Relief showed. “I see.”

“You have room to quarter us?”

“Yes, of course.” He turned to Nimue. “And you-why is a fine young man like you not in the military? Aren’t you training to be a knight?”

“No, sir. Just a humble scholar.”

“Oh.” He didn’t try to hide his distaste. “Let me have someone prepare quarters for you. It will be a few minutes, I’m afraid.”

“That’s perfectly fine, John.” Brit smiled. “I’m sure Merlin and Colin would like to see the town. When should we be back?”

“I wouldn’t stay out too late. This is a port town. It can be rough after dark. And it’s full of French sailors, which makes it even worse than usual.”

“Oh. Well, we’ll be careful. And I’ll wear my sword.”

“Even so. You have no idea what they can get up to.”

They thanked him again, promised not to stay out too late and left the fort.

Nimue was spent from the day’s travel. “Why are we going out? I’m tired.”

“I want to get a look at that ship,” Brit said.

Merlin added, “And if we keep our eyes and ears open, we may get some hint what’s afoot. Leodegrance shouldn’t have come without notifying Arthur.”

“Maybe it really is just a family visit,” Nimue said.

“Don’t be foolish. These are politicians. They never do anything for simple reasons,” Merlin said.

“Should Captain Dalley have let them land?” Brit asked.

“How, exactly, could he have stopped them? No, he’s doing the right thing, writing to Arthur. Diplomacy is the king’s province.”

They walked along the widest street in town, heading for the harbor. No one paid them much notice. But Nimue kept studying everyone she saw. “The people here-they’re all plump.”

“It’s a prosperous town,” Merlin told her.

“If the French actually were to invade, how much help could they be?”

“Not much,” said Brit, who clearly didn’t want to think about it.

The wind from the Atlantic was getting stronger; occasional gusts were so strong the three of them had to lean into the wind to keep their balance. Merlin’s hat blew off and Nimue ran to fetch it. Overhead the clouds were thick and black; there was one brighter spot in them, all that could be seen of the moon.

The waterfront was lined with little taverns, most of them crowded. Yellow lanterns hung outside them; a long row of them provided the sole illumination. Cats scurried along the road, avoiding everything human. A dog dashed out of an alley and chased one of them, but it was faster. At one of the taverns people were singing a particularly obscene song about the French king.

“Why are all harbor towns alike?” Merlin asked no one in particular.

“I’ve never been in one before.” Nimue was taking it all in quite eagerly.

But Brit paused and said, “All places are alike. Every earth is fit for burial. There’s the French ship up ahead. Let’s go and see what we can see.”

The ship was called the Vienne. It was riding high in the water, which struck Brit as odd. “We’ll have to ask Dalley if they unloaded any supplies. If not-let’s get closer. I want to see if there are soldiers.”

But before they could approach any nearer, there was a flurry of activity behind them. A man in armor with a plumed helmet led a dozen soldiers directly up to them.

“You are Merlin, the king’s counselor? And Britomart?”

“We are.” Brit took charge; she kept her hand on the hilt of her sword. “And this is Colin, Merlin’s assistant.”

“You are to come with me.”

“I beg your pardon? We are here on the king’s business.”

“Queen Guenevere requests your presence.” He was not smiling. “You will come.”

Merlin spoke up. “How did the queen know we are here?”

“You may ask her that. Let us go.”

“Are we being taken prisoner? King Arthur will hardly be pleased. There isn’t a warlord in England who hasn’t felt his wrath. I hardly think he’d hesitate to invade Corfe.”

The man with the plume stepped closer to Merlin. “Queen Guenevere requests your presence at Corfe Castle. You are to be her guests.”

“Whether we like it or not?”

Brit stepped pointedly between them. “Captain Dalley of the king’s garrison is expecting us back. You’d best let us send him word where we’ll be.”

Plume man smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write him a note from the castle. The queen is nothing if not a gracious hostess.”

Brit looked around. They were plainly outnumbered, and she knew she was the only one with real fighting experience. Resigned, she said, “Very well, then. Let’s go.”

Plume showed his relief. He gave the order, and his men formed two columns, one on each side of their “guests,” and they headed off toward the hills and the castle.

People in the street looked more than slightly alarmed at the little parade; they crossed to the far side, all the while pretending not to have noticed. But at one corner a pair of soldiers from the garrison were negotiating with a pair of women. When they saw Merlin, Colin and Brit leaving under escort by Guenevere’s soldiers, their eyes widened and they left off what they were doing to head back to Captain Dalley.

The party proceeded to the edge of Corfe and began to ascend the hill to the castle. It loomed ahead of them, black and enormous, looking indeed like a huge spider. Nimue noticed that two of the “arms” that were visible were crumbling and apparently deserted. Guenevere must not be as prosperous or secure as she liked to pretend. But the rest of the Spider’s House was lit brightly with dozens of torches.

On either side of it to the east and west were hills. She asked Merlin what they were called.

“East Hill and West Hill.”

“Oh.”

“This is a port, not a university.”

They reached the castle and proceeded to the main gate, between two of the arms. Guards were posted, and a dozen torches burned brightly there. Plume exchanged a few words with the sentries then turned to Brit. “You will please follow me.” Since they didn’t have much choice, they did so. Six of the soldiers stayed at the gate; the rest moved on.

The interior of the castle was made of that same dark stone. Torches burned every six feet along the hallways. They smoked and sputtered; the place smelled of bitter fumes and ash. At least the corridor was straight; the place’s plan was much simpler and more straightforward than Camelot. Nimue commented on it.

“Simpler?” Merlin seemed surprised at the observation. “The whole place is monotonously rectilinear. I suppose that must be desirable for some people.”

At the end of the hallway-arm there was an abrupt change to a lighter stone, medium grey instead of dark grey. They had reached the keep, the oldest part of the castle.

Plume had not spoken a word as he and his men ushered them along. Now he said, “Her Majesty is in the throne room. Protocol is to be observed.”

“What is the protocol for a prisoner?” Merlin sounded more amused than anything else.

“As I told you, you are guests, not prisoners.”

“Of course.”

The keep was more convoluted than the outer parts of the castle. Corridors wound; steps ascended and descended. After a few yards they came to a large doorway. Plume stopped and turned to face them. “Go in.”

“Go in?” Merlin seemed surprised. “You and your guards aren’t coming?”

“Go in.” His face was stone.

Again not having a choice, they went in.

The room was octagonal, smaller than the Great Hall at Camelot. Dozens more torches burned, lighting it brilliantly. But there was no circulation; the stench of smoke was almost overpowering.

A dozen people stood around the room, talking, reading official-looking papers or merely contemplating the queen’s serene majesty. It was late, after dark, an odd time for court business to be conducted.

But Guenevere was there, seated in majesty on a gilded throne, much larger than Arthur’s fairly plain one. The throne was elevated above floor level; she looked down on her subjects. Next to it was a second, smaller one, presumably for Lancelot, but it was empty. There was no sign of Leodegrance either. She looked to the door as they entered and put on a diplomatic smile. Her ape rested at her feet and looked up lazily.