Mice of the Round Table #3

by Julie Leung

  The gold mask was blinding in the sun, giving the Manderlean an otherworldly glow. “Step aside, Sir Percival. There is something I would like to try one-on-one with our guest.”

  With a wave of his paw, another set of weasel guards came forward, bearing the Grail on their shoulders. Calib expected his whiskers to detect whatever powerful magic was inside the Grail, but there was nothing coming from the cup. Calib was confused. Was this a trick of some sort?

  The only thing that pulsated with any power was the Manderlean.

  Once, Calib had thought of the Grail merely as a broken Two-Legger cup turned into a throne for the mice commanders of Camelot. It was only after Galahad made the cup whole again with Excalibur that Calib finally had seen the cup’s resemblance to the one on the Christopher coat of arms.

  The mouse was beginning to realize that his grandfather had probably given clues to the Grail’s true identity through the years. Perhaps if Calib had paid closer attention, he would have discovered the Grail sooner.

  Some sort of liquid sloshed inside the cup. Calib’s guards pulled him up to his hind legs and brought him to the lip of the Grail. Calib sniffed at the liquid.

  “You must be thirsty,” the Manderlean said.

  Calib was parched, but he was also suspicious. “Is this poisoned?” he asked.

  “No.” Without warning, the Manderlean shoved Calib’s head into the cup.

  Surprised, Calib sucked down a few sips. He fought to resurface, but the Manderlean’s grip on the back of his head was ironclad. For one awful second, Calib thought he would drown.

  Suddenly, the grip released.

  Calib burst out of the water, sputtering and choking. He expected water from the Grail to taste different—possibly magical—but it didn’t.

  The Manderlean gestured, and the guards unchained Calib. When he was free of the weight, the Manderlean stepped back and threw Lightbringer at his footpaw. “Surely you didn’t think I would forget a sword such as yours! Now time to test your mettle!”

  Calib grabbed the hilt and pointed the blade at the Manderlean, but one of the Saxon guards stepped between them. The weasel was clad in leather armor and carried a heavy wooden cudgel. Calib made a feint to the left and then darted right, trying to reach the Manderlean, but the Saxon was not fooled

  With a casual swing, he leveled the cudgel at Calib’s head. Calib was barely able to scamper out of the way in time.

  The weasel turned to follow him, dull eyes watching impassively as Calib repositioned his footpaws. Desperately trying to remember all his dueling lessons, he advanced slowly toward his opponent, holding Lightbringer before him. He very much wished that the Manderlean had given him a shield. It was no use trying to parry a cudgel with a sword. The weasel swung again, and Calib dove away. A stinging blow landed on his tail, leaving it bruised and numb.

  Springing back to his feet, Calib tried a different tactic. He charged at the weasel, ducking below the cudgel to land quick slashes wherever he could. Most of them glanced harmlessly off the armor, but a few found the unprotected fur of the weasel’s shoulders and hindquarters.

  The weasel hissed but gave no other indication that he even felt the cuts. He stood unmoving as Calib darted in for another attack. But at the last minute, the weasel took a quick step backward, swinging the cudgel low instead of high. The heavy club caught Calib in the midsection, knocking him on his back and sending Lightbringer clattering away. Calib lay on the ground, gasping for air, waiting for the killing blow.

  CHAPTER

  21

  “Stop!”

  The weasel withdrew on the Manderlean’s command and marched back to his place with the others. The Manderlean sniffed derisively, and Calib picked himself off the floor, ears flushed with embarrassment.

  “Mediocre.” The Manderlean sighed. “I had expected more from someone who has twice thwarted my plans.”

  “What is this about?” Calib asked, wincing with every inhale. His lungs felt bruised by the blow.

  “Merlin did love to play favorites,” the Manderlean said. “I wanted to see if he might have twisted the Grail’s magic to work only on Camelot’s animals.”

  Calib knew the answer to that question was an obvious no. He had been soundly defeated. And if the Manderlean had not stepped in when he did, Calib would have been nothing but mouse jelly on the end of the weasel’s cudgel.

