Chapter 14: The Mill Village Attempt

If Merlin had been in Mordred's shoes, he would have left Orange Leaf Road in the busyness of early evening, lost himself in the foot traffic til he reached his target, then made himself invisible where he could still monitor the target and wait for an opportunity to present itself – whether he'd sneak into a man's bedroom and leave a corpse behind without even a chance to wake was beside the point.

Mordred, however, waited til one hour remained before midnight, then left Number Fourteen.

The toll barricade out of Blue Rose district was situated at the corner of the far end of Orange Leaf Road, and Merlin had already made sure of the possibility of bypassing it over the rooftops. Most of the tolls were manned all night as well as in the daytime, and this one was no different.

This was Mordred's plan also, evidently; Merlin heard his footfalls approach and pass over the attic on the roof, continue on. He waited til he no longer heard Mordred, then followed.

Mordred was remarkably unsuspicious for a revenger-turned-assassin. His glances behind were cursory, quick, and seldom – he was as easy a quarry as Merlin had tailed in a long while.

And as well as Merlin remembered the city, and with all the information he'd collected since his return – memorized, near enough, during his days of inactivity – on all the council members, it wasn't hard for him to guess accurately that Mordred's target this night was a councilman named Drew. Merlin hadn't put any faces to the names, but he recalled pretty clearly which excesses on his lists went with which names.

Drew oversaw one toll erected since the council's measure a year ago, but two new watchmen were on the payroll for his district – Mill Village, primarily small artisan shops and poorer working family homes. That could mean force, ensuring that the tolls were paid, but in Drew's case, Merlin doubted that. The tolls books had shown increasing passage of workmen of all kinds – improvements were being made in Mill Village, on a moderate scale, but enough to notice. There had been no indication of increased expenses for the councilman's household, and no appreciable increase in crime in his district, either.

The councilman lived in a brick house, square, flat-roofed, two stories. It was narrow but free-standing, no yard but flush to the street front and back, with side alleys. Small windows, mostly shuttered, the ones of the second floor equipped with grates over the lower half to prevent falls, and the windows at the front of the home actually boasted pace-wide balconies with curtained window-doors.

There were a pair of watchmen, or deputies assigned to bodyguard detail, at the corner nearest the toll barricade, but they lounged inattentively; neither of them glanced up as Merlin watched Mordred cross the street and creep to the northwest corner, the only one that showed light in the upstairs room, through parted shutters. He ignored the doors and windows on the ground level and began to climb the guttering on the west-alley side of the home.

Merlin didn't hesitate. If they caught him he could make enough of a fuss to scare Mordred off, too, which would accomplish his purpose for tonight, at least.

He moved lightly and soundlessly across the street and began to mirror Mordred's climb up the north face, the front of the house. Knocking at doors or breaking in and trying to find his way to the lighted room would take too much time, rouse the household, and alert Mordred – and they still might not believe him, especially with the suspicion over Judge Alined's death.

Merlin preferred to catch Mordred red-hand– no, clean-handed.

The gutter on the alley side gave ease and cover to Mordred's climb. Merlin, however, used the handrail of the front steps, some decorative brickwork over the front sitting-room window that protruded an inch or so, and pulled himself up by the floor of the balcony, the iron railing assisting much more than Morgana's stonework would have done. And the two watchmen never noticed.

He had a handful of minutes, at least, until Mordred struck. Even if he didn't wait for darkness inside the room, for the councilman to retire for the night and fall asleep, he'd still have to study the lay of the room and Drew's position in it, and make last-second changes to his plan of attack.

Merlin slid over the rail without shaking it, and paused, his heartbeat thundering through his head. Had Mordred heard him, had he fled? He heard nothing on the still night air.

The shutters protecting the glass-paned doors to the balcony were hooked back, the curtain-covered doors slightly ajar for the breeze. He could hear men's voices from inside the room now, two of them, but he concentrated on the window that Mordred had been climbing for.

