“You’re tired, that’s all.”

“Look at us. We have achieved such wonders. I have stood at the foot of the Pyramids, looking up in awe. I have beheld the Parthenon and wondered at its harmony and proportion. I have seen the grandeur of the Coliseum. Our race has achieved such magnificent things. And you tell me that being human means wanting things simple.”

“For most of us it is.”

He got to his feet wearily. “My leg is aching. I suppose it is the weather.” He took a step, leaning heavily on his cane. “I have this to look forward to, for all the years remaining to me.”

“I wish you’d say something optimistic.”

“Optimistic meaning simple?”

“If you like, yes.”

“I don’t have time for this, Nimue. I have to go off and deal with the king. I hope he listens.”

There were more than a hundred steps leading down to the ground floor; it seemed to Merlin that it took him forever to descend, even with Nimue’s help. Then she went off to breakfast and he made the long walk to the king’s tower. The halls were crowded, as they were each morning when the castle came awake. People came and went on their daily business; now and then one of them would jostle him, and his leg exploded with pain. Then there was the staircase leading up to Arthur’s rooms.

Arthur was in a hearty mood. “Good morning, Merlin. Magnificent weather, isn’t it? Cold always brings out the best in me. Remember all those battles we fought in winter? ”

“Blood and snow. You fought them, I didn’t.”

“You’re in your stern teacher mode.”

“I suppose so. Or my melancholy one. Can I sit?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve practiced medicine most of my life. You would think I would be able to do something to abate my own pain, wouldn’t you?”

Arthur stared at him.

“Or maybe… Arthur, am I any good? Have people only said that I have helped them to humor me?”

“You’re feeling somber. Getting old.”

“Brilliant deduction.”

“I’ve been wounded in battle more times than I can count. What’s wrong?”

“Age, Arthur. Which, more and more, looks to me like the essence of life. The candle burns brightest just before it goes out.”

“Nonsense. You’re good for years.”

“What a horrible thought. Is there no rest for me, then?”

“Not while I need you.” He smiled, hoping it would help. It didn’t.

“Arthur, I believe Pellenore is innocent.”

“You want to conduct his defense?”

“I’m a scholar, not a lawyer.”

“That’s the first nice thing you’ve said, Merlin.”

He shifted his weight. “Mark is up to something. He’s been making secret visits-to Morgan, to Guenevere, probably to a lot of other minor rulers.”

“Army business.”

“You sent him, then?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then…?”

“Look, I’ve told you before. I’ve known Mark for years. I trust him. He was one of my first allies.”

“You mean one of your first conquests, Arthur. He’s bitter. He resents that you’ve appropriated his mines and his vineyards.”

“He gets a portion of the profits. Surely that’s fair.”

“He doesn’t think so. Can you have someone get me some water please?” He took a tiny envelope of powdered medicine out of his pocket. “A painkiller.”

“It’s that bad?” He sent a page for water.

“You need to ask? Did you know Mark has a silver mine?”

“What?!”

“You heard me. They found silver in one of the tin deposits. I presume that is where Pastorini got the silver for the shrine he made for you.”

“Silver.”

“Silver, yes.”

The page returned with a ewer of water and poured a cup for Merlin, who stirred his powder into it and drank it at once.

When the boy was gone, Arthur asked, “You’re certain about this? Silver?”

“He told Colin so himself.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why would he tell Colin a thing like that?”

He dodged the question. “And Colin overheard a conversation between two of the mine’s guards as well.”

“Silver.” Arthur whistled. “I’ll have to talk about it with him. He should be here for court in a couple of weeks.”

“I’d wear armor.”

“He is not the killer, Merlin. Whatever he’s up to, it must be for the good of the country, secret mines and all. We have our villain, and he’s in jail. That’s that.”

Merlin sighed. “I’ll be going, then.” He started to stand.

“Not yet. I told you-I need you.”

Merlin sat again. “For what now?”

“I need your scholarship.”

“Amo, amas, amat. Veni, vidi, vici.”

“Don’t be impertinent, Merlin. I’m serious.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, now that we have the Stone of Bran back, I need you to do some serious research. The stone has power. I want you to learn how to unleash it-how to control it.”

“And I suppose you want me to learn this in time for court?”

Arthur was pleased. “Exactly.”

But Merlin wasn’t, and he didn’t try to hide it. “And if I can’t? If after all it is only a piece of sculpted quartz?”

“It is the Stone of Bran, Merlin. If anyone can master it, you can. Go and do it. Consult with Morgan if you must; do anything you have to. But learn the secret.”

Wearily, he stood. “Yes, Arthur, of course.”

A young soldier rushed into the room. “King Arthur, sir.”

“Walter.” Arthur smiled an artificial smile. “Walter of Londinium. Do you two know each other?”

Merlin had seen the man about Camelot, but they had never actually met. Arthur introduced them. But Walter had something on his mind, something evidently urgent. “Sir, I just went to take King Pellenore his breakfast.”

“Yes?”

“He’s gone.”

Arthur froze. Slowly, he said, “Repeat that.”

“The cell is quite empty, sir.”

“That isn’t possible.”

Suddenly Merlin burst out laughing. “Of course. He tried to tell me last night, but I was too tired or too slow to grasp it.”

Arthur rounded on him. “You were with him last night?”

Merlin nodded, still laughing. “This castle used to be his, remember? He knows it better than you or I could, every hidden passage, every concealed corridor. He tried to tell me that, but I didn’t hear him properly.”

“What were you doing there?”

Merlin shrugged. “I went to see him. He’s an old-no, friend would not quite be the word, but we have known each other a long time. That precious man. You all think him mad, and he’s made fools of you.”

Angry, seething, the king turned back to young Walter. “Find him. Search. There must be a way out of the dungeon. Discover it. But find me that man.”

Walter saluted crisply and rushed off.

“It’s no use, Arthur.” Merlin’s laughter was starting to abate. “Pellenore, crazy old Pellenore, has won. He’s beaten you. Can’t you see that? These old castles are riddled with hidden hallways and secret passages. Whatever madman planned this place must have included them in his plans. For Pellenore. He could live in them for months-maybe years-like a phantom. The mad old king has won.”

“Go to your damned library, Merlin, and learn about the stone. Do something useful. And for God’s sake, stop laughing at the rest of us all the time.”

“I can’t help it. Nothing is funnier than a human being with delusions of control.”

“I am the King of England, damn it. I will not be the object of ridicule, not for you and certainly not for Pellenore. Go and do what I ordered you to do. Learn how to master the Stone of Bran.”

Not hiding his amusement, Merlin stood to go. He realized with pleasure that his painkiller had started working already. “Yes, Arthur. Of course. All you have to do is order up miracles and you will get them.”

“Get out of here, Merlin. I’ve never lost my temper with you before, but there is a first time for everything.”

“Yes, Arthur. Of course.”

“I want miracles.”

“Yes, Arthur.”

And so the hunt for Pellenore began. Teams of knights, squires and pages scoured Camelot, checking walls for hidden seams and secret hinges, to no avail. One team found a hidden door in the armory; other than that, the search turned up nothing.