“We just watched Excalibur get walked out of here, and you are trying to cheer me up with rotted clichés. Just because I’m mostly dead doesn’t mean I’m brain dead. What do you want from me?”
Mordred threw back his head and laughed. “I had to try. You have proven yourself my equal at most every turn, so I shall deal with you as such. For me, the beginning and end has always been the grail. After listening to your conversations now and back at the library, ’tis my belief that thou art my best chance at finding it. Plus, you amuse me, so I’d prefer you not to perish. However, I admit I care naught for your friends’ welfare. The beasts dragged thine friend onto the shore, but she is fading. I would be willing to use the grail to save her before I go about mine business. Or I could use it to free thee from all those marks the thief spoke of, whichever you desire; it matters naught to me. Just deliver me the grail.”
I had been betrayed, tricked, used, or abandoned by just about everyone, so I had no reason to believe anything Mordred said. Except he did seem to be right about one thing—the power drain had slowed, so Dorthea wasn’t in the water anymore. She was so weak, I could hardly feel her presence. Which I might not have minded if that didn’t mean she was near dying. And taking me with her.
I sighed. “Of course, it has to be one or the other, save Dorthea or release me. It can’t be both.”
“Aye. Would you prefer I lie to you and promise thee eternal life and that we shall share the grail? I am being honorable in my frankness. I am not a hero whose actions come out of the kindness of my withered heart. If you show me the grail, you may use it but once.”
“And if I say sod off?”
He clapped his knees and stood up. “Then thy life, or what might be left of it, is thine own. ’Tis no skin off my elbow. I’ll find the man pretending to be Merlin and offer him the same.”
I considered his offer. At this point, I really didn’t have anything to lose. Mordred was unapologetically exactly who he was, neither sinner nor savior. Or perhaps a little of both. Aside from misquoting lingo, he meant what he said and followed through, which was a far cry better than most. There was just one problem: I knew Blanc had the grail, but she could have left it at the Academy of Villains with the other magical artifacts, or it could be in the lake. And if she was carrying it, then we were going to need everyone in Story to take it off her.
“All right,” I agreed. “I don’t know exactly where the grail is though.”
Mordred’s eyes darkened nearly as black as his hair. “Then you cannot help me.”
“Wait! I know that the Lady of the Lake has it.”
“I had guessed as much.” He knelt down and scooped me into his arms, hoisting me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “For confirming that, I suppose I can deposit you into a chair. Hopefully that Merlin imposter knows better.”
The idea of Mic getting the grail soured my stomach.
When Mordred tried to set me down on Gwennie’s office chair, I kicked and squirmed until he let go of my legs enough that I could wrap and lock them around his waist.
He shook his head. “What is it with you? Art thou a monkey?”
“No, but I’m going to hang on until you listen to me.”
“Fine, hang on as long as you can,” he said and turned, walking out of the model castle. “You’ll make an excellent shield or bait for the night mares when ye lose your grip.”
He’d let go of me entirely, so I was hanging on with whatever strength I had left. “Look, I can still be helpful. I’ve spent some time in the lake, but I’ve never seen the grail. Or any cup for that matter.”
“Common myth conception,” he said. “Despite legends pertaining to the fountain of youth, the grail is not something as powerless as a cup.”
“What is it then?”
“’Tis not the container that has power but the contents. And the lifeblood of any story will always be its ink.”
“The grail is an inkwell!” I gasped and smacked Mordred on the back, grateful that I still had that memory. “I know where it is!”
“Rule #82: When you can’t find the words to express your feelings, find a sunset or a lake to look forlornly at. A power ballad will smooth over that awkward moment and solve all your trust issues.”
—Definitive Fairy-Tale Survival Guide, Volume 1
33
It Takes a Thief
Mordred slowed, stopping his jiggling to try to get me to fall off. “I practically said as much. Thou art bluffing to save your skin.”
With one hand, I showed him the size of the grail, how the pewter filigree scrolled around the edges. “And the ink is clear but shimmery.”
Placing his hands under my armpits, he pulled me off him and held me out to dangle at arm’s length. “You have seen it truly?” When I nodded, his eyes filled and threatened to spill over. “Finally, it will be over!” He crushed me to him.
“Um, what are you doing?” I wheezed.
“A thousand pardons. Oh, bloody box it all, we don’t have time for this.” With a quick shift, he cradled me in the crook of his arms, taking off at a sprint toward Avalon.
“I still wish I hadn’t lost Excalibur,” I said.
Mordred patted my shoulder. “’Tis all right.”
I leaned back so I could get a good look at his face. He really didn’t seem upset at all. “You have been very unscorched about this.”
“Shall I tell you a secret?” He craned his head in close and whispered, “If you looked very closely along the blade, it was written: reproduction—Made in Nottingham.”
“No hexing way!”
“Excalibur can never be tricked or gained by magic. It reveals itself when it decides it is ready for the king to return. And not a moment sooner. My wish was just a farce so all thought I had the rightful sword.”
Even though it hurt, I roared with laughter. “After all that, Robin Hood ran off with a fake.” I laughed so hard that tears rolled down my cheeks. Once they started, the tears turned to sobs and wouldn’t stop. I was betrayed by a father I had thought loved me…all for a Nottingham pawn knockoff. The absolute ironic proof of my worthlessness finally made me snap.
Mordred shoved my face into his chest. “Please stop that. Such sadness is unbecoming of a knight in training.”
“Im mrph a mrph in mrping.” (I’m not a knight in training.)
“When I have the grail and Excalibur, I will need people I can trust beside me.” He squeezed tighter. “I want to change the history of Mad Arthur’s war, not repeat it. Camelot will be better this time. Blind ideals won’t have to be paid for in…”
His jog stopped as abruptly as his words. I wiped my leaking nose on his tunic and turned to see which glittery pony was about to skewer us. Instead, I saw death.
Much like in the clearing, Dorthea lay on her back, and the land around her for at least two dozen giant’s lengths was completely drained of life. The grass, brown and brittle. The flowers, wilted and dried. The trees, barren and twisted. Several small critters lay next to piles of glitter dotting the otherwise desolate circle of destruction.