The Lancelot Murders Read online

  The Lancelot Murders

  J. M. C. Blair

  Series: Merlin Investigations [2]

  Published: 2009

  Tags: Historical Mystery, Medieval

  Historical Mysteryttt Medievalttt

  * * *

  SUMMARY:

  When Guenevere and the faithless knight Lancelot plan to annouce themselves as the rightful rulers of England during her birthday celebration, King Arthur and Merlin make their own plans for thwarting the two until murder enters the picture and they are forced to help the enemy. Original.

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Praise

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by J.M.C. Blair

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  THE

  LANCELOT

  MURDERS

  A Merlin Investigation

  J.M.C. Blair

  Praise for

  THE EXCALIBUR MURDERS

  "This obviously is a different take on Camelot as it is a country filled with intrigue, double crossing, betrayals, and ambitious people who believe they are more deserving than their liege to rule . . . It is a more realistic place populated with individuals who seem genuine and not the archetype goodness fantasy of the myths . . . Using Camelot as a backdrop, J.M.C. Blair provides a great historical mystery." —Genre Go Round Reviews

  "If you are a fan of the Malloryesque mediaeval dream world approach to the Arthurian cycle and enjoy whodun its, then here is a new series that is aimed straight at you . . . Mr. Blair has obviously been reading Mark Twain and T. H. White with his semihumorous but pessimistic view of a boisterous but disillusioned King Arthur, wicked Morgan, scheming Guenevere, and brainless Lancelot. Having the court as pagans is an interesting twist, as are the murders themselves."

  —Crime Thru Time

  "Though Merlin has no magical powers, he is as brilliant as Sherlock . . . A fascinating vision. I frankly loved this book and want to read more of the author and the series." —Huntress Reviews

  "The setting is well developed, the characters are generally quite interesting, and the mystery is good enough to carry the story to its conclusion . . . I wish the series well." —Don D'Ammassa

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by J.M.C. Blair

  THE EXCALIBUR MURDERS

  THE LANCELOT MURDERS

  THE

  LANCELOT

  MURDERS

  A Merlin Investigation

  J.M.C. Blair

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  THE LANCELOT MURDERS

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2009 by John Curlovich. Interior text design by Kristin del Rosario.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without

  permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the

  author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 1-101-04817-4

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

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  One

  Evening at Camelot; late May

  The sun sat precisely on the horizon, and its last brilliant reds, yellows, oranges colored the sky. In the east the sky had darkened and there were a thousand stars and an enor mous moon. Among the trees owls were calling softly to one another. The creeks, rills and rivulets that made the countryside fertile were flowing softly and gently. To all appearances England was at peace.

  Merlin was in his laboratory, one level below his living quarters in what everyone at Camelot, to his constant an noyance, called "Wizard's Tower." In front of him on the lab table was a glass blank; he poured a fine abrasive on it and ground it slowly, carefully, with a gentle circular mo tion. His raven, Roc, perched serenely on his shoulder and watched what he was doing, puzzled in a disinterested way. Merlin himself found the activity relaxing; he was lost in idle thought.

  When the lens seemed to be finished he took it to the window and held it at arm's length while with his other hand he held a second one close to his eye.

  The bird on his shoulder nuzzled his cheek.

  "Look, Roc. See the beauty of the world. See the peace." Yet something nagged at him. Everything was too calm, too lovely, and much too serene. "So why do I find that peace so ominous?" he whispered. "Why is calm always shat tered? Why is that so eerily predictable?"

  The bird squawked.

  "It is my race, Roc. It is humanity. We see a sweet thing and feel the urge to destroy it. What unnatural creatures we are."

  Then there came a knock at the door. Greffys, King Ar thur's squire, opened it and put his head in. "Excuse me, sir. The king wants you."

  "What is it this time?" The interruption wasn't welcome. He returned to his worktable and placed the lenses carefully on it. Roc squawked shrilly and flew out the window.

