Mice of the Round Table #3 by Julie Leung

Author:Julie Leung
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-07-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

25

In the moments when Galahad didn’t have to deal with Morgan’s odd tests or confrontations with Red, he found refuge in the library. There, he worked with Britta, helping her translate and, in some cases, preventing her from getting too close to the truth.

Even though the Saxon girl was working against them, he couldn’t help being impressed at how far she’d already gotten by herself. She was a dangerous ally for Morgan to have. Part of him hoped he could convince her to join Camelot’s side instead.

Today, Galahad was looking at a scroll that detailed an eyewitness account of the Grail at work. It recounted the final battle between King Arthur’s forces and the last Saxon army to be driven from Britain:

Great drops of golden light fell upon the battlefield. Where they touched, the dead and injured arose anew, unscathed by arrows or swords. Afterward a great wolf stood where the wizard had been. And he bore the treasure away.

Galahad paused. He had nearly forgotten about his dream of the white wolf.

“I’m starving. Do you want any food from the kitchens?” Britta asked. “I can bring some back.”

“Some bread and cheese does sound nice,” Galahad said.

“That’s it?” Britta asked. “I’ll do us one better. I saw there were some dried figs in the larder this morning.”

“Figs?” Galahad asked. He’d never heard of figs.

“You’ve never had figs?” Britta’s brown eyes grew wide. “Not a fresh one?”

Galahad shook his head.

“Are you in for a treat! Back before Papa’s land dried up, we had entire orchards full of fig trees, and oranges and grapes.” Britta closed her eyes, as if savoring an imaginary delicacy. “Maybe when this is all over, we can try growing some in Britain.”

“When did this drought begin?” Galahad needed to understand exactly what had happened in Saxony. Perhaps that would explain why they were always attacking Camelot.

“It wasn’t a drought, though,” Britta replied, shoving her hands into her pockets. She looked down. “It rained just as much as it had any other year, but the ground would not take it. Everything green was dying, withering away into dust and ash.”

Britta sighed, a sound full of wishes and melancholy. “We had to abandon our land and move to the coast. Papa became a fisherman. He’s terrible at it—could only net fistfuls of minnows. There was never enough food for my younger sisters. So when Morgan came to town, promising a new green land for us, I signed up for the cause without hesitation. I can’t handle a sword very well, but I can solve any type of word puzzle.”

“Did anything strange happen before the drought started?” Galahad asked. He wanted to see if any connection could be made to Morgan. “Were any animals acting weird?”

“For a while, we thought it was the weasels who were causing it,” Britta said. “Papa and the other men would set traps and go on hunting parties. But one day, they all disappeared, and the land didn’t get better.”

Galahad’s face paled as he realized the Saxon weasels may have just been escaping persecution themselves.

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