 Section 1 of A Night There Was, by Robert F. Young. Section 1. A night there was, and that a worthy man, that for the time that he first began to ride out he loved chivalry, truth, and honor, freedom, and courtesy. The Canterbury Tales. Mallory, who, among other things, was a time-thief, rematerialized the time-spaceboat, Yor, in the eastern section of a secluded valley in ancient Britain, and typed, Castle, Early Sixth Century, on the Lumilusion Panel. Then he stepped over to the control room tele-window and studied the three-dimensional screen. The hour was eight o'clock p.m., the season summer, the year 542 A.D. Darkness was on hand, but there was a full moon rising, and he could see trees not far away, oaks and beaches mostly. Roving the eye of the camera he saw more trees of the same species. The Castle of Yor was safely ensconced in a forest. Satisfied, he turned away. If his calculations were correct the Castle of Carbonic stood in the next valley to the south, and on a silver table in a chamber of the castle stood the object of his quest. If his calculations were correct. Mallory was not one to keep himself in suspense. Stepping into the supply room he stripped down to his undergarments and proceeded to get into the custom-built suit of armor which he had purchased expressly for the operation. Fortunately, while duplication of early sixth-century design had been mandatory, there had been no need to duplicate early sixth-century materials and solerates, spurs, greaves, quizzes, breastplate, pauldrons, gorget, arm coverings, gauntlets, helmet, and chainmail vest had all been fashioned of lightweight alloys that lent ten times as much protection at ten times less poundage. The helmet was his particular pride and joy. In keeping with the period piece after which it had been patterned, it looked like an upside-down metal waste-paper basket. But the one-way transparency of the special alloy that had gone into its construction gave him unrestricted vision, while two in-built audio amplifiers performed a corresponding service for his hearing. The outer surface of each piece had been burnished to a high degree, and he found himself a dazzling sight indeed when he looked into the supply room mirror. This effect was enhanced no end when he buckled on his chrome-plated scabbard and red-hilted sword and hung his snow-white shield around his neck. His polished spear, when he stood it beside him, was almost anticlimactic. It should have been. It was a good three-and-one-half inches in diameter at the base, and it was as tall as a young flagpole. As he stood there, looking at his reflection, the red cross in the center of the shield took on the hue of freshly shed blood. The period piece expert who had designed the shield had insisted on the illusion, saying that it made for greater authenticity, and Mallory hadn't argued with him. He was glad now that he hadn't. Raising the visor of his helmet, he winked at himself and said, I hear by Chris and Yee, Sir Gala had. Next he bethought himself of his steed. After clanking, he left the supply room and walked down the short passage to the Wreck Hall. The Wreck Hall occupied the entire forward section of the TSB and had been designed solely for the benefit of the time-tourists, whom Mallory regularly conducted on past tours as a cover-up for the illegal activities which he pursued in between trips. In the present instance, however, the hall went quite well with the yore's lumalusioned exterior, possessing, with its gallery-like mezzanine, its long snack-table, and its imitation flagstone flooring, an early sixth-century aspect of its own, an aspect marred only slightly by the anachronistic tele-windows inset at regular intervals along the walls. Mallory's steed stood in a stall-like enclosure that was formed by the tourist bar and one of the walls, and it was a splendid beast indeed, as splendid a one as the twenty-second century robotics industry was capable of creating. Originally Mallory had planned on bringing a real horse with him, but as this would have necessitated his having to learn how to ride, he had decided against it. The decision had been a wise one. Easy money looked more like a horse than most real horses did, could travel twice as fast, and was as easy to ride and to maneuver as a gulp-jetny. It was light brown in color and a white diamond on its forehead. It was equipped with a secret croup-compartment and an inbuilt saddle, and its fetlock-length trappings were made of genuine synthesilk threaded with gold. It wore no armor. It did not need to. Weapons manufactured during the age of chivalry could no more penetrate its hide than a toothpick could. Come on, easy money! Mallory encephalopathed. You and I have a little job to do. The row-horse emitted several realistic winnies, backed out of its stall, trotted smartly over to the side, and nuzzled his right pauldron. Mallory mounted, not gracefully it is true, but at least without the aid of the winch he would have needed if his armor had been manufactured in the sixth century, and inserted the red pommel of his spear in the stirrup socket. Then, activating the yore's lock, he rode across the imaginary drawbridge that spanned the mirage-moat and set forth into the forest. As the portcullis closed behind him, symbolically bringing phase one of Operation Sangrayal to a close, he thought of Jason Perfidion. Standing in front of the Florida ceiling, wall to wall fireplace in the big balcony room, Perfidion said, Mallory, you're wasting your time. Worse, you're wasting mine. The room climaxed a vertical series of slightly less sumptuous chambers known collectively as the Perfidion Tower, and the Perfidion Tower stood with a score of balcony brothers on a blacktop island in the exact center of Kansas' largest gulp course. A short distance from the fraternal gathering stood yet another tower, the false tower into which Mallory had loom-illusioned his TSB upon his arrival. On the gulp terrace, as the blacktop island was called, everyone and everything conformed, or else. The room itself was known to time thieves as Perfidion's lair. And yet there was nothing about Jason Perfidion, nothing physical, that is, that suggested the predator. He was Mallory's age thirty-three, tall, dark of hair, and strikingly handsome. He looked like and was a highly successful businessman, with a triplex on Get Rich Quick Street, and he gave the impression that he was as honest as the day was long. Just the same the predator was there, and if you were alert enough you could sometimes glimpse it peering out through the smoky window panes of his eyes. It wasn't peering out now, though, it was sleeping. However, it was due to wake up any second. Then you're not interested in fencing the holy grail? Mallory asked. Annoyance intensified the slight swarthiness of Perfidion's cheeks. Mallory, you know as well as I do that the grail never really existed, that it was nothing more than the meat-inspired daydream of a bunch of quixotic knights. So go and get your hair cut and forget about it. But suppose it did exist, Mallory insisted. Suppose, tomorrow afternoon at this time, I were to come in here and set it down on this desk here. How much could you get for it? Perfidion laughed. How much couldn't I get for it? Why, without even stopping to think, I can name you a dozen collectors who'd give their right arm for it. I'm not interested in right arms, Mallory said. I'm interested in dollars. How many Kennedys could you get for it? A mega-million, maybe more. More than enough, certainly, to permit you to retire from time-lifting and to take up residence on Getrich Quick Street. But it doesn't exist and it never did, so get out of here, Mallory, and stop squandering my valuable time. Mallory withdrew a small stereo photo from his breast-pocket and tossed it on the desk. Have a look at that first, then I'll go, he said. Perfidion picked up the photo. An ordinary enough yellow bowl, he began, and stopped. Suddenly he gasped and jabbed one of the many buttons that patterned his desktop. Seconds later a svelte blonde whom Mallory had never seen before stepped out of the lift tube. Like most general-purpose secretaries, she wore a maximum of makeup and a minimum of clothing and moved in an aura of efficiency and sex. Get me my photo projector, Miss Tyler, Perfidion said. When she returned with it, he set it on his desk and inserted the stereo photo. Instantly a huge cube materialized in the center of the room. Inside the cube there was a realistic image of a resplendent silver table, and upon the image of the table stood an equally realistic image of a resplendent golden bowl. Perfidion gasped again. Unusual workmanship, wouldn't you say? Mallory said. Perfidion turned toward the blonde. You may go, Miss Tyler. She was staring at the contents of the cube and apparently did not hear him. I said, he repeated, that you may go, Miss Tyler. Oh, yes, yes, sir. When the lift tube door closed behind her, Perfidion turned to Mallory. For a fraction of a second the predator was visible behind the smoky window panes of his eyes. Then quickly it ducked out of sight. Where was this taken, Tom? It's a distance shot, Mallory said. I took it through one of the windows of the church Joseph of Arimathea, built in Glastonbury. But how did you know that it was there? Because it had to be there. Some time ago, while escorting a group of tourists around ancient Britain, I happened to witness Joseph of Arimathea's landing, and happened to catch a glimpse of what he brought with him. I used to think that the grail was a pipe dream, too, but when I saw it with my own eyes I knew that it couldn't have been. However, I knew I'd need evidence to convince you, so I jumped back to a later place-time and got a shot of it. But why a shot, Tom? Why didn't you lift