J. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

Meantime Ganelin was making his inquiries among the castle servants. He followed Merlin’s suggestion and never asked too directly. And he trusted Mark’s show investigation to provide cover and keep people from getting suspicious. But by making conversation with select maids, grooms, valets, pages and suchlike, he began to piece together a tentative picture of the situation in Camelot on the night of the ceremony. Not only had a lot of the servants seen one suspect or another, but the ones who hadn’t had heard gossip from the ones who had. So it wasn’t too difficult to learn what he wanted to.

Among the people who would normally have been expected to attend the gathering but didn’t, there was only Percival, and he had the alibi of illness. Ganelin went to visit him on the pretext of checking on his condition for Arthur. He found the knight coughing uncontrollably.

“Can I get you anything, sir? Or can I summon the court physician?”

“That charlatan?” He hacked. “He claims to be a magician, but have you ever seen him work any wonders?”

“Pardon me, sir, but I think he claims not to be a sorcerer. ”

“Nonsense. He’s seen more, done more, learned more than one man could do in a normal lifetime. He has sold his soul, and everyone knows it.”

There was no point bickering. “I see. Well, if you don’t need anything, I’ll leave you to your phlegm.”

“Please do.”

As for the people who had gone to the Great Hall that night then left again, Ganelin was able to confirm the ones that were already known-Lancelot, Mordred, Pellenore- and he was able to add several of the knights to the list. Then one by one he began making oblique queries about where they went and what they did.

It would have been odd indeed for someone to move about the castle unnoticed by any of the servants. And in fact he was able to construct tentative accounts for each of the guests-except four.

He made careful notes on everything he’d learned about the various suspects’ movements that night. Then he reported to Merlin. “I think I know who might have done it, sir. There are four whose activities I haven’t been able to verify.”

“Excellent work, Ganelin. Tell me, then.”

“I’d like a few more days, if it’s possible. I haven’t quite tracked every possible source of information. I want to be as certain as possible before I name names.”

Merlin smiled. “Said like a scholar, not a knight.”

“There’s no need to be rude, sir.”

“It’s just my sense of humor. How much more time will you need?”

“As I said, a few days.”

“No more than that? Are you sure? Arthur wants the assassin brought to justice before Midwinter Court, remember. ”

“I’m sure I’ll know much sooner than that.”

In the following days the weather began to warm. Snow and ice melted; roads turned to mud and were nearly as impassable as when they were frozen. But people started to leave Camelot nonetheless.

Guenevere, Lancelot and their party were first to announce. Lancelot said arrogantly that he’d dealt with worse than mud before this, and the queen was anxious to return to Corfe.

Then Morgan and Mordred announced they would be leaving the next day. Soon Sagramore, Bors, Gawain and Accolon said they’d be going, too. Arthur sent parties out to the surrounding towns to buy provisions for the ones who would be remaining longer.

Merlin watched most of the preparations from his tower. By this time tomorrow the castle would be livable again. His ravens were happy of the warmer weather.

Some scrolls he had sent to Antioch for, months before, finally arrived. He unpacked them, unrolled them on his table and began to inspect them. A large cup rested on the edge of the table; he accidentally knocked it off, and it clattered loudly on the floor.

Nimue knocked and entered. “Merlin, there’s trouble.”

“Look at this. An eyewitness account of the Trojan War by a Phrygian named Dares. There are copies all over the Mediterranean, but I think this one may be Dares’s original.”

“Merlin, will you listen to me. Something has happened. ”

He forced himself to focus on her, not the scrolls. “Yes?”

“Ganelin is dead.”

Stone steps spiraled upward along the inner wall of Merlin’s tower. Halfway up sprawled Ganelin’s body. Britomart waited to guard it while Nimue fetched Merlin. The squire had been stabbed through the heart with a sword, and his right arm and leg had been slashed. She was thankful that, at least, the body was nowhere near as badly mutilated as his brother’s had been. But that was not much to be thankful for.

The steps had been worn down in the center from years of traffic; blood trickled from one down to the next; before long it would reach the main floor of the castle, and people would know something had happened. Brit watched its downward flow, wishing there was some way to stop it. But she had nothing that might be of help; it would take mops or swabs or, at the very least, a great deal of cloth.

She could not resist the impulse to bend down and touch the boy’s body, hoping for signs of life even though she knew there would be none. Ganelin’s cheek was still warm; the flesh was tender and resilient.

Just at that moment Merlin and Nimue came down from above. Merlin said nothing; he glanced at Brit then bent down to examine the corpse. “What happened?”

Brit answered, “As you can see… We only just found him a few moments ago.”

“Thank goodness,” Nimue said softly, “he isn’t cut to pieces the way his brother was.”

“I think he would have been.” Merlin got up and reached around to rub his back. “It looks like the killer started to but was interrupted.”

“There’s no place he could hide, Merlin,” Brit said. “If he fled when he heard us approaching, the only way he could have gone is up to your rooms.”

He looked at her then turned his attention back to the body. “That’s a good observation. But something must have interrupted him.”

“Did you make any sounds up there? Sounds that might have scared him off, I mean?”

“I dropped a goblet. I’m not certain that would have been loud enough to panic the killer, though.”

“It must have been.”

“Poor Ganelin.” Nimue’s face was blank. “I always liked him. Poor Ganelin…” she repeated. “I never knew how passionate he was till after Borolet died.”

“We must have some servants take him and place him by his brother.” Suddenly Merlin sounded very sad; the reality of what had happened was sinking in. “I suppose we’ll bury them together. Let us hope the cold earth will permit that sometime soon.”

It was Brit who brought up practical matters. “We’ll have to ask Arthur to delay all the departures. We can’t have the suspects leaving now.”

“I’ll talk to him. But I’m not certain how wise that would be. We know now the lengths this fiend will go to. I had let myself hope privately that Borolet’s death was a singular event. But now… The rest of us are vulnerable. Do we really want this killer at large in Camelot any longer?”

“But-but we’ll never know who it was if-if-”

"I understand your concern, Brit. But… but I’m just not sure what to do. Arthur will decide. Has anyone been sent to tell him about this?”

No one had.

“He’ll want to know.” He looked down at Ganelin and let out a long, deep sigh. “I’ll go and tell him. You don’t know how badly I want not to, but…”

From below came a shout. “What on earth is going on up there?”

It was Mark. He had been passing below and apparently had noticed the blood seeping down.

“Be quiet, Mark. Come up here.”