  "I don't know, sir. A courier just arrived with some mail, and Britomart brought it directly to the king. I heard her say something about an 'intelligence report.' "

  "Intelligence? Britomart runs the military."

  "I know that, sir. The king read the dispatch and his mood darkened. He fell silent for a long time. Britomart tried talk ing to him, but he just stared into space and wouldn't re spond. Then he came around and told me to fetch you."

  Merlin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "It is midevening. Shouldn't you be doing your lessons?"

  "Not when the king requires my service, sir." He shifted his weight awkwardly. "Do you . . . do you think it might be another traitor? Or war, maybe?" The la
tter prospect seemed to excite Greffys.

  "It took me months to persuade the king to let me open a school for the squires and the pages. It will do no good if you ignore your studies."

  "We have duties, sir. More immediate ones than learning about Roman comedy and the metaphysics of Aristotle. What do you think this intelligence might be about?"

  "How could I possibly know? Something foul." He felt a twinge of pain and leaned on the table. "Hand me my cane, will you?"

  Greffys stared at his equipment with undisguised curios ity. "May I ask what you are doing, sir?"

  Merlin was annoyed at being interrupted, but the teacher in him could not be repressed. "Here, come and see. I am grinding this piece of glass into a lens. Look." He took the lens and held it above his left hand; the fingers were magni fied. Greffys watched, fascinated. "That's remarkable, sir. I've never seen anything like it."

  "You remember the lenses you and Petronus used to fo cus the torchlight on the night we exposed Mark's vil lainy?"

  The boy held his own fingers under the lens and wiggled them. "Yes, I do. But . . . but what is this all for?"

  "The theory underlying optics goes back to the Greeks." He said this pointedly, to remind the boy of the importance of his lessons.

  "But what exactly are you doing, sir? And why?"

  "I have been experimenting with them. I find that if I grind them differently, they produce different effects. Some make distant objects appear closer. Others magnify what ever is held under them. And I am finding that combining them in various ways can produce the most remarkable effects. Come and look."

  He led Greffys to the window and showed him how to hold the two lenses. "Look through them at that tower on top of the hill there."

  "The one off on the horizon, with the lights?"

  "Exactly."

  "But . . . it's too far away."

  "Do it anyway, Greffys."

  The boy did as he was told. It took him a moment to find

  the correct distance between the lenses, and he seemed to have trouble holding them steady. "I can see it! I can see the windows clearly enough to count them."

  "Precisely. I still don't know how to grind the lenses perfectly. There must be a formula for it, but so far I have to trust my hands, their experience, and hope for the best. About a quarter of the lenses I grind turn out useless. But other combinations magnify very small objects to enor mous size."

  "And you say you're not a wizard."

  Merlin glared. "This is science, not sorcery. I am deter mined—Arthur would say mad—to see everything in the world as it actually is. If my lenses can help me do it . . ."

  Greffys was lost. "How else can we see it?"

  He took a deep breath. "Look at Arthur, for instance. He takes nearly everything and everyone at face value. If a knight pledges loyalty, in Arthur's mind he must be loyal. If another country promises peace, he sees peace. But look below the surface and you see the world of men quite dif ferently."

  "And so you magnify your fingers?" The boy couldn't hide his befuddlement.

  "Let us just say that trying to see things properly is a hard habit to break. Look out there. See how beautiful the world appears? But I tell you, Greffys, as sure as any thing, there are forces out there that will lead to bloodshed and death. There always are. The stars are beautiful, but they are indifferent. They shine on killers and victims alike. But enough of that. Look over here. I have been studying the properties of the substance called phospho rus. It is quite fascinating. Under the right conditions, it glows."

  "But, sir, Arthur wants you. Another time, perhaps. We should be going."

  Merlin snorted at the boy. "Would you hand me my cane, please?"

