A Tail of Camelot (15 page)

“V
alentina!” Calib bolted straight for the weary-looking crow, and they shared a fur-and-feather hug.

“Hello, Master Calib,” Valentina said with a quick affectionate nibble of his ear.

“
Now
do you believe me?” Calib said, turning to the lynx.

“What Calib says is true,” Valentina said. “He helped me—at great risk to himself—when Camelot accused us of Commander Yvers's murder.” Valentina bobbed her head
at Calib. “I did not think you would truly pay us a visit, however. You are very brave, Calib. Very brave or very stupid.”

Leftie scrutinized Calib and Valentina. Behind them, a host of new crows was filing into the cavern. Space was becoming tight, and the tension among the Darklings seemed to grow with it.

“This cave is getting too crowded,” the fox said to Leftie in a low voice. “I mean no disrespect. But we simply don't have enough food for everyone. Not if you continue taking in refugees.”

“I will not turn away any beast to face the winter alone, even it means we all go a little lean,” Leftie said.

“‘A little lean'?” Lylas said, shaking his head so that his tortoise shells clicked together. “We'll starve to death!”

Calib thought of all the animals stuck in this cave, living off mere scraps, and he remembered the ample amount of food in Camelot's cellars. The dried, salted fish and drying herbs, the barrels full of oats and barley, and the drams of dandelion and elderberry cordial. It just didn't seem right that the Darklings should starve because they happened to live in the woods.

“Camelot needs more defenders, and you need more food,” Calib said hurriedly, before he could change his mind. “If the Saxons rise against us, none of us will be safe. We could work together.”

The silence that followed this outburst was absolute. The Darklings looked at Calib as if he'd offered a share of lost treasure. For a long time, no one spoke.

“If Camelot promises us food and shelter, that's where I vote we go,” Valentina said. “Anyone who lets pride get in the way of providing for their clan . . . Well, that's no leader at all.”

“All I know is that the little ones are hungry,” said a ragged-looking squirrel.

“Or we could attack the castle ourselves and
take
the food!” Lylas the badger bared his teeth in a mean smile.

“And you think we have the might to mount that kind of attack?” a crow asked. “We're barely able to protect what little food we have left. We have no fighters to spare.”

More arguments broke out: crows squawked and badgers grumbled and squirrels chattered shrilly at one another. Calib resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands. It was as if he was in the council room at Camelot all over again. Calib recalled how many times Commander Yvers had worked to unify the various animals at Camelot. Whether it was forging an alliance with the moat otters or listening to the endless complaints from the bell-tower larks, Commander Yvers had always known how to restore order.

Calib yearned for his grandfather's kindness and patience, the way he'd found Calib in the tapestry hall on
the very day he was too afraid to compete in the Harvest Tournament. How long ago that seemed.

Spotting a little outcropping of rock that formed a platform, Calib leaped nimbly on top of it. He cleared his throat.

“Can I have your attention, please?” he shouted above the din. No one even looked at him.

He cupped his paws to his mouth and tried again.

“PLEASE, CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!” Calib shouted again at the top of his lungs.

As the Darkling leaders finally quieted, they turned to Calib, surprised that such a loud voice could come from such a small mouse. But with all eyes on him now, Calib's confidence seemed to shrink back into a tiny ball.

“I have no right to tell you what to do,” Calib said, addressing the crowd in a squeak. He wished he had Commander Yvers's deep, soothing voice—but wishing, he knew, would not solve anything. He was a small mouse with ragged ears, and a squeak of a voice, but he would have to be enough. “Camelot has a motto: ‘Together in paw and tail, lest divided we fall and fail.' That applies to you, our Darkling friends, as well.”

Leftie looked at him, weighing his next words carefully.

“Since you are so eager to share your opinion,” he said. “How do you plan to put paw and tail together, as you say?”

Calib took a deep breath. At least Leftie was listening to him.

“First, we need to clear Two-Bits's name,” Calib said.

“Two-Bits?!” Leftie let out a big guffaw. “What's poor Two-Bits got to do with it?”

“Two-Bits's tooth has been used as evidence of his role in killing my grandfather,” Calib explained. “Sir Percival said he found it on Commander Yvers when he was examining the body.”

Leftie gawked at him. “Why, that big baby couldn't hurt a fly! The answer to your mystery is solved easily enough: he had his tooth removed just last week. In fact, your healer, Sir Percival, pulled it for him. Two-Bits?”

Calib felt as if he'd been doused by ice water as the black squirrel stepped forward reluctantly. His jaw was still bandaged together. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap.

“Poor thing's been chewing poppies to numb the pain,” Leftie said. “He's had to hibernate early.”