it, then and there? You concede that it is the grail, then? Of course it's the grail. There's not the slightest question about it. Why didn't you lift it? Well, for one thing, I wanted to make sure that lifting it would be worth my while, and for another, Glastonbury wasn't the logical place-time from which to lift it, because, assuming that the rest of the legend is also true, it was seen after that place-time. No time-thief ever bucked destiny yet and came out the winner, Jason. I play my percentages. I know you do, Tom. You're one of the best time-lift men in the business, and the past police would be the first to admit it. I daresay you've already pinpointed the key place-time. Mallory grinned, showing his white teeth. I certainly have, but if you think I'm going to divulge it, you're sadly mistaken, Jason. And stop looking at my hair. It won't tell you anything beyond the fact that I've been using hair-haste. Shoulder-length hair was the rage in more eras than one. Perfidion smiled warmly and clapped Mallory on the back. I'm not trying to ferret out your secret, Tom. I know better than that. Lifting is your line, fencing mine. You bring me the grail, I'll sell it, take my cut, and everything will be fine. You know me, Tom. I sure do, Mallory said, taking the stereo photo out of the projector and returning it to his breast pocket. Perfidion snapped his fingers. A happy thought just occurred to me. I've got a gulp date with Rowley of Pura Products, so why don't you join us, Tom? You play a pretty good game, as I recall. Mollified, Mallory said. I'll have to borrow a set of your jet-sticks. I'll get them for you on the way down. Come on, Tom. Mallory accompanied him across the room. Keep mum about this to Rowley now, Perfidion said confidentially. He's a potential customer, but we don't want to let the cat out of the bag yet, do we? Or, should I say, the grail? He took time out to grin at his little joke. Then, by the way, Tom, I take it you're all set as regards costume, equipment, and the like. I've got the sweetest little suit of armor you ever laid eyes on, Mallory said. Fine. No need for me to offer any advice in that respect, then. Perfidion opened the lift door. After you, Tom. They plummeted down the tube together. It had been a good game of gulp, from Mallory's standpoint, anyway. He had trounced rowly, rowly, and he would have inflicted similar ignominy upon Perfidion, had not the latter been called away in the middle of the game, and had been unable to return till it was nearly over. Oh well, Mallory thought, and Cephalo guiding his row-horse through the ancient forest, there'll be other chances. Allowed, he said, Step lively now, easy money, and let's get this caper over with, so we can return to civilization and start feeling when it's like to be rich. In response to the encephalo waves that had accompanied his words, easy money increased its pace, the infrared rays of its eye units illuminating its way. In places light from the rising moon seeped through the foliage. But otherwise darkness was the rule. The air was cool and damp, the sea was not far distant, and the sound of frogs and insects was omnipresent, and now and then there was the rustling sound of some small and fleeing forest creature. Presently the ground began to rise, and not long afterward the trees thinned out temporarily, and row-horse and rider emerged on the moonlit crest of the ridge that separated the two valleys. In the distance Mallory made out the moon-gilt towers and turrets of a large castle, and knew it to be carbonic beyond a doubt. He sighed with relief. He was all set now, provided his master aide went over. Conversely, if it didn't go over, he was finished. His sword and his spear were his only weapons, and his shield and his armor his only protection. True, each article was superior in quality and durability to its corresponding article in the Age of Chivalry, but otherwise none of them was anything more than what it seemed. Mallory might be a time-thief, but within the framework of his profession he believed in playing fair. In response to his encephalopath directions, easy money picked its way down the slope of the ridge and re-entered the forest. Not long afterward it stepped on to what was euphemistically referred to in that day and age as a highway, but which in reality was little more than a wide, hoof-trampled lane. As Mallory's entire plan of action was based on boldness, he spurned the shadows of the bordering oaks and beaches and encephalopath the row-horse to keep to the center of the lane. He met no one, however, despite the earliness of the hour, nor had he really expected to. It was highly improbable that any freemen would be abroad after dark, and as for the night-errants who happen to be in the neighborhood, it was highly improbable that any of them would be abroad after dark, either. He grinned. To read Le Morte d'Arterre you'd think that the chivalry boys had been in business twenty-four hours a day slaying ogres, rescuing fair damsels, and searching for the sangrayale. But not, if you read between the lines. Mallory had read Arterre only cursorily, but he had had a hunch all along that in the majority of cases the quest for the sangrayale had served as an out, and that the knights of the table round had spent more time wenching and wasserling than they had conducting their so-called dedicated search, and the hunch had played an important role in the shaping of his strategy. The highway turned this way and that, never pursuing a straight course unless such a logical procedure was unavoidable. Once he thought he heard hoof-beats up ahead, but he met no one, and not long afterward he saw the pale pile of carbonic looming above the trees to his left, and Ancephalo guided easy money into the lane that led to the entrance. There was no moat, but the portcullis was an imposing one. Flanking it on either side was a huge stone lion, and framing it were flaming torches in regularly spaced niches. Warders in Hobburg and Helmut looked down from the lofty wall, their hallbirds gleaming in the dancing torchlight. Mallory swallowed. The moment of truth had arrived. He halted easy money and canted his white shield so that the red cross in its center would be visible from above. Then he marshaled his smattering of Old English. I hiked Ser Gala had of the table round, he called out in as bold a voice as he could muster. I would rest my eyes upon the Sangreal. Instantly confusion rang upon the wall as the Warders vied with one another for the privilege of operating the cumbersome windlass that raised and lowered the portcullis, and presently, to the accompaniment of a chorus of creaks and groans and scrapings, the ponderous iron grating began to rise. Mallory forced himself to wait until it had risen to a height befitting a night of Ser Gala had's caliber. Then he rode through the gateway and into the courtyard, congratulating himself on the effectiveness of his impersonation. He will come unto the chamber of the Sangreal, sixty paces down the corridor to thy left, if soon ye enter the chief fortress, Sir Knight, one of the Warders, called down. And ye had arrived a little while afore, ye had encountered Sir Lancelot du Lake, the which did come unto the fortress and enter in, wherefrom he came out anon and departed. Mallory would have wiped his forehead if his forehead had been accessible, and if his hands had not been encased in metal gloves. Fooling the Warders was one thing, but passing himself off as Sir Gala had to the man who was Sir Gala had's father would have been quite another. He had learned from the pages of his near-name-sakes Arter that Sir Lancelot had visited Karbonik before Sir Gala had had, but the pages had not revealed whether the time-lapse had involved minutes, hours, or years, and for that matter Mallory wasn't altogether certain whether the second visit they described had been the real Sir Gala had's, which meant failure, or a romanticized version of his own, which meant success. His near-name-sake was murky at best, and reading him you were never sure where anybody was or when any given event was taking place. The courtyard was empty, and after crossing it Mallory dismounted and cephalopathed easy money to stay put and climbed the series of stone steps that led to the castle proper. Entering the building unchallenged he found himself at the junction of three corridors. The main one stretched straight ahead and debushed into a large hall. The other two led off at right angles, one to the left and one to the right. Boisterous laughter emanated from the hall, and he could see knights and other nobles sitting at a long banquet-table. Scattered among them were gentle women in rich silks, and hovering behind them were servants bearing large demijons. He grinned. Just as he had figured, King Pellis was throwing a wingding. Quickly Mallory turned down the left-hand corridor and started along it, counting his footsteps. Rushes rustled beneath his feet, and the flickering light of wall torches gave him a series of grotesque shadows. He saw no one. All the servants were in the banquet hall, pouring wine and mead. He laughed aloud. Forty-eight paces suffice to see him to the chamber door. It was a perfectly ordinary door. Opening it he thought at first that the room beyond was ordinary too. Then he saw the burning candles arranged along the walls and beneath them, standing in the center of the floor, the table of silver, the table of the Sangreal. There was no Sangreal on the table, however. There was no Sangreal in the room, for that matter. There was a girl, though. She was huddled forlornly in a corner, and she was crying. End of Section 1 Recording by Roger Maline Section 2 of A Night There Was This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline A Night There Was by Robert