  Advancing arthritis in his right hip had brought about a rolling limp and made it necessary for Merlin to walk on a cane. Greffys looked around the room and saw it resting against the hearth. It was of dark wood, highly polished, carved elaborately with figures of mythical beasts—dragons, unicorns, griffins. A fantastical snake ran the length of it, down one side and up the other with the tip of its tail in its mouth. The boy took it up, ran his fingers along the carved surface, then handed it to Merlin. "This is really beautiful, sir."

  "I agree. But I wish I did not need it." Merlin frowned. "It was a gift from King Pellenore. He actually believes in these preposterous animals."

  "So did most of your Greeks, sir."

  "Be quiet and hand me my stick."

  "Oh." Greffys seemed uncertain how to react. "Pel lenore?"

  "Yes," Merlin grumped. "Pellenore. The mad old man. The craziest man in Camelot—or the sanest. Do you know what this serpent represents?"

  It was clear Greffys had no idea what he meant. Blankfaced, he stammered, "It's a snake. The king said to have you hurry, sir."

  "Kings always say that." He sighed. "It would do Arthur good to have to wait a few minutes. But let's go."

  Wizard's Tower was a hundred feet tall; only the tower where the king lived was taller. A stone staircase wound down the inside to the main floor of the castle. Merlin moved down it slowly, steadying himself against the wall and leaning heavily on his cane. Greffys offered a hand to help him.

  "I've been working on a scheme," Merlin told the boy, "for a mechanical lift with cables, pulleys and counter weights. It is based on an invention of Hero of Alexandria. If I can get it to work, I'll never have to negotiate these stairs again."

  "But if this device should fail . . ." The boy sounded dubious.

  "Then I would fall to my death. What would be so terri ble about that? No more traitors, no more wars, no more 'come at once.' "

  "Have you thought about moving to another part of the castle, sir?"

  "Where could I move that would suit me better? Besides, all the bedrooms are on upper floors. My tower keeps me away from other people. That solitude is quite precious to me. It makes study possible. It makes life bearable."

  "Oh." Again the boy was puzzled. Uncertainly, he asked, "Er . . . this is arthritis?"

  Merlin nodded.

  "Can't you heal yourself?"

  "Medical science has limits, Greffys."

  "But you're a sorcerer."

  Merlin glared at him and stopped moving. "I am," he said slowly and heavily, "no such thing. I am a scholar and a sometime physician. There is no such thing as magic and you ought to know it. You helped me stage the 'miracle' that exposed Mark of Cornwall. Remember?"

  "Uh . . . yes, sir."

  Once they reached the foot of the staircase Merlin was able to move more quickly. The main part of Camelot was busy with servants coming and going, knights clanking about in their armor and dozens of other inhabitants less easy to classify. The household staff were busy lighting torches in all the hallways.

  Merlin noticed a large brown spider in a crack in the wall. "Look. Predators conceal themselves everywhere. Someone ought to do something about that."

  Greffys held out a thumb and squashed the spider. "There."

  "You'll be a good knight. You've already lost every trace of subtlety."

  "I beg your pardon, sir?"

  "Nothing."

  They moved on and in a few moments they reached the foot of the King's Tower. Merlin regarded another spiral staircase and sighed. "I was not made for an age like this. The world was a better place before large-scale building. People were content in one-room houses made of mud brick."

  "You lived in Egypt. You always tell us what wonders the Pyramids are."

  "The Pyramids are tombs, not houses."

  "I can't imagine you in a mud-brick hut, sir. Where would you keep your books and your laboratory things?"

  "I suppose a tomb would be as good a place as any. Learning is dead."

  "King Arthur says you complain too much."

  "Be quiet and help me up these stairs."

  A guard was posted at the bottom of the staircase; it led to the king's quarters, after all. The guard extended a hand to help Merlin up the first few steps. But just as Merlin was about to
go up, he saw his assistant, Nimue, in her custom ary disguise as the young man called Colin, farther along the hallway. "Colin!"

  She rushed to meet him. "Merlin. Have you had dinner yet? They have the most succulent ham in the refectory, glazed with honey."

  "I thought there was eel on the menu."

  "I had the ham and it was wonderful."