Free Sleepless Knights by Mark Williams Page A

“Hush, Pellinore,” said the Master. “This is the right road. It has merely been a long time since any of us have travelled it.” Sir Pellinore relaxed into peaceable silence. But as for the Master, it was as if by speaking the words he had performed an incantation of his own and transferred Sir Pellinore’s anxiety to himself. He shifted in his seat andstared out of the window as we passed over a small bridge, scratching absently at his chin.
    The route to Merlin’s Bay took us through the town that was now called Cardigan. We passed over the river Teifi, and there before us, on the edge of the town and commanding a view of the estuary, stood the remnants of the latest incarnation of the castle. Back then, this had merely been the Camelot gatehouse. Now, it was all that remained of our once glorious home. This was the part of the journey I had been most dreading on the Master’s behalf, for I was not sure what the sight of it would do to him. For the moment, however, my fears were allayed, for he gave no indication of recognising our surroundings. This was hardly surprising. So reduced was it from its former state of magnificence, that I was only able to identify it myself when road works slowed our progress to a stand-still, and I was immensely relieved when the cars in front of us began to move again.
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VI
    The car park overlooking the small sandy beach of Merlin’s Bay was almost full, but we managed to find a place in the top corner. The Master and Sir Pellinore remained in the car. Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain pulled up alongside us on the bike as we attempted in vain to remove the Grail from the roof.
    â€œAre all the ropes loose?” said Sir Perceval.
    â€œYes, I just checked them,” said Sir Kay.
    â€œWell check them again!”
    â€œI don’t believe this. We’re being delayed by kitchenware,” said Sir Kay.
    â€œIt definitely won’t move now.”
    â€œOh, have I hurt the medieval microwave’s feelings?”
    â€œIf the pair of you don’t stop performing, I’ll knock your heads together and pitch you over the cliff,” said Sir Gawain, taking off his helmet and goggles. Mercifully, the drive seemed to have sobered him up a little.
    â€œDo you hear that, Perceval? I think we should apologise,” said Sir Kay. “When it comes to ‘performing’ we’ve offended Sir Gawain’s sense of scale. Perhaps I should set some cars on fire?”
    â€œGood idea, Kay. And I could run down to the beach and start a fight with some families.”
    â€œYou’d get battered by the bairns before you set foot on the sand,” said Sir Gawain, and spat on the grass.
    â€œWhat’s the problem, Lucas?” said Sir Lancelot, stepping between Sir Gawain and Sir Perceval.
    â€œThe Grail, Sir Lancelot. It is highly reluctant to move.” Sir Lancelot placed both of his arms around the Grail and tried to lift it, but it remained clamped to the car roof like a limpet.
    I considered our options. Merlin’s Bay lay below us like a picture postcard. Our progress through the weekend traffic had been slow and sporadic, and it was now mid-afternoon. Sun-bathers still colonised the sand, and the rocks towards the inlet known as Merlin’s Tomb were taken up by children with buckets and shrimping nets, as well as a couple of fishermen.
    â€œPerhaps it is best to leave the Grail where it is for now, Sir Lancelot,” I said. “It is my belief that we should do nothing until the beach has cleared for the day.”
    â€œI’m not so sure. The tide will be coming in by then. Kay, how long will this magic spell take?”
    â€œI’ve found what I believe to be the incantation, and it’s simple enough to perform,” Sir Kay replied.
    â€œIf there should be any magical fanfare, so to speak, it would be better if we were the only ones to witness it,” I said.
    â€œOh, it’ll only be