Calib felt the ground spinning beneath him. He closed his eyes, steadying himself on the cavern wall. Of course. The traitor in Camelot.

“Sir Percival Vole!” Calib said in a harsh whisper, piecing everything together. “Sir Percival has been framing Two-Bits as Commander Yvers's murderer. . . . He must have convinced Warren to lie. . . .”

But why would Sir Percival, a Knight of the Round Table, do such a thing?

“Typical Camelot behavior,” scoffed Jans Thropper. “And we're supposed to believe this scruff of fur when he says he wants to help us?”

Calib ignored that.

“We have to clear Two-Bits,” Calib repeated loudly, trying to focus even as his mind still reeled. “We have to send a message back to Camelot. There's enough food for everyone, and safety behind its walls. We just have to clear your name.”

If he could get Leftie and Two-Bits to talk to Commander Kensington and convince her, then the Camelot mice would see they had been wrong all along about the Darklings. They would see they had no choice but to join forces against the returning Saxons.

Leftie hesitated. Calib held his breath.

In the silence, a far-off horn sounded a short staccato melody.

Leftie and his lieutenants immediately bolted up from their seats. Lylas growled—a low rumbling that vibrated through the room. The fox let out an earsplitting yowl that made Calib stumble back. Two of the Darkling crows sprang forward and grabbed Calib's arms with their beaks, wrenching them behind his back.

“We should have known this was all a trick!” The fox
bared her teeth at Calib. The fur on her neck bristled.

“Quickly! Get everyone to safety!” Leftie barked. “Retrieve your weapons!”

“What?” Calib was confused— What had happened? Why was everyone panicking?

The lynx turned on Calib, and his eye was full of contempt. “T'was the alarm for Camelot invaders,” he hissed, whipping out his sharp, bladed rings. “Your patrols are here.”

A
n arrow whizzed across the cavern. It missed Leftie's head by inches before bouncing off the cave wall behind the lynx.

“It's a setup!” shouted Thropper, whipping out his fighting staff.

Just then, Commander Kensington, flanked by Sir Owen and Sir Percival, appeared in the cave's mouth.

“Charrrrge!” Commander Kensington yelled, pointing her sword. A line of Camelot soldiers filed into the cave behind her, swords drawn.

“Time to flush some Darkling pests out of their nests!” cried Sir Owen. He unsheathed his double daggers.

Caught by surprise, the Darklings swarmed forward. Fighters dashed to meet the Camelot soldiers while the young and old animals clamored over one another, trying to escape farther into the caves and tunnels.

Leftie turned back to Calib. “To think we listened to you for even a second!” Leftie bared his fangs. “I should have known that Camelot would resort to dirty tricks.” He drew out his scimitar and stepped toward Calib. The mouse backed up against the cave wall. Calib knew now that it was too late. There were no more words that could stop what would come next. He closed his eyes and thought of his mother, father, and grandfather. Would they be waiting for him in the Fields Beyond, to welcome him with open arms?

Would they be disappointed in him?

“Leftie Wildfang!” Kensington roared. Suddenly, she was there, brandishing her broadsword at the feline. “The Darklings are charged with the murder of our commander! Surrender and call off your fighters!”

“Over my fur pelt!” snarled Leftie, twisting around. He lunged at Commander Kensington with a snap of his teeth.

The lynx was alarmingly fast for a creature his size—but Kensington was faster.

She darted between Leftie's legs, her broadsword a blur of steel as she slashed left and right, trying to penetrate his thick fur. Leftie yowled as one blow found flesh, and he swiped a massive paw in the direction of the mouse-sized whirlwind. Kensington ducked as Leftie's claws grazed her armor, and then she redoubled her attack. The sound of clashing metal echoed through the cave.

“Stop! You're fighting the wrong enemy!” Calib shouted over the chaos. Yelps and growls filled the air, drowning out his pleas. The fox swung out her stick, slamming three Camelot mice to the cave wall. The crows were struggling to cast off nets that had been thrown over them. Lylas the badger was taking on at least six different mice, snarling and foaming at the mouth.

Calib looked on helplessly, shouting his voice raw though he knew it would do no good. All his hard work had been dashed to pieces in a matter of seconds.

“Into the tunnels, Darklings!” Leftie shouted, breaking away from Commander Kensington. At the lynx's command, the Darklings retreated deeper into the cave. Sensing an upper paw, Commander Kensington urged the Camelot troops forward. Bounding to a higher ledge, Leftie threw his weight against the stone wall.

A great rumbling reverberated through the cavern.