Nudging the right-side glass door open further, he could see the corner of a writing-desk, a small free-standing portrait on top of it next to an open cigar-box. The peach silk curtains of the side window were drawn back only slightly – to allow the air to move, as it looked out only on the home immediately next to it, wall and roof – but the glass panes, side by side to imitate the balcony doors, stood open.

Merlin figured he had time to leap across the room and spoil Mordred's aim, at least, if he decided on a thrown blade anytime soon. If Mordred waited til the lamps were extinguished, he'd have to enter the room and tackle him in the darkness, hoping for the best. Though Mordred might have a candle stub for that plan that would give him away to Merlin.

So he positioned himself the way a race-runner might, and settled in to wait. The smell of cigar-smoke wafted from the room.

"I'm afraid it may come down to each member's opinion of Agravaine," one of the men inside the room said. "You know I trust him as far as I can throw him, but all you have is conjecture."

"I'm only asking that the council view the facts logically, and draw a fair conclusion."

The second voice was Arthur's.

Merlin didn't relax, though that did explain the watchmen loitering by the corner. The presence of a second man in the room might initially deter Mordred, but unless Drew addressed Arthur by his title, Mordred might not know the councilman was entertaining an agent.

If he did, would it stop him?

"None of us have known you longer than these few weeks, we have only to trust the judgment that made you an agent," the other voice said – Merlin assumed it was Councilman Drew. "I don't think any member would argue much over your trustworthiness, but your colleague–"

"Is an agent also," Arthur reminded him.

And now, if Mordred was paying attention, he knew that the councilman's guest was Agent Arthur of Camelot.

"Ask yourself," the agent went on, "did Agravaine or Alined act uncharacteristically that morning? Forget it's me that's asking, and think about Alined's order for an agent's arrest."

"It's a fact that the events of that morning proved detrimental to your authority and to the deliberations of the council," the other conceded. "I couldn't say with any certainty that any one of us was unsurprised by Judge Alined's insistence on an arrest-"

"Then you admit that it seemed–"

"Let me play devil's advocate for a moment," the councilman interrupted. "Was Agent Merlin employed by the revenger Morgana years ago. Yes."

"That's not something we've tried to hide," Arthur objected. "No charges have ever been substantiated against her or members of her organization."

"Substantiated," the councilman scoffed lightly. "Fact is, Agravaine claims your colleague has a history of violence–"

"Not unheard of for an agent." Merlin could hear the grin in Arthur's voice.

"He also claims that Agent Merlin was caught trying to escape that very day – now," the councilman went on, as if overriding the objections he expected from the agent, "I grant you that it is very strange for a man to submit quite calmly to one agent and the reeve, only to turn around and try to fight through five armed deputies–"

"I was there; Agravaine wasn't," Arthur said shortly. "And what of the other prisoner who actually picked the lock?"

"No one admits his presence but your agent. And the fact remains that Agent Merlin did escape later that night, and just hours before Judge Alined was murdered in his bed."

There was silence for a moment. Did a breath stir the silk curtain, or someone's fingertips? Merlin edged his door open a few more inches, leaned forward in his crouch. He wasn't sure whether to hope that Mordred was just this stupid… If there were contracts on himself and the other agent, the former revenger-apprentice might very well decide that two at once was worth the risk.

"You say this proves the existence of an assassin fulfilling death-contracts, the escape of Agent Merlin an unfortunate coincidence. You say his altercation with the deputies left him in no condition to attempt an assassination himself – yet he did accomplish his escape, and has eluded capture ever since. Agravaine says the only danger is your colleague gone rogue, trying to revenge his embarrassment in the council chambers, or prove your claim of a hired assassin. We've seen no proof of this mystery assassin, yet your agent, accused of assault, escaped the reeve's holding cell and remains at large in Turad under suspicion of murder."

Arthur didn't answer. Boots shuffled on the carpet in the part of the room Merlin couldn't see; they weren't taking their leave of one another – this discussion could last until daylight.

