Part 2

The day of the tournament came, bright and warm despite the grim weather that had preceded it; golden light flooded the huge main courtyard of Camelot, where the jousting was to be held. At the appointed time, a trumpet summoned the knights, and to the cheers of the onlookers, they rode to the lists, a glorious company resplendent in many-colored surcoats. Most were Knights of the Round Table, but some were warriors of other realms who had proven their mettle in preliminary jousts the day before.

One of these outland knights had already created quite a stir because of his unusual and devastating technique--using a blunted two-handed sword against opponents with lances. Fully ten warriors had been unhorsed by him, including several of Arthur's less experienced retainers. This knight was small in stature and never revealed his face; no man knew his name. He spoke but little, and he had no squire. There was much speculation as to where he was from; he would say only, "From the east," and some took this to mean he was French, or German, or even a Christianized Saracen. But wherever his home, he was clearly a foe to be reckoned with, and his prospective opponents were eager to test their lances against his terrible sword.

Once the knights had assembled, the Master of the Lists bade them salute the king in his pavilion, then recited the rules of the tourney and told of the commission that would be laid upon the victor: to find the Holy Spad, bring it to Camelot, and use it to thwart Mordred's armies, the glory of this enterprise being more valuable by far than any prize.

Having spoken, the Master took up his horn once more, blew a single ringing note, then cried: "Let the first combatants enter the lists!"

Forth they rode at a walk, having been chosen by lot, the small outlander among them, ten in all; five to a side, they took their places in the lists, between the brightly-colored partitions. An expectant hush fell over the crowd.

The Master's horn sounded yet again. The knights spurred their mounts, goading them forward. Swiftly the beasts picked up speed, the thunder of their hooves echoing hollowly between the walls of the courtyard. Helms and shields flashed, lances dipped; with a titanic shock the sides clashed together. Lances thumped and clattered from bucklers, shivered into flying fragments. Bodies rocked backward over cantles, spinning head over heels.

When it was done, six men lay groaning in the dust, Sir Sagramor and Sir Freddy Laker having unhorsed each other. And the mystery knight was among the victors.

It was three more rounds before he jousted again, this time against Sir Bedivere; hacking so mightily that his blunted edge chopped Bedivere's lance into several score bite-sized chunks, he swept the bewildered knight from his saddle with the flat of his blade, pitching him earth- ward to the gasps of the crowd. Two rounds later, Sir Dinadan took a similar beating, and two rounds after that, Sir Laurence Olivier was carried from the yard quoting dazedly from Richard III. As the field narrowed, the pattern was played out again and again, until only Gawaine and Lancelot, the mightiest of Arthur s knights, remained to defend the honor of the Round Table against the stranger.

As Gawaine charged toward the mysterious warrior, he employed a stratagem which had given him many victories in the past: keeping his lance couched well back and leaning back in his saddle, all the while restraining the speed of his mount--until the last moment, when he leaned forward, thrust out with his weapon, and dug his spurs powerfully into his horse's flanks. His lance-tip plunged close to the other knight's chest, even seemed to touch it; the onlookers roared, delighted that someone had gotten past the stranger's guard at last.

Then came the squeal of split wood, and the halves of the lance passed on either side of the stranger, parted down the middle by a single ferocious blow of that edgeless sword. As Gawaine swept by howling a Welsh victory cry--something about Roarke's Drift--his antagonist rapped him smartly across the face-plate with the flat of his blade and sent him hurtling back over his horse's rump yodeling with black Celtic despair.

Now only Lancelot Du Lac stood between the stranger and victory. The outlander was already waiting for him as he entered the lists. For a few moments the opponents eyed each other, awaiting the Master's signal; the court- yard was dead quiet save for the lazy flap of windblown pennons atop the pavilions. Then the horn-blast came, and the two warriors thundered to the onset.

The foreigner made to strike at Lancelot's lance; Lancelot swept it out of the way, thinking to bash it sideways against his foe's helm. Missing his first stroke, the stranger instantly lashed out with a second, breaking Lancelot's weapon in two. But there was still enough of a stump to bring down on the mystery knight's helmet, and the stranger was almost unhorsed then and there, wobbling in his saddle as he rode to the end of the list.

They faced each other again. The outlander straightened, apparently recovering. But Lancelot, taking a second lance from his squire, guessed his foe must be at least partially dazed by such a mighty blow, and thought Gawaine's stratagem would be a good way to finish him if carried out swiftly enough; confident of victory, he galloped forward as the Master's horn belled forth its note.

