The Secret of Excalibur

by Sahara Foley

  “On that, you're damn right, Mr. Merlin.” She slams on the brakes and slides to a stop. “If you have luggage, carry it yourself.”

  “I am, Ruth,” I retort. She glances over at me, and with a mischievous grin, I remove two small suitcases from my jacket pocket.

  Rolling her eyes, she mutters, “Oh God,” as she opens her car door. Suddenly, a girl in her early to late twenties appears. Ruth instructs her, “Tell Gladys we have a houseguest, and we'll need an extra setting at meals for a few days.” The younger girl hurries up the steps to the front door. Ruth turns towards me with a wicked grin. “How are you with dogs, Mr. Merlin?” Two large shepherds appear, sniffing at my door.

  “Of course, Romeo and Juliet, attack and guard-trained, as well as being your pets.” The big male growls low as I clamber out of the car. “Mind your manners, Romeo, I'm a guest.” I mentally push both, and they romp to me wagging their tails, acting like innocent little puppies.

  “They never treat strangers like that. You'll ruin them,” Ruth scolds.

  “Not at all Ruth, we're just being friends,” I say with wide-eyed innocence.

  She gives an unconvinced frown. “Your room is at the top of the stairs, first door on the left.”

  My room is as far from her bedroom as she can put me, short of putting me in the garage. “Thank you, Ruth. You have a lovely home.” Getting in the last word, I teleport to my room.

  KAPOW! KAPOW!

  “Jeez, come in, Ruth.” It sounds like she's trying to knock the door down with a battering ram.

  She flings the door open and stomps in. “Mr. Merlin, while you're staying in my house, you will refrain from doing any of your tricks, except when you're with me, and only when we're conducting tests. Is that clear to you? I will not have my home disrupted by you.” Cheeks flushed, jade eyes flashing, she's enticing when angry.

  “Uh, of course, Ruth, I'm sorry. I never thought about it.” I'm lying, and she knows it, giving me a disbelieving look. She slams the door as she storms out of my room. Whew. What a temper.

  Why am I going out of my way to tease and upset her like a schoolchild with his first crush? What's so special about her? After all, she's a fireball lesbian. But she is irresistible. Oh, what a challenge she'll present, turning all that anger and fear into heated passion. A challenge I'm eagerly looking forward too. And to be honest, I haven't allowed myself to feel this way about a woman in years.

  Shrugging, I fall to the task of enlarging my suitcases and the box from the store. After taking a quick shower, I dress in black jeans and a gray-plaid shirt that sets off my eyes. I know I look dashing. I flash a smile and wink at my reflection in the mirror. Let's see whether Ruth can resist my charms now. After I'm done admiring myself, I work my way down to the kitchen with my box of groceries. As I amble through the swinging kitchen door, I notice a large-boned woman working at a large, double, stainless-steel sink.

  “Ahem. You must be Gladys.” She jumps with a small “Eep,” turning towards me. I mentally push, flashing my boyish smile. She gives a dimpled smile back, along with a small curtsy. I bow back to her. “I'm Arthur Merlin, and I have some provisions for you.”

  “Of course, sir,” she replies, wiping her hands on the apron wrapped around her ample body.

  “Please, Gladys, just call me Arthur,” I request. I hate being called 'sir.' That word brings back too many bad memories.

  She gives another tiny curtsy. “Oh no, sir. We can only address you as either Mr. Merlin or sir,” Gladys explains. She takes the large box to a long, L-shaped stainless-steel counter and unpacks the contents. “My, sir, but these are good looking steaks,” she remarks. It helps I cheated and slightly enlarged them. They'll still taste the same. The girl from the driveway pushes through the swinging kitchen door. “Toni, take these brandy bottles to the liquor cart, and fix Mr. Merlin a drink. Uh, what would you like, sir?” she asks, glancing over at me.

  So, this is Ruth's primary lover. She's five feet, eight inches tall with curly, mousey-brown, shoulder-length hair, brown smoky eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her perky nose. She's cute, but can't hold a candle next to Ruth. I open my mind and telepathically read her thoughts. Oho, she's bisexual. I mentally give her a small push, and she smiles and bows.

