The Merlin Conspiracy by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

nuclear bomb standing in that passage, ready to go off and destroy everything for miles. His cat was pure semtex. It stared up at me and despised me, and its eyes were deep and glassy in the orange light.
    â€œIf you’re going to kill me,” I said, “you might as well tell me who you are and who hired you. And why. You owe me that.”
    â€œI owe you nothing,” he said. “I was interested to know why someone thought you worth eliminating, that’s all. And I don’t think you are. You’re too ignorant to be a danger to anyone. I shall tell them that when I refuse the commission. That should make them lose interest in you—but if they send anyone else after you, you’d better come to me. I’ll teach you enough to protect yourself. We can settle the fee when you arrive.”
    He sort of settled his weight a different way. I could tell he was ready to leave. I was all set to burst with relief—but the spotted cat was not pleased at all. Its tail swished grittily against the floor, and I just hoped the man could control it. It was a big creature. Its head came almost up to my chest, and its muscles were out in lumps on its neck. I knew it was longing to tear my throat out.
    Then the man settled his weight toward me again. I was so terrified I felt as if I was melting. His eyes were so yellow and cutting. “One other thing,” he said. “What are you doing here in a world that has nothing to do with you, masquerading as a mage?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “This is a dream, really.”
    One of his eyebrows went up. He had been pretty contemptuous of me all along. Now he really despised me. “It is?” he said, and shrugged his leather-covered shoulders. “People’s capacity to deceive themselves always amazes me. If you want to live past the age of twenty, you’d be well advised to learn to see the truth at all times. I’ll tell you that for nothing,” he said. Then he did turn and go. He swung round, and he walked away as if he couldn’t bear the sight of me any longer. The cat rose up on its muscle-bound tiptoes and walked after him, swinging its tail rudely.
    â€œWait a moment!” I called after him. “Who are you, for heaven’s sake?”
    I’d expected him just to go on walking away, but he stopped and looked over his shoulder, giving me the benefit of his lightning-strike profile again. “Since you put it like that,” he said, “I’m generally known as Romanov. Ask your little mages about me if you like.”
    Then he turned his head away and went on walking, and the cat after him, round the curve of the corridor and out of sight. In spite of the way he’d made me feel, I nearly laughed. He and that cat—they both walked the same way.
    I hoped they’d run into the soldier on guard round there, but I knew they wouldn’t. The soldier would have come off worst anyway.

ONE
    G randad must have done the trick. Though there was a coldness between England and Scotland after this—and there still is—both armies moved back from the border, and nobody talked about the Scottish King much or even mentioned the poor old Merlin. Instead, the Court and the media began worrying about the Meeting of Kings that was due to happen on the Welsh border soon. Will Logres and the Pendragon meet in peace? That sort of thing. In between, they went back to being angry about Flemish trading practices, just as usual.
    Nobody seemed to be suspecting Dad anymore. Grandad only stayed with the Court until the King had spared a moment to have a friendly chat with Dad, and then he left, saying he had a book to finish. The new Merlin left, too. Part of his duties at the start of his tenure was to visit every place of power in the country, and a few in Wales, too, and attune himself to them. I think he was hoping that Grandad would go with him and advise him. He looked wistful when