Guinevere’s face changed. She glanced at Lancelot.
The knight cracked his knuckles. “Who appointed you Treasury Master, kind sir?”
“The Council of Advisors brought me in after Arthur’s death, given my sterling reputation. And I have a contract for a twelve-year term, so my position is secure,” said the Treasury Master, holding his gaze. “Speaking of security, isn’t there still a bounty on both of your heads?”
Lancelot leaned in. “You’re welcome to try to collect.”
Tedros couldn’t concentrate.
His mind was on Excalibur.
Was the sword waiting for him to kill the Snake?
Or was it waiting for the Snake to kill Tedros?
Tedros gritted his teeth. He could feel his fingers twitching. . . . How could he hold back for an army? . . . He wanted to fight the Snake right now. . . .
He took a deep breath.
Merlin and Professor Dovey were right. His father had ridden into the Battle of the Four Point weak and without a plan and lost everything. Tedros couldn’t make the same mistake. Not just for him, but for Agatha too.
Agatha.
His heart clenched thinking of his true love out in the Woods with her crew, tracking a deadly villain. He wished he could have spoken to Professor Dovey before she left. She was the last person to talk to Agatha and he wanted to know how she was and why she hadn’t written when she promised she would. But now Tedros was thinking about the Storian’s last page. . . . “Arthur’s blood . . .” Why had Merlin gone just as he seemed to figure out what the words meant? Was there someone in Arthur’s family who wanted the crown? Someone willing to kill his son for it? Someone Merlin knew? Tedros thought back to what Lady Gremlaine had said in the Hall of Kings. . . . “How little you know of your father . . .” And yet, deep inside, he had the sinking feeling that they were all wrong . . . that they had missed the real meaning of the Lady of the Lake’s words. . . .
But now Tedros was thinking of the summit he had to call to build an army. He’d put off answering the urgent letters from neighboring kingdoms because Camelot had zero to offer them. If he went ahead with a summit, he’d have to face them all in person. . . .
“Tedros?” his mother’s voice said.
He looked up to see her, Lance, and the Treasury Master staring at him.
“Oh. Um, what was the question?” Tedros asked.
Lance glowered. “I told Humpty Dumpty here to show me Camelot’s accounts and he said no and I said show me or I’ll give you the beating of your life and he said only the king can order him to show the kingdom’s books—”
“And he isn’t officially king,” said the Treasury Master, barely looking at Tedros. “Which means maybe I should call some guards and see if they’re interested in splitting a bounty.” He grinned at Guinevere and Lancelot. “Think there’s just enough gold in the kingdom left for that.”
Maybe it was the way the fat little twit said it. Or the way he ignored Tedros like he was a kitchen maid. Or maybe now that a Snake wanted his crown, Tedros finally felt like a Lion. Whatever it was, it made Tedros stand up.
“I’m the only king you have at the moment, my friend. So as long as you plan to remain at Camelot, you and everyone else in this castle are under my command. Which means you’ll hand over the kingdom’s books without another word and you’ll never threaten my mother and Lancelot again. First things first, though.”
Tedros turned to Lance. “You have a beating to give.”
The Treasury Master gasped.
Tedros knew from experience that Lancelot could inflict remarkable pain in a short time. The Treasury Master didn’t fare well, then. Bruised and whimpering behind the desk like a dying cat, he quiveringly handed over all of Camelot’s ledgers, which Lance, Tedros, and his mother lugged into a Blue Tower sitting room and spread out over the tattered mohair carpet.
The palm plant in the corner of the room was dead, the powder-blue wallpaper had water bubbles in it, and the cracked ceiling leaked onto the fireplace mantel, drip, drip, drip. A few mosquitoes buzzed around their heads. But the three of them stayed hunched on the carpet for hours, barely speaking as they scoured the Treasury Master’s books. Soon the sky dimmed through the windows and stewards put down plates of chicken tikka and saffron rice, which were eaten hastily and shoved aside so they could get back to work.
Finally Lancelot looked up. “They taxed the poor and the middle class at double the rates Arthur did and cut the taxes of the wealthiest landowners. That’s obvious. But it still looks like we have plenty of money coming into the accounts. More than enough to build an army.”
“But if revenues are up, how can we be bankrupt? That’s what I don’t understand,” said Guinevere. “Who has the expense books—”
“I do and they all look fine too,” said Tedros, peering at a ledger. “Well, except the expenses for CB. Those numbers are astronomical. Must be where all the extra money went. But that’s to be expected after Dad died.”
“What’s CB?” Guinevere asked.
“‘Camelot Beautiful,’” Tedros answered. “Advisors started the fund after Dad died to help maintain and refurbish the castle. Agatha’s been raising money for it the past six months—”
He stopped talking.
Slowly they took in the room around them . . . the warped wallpaper . . . dripping ceiling . . . molting plant . . .
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” said Lancelot. “Whatever money’s in that fund isn’t going to Camelot Beautiful.”
Guinevere shook her head. “Where is it going, then? Where is all of Camelot’s gold?”
“Only one way to find out,” said Tedros, snapping his book shut. He stood and straightened his crown, his eyes crystal blue, his face regal, looking like the Tedros in the Hall of Kings.
“It’s time for me to meet these advisors.”
15
AGATHA
Pirate Pavilion
“Arthur’s blood? What do you mean the Snake has Arthur’s blood!” Nicola blurted.
“Shh! They’ll hear us!” Sophie snapped. “Agatha and I were having a private conversation—”
“Your voice is so screechy there’s nothing private about it.”
“You moldy little toadstool—”
“Is this really the time to be bickering?” Agatha hissed between them.
The three girls were chained by the hands, one behind the other, with Bogden, Willam, Hort, Dot, Anadil, and Hester fixed to the same chain in lockstep ahead of them. Four teenage pirates in black leather, wielding curved swords, rode on horseback, two ahead, two behind, marshaling the prisoners through Jaunt Jolie, paved with yellow and pink brick, hot under their feet from the broiling summer sun. Agatha could see townspeople peeping from houses, many with black eyes or gashed cheeks.
“This is an Ever kingdom. Why aren’t they helping us?” Sophie whispered, tripping over her long, ruffly blue dress. “Aren’t Evers supposed to rescue Good from the clutches of Evil?”