by Liam Perrin
He straightened up. "Camelot was a mistake for you Thomas. But don't worry. It's nothing I can't fix."
And with that, he turned on his heel and marched down the hall and through the door. For a brief moment, light from the entrance to the dungeon filtered in and illuminated the dank basement. Then the door slammed shut, and darkness returned.
§
After the fracas at the Fine Pickle had calmed down, and Philip had burst from the restroom and towed Marie out into the street, a tall knight with a sawtooth-shaped scar on his forearm got up from his table in the corner, and made his way casually to the table where Philip and Marie had been sitting.
He stooped and picked something up off the floor on the far side of Philip's chair. It flashed in the sunlight as he straightened and examined it. Glancing once out the window, he pocketed the object and exited the Pickle unnoticed.
§
At first, Marie thought Philip was playing at something, and she laughed as he dragged her out of the Pickle. But as they wound their way through the streets of Camelot, she began to realize something very serious was going on.
"Philip," she said, but she couldn't get his attention. They narrowly avoided being run over in rapid succession by a speeding carriage, a horse carrying a postman, and a woman leading a pack of oblivious children.
"Philip!" she yelled and tugged her own arm – the arm he still firmly gripped.
He glanced at her, but kept moving. The look she caught in his eyes frightened her.
"PHILIP!" she yelled and planted her feet. She wasn't able to stop him completely, but it was enough to get his attention. He spun around.
"What's – going – on?" She felt like punctuating each word with a stomp, but settled for yanking her arm out of Philip's grasp and punching him instead. Philip didn't even seem to notice. His furtive glances up and down the street reminded her of the deer that had found itself on Guinevere's wedding buffet.
"PHILIP!"
He looked at her again, and finally she saw some evidence of higher function behind his crazed eyes.
He blinked, and gave himself a little shake. He was breathing very hard.
"Philip," she said in as calm a voice as she could muster. "Did something happen in the restroom? Something you'd like to tell me about?" She wasn't sure there could ever be an answer to that pair of questions that anyone would want to hear.
Philip took a deep breath and related what he'd overheard.
"I think Thomas is in serious trouble," he finished.
Marie stared at him for a moment, her eyes beginning to mirror Philip's.
"Why are we standing here then?" she said.
"I don't know! C'mon!" said Philip, and they were off.
§
The sounds of pounding feet came from the stairs outside Pyralis's apartment. Gorgella froze in the act of affixing a small, metal bit to the end of another metal bit. There was a sparkly, black powder on her hands. Gorgella and Pyralis glanced at each other, then Gorgella set her bits down and Pyralis hastily threw a drape over the whole project. They faced the door and tried to look casual. Pyralis looked at Gorgella's hands and made a kind of nervous clicking sound with his cheek. She shoved them behind her back and recomposed herself just as the door burst open and Philip and Marie tumbled in.
"Ah," said Pyralis and breathed a sigh of relief, but Gorgella, oddly, redoubled her efforts to appear innocent.
"Pyralis," said Philip, breathing heavily. "And Gorgella, good, you're both here." He noticed Gorgella's strange look, but ignored it. "You've put on weight!" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Marie stomped on his foot and glared at him, but Gorgella blushed and said, "Thank you."
§
It took only a few minutes to bring Pyralis and Gorgella up to speed. In the end, they needed no convincing; Pyralis began directing Gorgella to pack a bag with various implements, including a few odds and ends from under the drape. They packed those bits very carefully, taking their time, and mostly with their backs to Philip and Marie.
Finally, after what seemed like ages to Philip, Pyralis was ready. Gorgella heaved the pack over her shoulder and the four of them left the apartment.
"I need to borrow four horses, Rittenhouse," said Pyralis to a mildly surly stable master five minutes later.
"Four horses? Late for the apocalypse eh? I always thought ye looked like Death, Pyralis, but ye could've cast the other three better."
No one laughed.
Pyralis rummaged something from the pack, slipped it to Rittenhouse with a wink, and said, "Sorry, friend, we're in a bit of a hurry."