Looking up, Calib saw that the rock Leftie had moved had caused a chain reaction, loosening a pile of stones on a
ledge right above their heads. All at once, the rocks began crashing down around them.

“The cave is collapsing!” Commander Kensington shouted to her soldiers. “Flee!”

Calib had little choice but to follow the Camelot fighters. The mice ran for the cave's mouth while pebbles rained down around them.

As they burst into sunlight, a great thundering sounded from behind. An avalanche of stone and rubble filled the space that had been the Darkling cave, discharging a great cloud of dust into the air.

As Calib stood gasping and brushing debris from his fur, he felt something grab his ear from behind and yank up. He found himself looking into the beady, calculating eyes of Sir Percival.

“Looks like we found our Darkling traitor after all,” he said, barely hiding an oily smirk.

Sir Owen was staring at Calib, shock written all over his face. His one whisker twitched agitatedly. “Calib Christopher! How could you, laddie? Conspiring with the enemy! Turning your back on your own kind?”

Before Calib could respond, Sir Percival threw Calib backward, into the hands of waiting soldiers. “We'll interrogate him properly when we are back at Camelot. For now, take this traitor to the dungeons.”

S
ir Kay squinted at the tattered note Galahad had retrieved from the lark. Galahad, Malcolm, and Bors stood at attention, waiting to serve high tea to the queen and the castle's steward. There should have been more knights to wait upon, but only Sir Kay had heeded the queen's call to the council.

“I don't see what you are going on about,” Sir Kay said, shrugging and passing the note back to the queen. “This is clearly a routine update. Why are you wasting our time with these senseless meetings?”

“Truly, you cannot be so blind as that,” Queen Guinevere said, her green eyes flashing. “What other interpretation of ‘danger,' ‘rumors,' and ‘prepare' could there be? It bears the names of the knights who patrol the Iron Mountains. They would be the first to send warning. What further proof do you need that something is happening?”

Sir Kay put on his thick spectacles to study the message closer.

“I'm fairly certain this blur before ‘danger' is a ‘no.' As in ‘no danger.' And this”—he pointed to another ink smear—“is ‘just.' As in, ‘just rumors.'”

Galahad clenched the edges of his serving platter as he stepped forward with mugs of hot cider. He resisted the urge to dump the drinks over Sir Kay's head. Beside him, he could see Bors roll his eyes as he pushed the pastry cart forward.

“All right, I will not speak of warnings again,” Guinevere said. There was a certain steeliness to her words, but she kept her voice even and diplomatic. “However, I see no harm in putting extra sentries on the wall as a precaution.”

Sir Kay nearly sputtered into his mug. “My dear queen, we knights have fought and bled for Camelot so that we could enjoy some peace and quiet. I shall not disturb any knight's well-earned rest with womanly panic!”

“Then our conversation here is done,” Guinevere said, standing up. “You may leave. Now.”

Galahad could see Sir Kay was taken aback by the queen's sharp dismissal. But after a second, he only shrugged, stuffing a berry scone and a flaky pastry into his cloak's pocket. He bowed stiffly toward the queen and then left.

Galahad and Bors looked at each other, unsure of what to do. The queen held her head in her hands and rubbed her temples.

“Your Majesty?” Galahad asked tentatively. “Are we also dismissed?”

“They would never dare to speak to Arthur in such a way,” she said, not hearing Galahad. Her shoulders were slumped, and it seemed to him as though Queen Guinevere was holding all the stones of the castle on her back. And in a way . . . she was.

“Your Majesty,” Galahad said again, “There must be something
we
can do. Even if we aren't knights.”

“Yes,” said someone from behind him. Galahad turned in surprise. It was Malcolm who had spoken—Malcolm who didn't offer to do anything unless it benefited him. Galahad peered closely at him, looking for a smirk or gleam that hinted at incoming trouble. But to Galahad's surprise, there was no trace of laughter on the older page's face.

“What if
we
, the pages, stand watch on the wall instead, Your Majesty?” Malcolm continued.

“That might do,” the queen said, studying them thoughtfully.

“My older brother is lord of a small holding near the Iron Mountains. He sent the message,” said Malcolm, worry creasing his large brow. “And I know he would not waste a lark if there was no news to report.”

“I can take the first watch tonight,” Bors volunteered.

Guinevere looked at the three young pages standing before her with a ghost of a smile.

“They underestimate you as much as they underestimate our enemies,” Guinevere said. “My new defenders of Camelot. Much will be asked of you in the dark times ahead. But if you keep your eyes open and work together as brothers, we may stand a chance.”

Malcolm, Galahad, and Bors nodded. No one mentioned that this was the first time all three of them had ever agreed on anything.