resembled a labyrinth, and for a moment had a chill of premonition. But the thought vanished when they entered a spacious chamber distinguished both by its lack of decoration, save for the immense mess of documents scattered throughout, and its primary occupant.
Sprawled on the floor, Artus was deep in concentration, pausing only to scribble a note on a sheet of parchment or mutter an irritated “Yes, yes,” when asked a direct question by one of his advisers hovering nearby.
And so it was that they were nearly standing on top of him before he even noticed the companions’ presence.
“What is it, what is it?” said Artus without glancing up. “I am issuing edicts as fast as I am able, as you can plainly see.”
“Take your time,” replied John. “We’ve only come from the Summer Country, but I suppose we can wait for the king.”
At the sound of John’s voice, Artus jumped to his feet, scattering parchment everywhere. “What is this? What is this?” he exclaimed excitedly. “My dear friends! You’ve come at last!”
Whatever else they may have been expecting, this reaction—from the king, no less—took the companions completely off guard.
The slightly gawky youth they had known as Bug had grown into a barrel-chested man, who was taller and broader than any of them; and his reception of them was so unabashedly giddy that they couldn’t help but respond in kind. Each of them in turn gave Artus a hug, and he slapped them on the back so repeatedly that they thought their teeth might fall out.
The deference the officials and ministers gave to Artus underscored the fact that he was indeed king—but underneath, he was the same friend they remembered.
“So happy to see you,” Artus said. “You made great time—we dispatched Bert only yesterday.”
“We had an advance warning,” said John. “There’s a lot we need to tell you, ah, Bug.”
“Better make it ‘Artus’ or ‘Your Majesty’ inside the, ah, archive—library,” Artus said with a furtive glance around at some of his underlings. “I prefer ‘Bug’ myself, but it’s harder to motivate people when they have to take orders from a ‘King Bug.’”
“Let’s stick to Artus, then,” declared Charles. “I’m not sure I can fit ‘Bug’ and ‘Your Majesty’ together in my brain at the same time.”
It took a long while for the companions to explain everything that had transpired, during which Artus ordered several trays of food brought in—which the servants spread around them on the floor.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Artus said apologetically. “I’m just so much more comfortable working here on the floor. A throwback to my early days on Avalon, I suppose. The old witches didn’t let me have any furniture, so I had to learn to make do.
“I can’t quite get used to the fancy thrones and banquet halls and whatnot. Sure,” he continued, “every so often, for an official function, we have to put on the robes and do all that kingly stuff. But mostly I like to spend time working among the people in the shops and on the docks. When they’re not on fire, that is,” he added.
“It’s fine,” John assured him. “What do you know about the ships? Who’s setting them ablaze?”
“We don’t know,” said the king. “But everything you’ve told me has sparked an idea. Come with me.” Artus jumped to his feet. “I want to show you something.”
Artus led them through several cavernous rooms piled with loose papers that seemed newly made, fresh. They were certainly not typical archive materials. Past those rooms they came before a great set of doors, guarded by two powerful-looking elves.
“I’ve noticed a number of elves around the, uh, archive,” Jack remarked.
“Yes,” said Artus. “When the Blue Dragon was taken, King Eledir sent several other ships here to shore up any defense we might need—and those were the first ships to burn. So we’ve put the elves to work in places that need greater
Sprawled on the floor, Artus was deep in concentration, pausing only to scribble a note on a sheet of parchment or mutter an irritated “Yes, yes,” when asked a direct question by one of his advisers hovering nearby.
And so it was that they were nearly standing on top of him before he even noticed the companions’ presence.
“What is it, what is it?” said Artus without glancing up. “I am issuing edicts as fast as I am able, as you can plainly see.”
“Take your time,” replied John. “We’ve only come from the Summer Country, but I suppose we can wait for the king.”
At the sound of John’s voice, Artus jumped to his feet, scattering parchment everywhere. “What is this? What is this?” he exclaimed excitedly. “My dear friends! You’ve come at last!”
Whatever else they may have been expecting, this reaction—from the king, no less—took the companions completely off guard.
The slightly gawky youth they had known as Bug had grown into a barrel-chested man, who was taller and broader than any of them; and his reception of them was so unabashedly giddy that they couldn’t help but respond in kind. Each of them in turn gave Artus a hug, and he slapped them on the back so repeatedly that they thought their teeth might fall out.
The deference the officials and ministers gave to Artus underscored the fact that he was indeed king—but underneath, he was the same friend they remembered.
“So happy to see you,” Artus said. “You made great time—we dispatched Bert only yesterday.”
“We had an advance warning,” said John. “There’s a lot we need to tell you, ah, Bug.”
“Better make it ‘Artus’ or ‘Your Majesty’ inside the, ah, archive—library,” Artus said with a furtive glance around at some of his underlings. “I prefer ‘Bug’ myself, but it’s harder to motivate people when they have to take orders from a ‘King Bug.’”
“Let’s stick to Artus, then,” declared Charles. “I’m not sure I can fit ‘Bug’ and ‘Your Majesty’ together in my brain at the same time.”
It took a long while for the companions to explain everything that had transpired, during which Artus ordered several trays of food brought in—which the servants spread around them on the floor.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Artus said apologetically. “I’m just so much more comfortable working here on the floor. A throwback to my early days on Avalon, I suppose. The old witches didn’t let me have any furniture, so I had to learn to make do.
“I can’t quite get used to the fancy thrones and banquet halls and whatnot. Sure,” he continued, “every so often, for an official function, we have to put on the robes and do all that kingly stuff. But mostly I like to spend time working among the people in the shops and on the docks. When they’re not on fire, that is,” he added.
“It’s fine,” John assured him. “What do you know about the ships? Who’s setting them ablaze?”
“We don’t know,” said the king. “But everything you’ve told me has sparked an idea. Come with me.” Artus jumped to his feet. “I want to show you something.”
Artus led them through several cavernous rooms piled with loose papers that seemed newly made, fresh. They were certainly not typical archive materials. Past those rooms they came before a great set of doors, guarded by two powerful-looking elves.
“I’ve noticed a number of elves around the, uh, archive,” Jack remarked.
“Yes,” said Artus. “When the Blue Dragon was taken, King Eledir sent several other ships here to shore up any defense we might need—and those were the first ships to burn. So we’ve put the elves to work in places that need greater
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