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ahead.
"Adam!" I shouted over the intercom, "You'd better come up and look at this."
His head came up through the hatchway beside me.
"Sweet Jesus! You know, I read about something like that once. It was supposed to be an optical
illusion. They called it theFata Morgana , after the witch in the King Arthur legends. There was a big
write-up inScientific American , about how the different layers of calm air made it appear. It made a lot
of sense at the time."
"There's nothing calm about the air out here. We've got gale winds going! Thisoptical illusion is showing
up on radar and sonar. I turned them on for a little while, and I saw the same thing you did earlier."
"Well, given the choice, I think I'd rather be marooned than sunk. But I'd rather be sailing than either of
the above, so I'm going back to the pump. If you feel up to it, you might relieve me in a while,Fata
Morgana or noFata Morgana ."
He went below and I went back to checking our emergency equipment. After a while, I had done
everything I could think of, even reading the checklist, and went below to help Adam. Then, suddenly,
the ladder wasn't where it was supposed to be, and I was knocked unconscious again.
NINE
On the highest peak of the Western Isles, two figures stood watching as the storm winds blew
their long capes high behind their backs. Aldrich Skybolt, journeyman wizard and Master of
Radios, pointed due east into the wind.
"There! A ship! I told you it was coming!" He shouted above the wind in a language akin to
ancient French.
"Yes, but it's an old one! Look, it has a mast. It's broken, but it's still a mast. That thing is a
sailing ship. I was told that the outsiders stopped using such craft a century ago," cried Sister
Joan of the Lyonnesse Nunnery.
"That's no ancient ship, sister! I have been hearing its many radios for hours. It may be powered
by the wind, but its equipment is brand new."
"Believe what you want. How do you know that this ship is the one you heard? They stopped
calling half an hour ago!"
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"I tell you, I know! The law says that the Shire Reeve must be told immediately, as must the
Council of Wizards and the Warlock!"
"Then you must tell them yourself, Master Aldrich, because I am going to alert the Archbishop of
this ship's coming!"
"You're going to play politics when Christian lives are in danger? You know that I can't leave my
post! Look! They're sure to be shipwrecked on our shore, near the Point of Avalon! The Shire
Reeve there must be told first, so he can call out the Sea Farmers and the Fishermen! Lives are at
stake!"
"All lives are in the hands of God, Aldrich, and God will decide whether they live or die. And how
do you know that the people in that ship are Christians? Odds are that they are Heathens, or even
Atheists!"
"I warn you of the law, sister! When there is danger from the sea, the Reeve must be told first. If
you must suck up to your superiors, and try to advance yourself at the expense of innocent lives,
do so and be damned! But you must go to the Reeve first!"
"He's on my way, so I'll do it. But the Archbishop will hear about this before your Warlock does!"
"Then so be it, but get moving, woman! There are lives at stake!"
The nun ran down the long path to the shore. When she was out of sight, the wizard hurried down
to his cave, unlocked a chest, picked up crude, handmade telephone and said, "Warlock?
Warlock? Are you there, master? A ship, a strange new ship is about to wreck on the point of
Avalon. This may be the one we have waited for all these years! Warlock, are you there?"
* * *
I awoke, naked and in pain, on a stiff, lumpy bed with scratchy sheets. For some reason, this inferior
bed had been covered by a rich blue velvet bedspread with a wide border that was heavily embroidered
with threads of at least a dozen colors. It portrayed some sort of a medieval scene, a party of noble
knights and ladies with their dogs and horses on a field of flowers. It looked to be done by hand, and if
so, must have taken thousands of man-hours, or more likely woman-hours, to make. For a few moments,
my back and neck in pain, I couldn't help wishing that they had spent more money on the mattress and
less on the decoration.
The ceiling was high above me, thirty feet at least, and glancing about I saw that I was alone in a sparsely
furnished bedroom that was big enough to be used for a game of professional basketball. Three walls and
the whole domed ceiling were heavily carved, or maybe it was plaster work, but it was done in a style
that I had never seen before. It was partly an elaborate floral decoration, but there were also bas reliefs
of men and women that gave the feeling of being actual portraits rather than simple decoration.
One wall was made up of tall, thick Doric pillars, beyond which was a small garden that looked out on
the sea, a few hundred feet below. There was no glass in the windows thus formed, but the weather was
fair, and the temperature comfortable. The storm was over, the sky was a cloudless blue with the
beginnings of a sunset, the sun being just a few degrees above the horizon. Seagulls were flying above a
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blue sea touched with pink by the occasional breaking wave.
I rolled and sat up at the edge of the bed, and an incredible pain shot through my head. I stayed there a
bit, groaning, and then let myself slowly back under the covers. It seemed that I would live, but I was far
from well. My body was a mass of bruises, from my lumpy head to my smashed toes. It felt as though
every tendon, ligament, and muscle I had was pulled. Except for my eyeballs, all bodily motion was
painful. The good news was that as best as I could tell, my bones were reasonably sound, I could wiggle
my toes, so my spinal cord was all right, and the cuts on my back were sewn up and bandaged.
My groans must have attracted the nurse, because she came immediately. She wasn't the adolescent
dream that my ex-wife had been, but she was nonetheless a remarkably attractive woman. She looked to
be in her early thirties, with very fair skin and long, blond hair, held back by a jeweled clasp. She wore
no makeup, but I caught a hint of a strange, musky perfume. Her posture was very erect, and she walked
with a sort of flowing motion, almost as if she were on wheels rather than legs.
I called her a nurse since somehow she acted that way, but she certainly wasn't dressed like one. She
wore a floor-length vermilion dress held out by hoops. The bodice was tight and was cut about as low as
it could go, actually exposing the upper parts of her nipples. The entire dress, like my fabulous
bedspread, had been adorned with several thousand woman-hours of embroidery.
She felt my forehead and then my pulse.
"Where am I?" I said. "What is this place?"
She answered me in something that was maybe French, or even Latin, and I couldn't make out a word
of it.
"Is there anyone here who understands English?" I said slowly, carefully, and a bit too loudly. I had to
find out about Adam, andThe Brick Royal .
Again, her response meant nothing to me. I used the few words I remembered from my high school
Latin, but got no response.
All I remembered from my college Russian was how to say that I was going to go soon to the library,
but I was either not understood, or the nurse didn't care about who went to Russian libraries. I tried the
limited Vietnamese that my parents had allowed me to learn, but that too drew a blank.
Finally, resorting to sign language, I gesticulated that I was thirsty and hungry, and at last met with some
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