“Good day, Simon. How is the bureaucracy this morning?”

“Everything is functioning well.”

Arthur turned to Bedivere. “See what I mean? I could spend a month by the sea at Brighton and it would hardly make a difference.”

Merlin stepped down from the carriage. His hip ached and he stumbled. Petronus rushed to his side to steady him. “Welcome back, sir.”

“It is good to be home, Petronus, and it is good to see you. But tell me, how is Colin?”

“Quite well, sir, and getting better every day.” He lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “She’ll be so happy to see you.”

“That is good. When I got your message, I was so concerned. You see-” He realized what the boy had said. “What was that?”

“She’ll be happy to see you, sir.”

“She?” He put on his best neutral manner. “I am asking about Colin.”

“Nimue, sir. She raved in her fever. I know the truth about ‘him’ now.”

Merlin sighed. It was bound to happen sooner or later. “We will discuss it later. But when I learned that Marian and Wayne were tending her, I-”

“Why did you have them arrested, sir? They were taking such good care of her.”

“Later, Petronus.”

Britomart strode out of the castle, beaming. “Arthur!”

“Good morning, Brit.”

She glanced at his bandages. “Still smarting from your brilliant military strategy, are you?”

Arthur scowled at her but said nothing.

Merlin, hearing this, crossed to join them. “Arthur’s wounds are from another war entirely. We will tell you all about it over breakfast.”

“Good. Shall I assemble all our advisors, then? And Prince Mordred?”

Merlin reached out and caught her arm. “Mordred is here?”

Confused by his reaction, Brit nodded. She looked at Arthur. “You did tell him to stay here, remember?”

“I told his mother to remain, too. But she left almost as soon as we did. How did she get away?”

Brit smirked. “ ‘As rare and lovely things oft do, she vanished in the night.’ ”

Merlin interjected, “You might have sent us word.”

“Why?” Brit seemed genuinely puzzled. “She is the king’s sister. Arthur always says he trusts her. Is there a problem about her?” She looked to Arthur.

“Over breakfast, Brit. I’m famished.”

Everyone moved toward the castle. But Merlin and Petronus lingered slightly behind. “Go and fire up the boiler for my lifting mechanism, Petronus. I do not feel well enough to tackle the steps to my tower.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

“Then come and join us for breakfast.”

The boy grinned. “With pleasure.”

The meal was huge and sumptuous, a fitting welcome home for the king. He took his place at the head table in the hall, surrounded by his advisors. Knights crowded the other tables. Mordred, apparently unaware that he and his mother were under clouds, took a seat close to Merlin. Peter took an unobtrusive seat at one end of the table and kept silent and listened to the conversation with careful attention. Petronus, having started the fire for Merlin’s lifting device, arrived late and sat at a rear table with the squires.

Merlin took the conversational lead. “So, how are our prisoners?”

Brit smiled. “They are still imprisoned. What else do you need to know?”

“It might be helpful if one of them confessed.”

“Confessed to what, Merlin? To starting the plague? Most of Europe thinks the Byzantines spread it deliberately. I’ll show you the intelligence reports after breakfast.”

“But I am not at all certain that-never mind. Have Marmaduke and Lulua said anything?”

“About-”

“About anything at all related to their attempt to do Arthur and me in. About who might have been behind it.”

Brit was lost. “Do you think creatures like them need to be urged to commit evil?”

Arthur spoke up. “What Merlin wants to know, Brit, is whether they have given any indication that my sister might have been behind their treason.”

Mordred exclaimed, “My mother?! Why would she-? I mean, why wouldn’t she, but really, why would she? Eliminating Uncle Arthur would undermine her own position in England. The barons would never-”

“Let us say,” Merlin interrupted, “that there are grounds for suspicion if nothing more.”

“But-”

“Later, Mordred.” Arthur smiled a patient smile.

Merlin pressed on. “What about Marian of Bath and her sons? Has any of them said anything?”

“Not a word that might incriminate them, if that’s what you mean. They seem more puzzled and outraged than anything else.” Brit took a long swallow of mead. “This is supposed to be a celebration of your return, Arthur. Do you really want to let Merlin turn it into an inquiry?”

“If Morgan is behind what has been happening, the situation is more serious than I would have believed. Or would have wanted to believe. But she has made a grave tactical blunder.” Bedivere started to say something, but Arthur anticipated him and cut him off. “Almost as grave as the tactical blunder I made when we were planning the journey.”

Everyone looked at Mordred. The young man blushed and tried to go on eating as if he didn’t understand. But it was clear to everyone there: Morgan had left her son and heir in Arthur’s hands-a bad move for a potential traitor.

“But-but-” Mordred felt compelled to say something but wasn’t sure what would be appropriate. “But-would she have done that if she was really a traitor?”

Merlin stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder.”

“But-but you can’t suspect me, Uncle. I’ve never-”

“You are your mother’s son. You must know as much about poisons and such as she does, or nearly so. I must ask that you remain here in, shall we say, protective custody, until this matter is resolved.”

“Yes, Uncle. But I give you my word, I don’t want to leave. You know that Mother and I have never-”

“I am afraid,” Merlin cut him off, “that the word of the son of a suspected traitor carries very little weight.”

Arthur smiled indulgently. “It’s only for a short time, Mordred. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it all fairly soon.”

Peter approached Merlin, smiling. “It is time for me to get back to Darrowfield. I’ve been away much longer than I’d planned. Our journey together was so very… interesting.”

“I will miss you, Peter. Having you along to give me support was quite invaluable. With none of my usual aides to help me…”

“Believe me, Merlin, it was my pleasure. The chance to see you in action, even if that action was inconclusive, meant the world to me.”

“When will you leave?”

“As soon as I can make the necessary arrangements. Before noon, with luck.”

Merlin took his hand. “Until we meet again, then. Be well. And be certain to keep me posted on the murder investigation at Darrowfield. The crown wants to know who murdered our baron.”

“I’ll be sure to do so. And of course I’ll send whatever plague news I can.”

“Let us hope there will be none.”

Peter grinned and shook his hand again. “Well, I’m off to the stables to make my arrangements. As you said, till we meet again.” He made a slight bow and a little salute, then turned and headed off toward the stables.

A sudden surge of bitterly cold air swept across England that morning. There was, thankfully, no more snow or rain, but the temperature turned frigid. In the sunlight particles of ice could be seen dancing in the air, stirred by the slightest breeze.

Merlin began to feel the cold in every joint in his body. His limbs grew stiff and sore, even more than they were usually. Every now and again the pain would become so severe that he would wince and curse the weather and his own body silently.

He sent a messenger to catch Peter in the stables. The note he sent read, “Be certain to take blankets and cloaks. Winter is upon us and shows signs of being merciless.”

Then it was time to return to his tower. Petronus scrambled up the steps to make certain the lift mechanism was operating properly. Then Merlin took his seat in the sling and began his mechanical ascent, more grateful than ever that he had built the thing.