Amphitrite flashed back to shore and watched as they unloaded the ship. She found the same fingerprint all over the vessel, but again, she had no idea whose fingerprint that might be. Finally, she let it go for the present, and well under the cover of the trees where no one was watching, she changed back to Gerraint, and he thought hard about what just happened. The fairy clothes Amphitrite had called for herself, adjusted to a look similar to the clothes Gerraint had been wearing. In fact, he did not bother calling his own clothes back to him, he just stepped out from the trees.
Bedivere was frantic, looking for him. Uwaine knew better, though even he looked a little worried. “Here I am.” Gerraint waved to get their attention. Bedivere immediately dropped what he was carrying and came running up, breathless to make his report.
“We’ve got all of the horses out.” He announced.
“Probably couldn’t keep them in.” Gerraint responded as the last of the sailors came to shore. The minute all were safely out, they heard a terrible, final cracking sound in the hull, and the ship sank quickly, and with barely a gurgle. Uwaine came up before Bedivere had finished staring.
“Welcome to the world of Goreu,” Uwaine said to the young man and patted him once or twice on the shoulder to be sure he had Bedivere’s attention. “You might as well understand at the beginning of this journey, you will see and hear things in the next year or two that will haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.”
Howel seemed gracious and Lionel, with him at court. Two things bothered Gerraint, however. The first was that Howel said the three Welsh Lords had indeed visited, but after a few days, they sailed again for Wales, and Gerraint knew that was not true. Gerraint and his party were not more than a week behind the Welshmen, and he felt certain they had not come to Amorica on a whim. Whatever their business, it would undoubtedly take more than a few days. He concluded that they were around, only where? Either Howel had been duped, or Howel was lying to him.
The second thing that bothered Gerraint was the way Howel and Lionel kept coming up with reasons to delay Gerraint’s progress. Bedivere pointed that out.
“I didn’t get to finish my thought aboard ship,” Bedivere said.
“Your thought?” Gerraint asked.
“Yes, the squid interrupted,” Bedivere reminded him.
“Yes, yes. But what was your thought?”
“Oh, you said there were thirteen treasures of the ancients. I assume they are reported to be magical in some fashion or another. I was guessing if Howel thought Lord Kvendelig and his companions had a lead on the Cauldron, they might know where some of the other treasures are.”
“Promises are cheap,” Uwaine said.
“So, you think they may have promised Howel one of the other treasures?” Gerraint asked.
“Almost certain,” Bedivere said.
“He is facing a resurgence of Romanism under the sons of Claudus, and the Franks are barbaric, and crowding in from the East,” Uwaine pointed out. “The Sword, or the Lance of Lugh would be a nice prize to have handy, don’t you think?”
“Unridden horses don’t take stones in the hoof unless there are stones in the barn,” Bedivere added.
Gerraint nodded. He thought much the same thing. “I will talk to Howel,” he said. “Uwaine, you must convince your friend Lionel at least to stay out of it. Bedivere, you make sure we are ready to go at a moment’s notice.”
“What about the horse?” he asked.
“See if the hoof is really stone damaged. If it is, saddle one of Howel’s horses. We’ll call it a fair trade.” Gerraint stood. No time like the present.
The conversation with Howel did not go as expected. Gerraint’s weapons were taken from him and he found himself tossed into a room and the door locked. Uwaine did not take long to join him. Bedivere got sneakier, but by evening, he landed in the room as well and they only had supper for two.
“Magic is never the answer,” Gerraint said. “Arthur has the treasure sword, or at least its descendant. Excalibur is an excellent sword, too, but not especially magical.”
“The treasure sword?” Bedivere asked.
“Of course,” Gerraint answered. Rhiannon handed it to him, personally. “Of course, Caliburn was also made by the same crew, and in some ways, it is a better sword, but it was made for a woman, a Greek Princess, actually.”
“Arthur’s first sword. The one from his youth.” Uwaine both explained for Bedivere and asked Gerraint for confirmation. Gerraint nodded.
“The one from the stone,” he said. He then thought of his own sword, Fate. It was the last one Hephaestus made and the best of the lot, but it was not exactly magical. Even it would only prove as good as the one who carried it. “But, now that we are all here,” he changed the subject. “Bedivere, report.”
“Yes.” Bedivere understood. “The horse had no stone, and it was a simple thing to saddle our horses and load our things for travel. Then I had a notion that things might not be going well. I began to hear some commotion. I thought it best to lead the horses into the woods, you know, to hide them until we were ready to go, but as I walked and came into the town, I decided it would be better to stable them at the inn on the other side of town. They might have found horses in the woods, you know. But unless the innkeeper says something, and no reason he should but by accident, I imagine they will still be munching away in the morning.”
Uwaine smiled. “I do believe you are growing a brain after all.”
Gerraint had something else on his mind. “I have an errand first, before we go.”
“Go?” Bedivere questioned. “We’re locked in. I don’t suppose we will be going anywhere fast.” Uwaine just held Bedivere to his chair and quieted him. Gerraint stood and thought through all of the other lives to which he currently had access. His first and most natural choice for the job was Ali, the thief. He traded places through the time stream.
“Hush,” Ali said to his friends before Bedivere could so much as squeak. A quick look around the room put a pin and a comb in Ali’s hands. He began to speak as he picked the lock, though his words were heavily accented.
“I once picked the lock in Trajan’s dungeon. ‘Course, I had forty friends with me at the time. We got out just fine with a little trick or two.” The lock clicked. “There. You did not think Howel’s bedroom lock would prove a problem, did you?”
“But who are you?” Bedivere could not contain himself. “And what happened to my Master, my Uncle?”
“Hush,” Ali said again. He needed another change to walk the halls unnoticed. He thought long and hard, but finally decided there was no other good choice. Ali went back to his own time and place, and Margueritte came there out of the future. She was only eleven years old, just as Gerraint remembered her, and the armor adjusted to fit her exactly. She knew, though, because Gerraint knew that there were other options of fairy clothing in the home of the Kairos. She called to a plain smock dress and sent the armor home for the present. She adjusted the color of the dress to a plain red and the shape to one more suitable to the day, all of which she could do easily, working on the fairy weave with her thoughts and simple words. That was one of the properties of fairy clothing. It could be shaped and colored at will. She even added tatting around the edges to something near the dresses Gerraint had seen, but she did not add much because Gerraint was not sure.
“Boys don’t notice anything,” she complained with a little stomp of her foot. Then she was as ready as ever. “Stay here until I get back.” The eleven-year-old girl spoke to Uwaine and Bedivere like she was their king. “And close your mouth,” she added for Bedivere’s sake. Uwaine admired her.
“You’re a new one,” he said.
“Margueritte.” She introduced herself. She felt she ought to curtsey. She needed the practice, so she did. “My Lords,” she added. “Now, hush.” She commanded like Gerraint. She could not help it. This was Gerraint’s life and so his perceptions and attitudes ruled the day. She stepped into the other room, then, and closed the door behind her as quietly as she could.