A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain (the red fox clan .TXT) 📕

“That, it meseemeth, might well be,” said the abbot, who saw his opportunity to smooth things and avert disaster, “for it were not likely that so wonderful a gift as this would be conferred for the revelation of the concerns of lesser beings than such as be born near to the summits of greatness.  Our Arthur the king—”

“Would you know of him?” broke in the enchanter.

“Most gladly, yea, and gratefully.”

Everybody was full of awe and interest again right away, the incorrigible idiots.  They watched the incantations absorbingly, and looked at me with a “There, now, what can you say to that?” air, when the announcement came:

“The king is weary with the chase, and lieth in his palace these two hours sleeping a dreamless sleep.”

“God’s benison upon him!” said the abbot, and crossed himself; “may that sleep be to the refreshment of his body and his soul.”

“And so it might be, if he were sleeping,” I said, “but the king is not sleeping, the king rides.”

Here was trouble again—a conflict of authority.  Nobody knew which of us to believe; I still had some reputation left.  The magician’s scorn was stirred, and he said:

“Lo, I have seen many wonderful soothsayers and prophets and magicians in my life days, but none before that could sit idle and see to the heart of things with never an incantation to help.”

“You have lived in the woods, and lost much by it.  I use incantations myself, as this good brotherhood are aware—but only on occasions of moment.”

When it comes to sarcasming, I reckon I know how to keep my end up. That jab made this fellow squirm.  The abbot inquired after the queen and the court, and got this information:

“They be all on sleep, being overcome by fatigue, like as to the king.”

I said:

“That is merely another lie.  Half of them are about their amusements, the queen and the other half are not sleeping, they ride.  Now perhaps you can spread yourself a little, and tell us where the king and queen and all that are this moment riding with them are going?”

“They sleep now, as I said; but on the morrow they will ride, for they go a journey toward the sea.”

“And where will they be the day after to-morrow at vespers?”

“Far to the north of Camelot, and half their journey will be done.”

“That is another lie, by the space of a hundred and fifty miles. Their journey will not be merely half done, it will be all done, and they will be here , in this valley.”

That was a noble shot!  It set the abbot and the monks in a whirl of excitement, and it rocked the enchanter to his base.  I followed the thing right up:

“If the king does not arrive, I will have myself ridden on a rail: if he does I will ride you on a rail instead.”

Next day I went up to the telephone office and found that the king had passed through two towns that were on the line.  I spotted his progress on the succeeding day in the same way.  I kept these matters to myself.  The third day’s reports showed that if he kept up his gait he would arrive by four in the afternoon.  There was still no sign anywhere of interest in his coming; there seemed to be no preparations making to receive him in state; a strange thing, truly.  Only one thing could explain this:  that other magician had been cutting under me, sure.  This was true.  I asked a friend of mine, a monk, about it, and he said, yes, the magician had tried some further enchantments and found out that the court had concluded to make no journey at all, but stay at home.  Think of that!  Observe how much a reputation was worth in such a country. These people had seen me do the very showiest bit of magic in history, and the only one within their memory that had a positive value, and yet here they were, ready to take up with an adventurer who could offer no evidence of his powers but his mere unproven word.