Straight toward him his opponent came, sword flashing, shearing off the first two feet of Lancelot's weapon as Lancelot launched his sudden thrust; then the jagged end was plunging straight toward the foreigner's face-plate. Lancelot laughed, sure he had him.

But that was before the mystery knight bounded high into the air, out of the saddle, and lit midway along the spear.

You gotta be kidding, was all Lancelot had time to think, watching him come running sure-footedly up the shaft. Then that two-handed brand beaned him but good.

As Lancelot rocked backward from his horse, drifting blissfully into chivalrous nirvana, the outlander dropped into Lancelot's saddle, slowed the horse to a canter, then a walk, and rode over to the king's pavilion.

The spectators were going wild; as much as they hated to see the home team beaten so badly, they had never seen such feats of arms.

"What a stud," said Merlin to Arthur as the victor approached.

"Sir knight," Arthur called, "you have been victorious, and have earned the right to seek the Spad. What are you called, and what land produces such mighty warriors?"

My name is Miaowara Tomokato," the knight replied, dismounting; with several movements almost too fast to see, he swept off his helmet and unzippered his mail, stepping out of it, revealing a full suit of laced lamellar armor underneath. "As for my country, I come from Japan."

"He's a cat," Merlin gasped.

"Worse than that," said Gawaine, who had drawn near with the crowd of defeated knights. "He's a Japanese cat!"

"Well, so what if he is Japanese?" Arthur asked.

"With all due respect, Sire," Gawaine said, "if you'll recall our agreement..."

"What agreement? Arthur paused. "Oh. You mean that protectionist thing?"

"Sire," said Lancelot, staggering up beside Gawaine, "if it wasn't for that ‘protectionist thing' as you call it, this court would be overrun with samurai, taking work away from us Europeans. Just think about it, My Lord. A large and growing Japanese population in the heart of Britain. What about when World War II comes along? Can we really afford to have a fifth column like that?"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur demanded. "All we have here is one Japanese cat who won the tourney fair and square."

"Sire," Gawaine began, "under our agreement, no Japanese is allowed to enter one of our tournaments, and that's final."

"Final?" Arthur cried. "How dare you tell me what's final? I'm the Once and Future King!"

"Maybe so, My Lord. But I'm president of Local 233. You want to tangle with the Teamsters?"

At the mention of the Teamsters, Arthur twitched a nervous smile, raising his hands. "Now just hold on. I'm sure we can work something out here. Just consider him a one-time exception. After all, we really need him. There's no better man--I mean cat--for the job."

The knights grumbled at that.

"Complain all you like," Arthur said, "but he whaled the hell out of you.

"Think of it this way," Merlin told them. "How's your local going to fare if Mordred wins? He won't be bringing in Japanese, maybe, but what about Saxons? They work for nothing. Give em a hole to sleep in with a hog to keep ‘em warm, and they're happy as clams."

"But he's not even a Knight of the Round Table," Lancelot said, jerking a thumb toward Tomokato. "The Prophecy says that's what it'll take."

"Your king could knight me," Tomokato said.

"But how do we know you won't grab the Spad and fly off with it?" Gawaine asked suspiciously.

"Because I want Mordred's blood as much as you do," Tomokato replied. "He was with the horde that murdered My Lord Nobunaga. I've already tried to kill him several times, but the most amazing circumstances prevented me.

"What circumstances?" Arthur asked.

"The first time, I was struck by lightning," Tomokato said. "The second time, I was struck by an elephant falling out of a clear blue sky. The third time, I was transported mysteriously to French Guiana. On the boat back to Britain, I concluded that the Fates were against me. But then I learned of the Prophecy and realized what I had to do--become a Knight of the Round Table and achieve the Spad."

"Very well then," Arthur said. "If there are no objections He looked at Gawaine, who shrugged sourly. "You'll have your chance, Tomokato. I'll knight you here and now." He turned to several men-at-arms. "Fetch me Excalibur," he commanded.

After some time they returned, lugging a large hunk of granite with a splendid gold-hilted sword thrust into it. Arthur had made his way down from the stand; they set it in front of him, panting.

"The Sword in the Stone," Arthur told Tomokato. "When I withdrew it in my youth, I was proclaimed King."

"But why is it back in the stone?" Tomokato asked.