  “Yes, sir, what would you like?” Toni asks sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

  Being me, I read more into the statement than what she probably intended. But no, she meant it all right. Little twenty-five year-old flirt. “Uh, I'll just have coffee and brandy, if that's not too much trouble, ladies?” I ask, feeling uncomfortable. My small mental push on Toni is causing an unwelcome side effect. I don't want, or need, her sexual attentions.

  I don't consider my mental pushes a form of mind control, only a way to ease a possible stressful situation. Ruth made it quite clear she doesn't want me at her house, so I'm trying to make my stay as uneventful as possible.

  Relaxing at a kitchen table, I look around. In the room are two large, heavy-duty, stainless-steel tables and I'm sitting at the one not laden with cooking utensils and ingredients. When I have time, I enjoy cooking, and this is my dream kitchen. Humongous, with a double oven, two microwaves and every kitchen gadget you can imagine. All the appliances are stainless steel, and gleam spotlessly under the bright fluorescent lighting. Plenty of cabinets and cupboards, all stained a candy apple red, and pale, pink walls with a bright, white, clean tile floor.

  My stomach grumbles, and my mouth starts watering from the delicious leftover cooking smells permeating the kitchen. Or maybe it's anticipating the wonderful meal Gladys will be preparing for dinner.

  I turn my attention back to Ruth's efficient housekeeper. “I hope I won't disturb your routine around here, Gladys.” She's pouring me coffee. I hope it tastes better than the coffee at the cafeteria.

  “Well, sir, you'll not disturb my routine, and having a charming man around will help cheer the house up,” Gladys reassures me with a friendly smile, as she finishes filling my coffee cup.

  “I'm afraid Dr. Burns' boss dumped me on her for a bunch of tests,” I confess, “so she isn't pleased about my being here.” I take a sip of coffee, smacking my lips in satisfaction. It tastes wonderful, almost as good as it smells.

  She steals a look towards the door, then leans over, whispering, “Sir, work is all she does. I was hoping you were her friend, not part of her job.”

  “Uh, not as easy as it sounds. Your boss doesn't like me,” I sadly admit.

  She shrugs, going back to work. “Not many men she does like, sir. Excuse me for saying so.”

  Leaving Gladys to her work, I sit there nursing my coffee and brandy. After a few more, I start to unwind and decide to scan for Dr. Burns. She's standing in the shower, washing her shoulder length, curly auburn hair. So that's what she has hidden under her lab coat and conservative skirt. She has a luscious body, all legs, smallish breasts, long back, and tight tummy. Really a doll naked. And six foot tall barefoot. As I'm six-two, her height doesn't bother me.

  Actually, not much can bother me. An old friend warned me to stay humble, or I'll lose my human perspective, then I'll begin to think of myself as a God, with insanity not far behind. But it's tough. Being able to mentally absorb all the information from someone else's brain doesn't make me as smart as they are, I didn't have to work to learn it, but it does make me just as knowledgeable. I've spent so much time among the real brains in the past few years my mind is crammed full of knowledge, and actually, I know more because I have it all. I know almost everything. All that information is stored for instant retrieval. In fact, in the past two years, I've earned doctorates in several fields: quantum math, nuclear and regular physics, psychiatry, nuclear medicine, and earned a degree for my MD and passed the bar as an attorney. But none of that knowledge means much to me. It isn't me.

  Even with my abilities, I'm not immortal, but I've slowed my rate of aging to where I can live more than a thousand years. I'm also pretty much invulnerable. When I perfected my
molecular transference ability, I placed a force-field under my skin. It's one-thirty second of an inch below the surface, and has, so far, withstood everything that's been tested on me. And believe me; those guys at Cal Tech tested me a lot, with my permission. When they started getting excited over the fact they couldn't harm me, I left.

