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.”

Obviously in an unpleasant mood, Mark climbed the steps to them. “What-?” Then he saw. “Oh. Oh, no.”

“We’ve been fools, Mark. We naïvely assumed your sham investigation would provide cover for us. But… but…” Helplessly, he gestured at the body. “We’ve bungled. We’ve been too smug.”

“Arthur will be unhappy.”

“So will everyone. Everyone who knew Ganelin.”

Nimue said, “If only some of the suspects were gone already. At least that would make things easier for us.”

“I don’t know.” Merlin looked down the steps at the still-flowing blood, not at her. “They could have left someone here. Or bribed someone. Or-I don’t know. I can’t think now. I have to find Arthur.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Nimue asked.

“No. No, you go and find someone to move this-him. I’ll be all right in a moment or two.”

Mark said, “Let us hope their ghosts rest as soundly as their bodies.”

“Ghosts?” Merlin couldn’t believe he was hearing it. Not knowing what to say, he turned to Brit. “Will you please stay here with him till we can have him moved? And make certain he’s handled properly, with respect. I don’t want the servants-”

“The servants liked him, remember?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, well…”

Slowly he descended to the ground floor. Occasional servants passed, going here or there, some apparently busy, some not. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to any of them. He had made a terrible mistake, a terrible misjudgment, and Ganelin had paid for it. How could he tell Arthur?

The king was going over an old map, in his study. He was too caught up in it to notice Merlin’s mood. “I’m glad you came, Merlin. I was about to send for you. I’ve had a few thoughts about our hunt for the killer.”

“Arthur, something awful has happened.”

“I don’t want to hear bad news just now, Merlin. I just came from Guenevere. That was unpleasant enough.” Finally he noticed the pain in his counselor’s face.

“There’s no way to avoid it, I’m afraid. Arthur-”

“Don’t, Merlin. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t. Arthur, Ganelin has been killed.”

There was a long silence. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh. The poor… How did it happen?”

“He was on the steps going up to my room. I think he was on his way to tell me who he thought the killer was. He had said-”

“How was he killed?”

“Like Borolet. Stabbed, hacked. Not so badly as his brother. But he-”

Arthur put his map aside, got up and walked to a window. “Look out there. I own it all. It’s mine. You helped me take it. Remember all the dreams I had about a place of goodness and light? Remember how naïve I was?” He looked at Merlin then quickly turned away again. “Merlin, what’s wrong with us? This isn’t the kind of country we wanted to build.”

“England is a good place, Arthur. Strong and getting stronger. These murders-”

“These murders give the lie to what you just said.”

“Human nature doesn’t change, Arthur. We’re a race capable of goodness. We are even more capable of evil, and much of the time many of us embrace it. You are a good king and your England is a good place.”

“No!” He pounded a fist into the wall. “This is not what I meant. I wanted a land where things like this don’t happen. Those poor boys.”

“I know how fond of them you were. They were good young men. But, Arthur, you can’t let grief run away with you like this. You’re the king. You have duties. One of them is to remain in charge, of yourself and of the government, of public affairs. You’ve always understood that. I taught it to you at a young enough age.”

Arthur turned to face him. “They were mine, Merlin. They were my sons.”

Merlin fell silent. After a long interval he said, “Oh. I see.”

“Do you? Do you know what they meant to me? Guenevere has never given me children. I daresay she never will. And I don’t want her to anymore, now that I know what she is. But Borolet and Ganelin…” He looked away again. “I met their mother on a progress through the fen country. Beautiful young woman. When she came to me later and told me we’d made twin sons, I actually remembered her. Of all the women I had in those days, she was the one I remembered. I told her to bring them to me when they were ten, that I’d raise them and teach them and make them worthy of their heritage.”

Softly, Merlin asked, “Did they know?”

“No. Never. I think they must have suspected now and then, but they never asked and I never told them. But I think they knew they were being raised for some special destiny. And now…” There were tears in his eyes.