“Yes,” answered the monk. “Though I cannot tell you where they might be, or in what condition.”
“We have to find them.” She flapped her arms to warm herself. “Why is it so c-cold in here? It’s been getting hotter and hotter as the eruption gets nearer. But now I’m f-f-freezing.”
“I will show you,” answered Geoffrey. He led her over to a squarish hole in the wall where no water flowed.
“A window,” she marveled, shivering again.
“Come nearer. You can see the lake. And something more.”
“Are you sure she’s strong enough?” asked Terry.
“I’m f-fine,” said Kate, not really feeling that way. She approached the window, peering out at the starlit cavern and the still water below. “It’s darker in here than out there,” she observed.
Geoffrey nodded. “These walls—see how thick they are?—keep out much of the light from the stars. And Nimue has not equipped her dungeon with a torch.”
“You never answered my question. About the c-cold.”
“The truth is,” Geoffrey explained, “it is quite warm in here.”
“But I feel—”
“You feel cold. You feel chilled to the bone. That is because you were touched.”
“Touched? By what?”
Geoffrey raised his arm and pointed his knobby finger out the window. “By one of them.”
Kate turned again to the glistening surface of the lake, just as a whitecap appeared. From beneath it came a dark form, rising slowly to the surface. At first she thought it was an enormous eel, but the intense chill in her chest told her otherwise. She watched, transfixed, as it lifted its huge, triangular head above the water.
The sea demon spun a half rotation, growled fiercely, then fell back with a colossal splash. In two seconds it was gone, yet that was all she needed to view the massive body covered with purple scales, the savage jaw, the teeth sharp as knives. The sight seemed to fill her whole body with ice.
Then a hand, larger than hers, slid into her own. It was Terry, standing beside her. As she turned to him in thanks, the chill seemed to lessen a bit. Little by little, she felt her lungs breathing and her heart pumping, with growing strength and growing warmth.
“Do you think,” she asked quietly, “we still have a chance? If not to stop Nimue, at least to save Dad and Isabella?”
Terry stroked the cleft of his chin. “That depends on how soon the eruption hits. With these tremors and vents bursting open . . . my guess is we have only a few minutes left, at the most.” He observed her thoughtfully. “But whatever we have, I suppose it’s something.”
Lightly, she squeezed his hand.
Geoffrey approached, the breeze from the window ruffling his unruly hair. “It is a bleak moment,” he confessed. “Bleaker because I must share it with both of you.”
“We came by our own choice,” said Kate.
“By your own folly,” corrected Geoffrey. “And by my folly as well. I fear we have arrived too late to stop Nimue from destroying everything. And even if we did have enough time, what could we do?” He shrugged dispiritedly. “The days of the Glass House, and Arthur’s final hope, are ended.”
“You don’t know that yet,” insisted Kate.
The old man locked into her gaze. Somewhere behind his eyes, a frail fire kindled. “Perhaps.” He patted the folds of cloth over his chest where the last of the Treasures lay hidden. “You remind me that we still possess the one thing Nimue most craves. And she will not get it easily.”
“Couldn’t we take a drink from the Horn? Maybe its power could help us.”
Geoffrey shook his head. “Whatever the Horn’s power truly is, no one who has not first met the test of the Emperor Merwas may drink from it. Merlin learned that painful lesson! In any case, I doubt that taking a drink would help us stop Nimue. The Horn’s power is of a . . . different nature.” He scratched behind his neck. “Yet you do make me wonder. Perhaps—”
At that moment, a blinding light flashed. When Kate’s vision cleared, she could see that a door had opened in the liquid wall of the dungeon.
“Oh no,” she said.
“Good Lord,” muttered Geoffrey, placing his hand over his chest.
XXV: First Loyalty
A stout, square-shouldered man stood in the doorway, sizing up the group. In one burly hand he held a torch, but its light burned dimly compared to the glowing sword he held in the other. His face looked weathered and wrinkled, though less from outer storms than from inner ones. A torn oilskin shirt hung over his chest, the sleeves long ago removed. The hair on his head, blond and curly, matched that sprouting from his close-cropped beard as well as his biceps. His nose was swollen and inflamed, but the rest of his skin was white, like someone who has not seen the sun for many years.