  “It is only a matter of time before we discover how to unlock the Grail’s powers,” the Manderlean continued. “I have all the cards in my paw, while Camelot has none. It’s time you realized that you are fighting for a lost cause. Your friend Galahad at least has seen the error of his ways. He has agreed to train with Morgan le Fay.”

  At this, Calib’s heart filled with some hope. So Galahad had infiltrated the Two-Legger fortress successfully. But Calib squashed down his happiness and faked a scowl. “Then what’s stopping you from attacking?” Calib demanded. “Could it be you’re still afraid of Merlin’s protection over Camelot?”

  Calib couldn’t tell for sure, but the Manderlean seemed to be frowning behind the golden mask. “Guards, take him back to his cell. No,” he said after a thought. “Take him to the Deep.”

  Calib was marched far past the hallway of cells in the Wolf’s Mouth, until he thought they must be at the very belly of the mountains.

  “Here,” Sir Percival said as they finally came to a halt in front of what must have been the Deep. “Your precious Christopher name won’t do you much good here.”

  The guards stepped back and let the odious vole be the one to shove Calib into the cell and lock the door. The air was so hot now, Calib could breathe only through his mouth.

  “Better to be a Christopher locked away than a traitor who walks free,” Calib gasped.

  Sir Percival bared his teeth. “And yet, Christophers can be traitors, too. Didn’t you ever wonder how Sir Trenton perished at Rickonback River?”

  Calib’s heart squeezed at the mention of his father’s name and the battle that had taken his life.

  “It was an ambush from the Darklings,” Calib said, reciting what he had been told since he was a small mousling in the nurseries. But the familiar words caught in his throat. Calib knew that the story was no longer true. Merlin had said as much when Calib met him in his crystal cave. Back then, the wizard was hiding under the guise of a white wolf named Howell. Calib wished more than anything he could have Merlin’s guidance now, in whatever form.

  The Darklings had become Camelot’s allies, and in many cases, his friends. All the other nasty rumors he’d ever heard about them—the many things for which they’d been blamed—had turned out to be unfounded. Calib swallowed hard, unable to hide the doubt in his eyes.

  “Perhaps you’re finally catching on.” Percival smiled knowingly. “The truth is, your grandfather framed the Darklings for your father’s murder. It was a Saxon raid, not a Darkling one. But in order to avoid a new war he could not win, Yvers blamed it on the innocent Darklings instead.”

  “That’s not what happened!” Calib shook his head. His heart refused to believe, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “That can’t be what happened!”

  “Your heroes are not the perfect mice you think they are,” Percival said softly. “Sir Trenton was trying to sneak the Goldenwood Throne out of the castle. Steal it away from Yvers and sell it to the Saxons. Except your father underestimated the Saxon tradition of just taking what they want without paying for it.”

  “But they didn’t take it!” Calib pointed out, desperate to poke a hole in Percival’s tale. “The Grail has been in Camelot’s possession all along, until you came along.”

  “You are right in that the deal never went through, thanks to Merlin’s meddling and the owls’ intervening. But the Manderlean got enough of it.”

  In between his words, Calib realized what Percival was suggesting: that his father was the original traitor to the throne.

  “Not all of the Grail was recovered,” Percival said. “It fell during
the skirmish between father and son and cracked. Mull on that while you rot here in the Deep.”

  “You lie!” Calib shouted at Percival’s retreating tail. “You’re a LIAR!”

  But the Manderlean’s creatures had already disappeared up the stairs, leaving Calib all alone in the stuffy, stinking dungeons.

  Not even a single Saxon was left behind to guard him. He was too deep in the bowels of the earth for anyone to be able to reach him.

  As Calib laid back on the hard bench that served as his bed, he tried to forget all the things Percival had said—but they would not be ignored. His gut told him that perhaps—maybe, just possibly—this was one thing Percival was not lying about.

  Stewing in his sour thoughts, Calib lost track of time, and he drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. The noises from the forges never seemed to stop. How loud they must have been to echo down even to the Deep. He began to imagine that the sounds were coming closer, growing to a manic crescendo, suffocating him. . . .