From his window, it was likely Mordred could see both men. Would he retreat? Would he try for both men, or wait for Arthur's departure?

"The facts weight against your colleague," Drew finished. "For the rest of it, we can only take your word or the reeve's."

Merlin knew the desperate excitement of steeling oneself to such a deed, planning, following through almost to the end. Would the tension of being so close, the thought of further risks associated with planning a second attempt, the shame of failure tonight, overcome whatever caution Mordred possessed?

A shadow moved on the tan-cream carpet between Merlin and the alley-window where Mordred presumably waited. Merlin's attention was caught less than a second, but in that second, Mordred moved. A hand appeared on the glass, pushing the pane inward, clearing a wider gap - a flash of pale face leaning forward, the glint of light on an edge of steel beside the face, behind and to the right.

Merlin shot forward and up from his crouch, leaping, reaching – disturb the aim, block the cast, anything – and knew he would be a heartbeat too late.

A shout, a curse behind and to his left – his fingertips curled around the edge of the pane of the opened window, slammed it shut just as Mordred's arm came forward. The councilman hollered.

Arthur shouted, "Down! Get down!"

And the thrown dagger smashed the window.

Merlin hit the tan-cream carpet showered with broken glass, in the sort of full-length sprawl that was never easy to spring back up from quickly. He did his best, however, throwing the unbroken pane back as Mordred released the safety grill and dropped to the cobblestones of the alley.

Snarling up at Merlin, he ran to the back corner of the house and disappeared.

"Hold it right there!"

Merlin swung one leg over the grill to descend and follow, but Arthur was beside him restraining him roughly, and he remembered his unusual dress. He turned immediately so the agent could identify him, shifting his weight back to the leg still inside the room, not trusting the grill to hold him indefinitely.

"Oh," Arthur said blankly, and released him.

Merlin looked down the way Mordred had gone, took a deep breath, let it out. Too late to try to follow or catch up, now. He didn't figure Mordred would try for Drew or any other councilmen this night, but probably would return to Jordan's place. He could catch up with him there on the morrow.

"That was Mordred?" Arthur said to him.

Merlin nodded, and followed him back into the room.

"Someone fetch the watchman!" Drew roared through the chamber's opened door, before slamming it closed again.

"I didn't know that was you, for a minute," Arthur said, and it was almost an apology. "You picked up his trail at Jordan's? Does he know you followed him?"

"Yes, and probably not. He might assume I was with you." Merlin looked past Arthur at Councilman Drew, the youngest-looking member of the council, with ginger-sandy hair and a dark scowl. He was pacing in a long burgundy dressing-robe and muttering to himself. Merlin wanted to say, Do you believe me now, but didn't.

"Your hand is bleeding," Arthur said, and reluctantly Merlin relinquished his hand for Arthur's inspection.

"Who the hell is this?" Drew demanded, striding across the carpet to them.

"Agent Merlin, meet Councilman Drew," Arthur said. "You've got glass in here." Holding Merlin by the wrist, he plucked out a sliver of window glass from the inside of Merlin's thumb. Blood dripped, and Arthur fumbled a pocket handkerchief out for Merlin to grip – and then it stung.

"This is Agent Merlin," Drew repeated, looking him over closely. "Lovely. And who was that other fellow?"

"That was Mordred," Arthur said, somewhat ironically. "The alleged assassin."

"Well," Drew said, looking Merlin over again, head to toe, eyes lingering on the dark bruises on Merlin's bare arms. "Well, it seems I probably owe you my life." He was silent for a moment, keen blue eyes darting from Merlin to Arthur. "I suppose, if I believe he was beaten too badly to enter Alined's home and murder him, I also assume someone else aided his escape from the reeve's holding?"

"I told you," Arthur said mildly. "Agent Merlin was not trying to escape when the deputies attacked him. I didn't trust his safety in their hands."