  Then the CIA stepped into the picture. They had access to the data from Cal Tech. Very narrow-minded those guys. The FBI was better, although not much. Both alphabet companies wanted to lock me away and only let me out when they had a job for me. Failing that, they both tried killing me. Failing that, they tried convincing me how much my country needed me. Don't they remember Viet Nam? I heard the same bullshit before, but back then, I didn't have the powers I do now. I did agree to do one job for the CIA. I teleported into a KGB staff meeting and, in my 'Almost Mode', taped the proceedings for them. After that, they thought they owned me. So I left. And here I am in England. So much for helping the course of Democracy.

  I still don't understand why I came to England. It isn't just for the Institute. There's something else driving me, nagging at me, but I don't know what it is. One of the problems I have being me is not being able to see the forest for the trees. I have so much external stimuli trying to process through my mind, that there isn't any way I can retain it all. So, I've learned to ignore most of what my mind takes in. Unfortunately, filtering out what I thought was irrelevant information caused me to lose the reason I had for wanting to come to England. Maybe one day, it'll pop to the surface.

  Weary of analyzing myself, I have another coffee/brandy. Needing a distraction, I focus on Ruth again, she's dressing: has panties on, and just fastened her bra.

  I unsnap it.

  With a thoughtful frown, she resnaps it.

  With a mischievous grin, I unsnap it again.

  Suddenly mad, cheeks flaming red, she snatches up a towel and covers herself. She knows it's me. “Damnit Arthur,” she admonishes, “can't I have my privacy?” She quickly looks around her bedroom.

  Properly chastised, I withdraw, speaking to her telepathically. *Forgive me. I was feeling mischievous, and since you're the only one I can play with, well, I'm sorry. I was bored.* I push warmth and affection towards her.

  She visibly relaxes and gives a soft smile. “I forgive you. You just take some getting used to.” When she smiles like that, she's a knockout. Hard to believe she's the same person. Of course, the warmth and affection I pushed on her helped a lot. But some of that warm feeling has to be coming from inside her somewhere. I hope.

  *I'm in the kitchen, Ruth. I'll wait for you here,* I inform her.

  “I'll be right down, if you'll let me get dressed. In private, I mean,” she says sternly, but the warmth is still there. Not much, but some.

  While I wait, I collect ten glasses from Gladys and begin stacking them up on their rims. It's easy; using my molecular altering ability, I soften the edges and stick them together. Better than Super Glue. The glasses go up at an impossible angle. When I glance up, Gladys' eyes are round.

  “Oh, sir, now that's one trick I would love to learn, the way I break things.” We're laughing as Ruth strolls through the swinging door carrying a small box. Immediately, her full lips thin and her eyes harden with suspicion.

  “What are you doing, Arthur?” she demands.

  Gladys gushes, “Oh, Miss Ruth, isn't it wonderful to have a magician around to perform his tricks?”

  Ruth looking leery, replies, “Yes, Mr. Merlin is quite a talented person. Cognac please, Gladys.” While Gladys leaves to fetch her drink, Ruth sits at my table. “Are you ready to do some tests?”

  “Sure,” I agree, “you're the Doc.”

  “Okay, then take the glasses down, and let's get busy,” she orders. Dismantling them, I don't break one glass.

  She opens the box from Tober's office. “These tests will probably bore you, Arthur, but it's a necessary part of the process. We need to establish the frequency and repetition pattern you demonstrate,” she explains as she removes items from the box, arranging them on our table.

  “Yes, I know, cards, dice and shapes, random choices.”

  She stares at me with her compelling eyes. “You've obviously done this before.”

  “Yes, at Cal Tech, MIT, and a few other places,” I admit.

  As she shuffles some cards with her pale, pink fingertips, she asks, “Do you remember any of your scores?”

  Without trying to sound arrogant, I say, “Yes. I scored one-hundred percent on all tests, every time.” She's not the same woman who smiled so warmly at me a few minutes ago.

  “Obviously, you think the tests will be boring, but to us, they're not. If you can bear with me, I do have to get the tests done. Just because you take your abilities for granted, try to remember the rest of us are ordinary, human beings,” Ruth coolly lectures me.

  “But, Doc, I'm a human being, ordinarily,” I protest, innocently blinking my eyes at her.

  She glances at me and scoffs, “Hardly that.”