  He sat up with a jolt, his ears twitching. That wasn’t the forges at all—that was the pitter-patter of paws. His ears twitched.

  “Who’s there?” Calib demanded as he surged to his feet. “Stop skulking and face me in the light!”

  “I like what you’ve done with the whiskers,” said a new voice in the shadows. A very familiar voice.

  And then she stood in front of him: Cecily von Mandrake.

  Safe. Unharmed.

  Alive.

  CHAPTER

  22

  “Cecily!” Calib cried, nearly melting with relief.

  Cecily held up a torch, illuminating her wide grin. “Found him. Let’s get him loose, boys.”

  Half a dozen squirrels and mice stirred out of the shadows, hollow-eyed but determined. Their chains dangled from their lank limbs in broken pieces.

  “Stand back, unless you want to lose an eye,” one of the squirrels said.

  He brought forward what Calib thought was a small, thin candle. The squirrel winked at Calib and shoved the unlit end into the keyhole on his cell. It made a sizzling sound that Calib had never heard before. The squirrel ran back to the rest of his group.

  “Do as he says!” Cecily shouted, clapping her paws to her ears. Calib pushed himself against the back of the cell, just as the lock suddenly exploded in a crackling flash of light. When Calib’s eyes adjusted, he saw the lock had been broken and now hung uselessly warped. The door swung open.

  “What was that?” Calib was dazzled by what he’d just seen. “Magic?”

  “It’s something found inland, far from here,” Cecily said, sounding a little impressed herself. “They’ve been using it to make more tunnels in the mountains.”

  “Two-Leggers call it fire powder because it explodes in reaction to flame,” the squirrel said. He looked at Cecily. “I hope this little mousling was worth the trouble we spent looking for him. It’s very valuable.”

  “He’s worth it, I promise.” Cecily gestured for Calib to follow them. “Come, we don’t have much time.”

  The group wound through more twisting tunnels full of unoccupied cells, until finally, they found themselves at a wall of rock, with no more turns to take.

  “What now?” Calib asked.

  “Help us push!” Cecily said, leaning her weight against the stone. The rest of the squirrels followed suit. Slowly, it began to pivot around on an axel. It was a hidden door!

  “How do you know about this?” Calib asked.

  “I’ve met some very interesting creatures since I’ve arrived,” Cecily said, smiling mischievously. “I escaped the very first night they brought me here. Percival must have figured that you would come along after me, so he set up the trap.”

  “Why didn’t you try to leave?” Calib asked.

  “You’ll see why,” Cecily said. Her mouth was set in a grim line.

  On the other side of the wall, there was no tunnel; only a large horizontal crack in the mountains, just tall enough for the squirrels to go through if they ducked their heads.

  Ahead, Calib could see the ruddy flickering of a fire against a cavernous dome.

  “Head toward the bonfire,” Cecily said from behind.

  The pathway was roughly hewn, with rubble scattered everywhere. Calib had to tread carefully for fear of getting his footpaw caught in a hidden crack in the rocks.

  Eventually, they arrived in a large underground quarry where a whole new group of animals was gathered around the bonfire in question.

  “I’ve brought him!” Cecily called out to the group. “I told you he would show up!”

  Calib counted nearly fifty creatures gathered, including a number of the messenger larks who had gone missing from Camelot. They were the first to surround Calib with questions.

  “Did General Fletcher sound angry when we didn’t arrive home?” asked one.

  “It’s such an embarrassment. I have never been late with a message, ever,” lamented another.

  A familiar voice cut in.

  “Stop pestering Calib with useless questions,” said Ginny, one of the Camelot kitchen mice who was supposed to be spending the season learning Darkling cuisine. “There are more important things to worry about than what General Fletcher thinks of your punctuality.”

  “Ginny!” Calib exclaimed. He ran to give her a hug, and she squeezed him tightly in return. “What are you doing here?”