"I have to ask," Drew said, "did you know Mordred was coming here tonight?"

Arthur caught Merlin's arm. "Do you mean, did we set this up just to convince you?" he said calmly. "No. Agent Merlin and I have been out of touch for a few days."

"As far as I'm concerned," Merlin said, speaking evenly with some effort, squeezing the handkerchief deliberately, "Mordred could have been after any of your members tonight, and I would have done no differently. I did not expect Arthur to be here."

Drew sighed. "I'm afraid it might still be a hard sell to the council," he warned. "Even with my testimony, there will be those to question the truth of tonight's scene. And there's still no proof that Agravaine was or is involved with the death-contracts."

"Arresting Jordan and Mordred won't really solve anything if the reeve is responsible and they refuse to implicate him," Arthur commented. "But I can't let Merlin keep tailing Mordred to foil assassination attempts while we wait for the reeve to make a mistake."

"Too risky?" Merlin demanded, putting his hands at his hips. If Arthur thought he'd slip up, allow one of the councilmen to be hurt–

"Well, tomorrow is our day off, but I can manage a few visits," Drew said. "The original arrest was ordered by Judge Alined, but I don't believe any charges were ever posted, which leaves the matter in Agravaine's hands and yours, Agent Arthur. If Agent Merlin thinks he can avoid arrest one more day, the council can vote to extend the benefit of the doubt to him, based on my witness of the truth of an assassin filling death-contracts. The council does stand higher than Agravaine – with Mordred and Jordan in prison, we can investigate the matter further to see who's involved in the conspiracy, and your account of the night of Alined's death will exonerate Agent Merlin. If there's enough suspicion of Agravaine, we might even be able to persuade the council to remove him from his post and appoint another reeve, if only temporary."

"Meanwhile the toll issue is set aside," Arthur said in a grumbling tone. "Well, Agent Merlin, can you keep from being arrested for one more day?"

"Mordred won't wait," Merlin said. "He'll need to redeem himself, prove he's worth his pay. Councilman, you should move your family elsewhere for a few days. With the watch roused, Mordred will either hide or leave Mill Village – either way, I won't find him til he returns to the Blue Rose district, but I can't guess when that'll be. He might wait to try for an actual kill, or he may just report on what happened tonight."

"Councilman, will you let Merlin remain here tonight, in case Mordred returns?" Arthur said, and Drew nodded. "Tomorrow, you can take a watchman with you making your rounds of your fellow members – reminding them of the possibility of another attack. You and I," he said to Merlin, "will meet at Number Fourteen Orange Leaf Road at daybreak. We'll arrest Jordan, Mordred if he's there, and set a trap for him if he's not."

Merlin didn't like sitting and waiting, but with Mordred gone and the watch roused, it didn't make sense for him to be roaming the streets. He nodded reluctantly.

Someone rapped at the door, and at Drew's impatient, "Come," a man's tousled head appeared.

"Two watchmen and a deputy here, sir," he reported. "Another remains at the toll booth, and three others are on their way."

"I'll go speak to them," Arthur offered.

"Let them know they are to treat Agent Merlin as cleared of charges," Drew said, "but don't let on that he's here."

Arthur left the room, the tousle-haired man stepping back to let him pass. "Missus Nell was asking if you had need of her, sir," he added. "She was wakened by the noise – I'll just get a dustpan and clean up that mess." He indicated the broken glass littering the rug.

"That still bleeding?" Drew asked Merlin, gesturing to his hand. Merlin peeled back Arthur's kerchief, and nodded as blood welled down his palm. "Tell Missus Nell we have an injured man here, and we could use her steady hand with a needle," Drew said to his man at the door, who sketched a bow and disappeared. The councilman watched Merlin prop his elbow in his other hand dispassionately to keep the cut elevated. "You've had a rough couple of days of it," he said.

