"What's it say?" asked Billy. Or was it Merlin? No, Billy, Wyrdrune realized

as

the boy put aside the pipe with a grimace of distaste. "Gor', what's that old

fart been smo-kin' in 'ere? Smells like a bloody blancmange!"

'"Lord Carfax hosts neo-medieval ball,'" read Blood. "'The realm's chicest

and

sleekest will be turning out in force this weekend for a gala neo-medieval

festival at Carfax Castle. Hosted by that reclusive raver'—dear God,

reclusive

raver? They really wrote that, didn't they? Anyway, it gushes on in that vein

for another six or seven paragraphs before we get to anything substantive,

but

the gist of it seems to be that Carfax is hosting some sort of costume ball

tonight, and there's some sort of tournament on for tomorrow, with actual

jousting, God save us, and a melee, whatever that is."

"A lot of aggro with swords an' things," said Billy. "You get these two teams

together, see, an' then someone blows a trumpet or whatnot, an' they all 'ave

a

go smashin' away at one another till only one team's left standin'."

"How the devil did you know that?" said Blood.

"I din't know it," Billy said, "old Merlin did."

"I'm getting really tired of your referring to me as 'old Merlin'!" Merlin

said.

"Well, you're two thousand bleedin' years old, for chrissake!" Billy replied,

his facial expression and body language undergoing dramatic, rapid changes as

he

switched from one personality to the other.

"That's not the point. You might still show some respect," said Merlin.

"Stuff it!"

"Stuff it? Did you say stuff it?"

"You bloody well 'eard me! Stuff it!"

"You miserable little delinquent, I've turned people into toadstools for

less!"

"Yeah? Let's see you turn me into a toadstool. You'll be a mushie, too, then,

won't you? Fat lot o' good that'll do you, won't it?"

"Aarrrgh!"

"Aarrgh, yer bloomers! Get out of it!"

"You believe these guys?" said Makepeace. "It's like putting two alley cats

in

the same sack."

"I think it couldn't hurt to check out that party," Wyrdrune said.

"But it's a real toff sort of affair," said Blood. "You have no invitations.