F. Young Section 2 Mallory laid his spear aside, strode across the room, and raised the girl to her feet. The Sangreal, he said, forgetting in his agitation the few odds and ends of old English he had memorized. Where is it? She raised startled eyes that were as round and almost as large as plums. Her face was round too, and faintly childlike. Her hair was dark brown and done up in a strange and indeterminate coiffure that was as charming as it was disconcerting. Her ankle-length dress was white, and there was a bow on the bodice that matched the plum blueness of her eyes. A few cosmetics, properly applied, would have turned her into an attractive woman, and even without them she rated a second look. She stared at him for some time, then. Surely you be in that vision, sir? she said. I know ye not. Mallory swung his shield around so that she could see the red cross. Now do you know me? She gasped, and her eyes grew even rounder. Sir, sir to Gala had. Oh, fair knight, wherefore did ye not say? Mallory ignored the question. The sangriail, he repeated. Where is it? Her tears had ceased temporarily. Now they began again. Oh, fair sir, she cried. Ye see to fore you a damsel at mischief, the which was given guardianship of the holy vessel at her own request, and berate her trust. A damsel. Never mind all that, Mallory said. Where's the sangriail? I what not, fair sir? But ye must know if ye were guarding it. I what not, whither it was taken. But ye must what, who took it? What I well, fair knight? Sir Lancelot, the which is thy father, berate from the chamber. Mallory was stunned. But that's impossible. My fa— Sir Lancelot wouldn't steal the sangriail. Well, I what, fair sir? Yet steal it he did. Came he unto the chamber, and sayeth, I hight Sir Lancelot du Lake of the table round, whereat I did see his armor to be none other. So then took he the vessel covered with the red samite, and berate with him from the chamber, whereat I— How long ago? But a little while, a four-eight of the clock. Sith and I have wept. I know now no good night, nor no good man. And I know from thy holy shield, and from thy good name, that thou art a good night, and I beseech ye therefore to help me. For ye be a shining night indeed, wherefore ye ought not to fail no damsel which is in distress, and she besought you of help. Well, Mallory only half heard her. Sir Lancelot was too much with him. It was inconceivable that a night of such noble principles would even consider touching the sangriail, to say nothing of making off with it. Maybe, though, his principles hadn't been quite as noble as they had been made out to be. He had been Queen Guinevere's paramour, hadn't he? He had lain with the fair Elaine, hadn't he? When you come right down to it, he could very well have been a scoundrel at heart all along, a scoundrel whose true nature had been toned down by writers like Mallory and poets like Tennyson, all of which, while it strongly suggested that he was capable of stealing the sangriail, threw not the slightest light on his reason for having done so. Mallory was right back where he had started from. He turned to the girl. You said something about needing my help. What do you want me to do? Instantly her tears stopped, and she clasped her hands together and looked at him with worshipful eyes. Oh, fair sir, ye be most kind indeed. Well, I want from thy shining armor that ye knock it off, Mallory said. Knock it off? I want not what—never mind. Just tell me what you want me to do. Ye must bear me from the castle, fair sir, or the king learns that I have berate my trust and reach his wrath upon me. And then ye must help me regain the holy cup and return it to this chamber. We'll worry about getting the cup back after we're beyond the walls, Mallory said, starting from the door. Come on, they're all in the banquet hall, and as drunk as lords, they won't even see us go by. She hung back. But the warders, fair sir, they be not in shafed. And King Pellis, by my own wish, did forbid them to pass me. Mallory stared at her. By your own wish—well, of all the crazy— abruptly he dropped the subject. All right, then, how do we get out of here? There lieth beneath the fortress and the forest a parlou passage wherein dwells the fiend, the which I have much discomfort of. But with ye beside me, fair knight, there is not to fear. Mallory had read enough Mallory to be able to take six-century fiends in his stride. I'll have to take my horse along, he said. Is there room for it to pass? Yey, fair sir! The tale sayeth that a fortime many knights did ride out beneath the fortress and the forest, and did smite the Saxons, Saracens, and Pagans, the which did compass the castle about from behind, whereupon the battle was won. Mallory stepped outside the chamber, the girl just beside him, and encephalopathed the necessary directions. After a moment easy money came trotting down the corridor to his side. The girl gasped, and to his astonishment threw her arms around the roe-horse's neck. "'He is a noble steed indeed, fair sir,' she said, and worthy of a knight fitting to sit in the siege perilous.' Presently she stepped back, frowning. "'He—he is most cold, fair sir.' "'All horses of that breed are,' Mallory explained. "'Incidentally, his name is Easy Money.' "'Lah! Such a strange name!' "'Not so strange!' Mallory raised his visor, making a mental note to see to it that any and all suits of armor he might buy in the future were air-conditioned. He got his spear. "'Let's be on our way, shall we?' "'Y—y have blue eyes, fair sir.' "'Never mind the color of my eyes. Let's get out of here.' She seemed to make up her mind about something. "'And ye will follow me, sir knight,' she said, and started down the corridor. A ramp, the entrance of which was camouflaged by a rotating section of the inner castle wall, gave access to the subterranean passage. The passage itself, in the flickering light of the torch that the girl had brought along, appeared at first to be nothing more than a natural cave, enlarged through the centuries by the stream that still flowed down its center. Presently, however, Mallory saw that in certain places the stone walls had been cut back in such a way that the space on either side of the stream never narrowed to a width of less than four feet. He saw other evidence of human handiwork, too—dungeons. They were little more than shallow caves now, though, their iron gratings having rusted and fallen away. After proceeding half a hundred yards, he paused. "'I don't know what we're walking for, when we've got a perfectly good horse at our disposal,' he told the girl. "'Come on, I'll help you into the saddle, and I'll jump on behind.' She shook her head. "'No, fair knight. It is not fitting for a gentlewoman to ride to fore her champion. Yee will mount, and I will ride behind.' "'Suit yourself,' Mallory said. He climbed into the saddle with a clank and a clatter, and helped her up on easy money's crew. "'By the way, you never did tell me your name.' "'I height the damsel Rowena.' "'Pleased to meet you,' Mallory said. "'Giddy up, easy money,' he encephalopathed. They rode in silence for a little while, the light from Rowena's torch dancing acapella rigadoons on bare walls and dripping ceilings. Easy money's hoof beats hardly audible above the purling of the stream.' Presently Rowena said, "'It were best that ye drew out thy sword, fair sir, for anon the fiend will beset us.' "'He hasn't beset us yet,' Mallory pointed out. "'La, fair sir, he will.' He saw no harm in humoring her, and did as she had suggested. "'You mentioned something a while back about having been given guardianship of the Sangreale at your own request,' he said. "'How did that come about?' "'List, fair sir, and I will tell ye.' "'But first I must tell ye of Sir Bors de Gannis, of which Sir Lionel is brother. It happened one day that Sir Bors did ride into a forest in the kingdom of Menace, unto the hour of midday. And there befell him a marvelous adventure. So he met at the departing of the two ways two nights that led Lionel, his brother, all naked, bounden upon a strong hackney, and his hands bounden to for his breast. And every each of them held in his hands thorns, wherewith they went beating him so sore that the blood trailed down more than in a hundred places of his body, so that he was all blood to fore and behind. But he said never a word. As he which was great of heart, he suffered all that ever they did to him, as though he had felt none anguish. Anon Sir Bors dressed him to rescue him, that was his brother, and so he looked upon the other side of him, and saw a knight which brought a fair gentlewoman, and would have set her in the thickest place of the forest, for to have been the more sure out of the way from then that sought him. And she which was nothing assured, cried with the high voice, St. Mary, succory you made! And Anon she aspired where Sir Bors came riding. And when she came nigh him she deemed him a knight of the round table, whereof she hoped to have some comfort. And then she conjured him by the faith that he ought unto him in whose service thou art entered in, and for the faith ye owe unto the high order of knighthood, and for the noble King Arthur's sake, that I suppose that made thee knight, that thou help me, and suffer me not to be shamed of this knight. When, just a minute, Mallory interrupted, thoroughly bewildered and simultaneously afflicted with an irrational sense of deja vu, this gentlewoman you speak of, would she by any chance be you? Which ye well, fair sir, when, but if she's you, why don't you use the first person singular instead of the third? I what not what, why don't you use I instead of she, when you refer to yourself directly? It would not be fitting, fair knight. When Bors heard her say thus, he had so much sorrow there he nis