A rough couple of years of it. Merlin didn't respond, and Drew crossed to the doors of the balcony where Merlin had burst in, glanced down to see how he had climbed, then returned, shaking his head.

After a moment, he said, "That was quite a speech you gave in the Inner Chamber." He paused, but Merlin remained silent. "Those were all accurate figures, weren't they? I mean, you weren't–"

"Making them up?" Merlin finished. "No, I didn't guess at those numbers. Anyone could have found the same information from doctors' notes, watch reports, and under-takers' orders. It'll be in the final report; likely Arthur will present it to the council as well as the agency in Camelot."

"Jonesy said someone was hurt?" A plump sweet-faced woman with her hair tied in white papers and lace on her matching burgundy robe trotted into the room, carrying a small light blue sewing-case. "I hope it isn't you, my dear?"

"Not at all," Drew replied. "The window broke, and this gentleman was unfortunate enough to cut his hand on one of the pieces. Watch your feet, my love," he added as she approached.

She paused to pick something up from where it was half-hidden under the writing-desk and held out Mordred's knife. "Yours, my dear?" she said, and Drew took it with a grimace.

"This is my wife, Nell," he told Merlin, and the plump lady beamed at him as he opened his hand for her inspection, before bending to her task.

My dear. My love. It was obvious that the councilman and his wife were very happy together, he treating her with solicitous care and respect, and she responding with deference, treating her husband's guest without question or complaint. Merlin found himself relaxing in the atmosphere of geniality, reminded almost of the relationship Percival and Shasta enjoyed, without the quick fun at the other's expense the innkeepers of Emmett's Creek occasionally indulged in. Reminded of his own parents, without the hurry and tension of chores and pressing responsibilities, the underlying sorrow of illness and loss.

And Merlin was shocked to realize that he was considering what sort of relationship he himself might have with a wife.

Don't think of it, he told himself, as Nell wrapped a tidy bandage around his hand and smiled happily up at her husband, watching her with pride. Don't even think of it.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Dinner was quiet that evening. Arthur never returned to eat with them, and Randall worked straight through the meal, upstairs in his study off the master bedroom.

Emma, with fond exasperation, asked Betsey to take a tray up to him. After the table was cleared, she got out a pattern for a new summer dress to fit Vivian for. "I've thought and thought," Emma told Freya across the room, sitting by the window with a little book of poetry. "But the color black, in any material, just does not fit this pattern. I can't wait til you can leave widow's mourning behind, my dear."

The front gate creaked slightly as it opened; footsteps quickly mounted the stair outside. They all assumed it was Arthur, Freya noticed, so when the knock sounded, she looked up in time to see her cousins jump at the sound also. They waited, looking at each other, as Betsey hurried to answer the door. It was a male voice, indistinct, and the maid closed the door on the visitor without consulting Emma. This raised her eyebrows and Vivian's, and when Betsey entered announcing a message for Miss Freya, the eyebrows rose still further.

Freya came to take the note from the maid, heart thudding. Maybe Merlin wanted to talk again, maybe he wondered if she'd heard from Taliesin–

"Who is it from?" Vivian demanded. Emma restrained her from hurrying to Freya's side, and continued pinning the paper pattern to her form.

"Philbert," Freya answered, disappointed, and finished reading the short missive. "He wants to take me to the Daved Cathedral tomorrow morning."

"Didn't the messenger wait for a reply, Betsey?" Emma said.

The plump maid shook her head as Freya went on, "The note says no answer is necessary; he'll come by after breakfast if I care to accompany him."

Emma and Vivian exchanged arch smiles, and as the mother continued with her work, her expression was very satisfied with itself. Vivian, meeting Freya's eyes, lifted her eyebrows again, her smile turning mischievous enough to make Freya blush.

The Daved Cathedral – with Philbert. At least it was a way of getting to the cathedral again without arousing suspicion. As Freya folded the note and tucked it away, she wondered if Taliesin would be there, if she could find a way to speak to him away from Philbert. And what if he had news for Merlin? She guessed she'd have to pass it along through Arthur, though he'd probably be angry with both her and Merlin for her involvement.

