Free Grailblazers by Tom Holt Page A

really classic suckers like that were as rare as virgins in a ...
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    Predictably, Sir Turquine was the first to break the silence.
    â€˜What,’ he asked, ‘does it say?’
    â€˜Um,’ Boamund replied.
    â€˜It says Um, does it?’ replied Turquine. ‘Gosh, how helpful.’
    Boamund stared at the paper in his hands, oblivious even to Turquine. At last he cleared his throat and spoke, albeit in a rather high voice.
    â€˜I think it’s probably a riddle of some sort,’ he said. ‘You know, like My first is in—’
    â€˜What,’ said a voice from the back, ‘does it say?’
    Blushing fit to shame Aurora, Boamund replied, ‘It’s a ... I don’t know. It’s like a sort of list. Or a recipe.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Or a receipt, maybe.’ He scratched his head.
    Turquine grinned. ‘Give it here,’ he demanded, and Boamund made no effort to resist when he grabbed at the paper. It was almost as if he wanted someone else to have the job of reading the thing out.
    â€˜Now,’ said Turquine, ‘what have we ...? Good Lord.’
    Various knights urged him to get on with it. He bit his lip, and then read out:
    â€˜LE SANC GREAL: INSTRUCTIONS
The Apron of Invincibility
The Personal Organiser of Wisdom
The Socks of Inevitability
    The first may be found where children are carried in pockets, and came with the first First Fleet.
    The second may be found in the safe haven where time is money, where money goes but never returns, and in the great office under and beyond the sea.
    The third, God’s gift to the Grail Knights, may be found where one evening can last forever, in the domain of the best-loved psychopath under the arch of the sky, in the kingdom of the flying deer.
    Armed with these, let the Grail Knight reclaim what is his, release Albion from her yellow fetters, and enjoy his tea without fear of the washing-up.’
    At the back somebody coughed. At moments like this, somebody always does. ‘I think young Snotty is right,’ said Turquine at last. ‘It’s some sort of riddle.’
    Bedevere closed his mouth with an effort, blinked and said, ‘That bit about the safe haven. Rings a bell, don’t you know.’
    Five knights looked at him and he swallowed.
    â€˜Well,’ he went on, ‘reminds me of something I read once. Or perhaps I heard it on something. It’s on the tip of my ...’
    â€˜It’s a tricky one, isn’t it?’ Lamorak ventured. ‘Maybe there’s someone we could ask, you know, a hermit or something. Anybody know a good hermit?’
    â€˜Read it again.’
    Turquine obliged and this time there was a hail of suggestions, all made simultaneously. Eventually, Boamund restored order by hammering on the table with the mace.
    â€˜Gentlemen,’ he said, stretching a point, ‘we obviously can’t decipher this. It’s not our job. The cardinal rule is, knights don’t think. So the next step is to find someone who can make sense ot it all. Now then, in the old days, you’d ask a hermit, or an anchorite, or else you’d be riding along through the woods one morning, minding your own business, looking for a stray falcon maybe, and there’d be this old crone sitting beside the road. “Prithee master,” she’d say, “carry me across yon river to my cottage.” And you’d say...’
    Somebody at the back urged him to get to the point. He pulled himself together.
    â€˜Anyway,’ he continued, ‘the point I’m trying to make is, that’s what we’d have done then, but that was then and this is now. Right?’
    Five heads nodded cautiously. This was either wisdom or the bleeding obvious, the problem is always to tell the two apart.
    â€˜So,’ said Boamund, ‘you lot know all about now. Who do you go to nowadays when you’ve got something you don’t understand that