not what to do. For if I let my brother be an adventure he must be slain, and that would I not for all the earth. And if I help not the maid she is shamed for ever, and also she shall lose her virginity, the witch he shall never get again. Then lift he up his eyes, and said weeping, Fair sweet Lord, whose liege man I am, keep Lionel, my brother, that these knights slay him not. And for pity of you, and for Mary's sake, I shall succor this maid. Then dressed be him unto the knight, the witch had the gentlewoman, and then, hissed, Mallory whispered, I heard something. For a moment the light flared wildly as though she had nearly dropped the torch. Well, whence came the sound, fair knight? From the other side of the stream. He peered into the vacillating shadows, but saw nothing but the darker shadows of one of the innumerable man-made caves. The sound he had heard had brought to mind the dull clang that metal makes when it collides with stone, and it had been so faint as to have been barely audible above the purling of the stream. Thinking back, he was not altogether certain that he had heard it at all. My imagination's getting the best of me, I guess, he said presently. There's no one there. Her warm breath penetrated the crevices of his gorget and fanned the back of his neck. Yee, ye weenot that it could have been the fiend prowling? Of course I weenot. Relax, and finish your story, but get to the point, will you? And, and it so please. And then Sir Bors cried, Sir Knight, let your hand off that maiden, or ye be but dead. And then he sat down the maiden, and was armed at all pieces, save he lacked his spear. Then he dressed his shield, and drew out his sword, and Bors smote him so hard that it went through his shield and havergen on the left shoulder. And through great strength he beat him down to the earth, and at the pulling out of Bors's spear there he swooned. Then came Bors to the maid, and said, How seemeth it to you of this night ye be delivered at this time? Now, Sir, said she, I pray you lead me there as this night had me. So shall I do gladly, and took the horse of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman upon him, and so brought her as she desired. Sir Knight, said she, Ye have better sped than ye weaned, for and I had lost my maidenhood, five hundred men should have died for it. What night was he that had you in the forest? By my faith, said she, he is my cousin. So what I never with what engine that fiend unshaved him, for yesterday he took me from my father privately. For I, nor none of my father's men mistrusted him not, and if he had had my maidenhood he should have died for the sin, and his body shamed and dishonored for ever, thus as shh. This time Mallory was certain that he had heard something. The sound had had much in common with the previous sound, except that it had suggested metal scraping again. This one shallow enough to permit the torchlight to penetrate its deeper shadows, and, looking into those shadows, he caught a faint gleam of reflected light. Rowena must have caught it too, for he heard her gas behind him. It were best that I thank ye for your patience, for I have never met him before, and for I have never met him before. For he heard her gas behind him. It were best that I thank ye now for thy great kindness, fair knight, she said. For a none we be no longer unlive. Nonsense, Mallory said. If this fiend of yours is anywhere in the vicinity, he's probably more afraid of us than we are of him. The cave was behind them now. Per, per adventure he hath already had meat, Rowena said hopefully. The tale saith that in the fiend be filled he becomes a weary and besets not them the which do pass him by in peace. I'll keep my sword handy just in case he changes his mind, Mallory said. Meanwhile, get on with your autobiography, only for Pete's sake. Cut it short, will ye? And at please, fair sir. Thus as the fair gentlewoman stood talking with Sir Bors, there came twelve knights seeking after her. And a non she told them all how Bors had delivered her. And they made great joy and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and he should be right welcome. Truly, said Bors, that may not be at this time. For I have a great adventure to do in this country. So he commended them unto God and departed. The fair gentlewoman did grieve Mechel to see him leave. And she saith, Sir Knight, Noble was the service that brave knight did render unto thy liege's daughter in the saving of her maiden head, the which she could never get again, for that be none other than his own brother, the which he fought it. Therefore Noble must be both his king and his cause, wherefore it be befitting that a gentlewoman of thy liege's daughter's nature leave the castle of her father be times, that she may render fitting service to her sucker's cause and be worthy of his deed. Thus spake this fair gentlewoman, whereat she did mount upon her palfry and so departed her from thence, and did ride as fast as her palfry might bear her, whereupon, after many days, she came to the castle of Carbonic, and did seek out King Pellis, and did beseech him that she might be made guardian of the Sangrayal, whereat he did graciously consent to her request, and did consent also that she be made prisoner in the fortress by her own wish. And now she was berate her trust, fair sir, and the table of silver whereon the Sangrayal stood stands empty. For some time after she finished talking Mallory was silent. Was she trying to pull his leg, he wondered? Or were the gentlewomen of her day and age really as high-minded and as feather-brained as she would have him believe? He decided not to go into the matter for the moment. Tell me, Rowena, he said, if the Sangrayal is visible only to those who are worthy of it, as I have been led to believe, how are any of those wassillers whooping it up back there in that banquet hall going to know whether it's gone or not? It be oft times avarred that it all cannot see the Holy Cup, as ye say, fair knight? Now, the less all that have come into the chamber said that my trust began, they did see it, and Sir Lancelot, the which is much with sin, he did see it and did take it. He's not going to get very far with it, though, Mallory said. And then how long is the tunnel, anyway? Anon, we shall see the stars, fair sir. She was right, and a few minutes later, after rounding a turn in the passage, they emerged upon the bank of a small river. The subterranean stream that had kept them company emerged, too, and joined its larger sister on the way to the sea. On either hand, cliffs rose up and the Caesaurus of waves breaking on sand could be heard in the distance. Mallory guided easy-money upstream to where the cliffs dwindled down to thickly forested slopes. It took him but a moment to orientate himself, and presently row-horse and riders were headed in the direction of the highway. Now, said he, if you'll tell me where you want to be dropped off, I'll see what I can do about getting the grail back. There was a brief silence. Then, and, and ye wish, ye may leave me here. He halted easy-money, dismounted, and lifted her down to the ground. He looked around, expecting to see a habitation of some sort. He saw nothing but trees. He faced the girl again, and he saw nothing but trees. He saw nothing but trees. He faced the girl again. Don't you have any friends or relatives you can stay with? An urgent shaft of moonlight slanting down through the foliage illumined her face. There be none nigh, fair sir, nor none nearer than a hundred miles. I shall abide your again coming here in the forest. Mallory stared at her. She didn't look, or act, either, for that matter, as though she knew enough to get in out of the rain. Abide here in the forest, why, you wouldn't last a week. But ye will return hither with the sangria long for that, whereupon we two together shall return the holy vessel to the chamber, and I shall not be made to suffer the severing of my two hands. He was aghast. They wouldn't dare cut off your hands. They dare much, fair knight. No ye not of the customs of the land? He was silent. What in the world was he going to do about her? She would probably wait here for him until she starved to death, or equally as distressing, until she was apprehended. Abruptly he shrugged his shoulders, to the extent that his pauldrons permitted, and remounted the row-horse. Why should it matter to him what became of her? He had returned to the age of chivalry to steal the sangriaal, not to play nursemaid to damsels in distress. Don't take any wooden nickels now, he said. Two tiny stars appeared in the pale regions of her eyes. And twinkled down her cheeks. May the good Lord speed ye upon thy quest, fair knight, and may he guard ye well. Oh, for Pete's sake, Mallory said, and reaching down, pulled her up onto Easy Money's crew. I have a castle not far from here. I'll drop you off, then I'll go after the sangriaal. Her breath was warm little wind seeping through the crevices of his gorgeot. Oh, fair sir, ye be the noblest of all the nights in all the land, and I shall serve thee faithfully for the rest of my days. The row-horse winnied. Giddy up, Easy Money, Mallory and Cephalopath, and they started out. End of Section 2 Recording by Roger Maline Section 3 Of A Night There Was This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline A Night There Was By Robert F. Young Section 3 Rowena fell for the yore, hook, line, and sinker. Not even the modern interior gave her pause. Those objects which happened to be beyond her can, and there were many of them, she interpreted as appointments befitting a noble night. And as for the rooms themselves, she merely identified them with the rooms out of her own experience, that they most closely resembled. Thus the wreck-hall became the banquet-hall. The