She wondered in a lonely sort of way, when she'd see Merlin again.

The following morning, she discovered that Philbert's idea of taking Freya to the cathedral was an open-air carriage and a three-hour tour of the city.

Freya tried to pay attention to his speeches about different points of interest, both public and personal, but she found herself distracted much of the time, and impatient. She noted each toll they passed, and couldn't stop glancing around as if hoping to see one or the other of the agents. The only time she forgot herself was when they crossed the First Bridge, and she realized she could see Morgana's chalet over the buildings between them, high on the north hill of the city.

"It's a beautiful place," Philbert remarked, after a cursory glance to see what had caught her attention. "Pity."

"What's a pity?" she asked, out of courtesy.

"The woman who lives there is a revenger, a vulture." His cultured tone was contemptuous. "The payment of crimes should be left for the law to decide."

Freya agreed with him on principle, but thought she should point out, "I knew a reeve once who took bribes not to notice the crime in his shire. What then?"

"Ah, here we are," Philbert said as the carriage rolled to a stop, genteelly ignoring her statement and question both. "The Green Vine Tearoom of Turad."

After a lengthy and expensive lunch – Freya was shocked at what Philbert paid without blinking; her own lemon water and cucumber salad could have bought two of Shasta's largest bowls of thick stew – they finally arrived at the Daved.

Where Philbert tucked her hand securely into the crook of his elbow and proceeded to stroll leisurely around the enormous nave, lecturing to her on the art, and sculpture, and glass. There was a boys' choir singing at the front of the chamber, and she listened to that as she walked, though the many voices made it impossible to hear if Taliesin was out in the portico.

"Now here is a curiosity," Philbert said, drawing her past the northeast exit. "This is over two hundred years old–"

"Philbert, I wish to go out into the portico," Freya said, with gentle resistance to the pressure of his hand. "A breath of air–"

He huffed through his nose and changed his direction abruptly, not looking at her and not smiling. She didn't mind his pique, though, compared to the real anger she'd known from other men, it was akin to one of Vivian's pouts.

The soaring notes of the boys' chorus faded as they walked further into the shady portico, and the rustle and shout of the street began to be audible. She didn't have a clear view of the entire base of the statue, couldn't tell if Taliesin was there or not. He wasn't singing, if he was there.

"The portico," Philbert demonstrated shortly, waving his hand. "Now let's return to the cool of the–"

A voice burst upon the air, rose to the overhang, and resounded with one of the springtime ballads Freya was familiar with. She sighed with relief, recognizing Taliesin's voice.

"Let's stay and listen," she suggested.

Philert actually raised his hands to his hips. He opened his mouth, reconsidered, then said, "By all means, Miss Freya, stay and hear the beggar's song. I will be waiting for you – just inside." He pointed to show where he meant, and moved away before she had a chance to respond.

She hovered for a moment in indecision – perhaps he expected her to hurry after him with humility and apology – and perhaps she should? But he didn't turn to see if she followed, so she moved, like before, quite close to the crooked little man seated at the base of the statue.

He sang with evident pleasure, his eyes on the ceiling above them. He glanced down once, momentarily, straight at her, then finished the ballad and thanked the people quietly as they tossed their coins to him. When he didn't begin again, but pocketed the coins and settled his cap on his head, the crowd began to drift away.

"Thought I'd see Merlin before I saw you again," Taliesin said, maneuvering to his feet and leaning on his crutch. "You know where I can get a message to him?"

"No, I'm sorry," Freya said. Merlin was roaming Turad as far as she knew, following Jordan. Arthur could be anywhere, too, despite the inactivity of this week-end day.

"Well, you'll have to pass it on, then," Taliesin decided. "Let's go."