Rittenhouse eyed the thing Pyralis had given him suspiciously. "This won't blow up like the last batch, or melt the stove like the one before that, or turn into a–"
Pyralis shot a nervous look at his companions. "No, no, I've worked out all those issues. This'll do the trick, trust me."
"That's what ye said the last three times Pyralis."
Rittenhouse seemed to be mulling something over as he stared at Pyralis, then shrugged and said, "What've I got to lose, eh? Right this way."
He didn't move quickly, but he was efficient, and soon the four were perched atop their borrowed mounts.
"And which horseman might you be," Rittenhouse said to Gorgella. "Famine?"
Gorgella shot him a look and opened her mouth, but Pyralis rested a hand on her arm, and she stopped.
Rittenhouse laughed. He smacked the rump of her horse, and the four of them took off out of the stables.
"I'll send Hades on after ye when he shows up," he called.
"I think Hades might be where we're headed," said Philip.
They rode then as quickly as their horses could carry them, in silence and without break. In time, night fell, and they continued on with a full moon lighting their path.
CHAPTER XXIV
Charming Disarmaments
William leaned back against the cell wall and slid slowly down onto the floor. Thomas still gripped the cell bars, staring at the door through which Bane had exited. Thomas felt strangely, sickeningly light. He could feel the cold iron in his palms, and the solid floor under his feet, but these sensations came to him too slowly, as if filtered through blankets. He felt detached.
I'm going to die.
The thought repeated itself slowly in his head.
A sound came from William that made Thomas turn. William's head was buried in his hands. His thick, curly hair that had been the object of so many girls' conversations hung limp and disheveled, obscuring what his hands didn't already hide. He was crying quietly but forcefully – his body rocked with each breath.
"I'm so," he said between sobs, "so sorry."
Thomas didn't move; he watched William cry for a moment, then went back to staring at the door.
"I shouldn't have..." continued William. "I shouldn't have come here. I thought...
"I thought..." he repeated, and trailed off into more quiet sobs.
A curious thing had begun inside Thomas's head. People were coming to mind in rapid flashes: Elizabeth holding out her tooth for Thomas to see, Grandma Farmer startled in her chair, Mr. Farmer turning to look at him from the wood pile, Pyralis dumping a bucket-load of stinking salve on a dirt floor, a bottle with a tiny, empty ship inside, Philip pointing out Camelot celebrities as Guinevere's company paraded by, Dedric and Ox, grinning and covered in smashed eggs, Marie at Guinevere's wedding.
"It doesn't end like this," he said softly.
There was a hitch in William's sob, but if he heard Thomas, he ignored him.
Other images began to present themselves to Thomas: Merlin frustrated with Arthur at the knighting ceremony, the black knight saluting the stands flippantly, Morgan grinning back wickedly, the Baron mocking his own son at Guinevere's wedding, and Bane simply looking down at him and Philip from his horse with a smile that made Thomas want to punch him.
"It doesn't," said Thomas, more forcefully this time, "end like this."
The feeling
of detachment was gone. William looked up at him, his face streaked with tears and dirt.
"It's not your fault," said Thomas.
William shook his head in disagreement.
"It's not your fault. It's not my fault. It's not any of our faults that got us here William. We're the good guys.
"Look. What did Dad always say? To win, all evil needs is for good people to do nothing. Well, we're not doing nothing are we?"
William blinked and glanced around the cell. "Well," he said. "Not really much at the moment per se."
"I mean we're trying, William. It can't end like this, because... because we can't let it."
This wasn't coming out at all how Thomas had hoped. He took a breath and tried again.
"Listen," he said. "Remember when we'd talk about Camelot while we were cleaning out the Baron's stables, or hauling wood for Dad?"
William nodded.
"It's not like we imagined. It's filled with real people. Merlin's real. Arthur's real. Gawain and Kay and Pellinore... real people. They're just, you know, they've been involved a lot longer with what's going on. They make mistakes, they're downright foolish some of them, but they're trying to build something. Something good. Something right.
