Shalott: Dangerous Magic

By Felicity Pulman

Five teenagers set out into the unknown to change the legend of Camelot. Instead they find they are rewriting their own lives and destiny

Is Lev still in Camelot - or did he die in the fire at the Tower? Can El survive the plague? And can Callie undo a death - or will she cause another? Will Guinevere achieve her desire to have a child, an heir to the kingdom - or will Callie succeed in her quest to win Lancelot and so save Camelot? In Shalott: Dangerous Magic, the Old Ways clash with the beliefs of the newly Christian court, while Morgan weaves her deadly magic to ensure that the teenagers are caught in the crossfire.

‘In this extraordinary trilogy Felicity Pulman shows both her understanding of the Arthurian legend, of the Shalott story, and a rich and imaginative capacity to expand and explore its deep meanings for today’s teenagers. This is an unsettling, unusual, intriguing and moving series, rich in character, action and mystery, full of the atmosphere of Arthurian legend, yet without falling into the trap of mere retelling.’ — Sophie Masson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Holmes House Press
• Release date: Sep 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922389619

Felicity Pulman

Felicity Pulman is the award-winning and widely published author of numerous short stories, articles and novels for children and YA, including THE JANNA MYSTERIES (Random House). She has many years experience talking to students or adults about researching and writing her books as well as conducting workshops in a wide variety of genres including writing fantasy, crime and historical fiction. A RING THROUGH TIME was begun during her May Gibbs Fellowship residence in Adelaide in 2010.Felicity Pulman lives in Balgowlah, NSW.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Lev stood beside the river watching Stephen pole the barge through the water. The current caught the boat and it picked up speed, heading down the river towards Camelot and the open sea.

Had he done the right thing? Should he have gone with his friends? Lev couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that there was nothing for him in the world to which his friends were returning, the world of the twenty-first century. All that he valued was right here, at Camelot: the friendship of the knights and the possibility that he might serve King Arthur.

Lev’s anxious expression relaxed. He might not have deserved his knighthood at the beginning, but he was proud of what he’d achieved; he believed he was now worthy of the honour of being made a knight at King Arthur’s court. More, he was determined to live by the vows he’d made — to himself, to King Arthur, and to God. He stared after the boat, squinting slightly to see the vessel more clearly through the smoke billowing from the fires that ringed Camelot, protecting it from the plague that had come to the tower where they’d been staying. Stephen was now only a dark silhouette as he bent and straightened to the motion of the pole, driving the barge onward. To fit in with the legend, he was dressed in Lev’s armour, pretending to be the dying Elaine of Astolat’s brother, Sir Lavaine.

El lay stretched out on the seat beside Stephen, but she wasn’t acting; she already had the plague, and Lev was almost sure she was dying. The other two, El’s twin, Callie, and their friend Meg were hiding under a cloth at the bottom of the boat. Although only Stephen was visible, Lev found himself praying that they would all make it safely back so El could get the medical attention she needed; so that she wouldn’t die. She couldn’t die! Rude, bossy, outspoken El. Lev had hated her when they’d first met, hated the way El seemed to look right through him into his lonely, secret, rotten self: a homeless druggie living on his wits and anything else he could lay his hands on. It had been a matter of survival for him, but no wonder she had despised him.

Things were different now. He was Sir Lavaine, a knight of King Arthur’s court. Lev squared his shoulders and stood taller, taking pride in the fact that he had managed to save the servants from the burning tower and they’d all escaped. So had he, but only just. His painful arms and legs bore witness to how close he’d come to burning up in the fiery barricade. He’d earned his knighthood the hard way. Even El had finally shown respect.

He could barely see Stephen anymore. The barge was approaching the high stone walls of Camelot that were barely visible through the shroud of smoke. There were people at the wharf, gathering to look at the boat and its occupants. Lev swallowed hard against a suddenly dry throat. Would his friends reach home — or be sucked into limbo and die in the space between realities? He’d never know. But their going meant that he was on his own and he would just have to make the best of it. Fear shivered through Lev’s thin frame. How would he cope without the others? How would he get by without their help and support?