"Ah, I'm not sure I should–"

"We may not have a great deal of time," Taliesin threw over his shoulder, beginning to shuffle-hop his way from the portico. "You better decide if you want to come, or stay here with your gent friend."

Freya walked along beside him. "Where are we going? How far? And why?" Merlin trusted this little man, and evidently Taliesin knew something of Merlin also. She wasn't really worried about her safety, but the customs of Turad's higher society had affected her, and she didn't want her decisions to come to reflect badly on her cousins.

"You remember the third man you described to me? The one you didn't know his name?" Taliesin said. Freya was surprised how fast he shuffle-hopped along without seeming to lose any breath. "Turns out I know him, just slightly. He showed me where the man lives who paid him to wait in a jail cell for Merlin, and it isn't too far from here." He gave her a sly crooked grin. "Maybe you can be back before your fancy gent misses you."

Philbert would be worried if he couldn't find her. She'd left her home in his care, so he was responsible for her safety, and whereabouts. If she was gone too long, he wouldn't simply grow exasperated and leave her to find her own way home.

Taliesin continued north; she glanced back over her shoulder at the twin domes of the cathedral as they rounded a corner to make sure she could find her way back. The crippled singer, she thought, could give Arthur a run for his money for swiftness of pace. They crossed one toll into a section as far from the Daved as Key Park was, but northwest instead of northeast, with Morgana's chalet in Hillside between them and up the hill.

The homes here were adjacent to each other, sharing their roofs and without the iron privacy rail and small front-yard area that Sycamore Avenue enjoyed.

"There you are," Taliesin said, halting on the walkway and making no indication to any of the half-dozen homes around them. She tried not to stare around herself too openly, but waited for him to elaborate. "Andre said it was the one on the end, across this here street." She looked over his shoulder at the home he described; it seemed ordinary - inconspicuous, even. "From the way Andre told me, the man you described as Mordred could be the same one who paid him to help Merlin escape." He shrugged. "You can tell Merlin, Andre says he didn't know there was a deputy ambush waiting for Merlin. He was only hired to spring him, thought he was doing him a favor, even."

What now? Freya didn't know she'd spoken aloud til Taliesin answered.

"Well, he's there now, you can tell by the open windows on the second floor – that would be the bedrooms."

Merlin was following Jordan, somewhere in the city. And Mordred was the paid assassin, supposedly. What were her options? She could return to the Daved, persuade Philbert to take her home – then wait for Arthur and hope she could bring him to this place from Sycamore Avenue without getting both of them lost. Meanwhile, Mordred could leave at any time to kill again. She didn't know where Taliesin could find either Arthur or Merlin, but–

"Could you take a message to Morgana?" Freya said. "Maybe she can send one of her apprentices until we can let Merlin know about this place."

"Right you are, Miss," Taliesin answered. "Now, are you wanting me to escort you back to the Daved, or go right on to the revenger's?"

"Go right to Morgana," Freya advised. "I'll be fine on my own."

With a quick nod, Taliesin swung himself around and shuffle-hopped down the street and around the corner-home without so much as a glance up at the house to betray their interest.

Freya felt cold and sick and exposed, and wondered how anyone could do this for their living. She tried to wait without looking like she was waiting, but had no idea if she was successful. There wasn't much traffic on this week-end day; she felt she stuck out like a sore thumb even if she wasn't openly watching the home on the corner. But she worried if she looked away too long, someone – Mordred – might slip out and be gone, leaving her foolishly watching an empty house.

Then she wondered about a back door. Maybe if she went to the side street, she could see the front and the back of the place at once.

How long would it take for Taliesin to return with a professional? Then she remembered that Mordred had been one of Morgana's apprentices – could she trust whoever Morgana sent?

She forced her hands to stop twisting the strings of her wrist-purse, forced her feet to stroll slowly to the corner. She felt very much as she had the day Padlow had returned to Emmett's Creek, stepping out into the street trying to do the right thing, and only succeeding in complicating things further.

But… what other choice did she have?