The Merlin Conspiracy by Diana Wynne Jones Page B

Grandad left. This Merlin was one of those who get what they want by looking wistful, but that never works with Grandad, so he was on his own. He climbed wistfully into the little brown car Grandad had helped him buy and chugged away.
    We went back to normal. That is to say, we were rumbling along in buses most of the time, with rumors flying about where we were going next—although nobody ever knows that until a few hours before we get to wherever it is. The King likes to keep the Court and the country on their toes.
    The unusual thing was the exceptionally fine weather. When I asked Dad about it, he said the King had asked him to keep it that way until the Meeting of Kings at the edge of Wales. So at least we were warm.
    We spent three unexpected days in Leeds. I think the King wanted to inspect some factories there, but after the usual flustered greeting by the city council it was blissful. We stayed in houses . Mam squeezed some money out of Sybil and took me and Grundo shopping. We got new clothes. There was time . We had civilized lessons in the mornings, sitting at tables in a room , and we could explore the city in the afternoons. I even enjoyed the riding lessons—which I don’t much usually—out on the moorlands in the hot sun, riding past the carefully repaired green places where there had been mines and quarries.
    â€œI’m going to be Mayor of Leeds when I grow up,” Grundo announced as we rode against the sky one morning. “I shall live in a house with a bathroom .” He meant this so much that his voice went right down deep on the word bathroom . We both hate the bath tents, even though the arrangements are quite efficient and there is usually hot water from the boiler lorry and towels from the laundry bus. But you get out of your canvas bath to stand shivering on wet grass, and there is always wind getting into the tent from somewhere.
    We were sad when we had to leave. Off we went, the whole procession of the Court. We spread for miles. The King is often half a day ahead in his official car, with his security and his wizards and advisers beside him. These are followed by all sorts of Court cars, everything from the big square limousine with tinted windows belonging to the Duke of Devonshire to the flashy blue model driven by Sir James; Sir James had turned up again when we were leaving Leeds. The media bus hurries along after the cars, trying to keep up with events, and a whole string of administrative buses follows the media—with Mam in one of them, too busy even to look out of a window—and then the various lorries lumber after the buses. Some lorries are steaming with food or hot water, in case these are needed when we stop, and some are carrying tents and soldiers and things. The buses for the unimportant people follow the lorries. We are always last.
    It often takes a whole day to go twenty miles. Parliament is always proposing that fine new roads get built so that the King—and other people—could travel more easily, but the King is not in favor of this, so they don’t get done. There are only two King’s Roads in the entire country, one between London and York and the other between London and Winchester. We spend most of our journeys groaning round corners or grinding along between hedges that clatter on both sides of our bus.
    It was like that for the two days after we left Leeds. The roads seemed to get narrower, and on the second day the countryside beyond the windows became greener and greener, until we were grinding among hills that were an almost incredible dense emerald color. By the evening we were rumbling through small lanes, pushing our way past foamy banks of white cow parsley. Our bus got stuck crossing a place where a small river ran across the lane, and we arrived quite awhile after the rest of the Court.
    There was a castle there, on a hill. It belonged to Sir James, and the King was staying in it. Although it looked quite big, we