Kate glanced at Geoffrey. He could not take his eyes off the shining sword of light. For her, however, it was the man’s eyes that caught her curiosity. They were dark as night, much like the monk’s, but with a difference. While Geoffrey’s eyes seemed younger than the rest of him, this man’s eyes seemed considerably older, as if his body had remained frozen in time while his eyes had continued to age.
“Welcome to my castle,” he declared with a rolling accent that was made more pronounced by his stuffy nose.
Geoffrey started to speak, caught himself, then stuffed the end of his beard into his mouth and chewed vigorously.
“I am Garl-a-a-ah-ah-choooo!” He unceremoniously wiped his nose on his shirt, then cursed, “Damn this cold.” With a loud sniff, he began again. “I am Garlon the Seaworthy, master of this house.”
Geoffrey chewed still harder.
“I should have sent my servants to fetch you, but they are, ah, busy just now.”
Apparently no longer able to stand it, Geoffrey tore the beard from his mouth and said, “If you mean Nimue and her sea demons, it is they who are the masters and you who are the servant.”
Flame kindled in Garlon’s eyes, and he raised the brilliant sword. “Who are you, who dares to speak to me this way?”
“I am Geoffrey of Bardsey, of the Order of the Horn.”
Garlon pounced to Geoffrey’s side. Thrusting the blade at the old man’s throat, he said, “Geoffrey of Bardsey. Ah, yes. I understand you have a little a-a-ah-choo! . . . a little something I have long awaited.”
Geoffrey tried to back away, but found himself pressed against a coursing wall of water.
“Leave him alone,” shouted Kate. “Can’t you see he has no weapons?”
Garlon whirled around. “His sharp tongue is weapon enough! He is nothing but a slimy old bag of bones, better off dead.”
“Now, now,” said Geoffrey, his eyes focused on the point of the sword and his whole body quivering, “I really didn’t mean to offend you.”
Garlon wiped his nose again. “Then why did you insult me?”
Still staring at the sword, Geoffrey laughed nervously. “I didn’t think you would take it so personally.”
Garlon jabbed the sword closer to his throat.
“It was just a spot of humor,” said Geoffrey, squirming at the sword point.
“Well, I have no time for humor.” He jerked the weapon away from Geoffrey, who nearly collapsed with relief. “I should kill you now, but Nimue wants to do it herself.” Waving the sword toward the door, he commanded with the authority of a sea captain, “Go now. The whole crew of you.”
Terry led the way out of the dungeon, stumbling in the dim light. He was followed by Kate and, last of all, Geoffrey. Garlon, torch held high, marched them down a hallway and up a long, spiraling staircase of lavender coral. The stairs seemed to twirl upward without end, climbing inside a curtain of crashing water. Geoffrey, tiring, dragged himself more and more slowly. Occasionally, Garlon prodded him with the sharp tip of the radiant sword.
At last the stairway peaked, opening into a room as spacious as any Kate had ever seen. On every side, powerful fountains formed rows of arches, one flowing into the next. The w
alls of water splashed and bubbled ceaselessly. Overhead, gushing jets of water merged into a vaulted ceiling.
“The great hall,” panted Geoffrey, looking exhausted but awestruck.
Kate nodded, but her attention was directed not to the vast room, drained of water as Merlin had found it long ago. Nor was it directed to the array of objects near the glistening throne in the center of the floor. Instead she felt drawn to a large cage at the far edge of the great hall. Within its liquid bars, dark shapes moved.
“Dad!” she cried, running to the cage.
“Kate! Is that you?”
“It’s me!” She sprinted past the empty throne. “Are you all right?”
“A little wet, but yes,” her father replied.
“A lot wet.” Isabella shook herself. “But at least we are alive, eh?”
“I’m so glad. I thought maybe . . .” Tears brimming, Kate held his hand through the watery bars. It felt strong. And alive. And Dad. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
“I’ve tried,” he answered. “Believe me, I have. It’s impossible. Until that sorceress comes back.”
