Nicholas adjusted the mirror slightly. He saw Josh tug Clarent from its map tube and slip into the barn, followed a moment later by his twin and then the king. “He needed a weapon,” the Alchemyst said, “he needed something to protect himself with.”

“A shame it was that weapon. There are other swords. They are not quite so dangerous, not quite so… hungry as that one.”

“I’ll take it back when he learns one of the elemental magics,” Flamel said.

Palamedes grunted. “You’ll try. I doubt you’ll succeed.” He put the car in gear. “I’d best go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Are we safe here?” Flamel asked the knight, looking around. The field was surrounded by ancient twisted oaks; he could see no signs of nearby buildings or power lines. “Any chance of the owner turning up?”

“None at all,” Palamedes said with a grin. “Shakespeare owns it, and everything for miles around. He has properties all across England.” The knight tapped the satellite navigator stuck to his cracked windshield. “We have them all entered in here; that’s how I was able to get you to safety.”

Nicholas shook his head. “I never imagined Will as a property investor, but then I never imagined him as a car mechanic either.”

The knight nodded. “He was-and still is-an actor. He plays many roles. I know he started buying properties back in the sixteenth century, when he was writing. He always said he made more money from property than he did from his plays. But you don’t want to believe half of what he says; he can be a terrible liar.” Palamedes eased on the gas and turned the wheel, rolling the big black taxi around in a half circle, Flamel walking alongside the open window. “The barn is invisible from the road, and I’ll lock the gate after me.” The knight glanced sidelong at Flamel, then jerked his chin in the direction of the dilapidated structure. “Did you really try to kill the king the last time you met?”

Nicholas shook his head. “In spite of what you think of me, Sir Knight, I am not a killer. In 1945, Perenelle and I were working in Alamogordo, in New Mexico. It was, without doubt, the perfect job for an alchemyst. Even though our work was classified as above top-secret, Gilgamesh somehow discovered what we were planning.”

“And what were you planning?” Palamedes asked, confused.

“To detonate the first atomic bomb. Gilgamesh wanted to be standing underneath when it went off. He decided it was the only way he could truly die.”

The Saracen Knight’s broad face creased in sympathy. “What happened to him?” he asked softly.

“Perenelle had him locked up in an institution for his own protection. He spent ten years there before we thought it was safe enough to allow him to escape.”