We carried on in absolute quiet for a good hour. I say ‘hour’, but I don’t think I was the only one of us who realised the sun hadn’t moved for quite some time. If I was going to put money on it, I think we’d dropped into the Fae realm equivalent of my Artist’s Studio.

Eventually, the track—which had now become a pretty robust Roman Road—broadened out, and we came out of the trees to find ourselves facing a giant lake with a small island in the middle of it.

Ah, this could be a touch tricky.

"Tricky as in 'funny bit of high jinx, all home in time for lashings of ginger beer' or tricky as in 'the wording of the prophecy saying seven reach the sword made no promises how many will live to find it'."

More leaning towards the latter, I'm afraid.

I jumped off my horse and strode forward to have a look around.

The lake was big. Like, if I couldn't see that it was totally circumscribed by woodland, I'd assume I was looking at a sea. This was a lot of water. I needed to sharpen my eyesight to make out the little island in the middle. It was impossible to judge its size - the scale was all off because of the water - but I could make out a cairn in the dead centre and what looked like a sword handle sticking out of the top of it.

"Fucking hell, we're really committing to all the mysths here, aren't we?"

I walked to the very edge of the lake and squatted down to dip my hand into it. It was ice cold. Seriously, it was colder than anything I'd ever touched in my life. I had to hurriedly pull Qi into my fingers to stop them from developing frostbite.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur had moved up to stand just behind me.

"Well, unless this is an elaborate hoax, I'm guessing that's Caeldfwch just there. So, we've made it thus far. But I left my bathing suit back at Tintagel, so I'm going to stand right here while someone else swims over and claims it."

I would not advise anyone to get into that water, my dear. Merlin's voice lacked any humour whatsoever.

"The fuck are they being?" Lancelot pointed at some dark shapes moving at the very bottom of the lake. At first, I thought they were akin to dolphins as they moved so quickly and with such purpose. But, then again, I was being fooled by the lack of perspective to judge scale.

As they swam closer to the surface, I didn't need Merlin's shout of alarm to realise my mistake. These things were fucking massive.

"How about we all retreat to the woods?" I said, Merlin pretty much pulling on my soul to drag me away from the water line.

Mark was already backing off, covered by Volka and Lancelot, and I hastily shepherded Owain and Arthur that way before whatever the fuck it was in the lake broke the surface.

It seemed like the safest place in the world to be was wherever they were not.

We'd barely made it into the woods when I heard a water spout blast upwards and felt the icy bite of the spray stab into my back. Even Lancelot winced when it hit him, which scared the beejus out of me.

By the time we thought we were far enough into the woods to look back, there was no sign of whatever was in the lake.

"What the fuck were they?" Volka asked. And I realised everyone turned to look my way.

I didn't think a shrug would increase my standing in this little party. I dropped into my Artist's Studio, feeling much calmer once I was out of the creepy, silent forest.

"Okay, mate, what do we know?"

I've only heard of what I think they are; I've never encountered them myself.

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"Which are?"

Kraken.

I sensed he was hoping for more of a reaction than the non-plussed expression on my face. "Oh no!" I moaned half-heartedly. "Not Kraken. Whatever will we do?"

You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?

"To be fair, mate, that's pretty much a given 90% of the time. But, sure, I've heard something about Krakens. I remember a terrible Jonny Depp movie with a giant fuck-off Octopus in it. If you're telling me I will need to wrestle Jonny, I'm very much here for it."

A bok started to glow and shake on the shelf in the corner of the studio. It was probably the most obvious contextual clues I'd had in my life. And I once had a member of a fairly well-known rock band look me up and down and then nod his head towards the door of a club's toilet.

I crossed the room and took 'Fantastic Beasts and How to Kill Them' by Rhyddrech Hael off the shelf.

It was a big book—biblically big—and the illustrations were like something out of Lovecraft's worst cheese-filled nightmare.

"Is there a particular page I should be looking for, Big M? Because flicking through this is giving me the willies." Seriously. If I had thought goblins were ugly fuckers, there was every type of mutated, horribly deformed shape I had never imagined on these pages/ And more than a few of them bore passing resemblances to a couple of exes.

The book shifted in my hand and fell open to a page near the back.

I tried to look at the illustration, but my mind rebelled, flicking my eyes away to stare at the comforting landscape outside my window. I tried again, feeling vomit rise in my throat, and again, my eyes wouldn't take in the drawing.

"Big M, I cannot look at this thing."

No. I imagine not, my dear. I think, around your own time, a man named Nietzche described if you spend too long gazing into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

"Meaning?"

Meaning there was a reason Rhyddrech Hael was a lunatic. You, however, seem to have a decent sense of self-preservation.

"Well, it's not much use if I can't even look at a drawing of the fucking thing! Is there anything on these pages that suggests how to kill it?"

I don't really want to look, my dear.

"Mate, you're dead. What's the worst that could happen?"

There are far more appalling things in the world than being dead.

"Look, if you're telling me we can't cut it and that we might as well pack up and head for home, I ain't arguing. I'm only here because you've made a big song and dance over getting Excalibur - sorry, Caeldfwch - for Arthur. If you want the story to be about Arthur coming, seeing the sword in the stone from a distance, but being spooked by overly rare calamari and fucking right off, I'm down with that. Just say the word."

There was a pause and then a sigh. Fine. Hold the book open.

There was another silence, and then a strained, Turn the page. I did so, and then there was another long gap.

"Seriously, mate, are there some words you need me to explain?"

When the Big M finally came back to me, he had the voice of a Primary School teacher after a day that contained both wet play and an unexpected wasp in the classroom. This dude had seen some shit and wasn't able to let it go just yet.

I think, my dear, if we ever had doubts about the insanity of Rhyddrech Hael, then that little entry puts them to bed. He did not just draw that but fought against them on multiple occasions. I would never have believed such a thing possible.

"Well, that's good news, isn't it? He obviously found a way to fight them. We copy that, get to the middle of the lake, Arthur grabs the sword, and we're home in time for the medal ceremony."

A plan with no flaws.

"Okay, come on then. Piss on my parade."

For a start, Rhyddrech Hael fought one of these things. I made out three within the lake.

"Okay, well, that mentalist was killed by a dragon I beheaded on my second day here. I'm not hating our chances right now."

I think we've discussed how spectacularly fortunate you were, plus the deviousness of my plan that led to that outcome. We probably should not view that as a standard approach. Three Krakens are going to be beyond us.

"Not sure I agree, but keep going. What kills them?"

Rhyddrech slew a Kraken by luring it out of its watery home, setting it on fire and hitting it with as many arrows as he could.

"Sold."

He had with him an army of three thousand bowmen who had spent six months specifically training themselves to pierce the hide of a giant monster.

I waved my hand carelessly. "So, it's just a question of scale. The theory holds, though."

They fired upon it for four days straight before it eventually died. He calculated that the number of arrows launched was . . . ' a lot'.

"Real details guy, Rhyddrech, eh?"

And even then, when burned to a crisp and without an inch unpierced, it still required Rhyddrech to cut out its heart to kill it.

"Okay, that's not so bad . . . "

From the inside. He had to cover himself in chicken blood and act as bait to get the thing to swallow him.

"Right." I gave that image a moment. "I sense what you're hinting at is that it's going to be a bit of a stretch for the seven of us to take down three of these fuckers."

I think we will probably need a different plan if we're going to get across the lake and get Arthur that sword. Your usual cavalier belligerence will not cut it on this occasion.

I dropped back into reality. "Okay, guys, here's the plan. We're going to need lots and lots of wood."