“Nimue,” said Kate bitterly. She could almost picture the enchantress, her smoky body, her bottomless eyes . . . almost as if she had seen her somewhere before. But of course she had not. Kate released her father’s grip and shook the bars with rage. “She’s going to wipe out this whole place, and all of us, just to get—”
“The Horn,” completed Garlon, standing behind her. He sneezed, spraying all of them. “That’s right. Only Nimue and I can let them out. And she ordered—er, asked—me not to do that.”
Jim wiped his face on his sleeve and shook his head in disgust. “Remind me, if I ever get out of this, to revise the accounts of Garlon the brave and heroic seaman.” Then, spying Terry and Geoffrey across the room, he asked, “Is that Terry? And who is with him?”
“Yes, Terry,” answered Kate, watching him help the old man hobble slowly toward them. “He’s not so bad, you know. And that’s Geoffrey. He’s a monk. We found him on the Resurreccíon.”
“The Resurreccíon!” exclaimed her father. “You’ve been there?”
Kate nodded.
“And the old man was there?”
“Went down with the ship. He stayed alive thanks to—” She caught herself, seeing Garlon listening closely. “I’ll tell you later.”
Her father reached his hand out of the cage and brushed her braid. “As much as I wanted to see you again, I had hoped it wouldn’t be here.”
She bit her lip.
“And as much as I dreamed of one day seeing the Treasures,” he went on, “I never thought I’d see them through the bars of a cage.”
“They’re about to be destroyed, if Nimue has her way.”
“I know. She thinks that she can cause some kind of disturbance—an earthquake or something—that will wreck the Glass House, as well as the whirlpool. She was boasting, just before you came, that when the whirlpool collapses, she can make off with the Horn. Unless of course, as she put it, she can lure someone into bringing her the Horn first.”
Kate winced, then turned to the throne, which seemed to be made of millions of crystalline water droplets. The throne of Merwas. And surrounding it, the Treasures. Placed on one of its wide arms was the chessboard, with several wooden pieces sitting on it, awaiting someone’s next move. Some distance away sat the flaming chariot, burning with such intense heat that it made the castle floor steam around its base.
Nearby, many other legendary objects were gathered. She spotted the knife, the pan, and the whetstone, all resting on top of a glassy table. The mantle of invisibility, copper-red in hue, leaned against a towering column of water, along with the halter and the harp. On the floor by the throne sat the ever-bubbling cauldron of knowledge, black, wide-mouthed, and nearly as tall as Kate herself. At its base lay the vessel of plenty, spilling forth a feast of fruits, cheeses, and dried venison, plus a large goblet of red wine.
The Treasures of the Isle of Britain. They represented all that humankind might need to live comfortably, and all that Arthur might need to triumph in his final battle.
She counted them. Ten were by the throne. The sword of light made eleven. The Horn was twelve. What was missing? Oh, yes—the ring. Now what was it that happened to the ring? Somehow she could not remember.
Just then Geoffrey and Terry veered off course and headed straight for the vessel of plenty. Garlon, seeing this, ran to intercept them. He leaped in front of them just as Geoffrey bent toward the goblet of wine.
“Just hoping for a swallow or two,” grumbled the old man, eyeing the goblet.
“No,” ordered Garlon. “I a-a-ah-choooo!” He wiped his nose. “I will tell you what you can touch and what you cannot.”
“You know,” said Geoffrey innocently, “that cold sounds positively abysmal. No humor intended, you understand. I know just the thing to cure it.”
Garlon’s eyebrows raised. “What?”
“What you need,” explained Geoffrey with the barest hint of a smirk, “is a good dose of sunshine.”
“Impudent swine!” fumed Garlon. He started to rush at Geoffrey, then held himself back. “I will kill you later,” he promised. “After Nimue is done with you.” A slow smile spread over his face. “And then I will drink from the Horn.”
Kate drew near. “Do you really think Nimue will let you do that?”
“Who are you, girl?” demanded Garlon. “Tell me your name.”
“Kate Gordon.”