"Mordred smeared Crazy Glue all over it and shoved it back in the slot," Arthur answered. "Last thing he did before he left home. I can still hear him shouting as he rode off: ‘You can do some crazy things with it!'"

"Is it true that he's your son?" Tomokato asked. "What an unnatural child!"

"Actually," Arthur said, "he's my sister's kid."

Merlin coughed.

"In any case," Arthur told the cat, "let's get you knighted. Kneel, Tomokato."

Tomokato knelt. Arthur signaled to the men- at-arms, who, grunting with exertion, lifted the boulder and positioned Excalibur over the cat, Arthur taking hold of the hilt.

"I, Arthur, Rex Brittanorum, dub you Sir Miaowara Tomokato, Knight of the Round Table, in the name of God and St. George." With that, Arthur and the soldiers lowered the blade, touching the cat on either shoulder. "Rise, Sir Tomokato."

Tomokato got to his feet. "Now, Sire," he said. "How do I find the Spad?"

Accompanied by Arthur, Merlin led Tomokato up to his tower study, there to consult his book of maps. Bound in the skin of a gryphon that had once been Merlin's pet--Merlin had called him Merv--the tome rested atop a stand crafted from unicorn horns and the finest Thracian Lucite. Merlin cracked the book open to the M's and started riffling through the maps.

"Macao, Macedon, Mackinac Island . . ." he said, under his breath.

"The castle's located in the land of Magorant," said Arthur to Tomokato. "A realm from which no one s ever returned."

"Then how could you possibly have a map of it?" Tomokato asked.

"Merlin went up to the border a few years ago and yelled across--asked if he could borrow one."

"They fell for that?" Tomokato asked, incredulous.

"No, but a voice howling on the wind suggested he have a photograph of Magorant taken from a satellite."

"Ah, here we are " Merlin said, motioning them over. Place-names meticulously calligraphed in Carolingian Minuscule, the map showed a large portion of Northumbria as well as Magorant.

"How did you learn the place-names?" Tomokato asked.

"They're written on the actual landscape, Merlin said. "We theorize that a bunch of Incas came over and stenciled ‘em all in a while back."

"Strange," Tomokato said.

"This island's full of strange things," Arthur said. "And it attracts strange people. Why just the other day, we put a halt to a construction project down on Salisbury Plain, called Stonehenge. Owner was passing himself off as a Druid, said he was just building an observatory. But we found out he was actually trying to create bogus evidence that the earth has been visited by extraterrestrials. Name was Von Daniken. We deported him."

"Can I take the map with me?" Tomokato asked Merlin.

"Out of the question," Merlin said. "I don't loan my maps to anyone."

"Could you provide me with a copy?"

"Yes, but it'll take a couple of days. Our machine's broken, and we're waiting for the repairman."

Tomokato scrutinized the map. "I don't see Spad Castle."

"There it is," Merlin said, indicating a tiny gray spot. "At least, we think that's it."

"There's no place-name," Tomokato observed.

"True. But detail analysis confirms the presence of a large number of Inca skeletons piled nearby. We think they were killed before they could do the calligraphy."

"Which is how we know it's Spad Castle," Arthur said. "The fortress is owned by Morgan Le Fairchilde, Mordred's mother--she built it to keep the Spad from people who would use it against her son. She once gave an interview in which she bragged openly about slaughtering a bunch of Third-World types who tried to letter her valley."

"Sounds like a very dangerous woman," Tomokato said.

"In any number of ways," Arthur said. "She has vast powers of magic. She can transform herself at will. One night she showed up here at Camelot disguised as the Pointer Sisters. I didn't even recognize her, and..." The king's voice trailed off.

"She'll try to deceive you, Tomokato," Merlin said. "She'll do anything to keep you from the Spad. When you reach the castle, you must remain constantly on guard."

"But do me one favor," Arthur said. "Don't kill her unless you have to."

"I never kill unnecessarily," Tomokato replied.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "You don't think the slaughter in these stories ever gets gratuitous?" he asked.

"I didn't say that. But I always act properly, given the circumstances I find myself in." Tomokato paused. "So you think it'll be a couple of days till the repairman arrives, eh?"

Merlin nodded.

"Ah well," said the cat. "I suppose it can't be helped."

"Not if you want the map," Merlin said.

"Aching to be out on the quest?" Arthur asked Tomokato.

"I ache to fulfill my duty."

"Such rectitude," Merlin said.

"It's nothing," said the cat, with the genuine modesty of the naturally superb.