supply-room became the kitchen. The control-room became the sorcerer's tower. The tourist compartments became the sleeping-tower. Mallory's bedroom-office became the lords' quarters. The lavatory became the chapel, and the generator-room became the dungeon. Only two things disconcerted her. The absence of servants, and the fact that Easy Money was stabled in the banquet-hall. Mallory got around the first by telling her that he had given the servants a leave of absence, and she herself got around the second by declaring it to be no more than fitting for such a splendid steed to be accorded special treatment. Certainly, Mallory reflected, she was nothing if she was not cooperative. After showing her around he wasted no time in getting down to the business on hand, and stepping into the control-room he punched out the data necessary to take the yore back to 7.15 p.m. of the same day, and to rematerialize it one half-mile west of its present position, as an overlap was bound to occur. There was a barely noticeable tremor as the transition took place, and simultaneously the darkness showing in the control-room tele-window transmuted to dusk. Turning away from the jump-board, he saw Rowena regarding him with large eyes from the doorway. We're now back to a point in time that precedes the theft of the Sangrayal, he told her, and we're relocated farther down the valley. But don't let it throw you. None other than Merlin himself built the magic apparatus you see before you in this room, and you know yourself that once he makes up his mind to it, Merlin can do anything. She blinked once, but evened no other signs of surprise. Yey, fair sir, she said. I am aware of the magic of Merlin. However, Mallory went on, magic such as this isn't something for a gentlewoman such as yourself to fool around with. So I must forbid you to enter this room during my absence from the castle. Also, while we're on the subject, I must also forbid you to leave the castle during my absence. Merlin would be upset no end if there were two damsels that hight Rowena gallivanting around the countryside at the same time. She blinked again. By my troth, fair sir, she said, I would lever die then disobey thy two commands, and then have ye ate any meat late? This time Mallory blinked. Meat? It is fitting that ye should eat meat before ye ride out. Oh, you mean food. I'll eat when I get back. But there's no need for you to wait. He took her into the supply room and showed her where the vacuum tins were stored. You open them like this, he explained, pulling one out and activating the de-sealer. Then, as soon as the contents cool off a little, you sit down to dinner. But this be not meat, she objected. Maybe not, but it's a good substitute, and a lot better for you. A thought struck him, and he took her into the lavatory and showed her how to operate the hot and cold water dispenser, ascribing the setup to more of Merlin's magic. He debated on whether to explain the function and purpose of the adjacent shower, decided not to. There was a limit to all things, and an apparatus for washing one's whole body was simply too far-fetched for anyone living in the sixth century to take seriously. Back in the wreck-hall he donned his helmet and gauntlets, reset the gauntlet time-piece, picked up his spear and an encephalopathed easy money to his side. Mounting he set the spear in the stirrup socket. Rowena gazed up at him, plum-blue eyes round with awe and admiration and concern. Which ye well, fair sir, she said, that Sir Lancelot, the which is thy father, is a knight of many victories, and therefore he must take care. Mallory grinned. Dismay you not, fair damsel, I'll smite him from his steed before he can say Queen Guinevere. He straightened his sword-belt, activated the yore's lock, and rode across the mirage moat and entered the forest. The portcullis closed behind him. Dusk had become darkness by the time he reached the highway. Approximately half an hour later he would reach the highway again. However, the seeming paradox did not disconsert him in the least. This was far from being the first time he had backtracked himself on a job. As before he spurned the shadows of the bordering oaks and beaches, and encephalopathed easy money to keep to the center of the lane. And, as before, no one was abroad. Probably King Pellis's wasle was already in progress, or, if not, the goodly knights and gentle-women were still at even song. In any event he reached the lane that led to the castle of Karbonik without mishap. After entering the lane he encephalopathed easy money into the concealment of the shadows of the bordering trees and settled back in the saddle to wait. Rowena's placing the time of the theft at, a little while, a four-eight of the clock, had been a general estimate at best. Hence he had allowed himself plenty of leeway and had arrived on the scene a little early. It was well that he had, for hardly a minute passed before he heard hoofbeats approaching from the south, and presently he saw a tall knight astride a resplendent steed turn into the lane. His armor gleamed in the moonlight and bespoke a quality and class that only a knight of Sir Lancelot's status would be able to afford. Mallory watched him ride down the lane to the lion-flanked entrance and heard him announce himself as Sir Lancelot. The portcullis was raised without delay, and the knight rode through the gateway and disappeared from view. Mallory frowned in the darkness. Something about the incident had failed to jibe. He thought back, but he could isolate nothing that, in retrospect anyway, seemed in the least incongruous. He tried again with the same result, and at length he concluded that the note of discord had originated in his imagination. Again he settled back to wait. He wasn't particularly worried about the outcome of the forthcoming encounter. The superiority of the weapons and armor should be more than enough to see him through, but just the same he wished there was some way to avoid it. There wasn't, of course. Sir Lancelot's theft of the Sangreal was already incorporated, in fact, and, as a fait accompli, could not be obviated by a previous theft. All Mallory could do was to make his move after the fait accompli in the hope that that was when he had made his move. A time-thief didn't have nearly as much leeway as his seeming freedom of movement might lead the uninitiated to believe. About all he could do was to play along with Destiny and await his opportunities. If Destiny smiled, he succeeded. If Destiny frowned, he did not. However, Mallory was optimistic about his forthcoming bid for the Grail, for if it wasn't in the books for him to rest the cup from Sir Lancelot, the chances were he wouldn't have gotten as far as he had. He estimated that it would take the man five minutes to enter the castle, proceed to the chamber, seize the Sangreal, return to the courtyard, and come riding back to the Port Cullis. Seven minutes proved to be nearer the mark. In response to a hail from within the wall, several of the warders bent to the windlass, whereupon the Port Cullis scraped and groaned aloft, and the tall knight came riding out, just as the hands of Mallory's timepiece registered 7.43 p.m. Mallory let him pass, straining his eyes in vain for a glimpse of the Sangreal. He waited till Sir Lancelot was half a hundred yards down the highway, before he encephalopathed easy money to follow. And he waited till a bend in the road hid the castle of carbonic from view, before encephalopathing the command to charge. At this point Sir Lancelot became aware that he was no longer alone, and wheeled his steed around. Without an instant hesitation he dressed his spear and launched a counter-charge. All Mallory could think of was a twentieth-century steam locomotive bearing down upon him. He swallowed grimly, aventured his own spear, and upped easy money's pace. Two could play at being locomotives. The approaching knight and steed loomed larger. The sound of hoofbeats crescendoed into staccato thunder. The spear pointing straight toward Mallory's breastplate had something of the aspect of a jet-propelled flagpole. Hurriedly he got his shield into position. Maybe the man would spot the red cross, realize its significance, and slow down. If he spotted it he gave no sign, and only came the faster. Mallory braced himself for the forthcoming impact. However the impact never occurred. At the last moment his antagonist directed the spearpoint at Mallory's helmet, did something that made it separate itself from the shaft to the accompaniment of a gout of incandescence, and come streaking through the air like a little comet. Mallory tried to dodge, but he would have been equally as successful if he had tried to dodge a real comet. There was a deafening clang in the region of his left audio amplifier, and the whole left side of his face went numb. Just before he blacked out he saw the oncoming knight veer his steed, wheel it around, and ride off. A peel of all too familiar laughter drifted back over the man's shoulder. Now, said the rentorobogog, you will try again. A is for Adam, B is for Bomb, C is for Conform, D is for Dollar, E is for Economy, and F is for Fun. What comes after F? The boy Mallory squirmed in his ABC chair. I don't know what comes next and I don't care. I'll box your ears, the rentorobogog threatened. You wouldn't dare. Yes, I would. I'm a physical chastisement model, you know. Now we'll try once more. A is for Adam, B is for Bomb, C is for Conform, D is for Dollar, E is for Economy, and F is for Fun. What comes after F? I told you that I didn't know and that I didn't care. I warned you, said the rentorobogog. Ow! the boy Mallory cried. Ow! the man Mallory groaned, sitting up in the weeds beside the early sixth-century highway. All was silence around him, if you discounted the