Two men sat by a small fire about twenty feet inside the cave. They stared at me for a second; then one of them stood up. He was wearing a black robe and held a thin black sword just like the one tucked into the right side of my belt.
“Where is the boy?” he snapped at me. “Where is the Sword?” He must have thought I was the escort.
“We’re both right here,” I said, and drew out Excalibur.
It took him a second to get it, and then he came at me with a loud cry.
He fell at my feet. I looked down at him, startled, because he’d just dropped there; he hadn’t even had a chance to raise his sword.
I stepped over him, fighting the feeling that I was going to throw up. I looked toward the second guy, who turned on his heel and made for the back of the cave, slipping on the wet rocks as he tried to run. He wasn’t wearing a black robe, but a blue and gray Windbreaker, a pair of Dockers, New Balance running shoes, and a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
I caught him at the back of the cave—it wasn’t very deep, maybe fifty or sixty feet—spun him around, and held him against the wall with my left forearm while I pressed the tip of the Sword against his Adam’s apple.
“Hey, Mike,” I said.
“Hi, Al.” He was smacking him gum and smiling, showing his large white teeth.
“Where’s Mogart?”
“Dunno.”
I pressed the tip of the Sword harder against his flesh. His eyes grew wide and he said, “Look, I swear, kid, you just killed the one guy who knows where he is. He was going to take us to him once you got here with the escort. I swear to God I don’t know!”
“You gave him Natalia.”
He didn’t say anything. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold.
I said, “Tell me where she is.”
“Even if I did know, what’re you gonna do, Al? Give him the Sword? He’ll kill her anyway. And if you try to take him, he’ll kill her before you can kill him. Don’t you see you can’t win? Time to cut your losses. You gotta step back and take a look at the big picture. We’re talkin’ the fate of the whole ding-dong world here, Al! You’re going to sacrifice humanity for the sake of one person? I mean, let’s be reasonable here!”
“Okay, Mike, I’ll be reasonable. I’ll make a deal with you. You bring me to Mogart and when it’s over I’ll give you the Sword.”
He stared at me and slowed some on the gum.
I said, “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Give me Mogart and it’s yours.”
Mike thought about it. “How do I know you won’t double-cross me?”
“I guess you don’t. But like Mr. Mogart told me, you don’t have a choice.”
I stepped back, but kept the Sword pointed toward his neck. “Give me your gun.”
He reached into the pocket of his Windbreaker and held out the gun, his finger hooked around the trigger guard. I took it from him and slipped it into my pocket.
“Anything else?” he asked. He acted like he was trying hard not to laugh.
“No,” I said. Then I thought of something. “Yes. What does OIPEP stand for?”
“ ‘Only Idiots Pursue Extraordinary Persons.’ ” He laughed in spite of himself and smacked his gum. “Okay? Are we done now?”
“One more thing,” I said. I held out my hand. “The gum.”
He started to laugh again but saw I was dead serious. He took out the gum and dropped it into my hand. When he did that, about half his personality evaporated. I tossed it into the shadows.
He turned to his left and I followed him along the back wall of the cave. The walls were smooth and slightly concave. He stopped at a fissure in the wall near the south corner. It was barely the width of one person, running from the floor to the ceiling.
“You first,” I said.
As we slipped into the opening, the sea sound became softer, and the drip of water and the wailing of Merlin a little louder. The floor here was rough, littered with stones and angled downward slightly. The path twisted right, then back left, then dropped steeply, and I had to press my free hand against the jagged wall to keep my balance. We eased our way down very slowly. Loose rocks and jutting outcrops as sharp as knives slowed our way down.
Gradually the walls drew back and the floor leveled and became smooth. A circle of light glowed in the distance. When we were about a hundred yards from the opening, Mike turned and whispered urgently, “Al, you gotta give my gun back.”
“Why?”
“He’s gonna think I’ve stiffed him. You’ve seen what he does to people who stiff him.”
I thought about it. “Okay,” I said. I took the gun from my pocket and hit him in the head as hard as I could with the grip.
He fell straight down. I slipped the gun back into my pocket, stepped over him, and walked the final hundred yards to the portal, alone.