The Camelot Spell Read Online Free PDF Page A

Arthur’s.
    “My lady?”
    Guinevere turned to look down at Ailis, smiling prettily. The queen was no longer the young woman she had been when she first came to Camelot, but her beauty remained intact, and her wits likewise.
    And yet those eyes, normally sharp with intelligence, looked dulled now, as though the queen were having trouble focusing.
    “My lady, is all well?”
    “Indeed. It is simply…I find myself wearying of all this.” The queen gestured at the entire hall. “But it pleases Arthur to send them off with such frolic.”
    “Yes, my lady.” Ailis bowed and backed away. But her frown deepened as she noted others at the high table looking as—there was no other word for it—sleepy.
    Something wasn’t right. But the queen’s taster, a bright-eyed lad, one of Guinevere’s cousins from herhome of Cameliard, was still alert and healthy, so it was not anything in the food. Indeed, Ailis had eaten and drunk much the same, sneaking bits from half full plates as they were carried out, and she felt fine.
    It may all be my imagination, Ailis thought. I’d look a proper fool if I said anything. Nodding in agreement with herself, she tucked the dirty linens into the fold of her skirt and headed for the laundry, where she could leave them and then return. Some fresh air and all would be well.
     
    The stuffed peacock had been the success Cook promised; even Gerard had to admit that. Four pages had staggered into the hall under its weight, the tail feathers spread in an astonishing display, and the flesh golden brown and filled to bursting with spiced meats. The squire had managed to be near Sir Rheynold when it was brought in, the better to see his master’s reaction when Arthur saluted him for his contribution.
    The pleasure the knight took in his triumph, however, was soon overtaken by a look of puzzlement on his face.
    “Sir?” Gerard stepped forward, one hand raisedin a conscious gesture of aid.
    “Hmmm?” Sir Rheynold looked up at him, his eyes creased with exhaustion. “Can’t drink as much as I used to, I suppose,” the knight murmured, slightly confused. “Don’t remember it getting so late…”
    Gerard lunged to catch his master as he slid sidewise on his bench. Pushing him back onto his seat and propping him against the wooden table, Gerard glanced around, panicked that someone might have seen the old man’s embarrassment.
    But instead, as the bells in the courtyard church struck the midnight hour, every adult in the hall—from the broad-shouldered form of the king himself down to the wiry-limbed jugglers performing before him—all slowed their movements, stilled, and fell limply where they stood.
    The pages running the endless chores also slowed and then stopped, looking about them as they tried to understand what was happening. Some, smaller and younger than the others, burst into tears of confusion.
    “Gerard?” Ailis’s voice, small and scared, came from behind him. “What’s happening? Why are they all…are they all…dead?”

TWO
    T wo of the younger pages began to bawl, sitting on the rush-strewn floor with tears rolling down their chubby faces. Other pages ran from table to table, some of them intent on finding an adult who was still awake, others grabbing whatever food or drink looked good off the table. Several of the tumblers’ children were tugging at their elders who had fallen over their balls and hoops, while somewhere in the hall one of the younger children started to wail, her voice high pitched and keening. Gerard felt a pain start behind his eyes from the noise. He scanned the room, hoping desperately for someone—even Cook!—to come forward and explain what was happening. But all the adults he could see were slumped and motionless.
    “They’re sleeping.” Finan, a squire in SirDanforth’s service, gave one of the visiting knights’ arms a rough shake. When there was no response, he stood up and faced Gerard. “The adults are all asleep.”
    “All of