protested. “It’s too risky.”
He thought of Sir Tormund the Foolhardy, who had gone to visit the owls fifty years ago and was never seen again. Only his blood-speckled copy of Dialects of Taloned Fowl was found. It was still on display in the library.
“But war could be declared any second,” Cecily pointed out.
“I’m afraid I can’t be much more help from here,” Valentina said sadly. “And because of my own weakness, my clan will starve.”
“Maybe there is a way for us to get you out,” Calib said, his sense of justice overcoming his apprehension. He would likely be exiled from Camelot for good if it was discovered that he’d freed the crow, but he knew that she had been wrongly imprisoned. Freeing her was the honorable thing to do.
The cage had no latch or lever and only a single small keyhole. The key itself was likely hanging around the neck of Sir Kensington. But Calib found the cage door’s spring-loaded hinges. He tried to wedge his tail into the hinges and pop out the springs.
Suddenly, Cecily grabbed his shoulder. “I think I hear footsteps!”
“No one comes down here but the mice,” Calib began, but then he paused, for he heard it too. Loud, plodding footsteps that could only belong to one kind of beast: a Two-Legger.
CHAPTER
17
“We have to hide!” Cecily whispered.
The thudding footsteps were coming closer, and candlelight spilled around the corner. Calib tried to run from the cage, but his tail was stuck. Sweat broke down his back.
“Now!” Cecily was practically shrieking. She grabbed Calib’s tail and pulled hard. Calib bit on his tongue to stop from yelping. Finally, it slipped free. He ran with Cecily to hide inside the mouth of a stuffed bear. Calib knew the bear was long dead, but he couldn’t stop worrying that at any second the mouth would clamp shut and the teeth would sever him in two.
A Two-Legger boy entered the room with a candle in one hand and an empty sack in the other. He hadn’t grown into his lanky limbs yet, and his ears and nose were far too big for his face. But his eyes were an earnest-looking gray color that struck Calib as familiar. Then he remembered—this was the same boy who’d tried to talk to him on the night of the Harvest Tournament!
“I could have sworn this led to the food stores,” the boy muttered. He began to rummage through the items strewn about the room. He moved quietly for a Two-Legger. Calib wondered if he was sneaking around too.
The boy turned his attention to the cages and began peering inside them. Calib shrank farther into the shadows and watched as Cecily did the same. Valentina froze in place, perhaps hoping to pass as a stuffed bird.
In one of the cages, the Two-Legger found a small hunting knife. He set off a small cascade of cobwebs and dust as he reached high and grabbed it. Some of the dust fell on Valentina’s beak. The crow sneezed and lost her balance.
The boy jumped and nearly dropped his candle.
Valentina toppled over onto her side, her wings still tied up in the chains. She let out a small, defeated squawk. Calib winced, fearful of what would come next.
“Now, how did you end up in here?” the boy asked, walking over to the caged bird. He set the candle down next to the cage and examined the hinge of the door. He pulled out the small hunting knife.
Calib held his breath as he watched the knife’s tip descend. But the boy wasn’t aiming for the bird. Carefully, the Two-Legger used the knifepoint to push the spring that Calib had just abandoned. A second later, it bounced out with a pop!
The boy smiled and continued to work on the second hinge. The crow cocked her head to the side and watched with curiosity.
“You look like you’re a long way from home,” the boy whispered to Valentina as he concentrated on wedging the knifepoint between the spring and the hinge. “I know the feeling. Now, hang tight. I almost have it loose. . . .”
The door fell open with a clang. Valentina remained still. The boy peered at the crow and then reached out his hand.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said gently. “I’m just going to untangle you, all right?”
The Two-Legger gently unwound the necklace from her wings. Once she was free, Valentina stretched out her wings to their full span and bowed graciously to the boy.
Grinning, the boy bowed back. Without warning, Valentina flew off into the next room and disappeared into the darkness.
The boy let out a soft laugh. “I guess it’s time for me to fly the coop too,” he said. “Once I find the food, that is.”
He turned to leave the room but paused to look over his shoulder at the bear’s mouth. Calib and Cecily gripped each other. After a moment that seemed to last an age, the boy shook his head.
