“He used his magics to bring Arthur’s body to Strangefellows, from where it had been lying in state at Glastonbury. It just appeared before us, out of nowhere. Arthur had been dead for months, but he looked like he was only sleeping. You have to remember, we didn’t have much in the way of embalming, back in the sixth century. It was all burn them up or stick them in the ground, before the smell got too bad. Arthur should have been well on his way to rot and corruption. Instead, he looked like he might sit up and start talking at any moment. It was all part of Merlin’s advance preparations. He was the best of us all, said Merlin. How could I let death rob us of a man like him? I always knew he had a duty beyond the simple dream I gave him ... I had a Vision, you see; I saw Arthur leading an army made up of all of Humanity, in one great Final Battle against Evil ... I asked Merlin, Who is he fighting against? But if he knew, he wouldn’t say.”
Kae broke off there to look sharply at me. “Is this it? Are you bringing Excalibur to Arthur because the Final Battle is upon us?”
“Not as far as I know,” I said. “I’m just the messenger boy in all this. I haven’t seen any Signs ...”
“I can’t help noticing Arthur didn’t turn up during the Angel War,” said Susie. “Or the Lilith War ...”
“Far too small,” said Kae. “The London Knights fight bigger wars than that year in and year out ... that Humanity never knows of, of course. We deal in matters too great for even those high-and-mighty Droods. They’re only secret agents; we’re warriors.”
I had to ask. “Do the two of you ever disagree over who has responsibility, or jurisdiction?”
“We ... tend to operate in different areas,” said Kae. “Not entirely by accident. Now, on with the story. We’re finally getting to the good stuff. Merlin told me to pick up Arthur and follow him down into the cellar under Strangefellows. There wasn’t much there; a few barrels of beer, a still, hardly room to swing a cat. Which back in those days was a popular indoor sport. Merlin waved his hand, and suddenly there was a great stone cavern stretching out before us. Merlin looked at my face and laughed; and I didn’t care for the sound of it. The dead aren’t supposed to laugh.
“I was carrying Arthur in my arms, like a sleeping child, his head pressed against my breast. We might only have been stepbrothers, but Arthur always treated me as though I was his brother by blood, before and after he became King. Many better men than me had his ear; but he always listened to me. I looked after him while he was growing up; and he spent the rest of his life looking after me.
“Merlin had me lay Arthur down, to one side, then had me dig two graves. He could have conjured me up a spade, but no, I had to dig those graves with my bare hands. I don’t know how long it took. My fingers were raw and bloody by the end. And all the time I was working, Merlin was crouched down beside Arthur, whispering in his ear. One dead man talking to another. I couldn’t hear what he said.
“When the two graves were ready, I laid Arthur out in one while Merlin clambered down into the other. I covered Arthur over with dirt, crying as I said my good-byes to his sleeping face, and when it was done I patted the rough earth down with my bare bloody hands. And then I had to cover Merlin over. He grinned up at me the whole time, staring up at me with unblinking eyes. I thought I’d shit myself all over again.
“That was when he told me he’d made me immortal, so I could guard the secret until Arthur was needed again. Sometimes I think it was Merlin’s last gift; other times, his last curse. Merlin also set a geas on the bar Strangefellows, so that it would endure, and his descendents would run it forever, protecting the secret that lay beneath.”
“Okay,” I said, “Hold it right there. Merlin’s descendents . . . I’ve often wondered about that. He never had any children that I know of. Unless Nimue ...”
“Hardly,” said Kae. “But he did have a fling with an immortal called Carys Galloway, the Waking Beauty.” He paused to see if I recognised the name, but I had to shake my head. You can’t know everyone. “Anyway, she had a child by him, and this established a long line of descendents and bar owners, bound by the geas to Strangefellows, to serve Merlin’s will. Arrogant old bastard. Though of course the bar owners were only ever told of Merlin’s grave, not Arthur’s. No-one ever knew but me.”
“Alex is going to freak,” said Suzie.
“King Arthur,” I said. “The King Arthur, the Pendragon himself, is buried under Strangefellows? And always has been? I have no idea what to say to that.”
“I do,” said Suzie. “But it involves a whole bunch of really inappropriate language.”
“I started the rumour about Arthur being taken away to Avalon,” said Kae. “It’s a made-up name. Never was any such place. I didn’t want anyone looking for Arthur’s remains, particularly since it looked like he was only napping. I knew he wouldn’t have wanted to be worshipped and adored, his unchanging body a relic to be fought over by the various Church factions, as religious currency.”
“So ... is Arthur actually dead, or not?” said Suzie, who always liked to be certain about these things.
“Yes, and no,” said Kae. “Let’s say ... not all the way dead. Merlin put an old magical protection on Arthur; though he never told him, because he knew Arthur wouldn’t approve. Arthur always liked to say that for all he’d done, he was just a man. That any man could do what he’d done, if he’d only commit himself fully. That was what the Round Table was all about—to show we were all equal. What safer place could there be for Arthur to lie sleeping, than buried next to Merlin, who could still protect him even after he was dead? And, of course, Merlin’s sheer presence was still so powerful that it helped to hide Arthur’s. And, finally, who would look for King Arthur’s grave under a cheap and sleazy dive like Strangefellows?”
I looked at Suzie. “He’s got a point.” I turned back to Kae. “So now what?”
“Now,” said Kae, “we go back to the cellars under the bar and dig up Arthur. How else are you going to give him Excalibur?”
Except, Kae sat there, staring at nothing, making no move to get up. He seemed to be looking at something far away, perhaps far away in the past. It was only too easy to forget I was looking at a man fifteen hundred years old, with a lot of memories to look back on.
“After all these years,” he said finally. “Now the time has come, I’m still not sure I’m ready. I still feel guilty that I survived Logres when so many better men did not. That Arthur died, and I didn’t. I would have given my life for him.”
“He’s Arthur,” I said. “He knows that.”
One long and mostly uneventful journey later, we all ended up at Strangefellows bar. I had worried how Kae would react to the Nightside, him being Grand Master of the London Knights; but he seemed more amused than anything. Strangefellows looked rather better than the last time I’d seen it; Alex had cleaned up most of the damage. But the place was still pretty empty. There was no sign anywhere of Betty and Lucy Coltrane. A few customers had ventured back in. A handful of Burroughs Boys, out on the nod, being roughly gay and talking in cut-up sentences. An alien Grey and a Lizardoid, sitting opposite each other in a back booth, sharing their troubles over a bottle of Mother’s Ruination. And a couple of beat cops from some medieval city, waiting patiently for someone. They looked like they could punch their weight. The man had a scarred face and an eye patch, and a bloody big axe. The woman had long blonde hair in a plait that ended in a steel weight, and a really mean attitude. You get all sorts in Strangefellows.