stridulations of insects and the of frogs. A few yards away, easy money stood immobile in the moonlight. Mallory raised his hand to his helmet and felt the sizeable dent that the spearpoint had made. Gingerly he took the helmet off. Who in the world would have dreamed that they had jet rifles in this day and age? The absurdity of the thought snapped him back to full awareness. A moment later he remembered the peel of familiar laughter. Perfidion! The man must have wanted the grail desperately to have come after it himself, which meant that it was probably worth much more than he had let on. But how had he known when and where to essay the lift? More specifically, how had he found out when and where to essay the lift on such short notice? Mallory thought back. He was reasonably certain that he had made no slips of the tongue during his visit to the Perfidion Tower and during the ensuing game of gulp, and he was equally certain that he had let fall no revealing references to the place-time he had so carefully pinpointed. Where, then, had he gone astray? Suddenly, way back in his mind, Perfidion said, By the way, Tom, I take it you're all set as regards costume, equipment, and the like? I've got the sweetest little suit of armour you ever laid eyes on, Mallory heard himself answer. He swore. So that was it! All Perfidion had needed to do was to make the rounds of the costumers who specialised in armour and to shell out a few Kennedys to the one Mallory had patronised last. Then, in possession of the knowledge that Mallory was embarking into the past as Ser Gala had, all Perfidion had had to do was to consult one of the many experts he kept at his beckon call. The expert had undoubtedly told him where Ser Gala had was supposed to have found the Grail, before taking it to Ser Oz, and, equally as important, approximately when the event was supposed to have taken place. Further questions could not have failed to elicit the additional information that Ser Lancelot had come to the chamber of the Sangrayal before Ser Gala had had, and, from this, Perfidion had undoubtedly deduced that Ser Lancelot could very well have been a time-thief in disguise too, and that the man, having arrived on the scene first, could very well have been responsible for the Grail's so-called return to heaven. Despite what legend said to the contrary, certainly it had been a gamble worth taking, and obviously Perfidion had taken it, and won the jackpot. But that didn't mean he was going to keep the jackpot, not by a long shot. Mallory encephalopathed easy money to his side and pulled himself to his feet with the help of the left stirrup and hung his helmet on the pommel. Then he picked up his spear and clambered into the saddle. We're not beat yet, easy money, he said. Giddy up! Easy money winnied, stamped its feet, and started back toward the yore. A short while later they passed the lane that led to the castle of Carbonic. Presently Mallory heard the clip-clop of approaching Hoofbeet, and not wanting to risk an encounter in his weakened condition, he encephalo-guided the roe-horse off the highway and into the deep shadows of a big oak. There was something tantalizingly familiar about the horse and rider coming down the highway. Small wonder. The horse was easy money, and the rider was himself. He was on his way to the castle of Carbonic to lift the holy grail. Mallory gazed after his retreating figure disgustedly. Sucker, he said. End of Section 3. Recording by Roger Maline. Section 4 of A Night There Was This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. A Night There Was by Robert F. Young. Section 4 Rowena nearly threw a fit when Mallory rode into the wreck-hall. Oh, fair night, ye be sorely wounded indeed, she cried, helping him down from his roe-horse. Surts, and ye bleed so much he may die! Mallory's head was throbbing, and he saw two damsels that height, Rowena, instead of only one. I'll be all right after I lie down for a while, he said. And don't worry about the bleeding, it's almost stopped. He took a step in the direction of his bedroom office, staggered and would have fallen if she hadn't caught his arm. Her strength astonished him. For all the lightness of his armor, it still lent him an overall weight of some two hundred and ten pounds, and yet the shoulder which she provided for him to lean on, did not give once all the way to his bedside. She had his pauldrons, breastplate, and arm-coverings off in no time flat. His quises, grieves, and solerates followed. The last he remembered was lying there in his undergarments, and his chain-mail vest with three faces swimming in the misted sea of his vision. Each of them invested with the peculiar beauty that concern and concern alone can grant. How is Mamacan's little man now? the Renta Mamacan asked, applying Soothing's set a salve to the boy Mallory's swollen ear. He hit me, Mamacan, the boy Mallory sobbed. Just because I wouldn't tell him that G stands for geography. I hate geography, I hate it, hate it, hate it! Nasty old Renta Robogog. Mamacan sent him away. He was an old model that got rented out by mistake. Is Mamacan's little man's ear all right now? The boy Mallory sat up. I want my reel, he began. The man Mallory sat up. I want my reel, he began. I have great joy of thy swift recovery, fair sir, Rowena said. She was perched on the edge of his bed, applying a cool and soothing ointment to his ear. On the table by the bed lay a basin of water, and on her lap lay a pink tube. He grabbed the tube, looked at the label. Set a salve. He sighed with relief. Where did you find it? he asked. La, fair sir, when ye did seem no longer on live, I did run both toward and forward in the castle seeking a magical salve, whereby I might succour ye, whereupon I did come to a white box in the chapel, wherein lay many magical tubes of diverse colors and natures, whereof I did choose one and— Mallory was incredulous. You chose a tube at random? he demanded. Good Lord! it might have contained a counter-agent that could have killed me. The letters thereon seemed of a magical nature, fair knight, and the color was seemly. Well, anyway, it was the right one. He looked at her. Could she read, he wondered. He was tempted to ask her, but refrained for fear of embarrassing her. In that same white box, he said, You will find a big bottle filled with round red pellets. Would you get it for me? When she returned with it, he took two of the pills. Then he laid his head back on the pillow. They'll restore the blood I lost, he explained. But in order for them to do the job properly, I've got to lie perfectly still for at least one hour. She sat down on the edge of the bed. Mary, the magic of Merlin is marvellous. Albeit not as marvellous as the magic of Joseph of Arimathea. What did he do that was so marvellous? The plum-blue eyes were fixed full upon his face. Yee-wit not of the tale of the white shield yee-bear, fair sir? List, and I will tell ye. It befell, after the passion of our Lord, thirty-two year, that Joseph of Arimathea, the gentle knight, the witch took down our Lord off the Holy Cross, at that time departed from Jerusalem with a great party of his kindred with him. And so he labored till that they came to a city that hight Saras. And at that time hour that Joseph came to Saras, there was a king that hight Everlake, that had great war against the Saracens, and in especially against one Saracen, the witch was King Everlake's cousin, a rich king and a mighty, which marched nigh this land, and his name was called Ptolemy Lafiantes. So on a day these two met to do battle. Then Joseph, the son of Joseph of Arimathea, went to King Everlake and told him he should be discomfort and slain, but if he left his belief of the old law and believed upon the new law. And then there he showed him the right belief of the Holy Trinity, to the witch he agreed unto with all his heart. And there this shield was made for King Everlake, in the name of him that died upon the cross. And then, hold it a minute, Mallory said. This shield you finally got around to mentioning, is it the same one that you set out to tell me about? Which ye well, fair sir? And then through King Everlake's good belief he had the better of King Ptolemy. For when Everlake was in the battle there was a cloth set for the shield, and when he was in the greatest peril he left put away the cloth, and then his enemy saw a figure of a man on the cross, where through they all were discomfort. And so it befell that a man of King Everlake's was smitten his hand off, and bare that hand and his other hand. And Joseph called that man unto him and bade him go with good devotion, touched the cross. And as soon as that man had touched the cross with his hand it was as whole as ever it was to four. Then soon after there fell a great marvel, that the cross of the shield at one time vanished away, that no man wist where it became. And then King Everlake was baptized, and for the most part all the people of that city. So soon after Joseph would depart, and King Everlake would go with him whether he would or gnawed. And so by fortune they came into this land, that at the time was called Great Britain, and there they found a great felon Paynham that put Joseph into prison. And so a great what? Mallory asked. In one sense the story was familiar to him, but what bothered him was the fact that it was familiar in another sense too, a sense he couldn't put his finger on. A wicked unbeliever in our Lord. And so by fortune tidings came unto a worthy man that hight Mondramas, and he assembled all his people for the great renown he had heard of Joseph. And so he came into the land of Great Britain, and disinherited this felon Paynham, and consumed him, and therewith delivered Joseph out of prison. And after that all the people were turned to the Christian