With a sigh he hitched up Stephen’s breeches and pulled his belt tighter to keep them up. Stephen’s clothes were way too big for him, just as his own armour had been too tight for Stephen. He narrowed his eyes and checked the river once more. The barge had disappeared, along with his friends.

He badly wanted to lie down and go to sleep. The poppy syrup he’d consumed and the terrifying ordeal he’d managed to survive had left him feeling sick and exhausted. With a heavy and fearful heart, he turned to go. And stopped, stunned by what lay in front of him.

A barge was moored beside the river. Surely the same boat that, only moments ago, he’d seen carrying his friends downriver to Camelot? Lev scanned the river once more. There was no sign of his friends or the boat they were in but he could see knots of people forming and reforming along the wharf, waving their arms and looking agitated.

They’re discussing the death of Lady Elaine of Astolat, he thought. It’s happened just like Callie said it happened in the legend. No wonder their tongues are wagging. No wonder they’re upset, Lancelot most of all. He loved Callie; he’ll believe she’s the one dying, not knowing it’s actually her twin. And I don’t dare tell anyone any different because no one would believe me.

Lev blinked away tears as he looked downriver towards the sea and prayed for the safety of his friends.

A ship lay at anchor, its tall mast forming a dark cross against the smoke-stained sky. Small rafts manned by oarsmen ferried goods between the ship and the wharf beneath the castle walls. In the distance a sailing vessel moved slowly out to sea, its sail bellied out by the breeze. There was no barge, nor any other craft that Lev recognised.

He glanced sideways at the barge lying among the spiky reeds. It was the same boat, he was sure of it. ‘Stephen!’ he shouted. ‘Callie!’ But there was no reply.

A horrifying thought struck him. Had the boat come back here because Callie and the others had been flung off into the void? Maybe they’d died trying to reach home? Another thought turned his blood to ice. What if their bodies were still on board?

The sweat of fear stuck Lev’s tunic to his back as he thrust through the reeds to investigate. The boat rocked as he jumped on board. There was no sign of any life at all.

‘Stephen!’ he shouted again. ‘Callie! Come on guys, this isn’t funny. Talk to me.’

Dreading what he might find, he lifted the black linen cloth. No bodies. He breathed a sigh of relief. The barge wasn’t entirely empty, he noticed. Below the seat lay Callie’s paintbox. He unclipped the catch, lifted the lid, and caught his breath in surprise. Inside, nestled among the tubes and pots of paint was a huge diamond, winking and blinking a fiery radiance as the light reflected in its multi-faceted surface.

Lev picked it up. The gem felt cold and heavy in his palm. He remembered Callie’s pride when Lancelot had won it at the tournament, and her joy when he gave it to her and not to Guinevere. Callie would never have left it behind if she’d had the choice. So what had happened to her — to all of them?

Lev’s glance fell on something else. Meg’s lute. If his friends had fallen into limbo, surely these things would have disappeared, and the boat too? So perhaps the objects were still here because they didn’t belong in the real world with his friends? The thought cheered him, and his spirits lifted further as he looked at the diamond in his hand, assessing its value. He could sell it and use the money to set himself up at court, as Callie had suggested. He’d be able to mix it with the best of them then. The brief spurt of elation quickly vanished as he tried to visualise what it would be like in Camelot without his friends. He missed them already. He felt desperately lonely and unsure of himself.

I can’t afford to give in to doubts and fears, he thought, as he tried to muster up enough courage to face whatever lay ahead. I’ve chosen to stay here in this reality, so I’ll just have to make the best of it.

Knowing that he needed to remove the paintbox and lute before the boat’s owner found them, Lev bent to pick them up. He’d keep the diamond, but he had no use for the other things. Should he just chuck them away? There was no sign of Stephen’s mobile, he realised; hopefully that proved the others were all back home, along with Stephen’s twenty-first century technology. But the paintbox and lute belonged here, and they didn’t need electricity or batteries to work. Perhaps he could sell them?

