He reached a bookshelf in two strides and threw a huge leather-bound book on the table, where it upset Lord Rust's glass.

“Twurp's P-eerage,” he shouted. “We all have pages in there! We own it. But this man has you mesmerized! I assure you he is flesh and blood, a mere mortal! No-one dares remove him because they th-ink it will make things a little worse for themselves! Ye g-ods!”

His audience looked glum. It was all true, of course… if you put it that way. And it didn't sound any better coming from a wild-eyed, pompous young man.

“Yes, yes, the good old days. Towerin' spires and pennants and chivalry and all that,” said Viscount Skater. “Ladies in pointy hats. Chappies in armour bashin' one another and whatnot. But, y'know, we have to move with the times—”

“It was a golden age,” said Edward.

My god, thought Lord Rust. He actually does believe it.

“You see, dear boy,” said Lady Selachii, “a few chance likenesses and a piece of jewellery—that doesn't really add up to much, does it?”

“My nurse told me,” said Viscount Skater, “that a true king could pull a sword from a stone.”

“Hah, yes, and cure dandruff,” said Lord Rust. “That's just a legend. That's not real. Anyway, I've always been a bit puzzled about that story. What's so hard about pulling a sword out of a stone? The real work's already been done. You ought to make yourself useful and find the man who put the sword in the stone in the first place, eh?”

There was a sort of relieved laughter. That's what Edward remembered. It all ended up in laughter. Not exactly at him, but he was the type of person who always takes laughter personally.

Ten minutes later, Edward d'Eath was alone.

They're being so nice about it. Moving with the times! He'd expected more than that of them. A lot more. He'd dared to hope that they might be inspired by his lead. He'd pictured himself at the head of an army—