faith. Not long after that Joseph was laid in his deadly bed. And when King Everlake say that he made much sorrow and said, For thy love I have left my country, and sith ye shall depart out of this world, leave me some token of yours that I may think on you. Joseph said, That will I do full gladly. Now bring me your shield that I took you when ye went into battle against King Ptolemy. Then Joseph bled at the nose, so that he might not by no means be staunched. And there upon that shield he made a cross of his own blood. Now may ye see a resemblance that I love you, for ye shall never see this shield, but ye shall think on me. And it shall be always as fresh as it is now. And never shall man bear this shield about his neck, but he shall repent it, unto the time that Gala had, the good night, bear it, and the last of my lineage shall have it about his neck, that shall do many marvellous deeds. Now, said King Everlake, where shall I put this shield that this worthy night may have it? Ye shall leave it there as Nassium, the hermit, shall be put after his death. For thither shall that good night come the fiftieth day after that he shall receive the order of nighthood. And so, when Mallory awoke, Rowena's head was resting on his chest, and she was breathing the soft and even breaths of untroubled sleep. Her hair, viewed thus closely, was not as dark as he had first believed it to be. It was brown, really, rather than dark brown, and astonishingly lustrous. Without thinking, he rested his hand lightly upon her head. She stirred, then, and sat up, rubbing her plum-blue eyes. For a moment she stared at him uncomprehendingly, then, Prithee, forgive me fair sir, she said. Mallory sat up, too. Forgive you for what? Go open a couple of vacuum tins while I get into my armor. I'm going to bring this caper to a close. Thy, thy strength has returned? I never felt better in my life. In the wreck-hall, he said, sitting down at the table before one of the two vacuum tins she had opened, you never did ask me what happened. Ye will tell me of thy own will, and ye wish me to know. Mallory took a mothful of simul-steak, chewed, and swallowed. Your Sir Lancelot turned out to be a phony, and pulled a rabbit out of his helmet, the nature of which I'd better not try to describe to you. Eyes round as plums, she regarded him across the table. A, a phony, fair sir? Mallory nodded. That's a sort of felon-painem who plays gulp. But with my own eyes I did see his armor, fair knight. That's right, you saw his armor, but you didn't see him. A certain character by the name of Perfidion was residing behind that hardware, not the good Sir Lancelot. Perfidion? Mallory grinned. Sir Jason Perfidion, a knight errant he wit not of. But the tournament's not over yet, and this time I've got the rabbit. He thinks I'm dead. He, he'd left you for dead, fair sir? That he did, and if that little brain-buster of his had struck just one inch to the right, I'd have been just that. He shoved his empty vacuum tin away and stood up. Excuse me a minute, I've got to visit the sorcerer's tower again. In the control room he took the yore back to seven-twenty p.m. of the day and rematerialized it half a mile farther down the valley. Turning he saw that Rowena had followed him and was watching him from the doorway. Whereabouts may I find oats that I may feed thy horse, fair knight? she asked. Easy money doesn't eat. He, Mallory paused, astonished. At two of the largest tears he had ever seen, coalesced in her eyes and went tumbling down her cheeks. Oh, it's not that he's sick, he rushed on. It's just that horses like him don't require food to keep them going. Why, easy money's guaranteed for—he'll live another thirty years. The sun came up beyond the plum-blue horizons of her eyes. It pleaseth me, Mickle, to hear ye speak thus, fair knight? I—I have great joy of him. Back in the wreck-hall Mallory pulled on his gauntlets, reset his time-piece, and donned his helmet. The left audio amplifier was shot, but otherwise the peace was in good condition, aside from the dent, of course. He encephalopathed easy money to his side, hung his shield around his neck and mounted. Hand me my spear, will you, Rowena? he asked. She did so. Ye be a most noble knight indeed, fair sir, she said. For to set so little store by thine own life in the service of a damsel, though which is undeserving of thy deeds. I—I would lever that ye force took the Sangreyao, then ye be foredone. Her concern touched him, and he removed his helmet, and leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. Keep the home fires burning, he said. Then, setting his helmet back in place, he activated the lock, rode across the mirage-moat, and set forth into the forest once again. End of Section 4, Recording by Roger Maline This time, when he reached the crest of the ridge that separated the two valleys, Mallory took an azimuth on the towers of Karbonik, and Cephalo fed the direction to easy money, and programmed the animal to proceed in as straight a course as possible. In the east, the moon was just beginning to rise. In the west, traces of the sunset lingered blood-red just above the horizon. On the highway below, a knight sitting astride a brown row-horse, and bearing a white shield with a red cross in the center, was riding toward Karbonik to challenge a twenty-second century felon panum in imitation age of chivalry armor. In the valley Mallory had just left behind him there were two castles named Yor, and soon a third would pop into existence, and yet another Mallory come riding out. Mallory grinned. It was a little bit like playing chess. The forest which easy money presently entered was park-like in places, and sometimes the trees thinned out into wide, moonlit meadows. Crossing one of the meadows Mallory saw the first star, and when at length easy money emerged on the highway the heavens were decked out in typical mid-summer panoply. The row-horse had followed its programming almost perfectly, and had emerged at a point just south of the lane leading to the castle of Karbonik. All Mallory had to do was to encephalo-guide it farther down the highway to a point beyond the side of the forthcoming joust. While doing so he kept well within the concealing shadows of the bordering oaks and beaches where the ground was soft, and could give forth no tell-tale clip-clop of hoof-beats. His circumspection proved wise, as in one sense of course it already had, and when the false Sir Lancelot came riding by on his way to the castle, and the chamber of the Sangrayal, he was no more aware of Mallory III's presence by the roadside than he would presently be aware of Mallory II's presence in the shadows of the trees that bordered the lane. Mallory III grinned again and brought easy money to a halt just beyond the next bend. Which ye well, Sir Jason, that thy hours be numbered, he said. He remained seated in the saddle, feeling pretty good about the world. In no time at all if his one-man ambuscade came off he would be on his way back to the yore, and thence to the twenty-second century, and a haircut. Selling the Sangrayal without the aid of a professional time-fence like Perfidion would be difficult, of course, but it could be done, and, once it was done, he, Mallory, could take his place on Get Rich Quick Street with the best of them, and no questions would be asked. There was, to be sure, the problem of what to do about a certain damsel, that height Rowena, but he would face that when he came to it. Maybe he could drop her off a dozen years in the future in a region far enough removed from Carbonic to ensure her safety. He would see. At this point in his reflections he was jolted into alertness by the sound of approaching hoof-beats. A moment later he heard a second set of hoof-beats and knew that Mallory II had made his presence known. Presently both sets crescendoed into staccato thunder as the two knights came pounding toward each other, and not long afterward there was a clank and a clatter, as Mallory II went tumbling out of his saddle and into the roadside weeds. Finally the single set of hoof-beats took over again, and Mallory III saw a horse and rider coming around the bend in the highway. He braced himself. Before making his play he waited till horse and rider were directly opposite him, then he encephalopathed easy money to charge. Sir Lancelot managed to get his shield up in time, but the maneuver did him no good. Mallory's spearhead struck the shield dead center and Sir Lancelot went sailing out of his saddle to land with an awesome clatter flat on his back on the highway. He did not get up. Dismounting Mallory removed the man's helmet. It was perfidian all right. There was a large bruise on the side of his head, and he was out cold, but he was still breathing. Next Mallory looked for the sangrayal. Perfidian had concealed it somewhere, and apparently he had done the job well. Since the armor could not have accommodated an object of that size, the hiding place had to be somewhere on the body of his horse. The horse was standing quietly beside easy money in the middle of the highway. It was jet black, and its fetlock length trappings were blue, threaded with silver. Otherwise the two steeds were identical. Mallory tumbled to the truth, then, went over to where the black horse was standing, raised its trappings, found the tiny activator button, and depressed it. The coophood rose up, and there in the secret compartment, wrapped in red Samite, lay the cause of the mounting absentee rate in King Arthur's court. Always the skeptic Mallory raised a corner of the Samite in order to make certain that he was not being cheated. Instantly a reflected ray of moonlight stabbed upward into his eyes, and for a moment he was blinded. Exorcising the thought that sneaked into his mind he closed the coophood, rearranged