Free Sleepless Knights by Mark Williams Page B

something minor if there is,” said Sir Kay.
    â€œAre you quite certain, Sir Kay?” I said. “In my limited experience, the only thing one can successfully predict when it comes to magical matters is their unpredictability.”
    There was that feeling again, the nausea that accompanied the incident in the nightclub and its aftermath. My palms were hot and itchy, and I wiped a sheen of sweat from my forehead.
    â€œRelax, Lucas. As long as we go by the book, everything will be fine.” Sir Kay patted the
Prophecies of Merlin
under his arm.
    â€œVery well,” said Sir Lancelot. “We wait here until the tide turns.”
    â€ 
    Merlin’s Tomb was more of a hollow than a cave, a grotto in the cliff-side carved by the relentless wash of the sea. To the right of the narrow inlet as we faced the cave, a pebbly shore led onto jagged rocks, and beyond that nothing but the sheer face of the cliffs until the open water. To our left lay the way back over rock pools to the sandy beach and up to the car park. The Grail’s dogged refusal to move had not lessened at the end of the afternoon, and so Sir Perceval opted to stay with it and the vehicles, as well as Sir Pellinore, a responsibility he assured me no amount of distractions would divert him from this time. The cave was only wide enough to comfortably admit one person, so the Master went in alone, clutching an electric torch and a copy of the incantation made from the original. Sir Kay and I stood guard directly outside, while Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain remained on the shore to rebuff any curious stragglers. But most of the visitors had retired for the day shortly after the tide had turned, the sea now steadily making its way up the beach.
    Within the cave I could hear the Master scuffling on the damp rocks, and with each foot-slip I cursed the cave’s cramped dimensions for preventing me being at his side. To take my mind off it, I picked up Sir Kay’s copy of
The Prophecies of Merlin
and read the relevant passage for myself, at first idly skimming over the words of the summoning spell, but my interest growing as something caught my eye.
    â€œSir Kay,” I said, “I wonder if you might share with me your interpretation of the incantation’s opening line?”
    â€œWhat,
Dark is the hour and dire the deed
? It’s obvious. Whoever recalls Merlin is only doing it because they face a dark hour of some sort, or because they’ve committed a dire deed. That sums up our current situation pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œWithout a doubt, Sir Kay.” I read the passage again, for my curiosity had not subsided. I risked further inquiry. “It is only that — and I feel foolish for voicing the thought, especially to one as well-read as yourself, but —”
    â€œLucas…”
    â€œDo you think it is possible that the ‘dark hour’ and ‘dire deed’ —”
    â€œGo on…”
    â€œâ€” might refer to the
act
of summoning Merlin, and not to the circumstances that inspire the summoning?” Sir Kay took the book from my hands. “Sir Kay?”
    â€œSssh!” he said, and read to himself, mumbling through his lips. Inside the cave, the shuffling sounds had ceased. “Dark is the… dire…” muttered Sir Kay.
    â€œ
Dark is the hour, and dire the deed!
” shouted the Master within the cave.
    â€œHmm,” said Sir Kay, furrowing his brow. He turned over several brittle pages.
    â€œ
But the need is great! T’is great indeed!
” the Master continued.
    â€œAh,” said Sir Kay, scanning some text towards the back of the book. “You know, it might be a good idea to postpone this for a minute, Lucas.”
    â€œ
Merlin from your slumber, cross the wide green sea!
”
    A gust of wind whipped along the shore and riffled the pages of parchment. “Sire!” I called into the grotto. “Sir Kay feels it