“A girl,” said Garlon contemptuously. “And do you also belong to the Order of the Horn?”
“No,” she replied. Then, with a glance at Geoffrey, she added, “But I’d like to.”
Garlon laughed raucously, then rubbed his tender nose. “So that is the best the enemies of Garlon and Nimue can do? To send an old man and a girl?” Again he laughed, pointing the torch at Terry. “And a coward.”
Terry stepped forward in a huff, but Geoffrey grabbed his shirt.
“Careful,” whispered the old man. “The sword of light can cut you to pieces in the blink of an eye.”
“Don’t you see what you’re doing?” pleaded Kate. “You’re going to ruin all of Merlin’s work.”
Garlon scowled. “Merlin. Bah! Don’t speak that name! I am only sorry he is already dead, so I cannot kill him myself.” He threw the torch at the flaming chariot, which instantly consumed it. “My gift to Merlin is to destroy the Glass House. Forever!”
Geoffrey scratched behind his neck. “Now I understand. Nimue must have tapped the power of the chariot to make the rocks under the sea seethe with fire until they erupt.”
Garlon started to nod before stopping to contain a sneeze.
“I don’t believe it,” sneered Terry. “How can some chariot cause a volcanic eruption?”
“What are you, an alchemist?” shot back Garlon. “I will show you what the chariot can do.” He planted both feet firmly, then pointed his sword at the flaming vehicle.
“No!” cried Geoffrey.
At once, the flames leaped higher, almost to the ceiling of the great hall. From the chariot came a blast of heat like a mammoth furnace, so strong it knocked Geoffrey over backward and made the others stagger, hands over their faces. A distant roar gathered, swelling in volume until it drowned out the cascading walls of the castle. Then the Glass House itself shook, swaying violently from side to side, throwing Kate and Terry to the floor.
Satisfied, Garlon lowered the luminous sword. The flames fell back to their previous level, and the castle walls stopped swaying. Surveying his prisoners as they scrambled to regain their feet, he grunted in satisfaction.
Geoffrey leaned toward Terry and asked, “Do you believe it now?”
He did not answer, but glared at Garlon.
As Kate stood, something fell out of her pocket and slapped the floor, it was the ivory comb she had found near the Resurreccíon.
She reached down and closed her hand around it. Suddenly Garlon bark
ed, “What is that?”
“It’s just a . . .” Kate’s words trailed off as she felt herself gripped by an idea. A desperate, wild idea.
“It’s nothing,” she said, cramming the comb back in her pocket. “Nothing at all.”
“Let me see it,” he commanded.
“No.”
Garlon lifted the sword again. “Let me see it.”
She glanced at Geoffrey, still struggling to stand, and Terry, who was trying to help him, then over her shoulder at the cage holding her father and Isabella. Reluctantly, she removed the lustrous comb from her pocket.
“You can’t have it,” she declared.
“I will decide that,” retorted the seaman, grabbing it from her. He held it before his face. “What is so special about a comb?”
For an instant, Kate hesitated. She cleared her throat, as if she were about to reveal a precious secret. Then she announced, her voice full of drama, “You are holding . . . the greatest of all the Treasures. The Comb of Power.”
Garlon cocked his head. “Go on.”
“Didn’t Nimue ever tell you about it? This is the one Treasure that has more power than all the others combined.”
Garlon looked doubtful. “More than the Horn?”
“Much more.”
He moved closer. “How does it work?”
“I will tell you,” she promised. “But first you must agree to free the people in the cage.”
“I could just kill you and keep it.”
“If you kill me you’ll never find out how to use it.”
Garlon lowered his voice. “Would this make me more powerful than . . . her?”
She nodded. “You could tell her what to do for a change.”
Still doubtful, he eyed Kate uncertainly. “Tell me how it works.”
“First let them out of the cage. Before Nimue comes back.”
Clutching the comb, Garlon debated what to do. He rubbed his nose distractedly.
Just then Geoffrey, who had finally righted himself, rushed over to his side. “You found it!” crowed the monk. “My missing comb! How good of you.”
Garlon’s nostrils flared. “Your comb?”