the trappings, and returned to Perfidion's side. Dragging the armor encumbered man over to the black roe-horse, and slinging him over the saddle was no easy matter, but Mallory managed. Then he picked up Perfidion's helmet and spear, and set the former on the pommel, and wedged the ladder in one of the stirrups. Finally he mounted easy money, and encephalopathing the black roe-horse to follow, set out down the highway, away from the castle of Carbonic. Make-believe castles could fool the had-bends, but they couldn't fool a professional. He spotted the phony towers of Perfidion's TSB rising above the trees before he had proceeded half a mile. After raising the portcullis he got the man down from the black roe-horse, dragged him inside, and propped him against the wreck-hall bar. Then he got the man's helmet and spear, and laid them beside him. After considerable reflection he went into the control room, set the time-dial for June 10th, 1964, the space-dial for a busy intersection in downtown Los Angeles, and punched out, Hot Dog's Stand, on the Lumilusion panel. Satisfied he went into the generator room and short-circuited the automatic throw-out unit, so that when rematerialization took place the generator would burn up. Finding a ball of heavy-duty twine, he returned to the control room, tied one end to the master switch, and began backing out of the TSB, unwinding the twine as he went. In the wreck-hall he paused and grinned down at the still unconscious Perfidion. It's a better break than you meant to give me, Jason, he said, and don't worry, once you explain to the authorities what you're doing in a suit of sixth-century armor, and how you happen to open a giant hot dog stand in the middle of a traffic-clogged crossroads, you'll be all right. As a matter of fact, with your knowledge of things to come, you'll probably wind up a richer man than you are now, if the smog doesn't get you first. He stepped through the lock, jerked the twine, and the castle vanished into thin air. Remounting easy money and encephalopathing the black roe-horse to follow, he started back toward the yore, taking a direct route through the forest. He was halfway to his destination, and had just emerged into a wide meadow when he saw the knight with the white shield riding toward him in the bright moonlight. In the center of the shield there was a vivid, blood-red cross. When the knight saw Mallory, he brought his steed to a halt. Moonlight glimmered eerily on his shield, turned his helmet to silver. His armor seemed to emit an unearthly light, a light that was at once terrifying and transcendent. The hilt of his sword was as blood-red as the cross on his shield. So was the pommel of his spear. Here was righteousness incarnate. Here, in the form of an armored man on horseback, was the quintessence of the age of chivalry. Not the age of chivalry as exemplified by the vain and boasting nobles who had constituted nine-tenths of the knight-errantry profession, and who had used the quest of the Holy Grail as an excuse to seek after mead and maidens, but the age of chivalry as it might have been if the ideal behind it had been shared by the many instead of by the few. The age of chivalry, in short, as it had come down to posterity through the pages of Mallory's Le Morte Docteur. At length the knight spoke. I height Sir Gala had of the table round. Reluctantly Mallory encephalopathed his two row-horses to halt, and said the only thing he had left to say. I height Sir Thomas of the castle Yor, by whose leave beary likenesses of the red arms and the white shield whereon shines the red cross, though which was put there by Joseph of Arimathea whilst he lay dying in his deadly bed. Mallory did not answer. There was silence. Then, I would joust with ye, Sir Gala had said. There it was, laid right on the line. The challenge. The death sentence. Nonsense, Mallory told himself. He's nothing but a 19-year-old kid. With your row-horses and your superior weapons you can unseat him in two seconds flat, and once he's down that glorified junkpile he's wearing will glue him to the ground so fast he won't be able to lift a finger. Allowed, he said, Have at me, then! Instantly Sir Gala had wheeled his horse around and rode to the far side of the meadow. There he wheeled the horse around again and dressed his spear. Moonlight danced a silvery saraband on his white shield, and the blood-red cross blurred and seemed to run. Mallory dressed his own spear. Immediately Sir Gala had charged. Full speed ahead, easy money, Mallory encephalopathed, and the row-horse took off like a rocket. All he had to do was to hang on tight and the joust would be in the bag, he reassured himself. Sir Gala had spear would break like a matchstick, while his own superior spear would penetrate Sir Gala had shield as though the shield was made of tissue paper, as in a sense it really was when you compared the metal that constituted to modern alloys. No matter how you looked at the situation, the kid was in for a big letdown. Mallory almost felt sorry for him. The hoofbeats of horse and row-horse crescendoed. There was the resounding clang of steel coming into violent contact with steel. Mallory's spear struck Sir Gala had shield dead-center, and snapped in two. Sir Gala had spear struck Mallory's shield dead-center, and Mallory sailed over easy money's croup and crashed to the ground. He was stunned, both mentally and physically. Staggering to his feet, he drew his sword and raised his shield. Sir Gala had wheeled his horse around, and now he came riding back. Several yards from Mallory he tossed his spear aside, dismounted as lightly as though he wore no armor at all, drew his sword and advanced. Mallory stepped forward, his confidence returning. His spear had been defective, that was it, but his sword and his shield weren't. And now that the kid had elected to give him a sporting chance, he would teach the young upstart a lesson that he would never forget. Again the two men came together. Down came Sir Gala had's sixth-century sword. Up went Mallory's twenty-second-century shield. There was an ear piercing clang, and the shield parted down the middle. Aghast Mallory stepped back. Sir Gala had moved in, sword upraised again. Mallory raised his own sword, cut the full force of the terrific downrushing blow on the blade. His sword was cut cleanly in two, his left pauldron was cleanly cleaved, and a great numbness afflicted his left shoulder. He went down. He stayed down. Sir Gala had leaned over him, unbroken sword uplifted. The cross in the center of the snow-white shield was a bright and burning red. Ye must yield you as an overcome man, or else I may slay you. I yield, Mallory said. Sir Gala had sheathed his sword. Ye be not sorely wounded, and Sith and I desire not neither of they two steeds as be like they be as unworthy as they pieces. Ye can return to thy castle, unholpened. Mallory blacked out for a moment, and when he came to, the shining night was gone. He lay there in the moonlight for some time, looking up at the stars. At length he fought his way to his feet, and encephalopathed the two rohorses to his side. Mounting easy money, he encephalopathed to return to the westernmost castle of Yor, and encephalopathed the other rohorses to follow. He left his broken weapons where they lay. What had gone out of the world during the last 1600 years that had left sophisticated 22nd century steel inferior in quality to naive 6th century wrought iron? What did Sir Gala had have that he, Mallory, lacked? Mallory shook his head. He did not know. The moonlit towers of the Yor had become visible through the trees before it occurred to him that, before riding away, the man just might have removed the Sangreal from the black rohorses crew. At first thought such a possibility was too absurd to be entertained, but not on second thought. According to Le Morte d'Arterre, the fellowship of Sir Gala had, Sir Percival and Sir Bors, had taken both the table of silver and the Sangreal to Saras, where, some time later, the Sangreal had been born up to heaven, never to be seen again. Whether they had taken the table of silver did not concern Mallory, but what did concern him was the fact that if they had taken the Sangreal, they could have done so only if it had fallen into Sir Gala had's hands this very night. Tomorrow would be too late. Now was too late, in fact, provided, of course, that Mallory was destined to return with it to the twenty-second century. Here, then, was the crossroads, the real moment of truth. Was he destined to succeed, or wasn't he? Hurriedly he encephalopathed the two rohorses to halt, dismounted, and raised the black rohorses trappings. He was dizzy from the loss of blood, but he did not let his dizziness dissuade him from his purpose, and he had the Kruphood raised in a matter of a few seconds. He held his breath when he looked within, expelled it with relief. The Sangreal had not been disturbed. He lifted it out of the Kruph compartment, straightened its red samite covering, and cradled it in his arms. Too weak to remount easy money, he encephalopathed the two rohorses to follow, and began walking toward the yore. Rowena must have seen him coming on one of the tele-windows, for she had the lock open when he arrived. Her face went white when she looked at him, and when she saw the grail, her eyes grew even larger than plums. He went over, and set it gently down on the wreck-hall table, then he collapsed into a nearby chair. He had just enough presence of mind left to send her for the bottle of blood-restorer pills, and just enough strength left to swallow several of them when she brought it. Then he boarded the phantom ship that had mysteriously appeared beside him, and set sail upon the soundless sea of night. End of Section 5, Recording by Roger Maline