‘Go you downriver to Camelot?’

A voice sent Lev spinning around so fast he set the boat rocking wildly. He reached out his arms to steady himself, and turned to stare at a boy standing on the riverbank. His clothes were torn and dirty, and far too big for him. He looked as though he lived in a hedge, but still there was something familiar about his appearance. Where had Lev seen him before? Had this ragged urchin helped to serve at the feast they’d attended at Camelot?

No. Lev scanned the boy’s lean face and roughly chopped hair. For some reason he’d thought of Meg when the boy had spoken. But Meg was no longer here. ‘Who are you? What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Mark.’ The boy jumped onto the boat, his gaze shifting from Lev’s face to the lute. ‘I am a minstrel.’ He stretched out a grubby hand towards the lute. ‘I am seeking a position in King Arthur’s court.’

‘A minstrel? So where’s your lute or guitar, or whatever?’

The boy shuffled his feet, but his gaze stayed fastened on the lute. ‘I have no instrument, but I know how to play a lute, and I can sing.’

Lev didn’t believe him. But he recognised something of himself in Mark’s fixation with the lute. He’d been exactly the same when he’d lived on the streets in Sydney. A pickpocket, a bag-snatcher, and worse. His quick fingers and quicker feet had often meant the difference between shelter and food, or an empty belly and a night huddled in a doorway with a discarded newspaper his only protection against the rain and cold. It was either that or beg from the charities that sometimes helped him out. But Lev doubted there’d be the equivalent of Lifeline or the Salvation Army here in Camelot.

He inspected Mark carefully, taking note of the smudges of dirt on his skin and his tattered clothing. He knew very well that if he turned his back, the lute would be gone in a flash, and the boy with it. He’d be willing to bet the diamond on that! He curled his fingers around the shining gem and shoved it into the leather pouch hanging from his girdle. No point putting too much temptation in the boy’s path, he thought, as he pulled the drawstring tight. But it wouldn’t hurt him to walk away and let Mark grab what he wanted.

He was about to step out of the boat, then turned back to study the boy more closely, touched by his innocence. Lev remembered how quickly he himself had turned feral after his mother died; how he’d treated every situation and everyone he met as a means to an end — his survival. He could tell Mark wanted the lute so badly he would steal it, but did he have form or would this be a first for him?

Lev made up his mind to help the boy. He bent over and picked up the lute. ‘Here.’ He held it out. ‘You can have it.’

It took a few moments for Lev’s offer to sink in before a great joy illuminated Mark’s face. ‘My thanks to you!’ Giving Lev no chance to change his mind, Mark snatched the lute from Lev’s hands. Reverently, his fingers gently stroked the strings. A simple melody, delicate and beautiful, sang through the smoke-filled air.

‘So you really can play a lute. Where did you learn how to do that?’ Lev asked, surprised that such a scruffy wretch could have so much talent and ability.

‘The nuns trained me to sing and to play both the lute and the harmonium. In chapel, I led all the chants and prayers.’

‘The nuns?’ Lev lifted an eyebrow.

A tide of red flooded the boy’s face. He shoved the lute under his arm, ready to leap off the boat and run.

Acting on impulse, Lev shot out a hand and grabbed his sleeve. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure who you really are, but I’m not who you think I am either.’

‘Who are you then?’ The boy trembled in Lev’s grasp.

‘My name is Lev. Sir Lavaine. I am a knight at King Arthur’s court.’

‘A knight?’ The boy’s voice rose an octave. ‘Oh, beg pardon, sire. I thought you were but a lonely traveller. Forgive me if I have caused offence.’

Lev looked down at Stephen’s tunic with its rolled up sleeves, and at his ill-fitting, baggy pants. ‘I’m not exactly dressed like a knight, am I?’ He grinned at the boy. ‘Actually, I’m not Sir Lavaine at all. I’m a time-traveller from another century, from the future.’