"If I learned one thing in Camelot, it's this: the only way to fail is to stop trying. There's always another chance."
William was giving Thomas a big-brother-look which meant he thought Thomas was missing something obvious that made everything Thomas was saying moot.
"What?" said Thomas, frustrated.
"If you haven't noticed," said William. "We're kind of locked in a dungeon here with no way out until our captors come and fetch us so they can hang us."
Thomas had to admit it was hard to be optimistic. He sat down with his back against the bars of the cell.
"If I've learned anything else," said Thomas, as much to himself as to William now, "we're not alone. We're never alone."
William gave him a quizzical look and opened his mouth to say something, but just then a tapping sound came from high up on the other side of Thomas's cell wall. It sounded like a metal hammer gently rapping against stone. It moved sideways, then back a bit, stopped briefly, then tapped twice rapidly in one spot.
They heard a muffled yell, and then silence. Thomas and William glanced at each other. William got up and moved toward the front of his own cell, closer to Thomas.
"What was–" said William, and the wall exploded.
§
Small rocks and dirt pelted Thomas's back and shoulders as he hunched by his cell door. Even partially deafened from the sound of the blast, he could hear larger rocks and building stone dropping and bouncing around on his cell floor. When it seemed the rain of debris had slowed enough to dare it, he squinted up at what was now a rather large, bright hole in the cell wall. A rush of clean air surprised him – he hadn't realized how quickly and easily he'd become accustomed to the dank, stale dungeon variety.
There were shapes moving in the light. They were yelling something, but with the ringing in his ears it just sounded like muffled grunts.
The shapes disappeared briefly, then one by one, Philip, Marie, Gorgella, and Pyralis dropped down into the cell. Philip got to Thomas first, lifted him up and gave him a great hug. Marie pulled him off and threw herself into Thomas's arms. Gorgella stood with her arms folded, looking proud, and Pyralis patted Thomas on the back.
The ringing was finally subsiding. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you," said Thomas to all of them.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" yelled William from the opposite corner of his cell. Thomas couldn't tell if he was still deafened, terrified, or both.
"William, it's okay," said Thomas. "These are my friends from Camelot." And he turned back to them, grinning.
"Pyralis, that's quite a piece of work," said Thomas pointing at the rubble.
"Oh no," said Pyralis, "that wasn't me." He put his hand on Gorgella's shoulder. She wore an enormous grin on her face and positively beamed with pride. Thomas thought she looked at least a foot taller.
Thomas raised his eyebrows in wonder. "You did that Gorgella? But how did you – have you been–"
Thomas shot a look at Pyralis. "Are you sure demolition is, you know, a good thing for someone in, er... a certain frame of mind."
Gorgella rolled her eyes.
"Not demolition my boy," said Pyralis.
"Rapid spontaneous deconstruction," said Gorgella. "There's lots of training and skill involved in knowing just where and how to knock something down safely, you know."
There was an ominous rumble behind her. Gorgella stopped and glanced backward. Pyralis didn't seem to notice.
"Quite true," he said, "and Gorgella here seems to have quite the knack for not only cobbling up the tools of the trade, but also surveying a work site, identifying load-bearing structures and..."
The rumble came again and some of the smaller rocks in the pile shifted.
"Um, Pyralis," said Gorgella. She took a step back from the rubble and pulled at Pyralis's sleeve.
Oblivious, Pyralis continued, "...undermining only those structures necessary to achieve the goals of the targeted deconstruction."
"Pyralis!" shouted Gorgella, and pulled him out of the way just in time as the larger rocks around the hole collapsed inward along with a great rush of gravel, dirt and racket. The five of them huddled near the cell door and watched their escape route disappear. When the dust had settled, Pyralis continued, stunned, "It's been a great boost to her self-worth."
"I'm so sorry," said Gorgella through her hands. Her pride was gone, replaced by horror as she glanced around at them.
