chair, and eased him down into it. He felt something hard against

his arm, where Kira was holding him.

“Sorry ‘bout that, guv, ” said Billy. “ ’E gets a bit carried away

every now an‘ then.”

Fugisawa put his hand up to his chest. It felt as if he had been

burned. He looked at Billy with a mixture of fear and confusion.

“Sumimasen, Fugisawa-san, ” said Modred. Then, in English, he

added, “You are a very fortunate man. Few people have felt the

wrath of Merlin Ambrosius and lived to tell the tale. Except, of

course, that you will not tell this tale to anyone. Because, for one

thing, your own reactions stand as proof of how difficult it is to

believe. And, for another, once we have explained it to you fully,

you will realize the necessity for secrecy. Now then, I trust we have

your full attention?”

Fugisawa could only manage a weak nod.

“Good. It is a long and rather complicated story. And it centers

around three enchanted runestones.”

He opened up his shirt and Fugisawa saw a gleaming ruby

embedded in the flesh of his chest. Kira held up her right hand,

palm out toward him, showing him the sapphire. And Wyrdrune

removed his headband, revealing an emerald set in the center of his

forehead.

“Before we begin, however, an introduction is in order.

Wyrdrune’s, Kira’s, and Billy’s names you must already know, from

your inquiries of the hotel. However, as you have just seen, Billy is

a great deal more than he appears to be. And my name, as you

might have suspected, is not really Michael Cornwall. I am Modred,

son of King Arthur Pendragon and the sorceress Morgan Le Fay.

And I have lived for some two thousand years…”

CHAPTER Eight

Tajchi Kawashima and Fumio Hattori had been watching the

small shop in the Shinjuku district since noon. Nothing of

significance had happened and they were bored. Don Kobayashi’s