  “Obviously, I’m not here for my health,” Ginny said, pointing at the split ends of her whiskers. The mouse’s reddish fur had lost much of its luster and volume. “We were captured by the Saxons a few weeks ago, with Lylas and the others. I got put to work in the kitchens, naturally. And with some help, we were able to escape.”

  “I see you caught on to my clue,” Lylas remarked as he roamed into the bonfire’s light. “Welcome, Calib.”

  Calib smiled at the sight of the badger. He looked much more refreshed than when Calib had last seen him. “I did,” he said, “though it took me longer to get down here than it should have.”

  Lylas smiled. “What matters is that you’re here, though.” He turned to Ginny. “How are we on supplies?”

  Ginny looked troubled. “We’re running low. If we rescue any more, we might not be able to provide enough every day.”

  “Well, I don’t plan on staying here for another day,” growled a deep voice. “Not with Calib Christopher here to assist us.”

  The largest creature stepped forward. He was broad-chested and fearsome, with wild yellow fur, and Calib immediately recognized him.

  “Leftie!” Calib exclaimed. He gave a swift bow to the leader of all the Darklings. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

  “You too, mouse,” Leftie said, strolling forward to clap a massive paw on Calib’s back. To Calib’s surprise, even the wildcat supported broken chains. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Calib nodded solemnly. “How long has this been going on? No one has heard from you in months. Camelot, well, they were getting nervous.”

  “Feared I was turning traitor, eh?”

  Calib cleared his throat. “Something like that.”

  Leftie sat down on his haunches and smoothed his whiskers. “Winter was only just starting to end, and I was weak,” the lynx growled. “I hadn’t even had time to get my wits about me before they captured and brought me here to work in their forges.”

  Leftie snarled at the memory, revealing both his fangs. “There are others who have been here even longer, held captive since the Battle of the Bear. We now realize that Morgan and the Saxons only provoked that fight with the hope of storming the castle and stealing the Grail. When that did not work, Morgan le Fay cursed Britain with the white fever, in order for the Manderlean’s creatures to sneak into the castle and find it.”

  “But what’s she waiting for?” Calib asked. “She has it now.”

  “Yes,” Leftie said as he threw an extra piece of coal onto the fire, making it hiss. “But she doesn’t know how to use it.”

  Cecily
nodded solemnly. “My first night, they questioned me about it.” Her right ear twitched, and for the first time, Calib noticed nicks in it that hadn’t been there before. His blood boiled, but he tried to stay calm, the same way Commander Yvers would have.

  At the thought of his grandfather, Sir Percival’s words rose up to sting him again. He no longer had time to think about that now. He didn’t want to linger on the past. Part of him was too afraid to.

  “How did we not know this?” Calib asked, reeling from the information. “How could they have done this right under our whiskers?”

  “We were too distracted by the petty squabbles between Darklings and Camelot,” Leftie said. His bobbed tail began to swish in agitation. “But now we know better. We’ve managed to free a good number from their chains.”

  “But it’s not enough!” Cecily burst out. “They still manage to capture more to replace the ones we’ve freed! They work the miners until they die from exhaustion, and the smiths until they’re so tired they nearly fall into their fires. We need to fight for their freedom!”

  At her words, a hum went around the group of freed prisoners.

  “Don’t speak of what you don’t know, mouse-maid,” Lylas said. “You’ve seen battle, but you haven’t seen war.” At the badger’s words, the animals around him murmured in agreement.

  “You’ve only just arrived here, little groundling,” a wizen old crow added. “You haven’t seen what we’ve seen.”

  “But we can’t keep tunneling forever,” Cecily said with a stomp of her footpaw. “If we can convince all the prisoners to revolt . . . There’s an army here that we could use against the Saxons! Don’t you agree, Calib?”

  Though he admired his friend’s bravery, Calib hesitated. Remembering the many warships that edged the sulfuric lake, he asked, “How many Saxons are there?”

  Leftie stroked his chin. “From my estimate, at least one thousand animals and five hundred Two-Leggers, with more coming every day. The Manderlean and his Saxons outnumber us free folk, ten to one, and with the stink of magic everywhere, I don’t see how we can do anything yet.”