The rest of them slowly turned as one to stare at the locked cell door. William started to laugh – he looked crazed. "Well, you were right Thomas. We're never alone. Good show, Camelot!" William fell over cackling.
Marie, still in Thomas's arms, looked up at him. "Thomas?" she said. Thomas, tears in his eyes, just slowly shook his head. They could hear shouting coming from outside, muted through the collapsed rubble, and down the hall, there was now an uproar in the guard room. They watched the door with dread.
After a moment, the din in the guard room settled, the door cracked open, and a gray muzzle poked out. There was a ring of keys in its jaws.
It sniffed twice, then shoved the door some more and a magnificent, silver wolf padded into the hall. The only blemish on its perfect hide was a conspicuous sawtooth-shaped scar on one foreleg. It headed straight for Thomas's cell, and squeezing its snout between the bars, shoved the keys up at Thomas.
Everyone looked from the wolf to Thomas.
Thomas simply said, "Thank you, sir. I guess this makes us even," and took the keys.
The wolf seemed to grin. There was a groan from the direction of the guard room, and the wolf's ears pricked. It snarled and took off down the hall.
Thomas quickly unlocked his cell and William's, and the six of them followed. Gorgella brought up the rear, towing a heavy-looking satchel.
"Um, Thomas," said Philip. "Is there something you'd like to tell us?"
"About what?" said Thomas.
"'About what?' he says. About your little friend there." Philip's voice trailed off as they pulled the guard room door the rest of the way open and surveyed the scene.
Two guards huddled in the corner, shaking. A third was pinned to the floor while the wolf snarled and growled atop him. The pinned guard struggled for a second, and then simply fainted.
The wolf swung its head toward the other two guards who looked as though they would crawl in between the cracks in the stone foundation if they could rather than tangle with the beast before them.
Thomas moved quickly to the cabinet, shuffled through the keys, and pulled the door open. He handed a dagger to Marie. Both Pyralis and Gorgella refused, and Philip was already armed. Inside the cabinet were two swords that put all the others to shame. One, of course, was Ambrosia, but Thomas didn't recognize the other. He lifted it out gently appreciating its weig
ht and balance, then handed it to William. Finally, Thomas grabbed Ambrosia, and fastened her around his waist.
The sound of stomping feet came through the dungeon exit above. Philip rushed up the stairs. They heard a shout, a door slam, and Philip came charging back into the guard room.
"That way's no good," he said, eyeing the wolf, who was still growling menacingly at the huddled guards.
"That way," laughed William, "is the only way."
Philip frowned at him.
Out here where it was relatively light compared to the dungeon, Thomas finally got a good look at William. He looked absolutely dreadful. His cheeks were sunken. There were great black bags under his eyes. The eyes themselves were wide and yellowing. He was far too thin. He looked as crazed as he sounded.
Pyralis nudged Gorgella and nodded at the wall, but Gorgella just shook her head.
Thomas reached out and gripped her arm. "You can do it," he said.
Gorgella looked at him for a moment, then swallowed, set her pack down and pulled out a small hammer. She started tapping on the stones near the guard room ceiling, her eyes closed and her head bent.
After a minute, she seemed satisfied. She pulled a lump of something gray out of the pack and a long coil of black cord.
"Up you go," said Pyralis to the guards and herded them into the warden's office. Philip dragged the third, unconscious guard in after them, and then shut all three of them in. The wolf tugged on Thomas's shirt and started backing out of the room.
Thomas spoke slowly and clearly in as calm a voice as he could muster, "I think we'd better get around the corner now, William."
William was watching Gorgella, fascinated. "What? Oh, right," he said, and followed the rest of them back into the hall. After a moment, Gorgella backed into the hall as well, unrolling the cord.
"Three, two..." she said. Pyralis did something to the end of the cord that Thomas couldn't see.
There was an explosion in the guard room, and a shower of dirt and small stones hit the door in a fusillade and bounced into the hall, pelting their shins and feet.