‘A time-traveller?’ Mark’s mouth hung open in amazement.

Lev let him go. ‘Yeah. Blows your mind, doesn’t it?’

The boy shook his head. He began to edge away, keeping a wary eye on Lev.

‘Don’t go.’

But Mark had hopped out of the far side of the boat into the muddy water. He held the lute high as he waded through the reeds around the boat towards dry land.

Lev jumped out of the boat onto the riverbank and blocked the boy’s path. ‘Wait!’ he said urgently. ‘You don’t know anyone at court and neither do I. Not really. Maybe we can help each other?’

He peered closer at Mark. Surely he knew this boy? ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

The boy lowered his head under Lev’s fierce gaze. ‘I am known as Mark. I have no other name.’

‘And where are your parents?’

‘Dead.’ The boy sounded desolate.

‘Were you born near here? When’s your birthday?’

‘The day of my birth?’ The boy looked troubled. ‘Only Christ’s nativity is celebrated. Not ours. The nuns said …’

‘So you were looked after by nuns, not left on the streets to starve. You were lucky.’ Lev stepped forward and cupped the boy’s chin in his hand so that he could study his face.

The boy trembled in terror, and Lev released him. At once he jumped back out of Lev’s reach, wincing as a sharp stone cut into his bare feet. Lev lunged after him and grabbed his sleeve, holding him tight. ‘You’re on the run, aren’t you? Tell me the truth now.’

Mark glared at him. ‘Tell me.’ Lev’s grip tightened on his arm.

‘The nuns have looked after me since I was a babe abandoned at their door,’ Mark admitted reluctantly. ‘They have been kind to me while I, in turn, have served them to the best of my ability. But the life of the church is not for me. My only wish is that they might understand, and forgive my ingratitude.’

‘Surely serving God is better than living in a ditch?’

‘Aye. There’s more comfort sleeping in a dormitory than under a hedge or in a byre with the cows and pigs.’ Mark wriggled free from Lev’s grasp and bent to wipe a smear of mud from his torn hose. ‘But the truth is, sire, I ran away from the nuns and their bells and their praying because I want to be free to play the music that sings in my heart, as well as the chants and the hymns of our Holy Mother Church.’

Mark’s fingers caressed the lute strings once more. ‘I thought to become a minstrel, to take my chances at King Arthur’s court and thus earn my keep. And I am ever grateful to you, sire, for putting into my hands the means to achieve my heart’s desire. I shall play and sing and, God willing, I shall charm King Arthur and his queen so they will never send me away.’

‘They’ll never take you on looking like that,’ Lev observed. ‘Where did you get those clothes? They’re surely not yours?’

‘I took them from a dead man, sire.’

‘You what?’ Lev was appalled, but impressed. He’d lived a rough life in Sydney, but there’d always been charity shops or shelters if he got really desperate. Slack-jawed, he stared incredulously at Mark.

‘He was dead! He had no further use for them.’ Mark defended his actions. ‘And I dunked them in the river before I put them on. But sleeping in rain and mud outdoors, or in a barn with animals and their dung …’ The boy lifted his arms in a hopeless gesture.

‘Perhaps you’d better go for a swim before we venture into Camelot,’ Lev suggested. ‘That’ll clean you up.’

‘A swim?’

‘A ducking in the river. Then we’ll go rob a clothes line.’

‘Clothes line?’ Mark looked even more confused.

‘Where do people wash their clothes?’ The answer came to Lev even as Mark answered.

‘The river,’ they chorused together. ‘We’ll follow the course of the river until we find some clothes to steal,’ Lev suggested. He thought of the diamond nestling in his pouch. It was more than enough to buy a tunic and hose — but he wasn’t prepared to give it away in payment for a few old clothes. It was far too valuable for that. Selling it to the highest bidder would take time though. Making