“Must be seeing things,” he muttered, making his way back up the stairs.
As soon as he left, the two mice tumbled out of their hiding place.
“The Two-Legger did it!” Cecily said excitedly.
“Yes, but where did Valentina go?”
The two mice ran into the next room and squinted into murky darkness.
“Pssst, up here!” Valentina’s head peered down at them from a small jutting brick. “Now, how do I get out of here?”
“I know a way,” Calib said, recalling his wild ride with Howell earlier that night.
He retraced his steps back to the loose panel in the wall. “There’s a tunnel here that leads down to the ocean.”
It took two mice and one crow pushing as hard as they could to budge the stone open a few inches. Pressing her wings close together, Valentina managed to squeeze through into the wider tunnel.
“Thanks to you, my clan will not starve this winter,” Valentina said. “I will remember your kindness, Calib and Cecily, should you make your way to Leftie’s lair. Good luck with everything!”
“Good-bye!” the two mice chorused in return, waving.
Valentina flew down the tunnel. The sound of her flapping wings faded into silence.
CHAPTER
18
Galahad clung to the side of the tower wall like a stranded billy goat. Climbing down from the window of the squires’ quarters had seemed like a good idea. But he hadn’t accounted for all the extra weight in his bag. And he also hadn’t expected the stones of the wall to be so tightly packed together.
After ten minutes, he still hadn’t reached the ground. He tried to find a crevice for his toes and accidentally trod on the cloak he had stolen from Sir Kay. Galahad lost his footing and fell, crashing through the branches of a lilac bush on his way down. He landed hard on his back. The contents of his pack stabbed painfully into his shoulders.
“I’m afraid there’s no way out of here except by the cliffs.” A woman’s voice broke through the night.
Galahad rolled over and looked up at the amused face of a lady. Her dark hair hung loose past her shoulders, adorned by a simple circlet: Queen Guinevere.
Galahad stared at her, his mouth open, before remembering himself and propping himself up on one knee. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty! I—I—was just taking in some night air when I, um, slipped.”
“I see,” Guinevere said, one eyebrow raised. “And you felt it necessary to carry all your belongings on this night stroll?”
Bathed in pale starlight and wearing a long white cloak over her nightgown, Queen Guinevere resembled a ghost of her daylight self. The first winter snowflakes whirled past her like playful sprites. She looked at Galahad with green eyes that seemed to take in more than just his f
ace.
“It, um, always helps to be prepared,” Galahad lied, glancing up to see if the queen was angry.
Guinevere smiled. “Rise, Galahad, son of Sir Lancelot. And do not worry. I often have the same thoughts as you.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. I was just taking a walk—”
“And I am not so dim-witted that I don’t see the castle for the cage it can be,” she said gently.
Galahad’s shoulders slumped.
“I don’t suppose you’ll help me run away?” he ventured.
She laughed softly and shook her head. “Come, walk with me.”
The queen motioned for Galahad to follow her. They arrived at the garden’s center, where a still pond covered in nearly frozen lily pads awaited them. Guinevere picked up a branch and pushed away some of the plants, revealing the dark water underneath.
“I found this among my things, shortly after Merlin disappeared,” Guinevere paused. “I think he meant for us to use it.”
From the pocket of her dress, the queen removed a hand mirror. It was small, no larger than the palm of her hand. The handle and frame were adorned with iron roses and thorns. Guinevere took care to avoid the thorns as she lifted the mirror to reflect the water.
“I know that you wish to make your own way in the world, but I believe there is a higher calling for you right here. I’m afraid my talents were never as strong as Merlin’s, but perhaps you will have better luck. Could you tell me what you see in the mirror?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Galahad said, feeling confused. He was not sure what Guinevere thought he would see.
Galahad stooped and turned to look in the mirror. At first, he saw nothing but the ripple of the moon in the pond. But after a moment, the water reflected in the mirror began to bubble and swirl, changing to a bloodred color. Fire wreathed the inside edges of the mirror. Galahad felt nauseated, like he might fall into that abyss. Shaken, he forced his eyes away and stumbled back.
“I don’t understand,” Galahad said, sitting back on a stone bench to steady himself. “Everything turned red and fiery. What does it mean?”
