“Merlin. Britomart.” Her Majesty was all cordiality. “And who is this young man? We recall seeing him at Camelot, but he was never introduced to us. And events were so hectic there.” She added this last in a tone so sweet it dripped with sarcasm.

“This is my student and assistant, Colin.”

“I see. We welcome you, Colin. As we do your older companions.”

Merlin and Brit exchanged glances. She was playing with them. How long before the boom was lowered?

“We trust you traveled well and happily?”

Merlin had had enough. “What do you mean ‘we,’ Guenevere? You and your ape?”

“Is it possible you do not comprehend the royal plural?”

Brit took a step forward. “Why have we been brought here?”

Guenevere was all innocence. “Did not my men tell you? I wish you to be my guests.”

“They told us, all right-at the point of a sword. An odd kind of hospitality.”

“Oh, dear.” She feigned dismay. “You have mistaken our intentions.”

“Then why don’t you tell us what they are?” Merlin was growing annoyed with her.

“But still, you must admit it is, shall we say, irregular, for you to have intruded on my domain in this way.”

So she was going to play that game.

“I am under the impression,” he said firmly, “that England is Arthur’s domain. And even so, he did write you to inform you we’d be coming-and on his business.”

“England may be Arthur’s. Corfe is mine.”

“Captain Dalley and his men might not see it that way.”

“Irrelevant.” She brushed it aside. “What is this business my husband has sent you here to conduct?” Another sweet smile. “Does he want a divorce?”

“You know perfectly well that if the king wishes to set his consort aside, he hardly needs permission. Especially since she never consorts with him.” Merlin looked around the hall at the various courtiers and functionaries. “The present matter is, I must tell you, quite confidential.”

She stiffened slightly. “I see.”

“A long day’s travel has tired us, Guenevere. We’ll talk business with you in the morning. I believe Captain Dalley is expecting us at the garrison. If you don’t mind, we’ll be going.”

Her manner changed as she realized they weren’t about to be intimidated. “Weren’t you told, Merlin? I want you to be my guests.”

“Is there room in the dungeon for all of us?”

She sighed in an exaggerated way. “You shouldn’t be so suspicious. I want to know what Arthur wants. You, presumably, want to tell me.”

"’Me,’ Guenevere? Shouldn’t that be ‘us’? Or has the royal plural suddenly become obsolete?”

“I thought yours was a diplomatic mission, Merlin. Instead of diplomacy I find directness verging on rudeness.”

“Yes, you’re right.” His manner dripped with irony. “We should never have had you abducted at sword point.”

Unexpectedly, she laughed. “You will stay here at the castle. You may write to the garrison commander and tell him you are doing so. Rooms are being prepared for you. But I’m afraid they won’t be ready for a few minutes. We have another guest who is leaving tonight.”

“You mean your father.”

“My father, King Leodegrance, is in residence here, yes. But he is not the one I mean.”

“Who, then?”

“That is no concern of yours. You may use my library to write your note to the garrison. One of my men will take it. Your rooms will be ready shortly thereafter.”

“Fine.”

Guenevere stood regally and left the throne room. Merlin, Brit and Nimue found themselves alone, ignored by everyone else there. Brit looked around at them suspiciously. “Well, at least we’re not to be tortured.”

“Yet.” Nimue was quite out of her depth.

“Relax, Colin. Guenevere is an ambitious harridan, but she must know she could never survive a war with Arthur. Once she became aware the garrison knows we’re here, there wasn’t much chance she’d do anything to risk that,” Brit stated.

A boy in his mid-teens entered the room and approached them. “I am Petronus. People call me Pete. Will you come with me, please? I’ll show you where there’s paper and ink.” He spoke English with a French accent.

“Might we stop at our rooms first? I’d like to rest for a few moments.” Merlin wanted to try and catch a glimpse of the mysterious other guest.

“The queen’s instructions were to take you to the library. ”

“But I-”

“Please, sir. Besides, it’s in the same wing as your rooms. You won’t have far to go.”

There seemed no point arguing. If their rooms really were close to the library, they might get a look at the mystery visitor.

The boy led them out of the throne room and into another arm of the castle. More dark stone; more torches. Nimue coughed. “Do people ever get used to the stench here?”

The boy ignored this and kept walking.

A few moments later they reached the queen’s library. An armed guard was there, presumably to watch them. The room was lit with candles, refreshingly, and not torches. There were fewer books than in Merlin’s study at Camelot.

Just as they were going in, Brit glanced down the hall to see if she could tell where their rooms were. And there, in apparently heated discussion with Lancelot and Leodegrance, was Mark of Cornwall. As soon as he realized she’d seen him, he stepped into a doorway.

So two of the suspects were together in the same place, under mysterious circumstances.

Merlin wrote his note to Dalley. He asked that Colin be allowed to deliver it, and to his surprise, it was permitted. Nimue, accompanied by four armed guards, left for the garrison.

“I never thought they’d allow that.” Brit was surprised, not unpleasantly. “Maybe she means it. Are we guests, not prisoners?”

“I doubt if even Guenevere knows. Once she understood that our presence here was known to Arthur’s soldiers… It will take her a while to decide what to do with us.”

Before they could say more, Petronus showed up with two other boys, and Merlin and Brit were ushered to a suite of rooms farther down the corridor. Torches burned and smoked everywhere.

Petronus asked if there was anything they needed.

“Yes. Some candles. These torches give off such a stench,” Merlin said.

The boys looked at one another, and Petronus said, “I guess we’ve gotten used to it.”

“And their light makes too much glare for comfort.”

“Candles are in short supply, sir. But I’ll see if I can find some.”

“Thank you.”

The boys left.

Brit sat in an upholstered chair. “Did you see him?”

“See who?”

“Guenevere’s guest.”

“No. For heaven’s sake, who is it?”

She told him. And he froze. “This was supposed to be simple. Eliminate the wrong suspects and one will be left. But now Pellenore is more actively under suspicion than before. And this. How much more complicated is this going to get?”

Brit grinned. “And how much more ominous? What can he be doing here?”

“I can think of a dozen possibilities, all of them alarming. Arthur can’t possibly know.”

“I’ve always hated politics, Merlin. This is why. War is so clean and simple. Mass slaughter. Bloodletting on a major scale. What could be more pleasant?”

“I’m afraid war and politics get mixed up. Mark is a military leader and a king, remember? I’ll take the bedroom over there. Is that all right?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. So. Guenevere is nearly out of candles. What do we make of that?”

“Money must be tight. Which means she’s not interfering with the revenues from the port-at least not yet. I suppose that’s a sign of loyalty, or what passes for it with her.”

Petronus was back. He presented, ostentatiously, two candles. “One for each bedroom.” His tone suggested this was a real luxury.

“Thank you, Petronus.”

“Please, sir, call me Pete.”

“Pete, then. When is breakfast?”

“Daybreak, sir.”

"Fine. You’ll come and show us to the refectory?”