The sword blazed with purpose: of something vitally important that had to be done, that it had been brought back into the world to do. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly; then I picked up the scabbard and slid the sword carefully back into its sheath. It didn’t fight me. I placed the scabbard carefully down on the table again and stepped away from it. The sheer effort of will left me shaking and covered in a cold and clammy sweat. But I am my own man, no-one and nothing else’s.

“Well?” said Suzie, from the doorway. “Is it destiny?”

“Oh ... I’d have to give you ninety-five per cent on that, yes. And it wants me.”

“I could write you a note, say you’re excused destinies.”

“Why me?” I said, a bit wistfully.

“Isn’t that what everyone says, when destiny comes calling?”

“If this turns out to be connected to Merlin, I swear I will find a way to bring him back from the dead, just so I can kick his arse!”

“Never speak ill of the dead,” Suzie said briskly. “Especially when they aren’t always as departed as they should be.”

I couldn’t help noticing that she’d backed right out of the kitchen doorway and was now standing in the hall, looking in. Suzie wasn’t scared of anything, but she had a hell of a lot of natural caution and really good survival instincts. I would have liked to walk away and leave the sword, but owning Excalibur is like holding a tiger by the tail. Bad as the situation is, it’s even more dangerous to let go. I had hoped drawing the sword would trigger a recorded message that would tell me what the hell was going on and what I was supposed to do about it; but apparently that was too much to hope for.

“We need to get this sword out of our house,” said Suzie. “Something that powerful, running wild in the Nightside; who knows what kind of attention it’s going to attract?”