To the Lady of the Lake, Unsent

Madam. The Chronicler writes to you because he could not speak to you. He stood where you are said to stand, and the world told him, in its flat way, that you were not found. He does not accuse you. He records it.

Allow him to set out what he did on your behalf, so you know what you missed. He offered King Arthur his sword and was sent to free Merlin from a crystal. Sir Gawain named Morgan Le Faye. Sir Lancelot named the boat from Catherby. The Chronicler, who carries the Book of the Realm, then climbed into a crate of candles and was shipped into Keep Le Faye as freight. He mentions this so it is on paper somewhere. It is not the dignified entrance.

Inside, he brought Sir Mordred to his knees. Morgan Le Faye bought her son's life with the recipe: a black candle, bat bones, the words on a chaos altar, and Excalibur. Then the world stopped and he woke again on the road, which happens, and which he holds against nobody in particular. He banked everything but his food and walked into the Wilderness. He read the words at the foot of the chaos altar. Snarthon Candtrick Termanto. He walked straight back out. He did not die. He wishes this underlined.

That left only the sword, Madam, and the sword is yours to give.

He allowed eight hours for the whole affair. He used twenty minutes. The other seven hours and forty were set aside for you. The Labour is abandoned. Merlin is still in his crystal. The title of Knight of the Round Table is not claimed, and will not be worn on credit.

He has kept the words. He has not lost the way to the keep. The crate of candles, he trusts, has been returned to stock.

Yours, at the edge of the water, Fablemaster.