  After we go through some tests, I begin to play again. Ruth has dice under a small box. She shakes them, peeks, and asks me to tell her what numbers are on the topside of the dice. So I change them after she peeks. “Wait. I think you have the wrong numbers,” I tell her.

  She peeks again, then realizes I've changed the dice. “I guess that's enough for today,” she says tersely. “You must be getting bored again.”

  “Good. I'd like to practice a few of my 'tricks,' as you call them,” I say.

  Ruth glances to where Gladys is peeling potatoes, but watching us at the same time. “I don't think that's a good idea,” she whispers, shaking her head.

  With my mind, I tell her, *Don't worry. I told Gladys I'm a magician and might be practicing some of my routines, just in case I did something that startled her, or upset you.*

  She stiffens and goes, “OOH,” as she hears my message. Many people can't handle the thought of someone else knocking around inside their heads, but Ruth takes it in stride.

  I clear a space in front of me. “Ladies, let me show you one of my favorite tricks. I've performed it in bars all across the USA, and it's always been a big hit. Gladys, I need a bottle with a narrow neck.”

  “Oh, I have some empty soda bottles,” Gladys offers. She shuffles to a cupboard, pulling out a bottle. “Will this do, sir?” She deposits the empty sixteen-ounce bottle on the table.

  “Perfect. Now, I need two containers we can't see through. Bowls will work.” Gladys moves over to a cabinet, taking down two green, plastic bowls and placing them on my table. “Put one of the bowls by you at the other table.” These are actually two tricks, but for them, I'll run them together. It's simple matter transference to me, but to an ordinary person, magic. “Okay now, ladies, I need a coin that can't possibly fit inside the bottle.”

  Ruth rummages through the front pocket of her jeans, pulling out a coin. “Will this work?”

  “Yes, perfect. While I get more brandy, Gladys, place an item under one of the bowls, and Doc, make some marks on the coin so you can recognize it, but wait until I'm gone. Just yell 'ready' and I'll come back in.” I leave, going out the swinging door.

  I'm not omnipotent, and don't always know what's going on unless I focus. So I'm surprised when I find Toni, obviously listening through the door. “Oh excuse me, sir.” Ducking her head, she scampers off like a frightened rabbit.

  I grab the brandy bottle and wait. A few seconds later, I hear Ruth shout 'ready.'I saunter back in, then pour brandy into my coffee. Plopping onto my chair, I roll up my sleeves. “Ruth, please place the coin in my left palm, making sure I can't see the markings on the coin. I'll tent my hands over the bottle, like this, and say a few magic words, and 'voilà.'” As the coin plinks on the bottom of the bottle, I teleport Gladys' tomato from under her bowl, and replace it with a potato, then place the tomato under the other bowl. The trick takes about two seconds. “Okay, ladies, is that your coin in the bottle?”

  Ruth holds the bo
ttle up, peers intently into it, then shakes it. “Yes, that's our coin. Look, Gladys, here are the marks we made. I wrote RB 31 on one side and GK 52 on the other side. It's the same coin, but how?” she asks with a raised brow.

  “Gladys, check your bowl, your potato is still there,” I tell her.

  “Oh no, sir, I put a tomato under there,” she corrects. As she lifts the bowl and sees the potato, she takes a sharp breath and goes pale, one hand fluttering to her chest. With a “Ta Da,” I lift the other bowl to reveal her tomato. Ruth studies the bottle, then writes a paragraph, her pen flying across the page, stops and studies the coin, then writes some more.

  “Oh, sir, that's purely magic,” says the starry-eyed housekeeper, as she claps in delight. “Even after seeing your trick, I can hardly believe it.”

  “Gladys, if I told you how simple the trick is, you'd get angry with me,” I tell her with a trace of humility.

  “Oh no, sir. Lordy, that was really magical.”

  Scribbling away, Ruth asks me, “Arthur, what were you saying?”

  “You mean my magic words? Uh, nothing really. I do that just for the effect, makes the act look better,” I confess.

  “Yes, well, that's quite an act. I'm sure you'll be a big hit or whatever,” she acknowledges, rewarding me with a small, soft smile.

  “Why thank you, Doctor.” There it is again, that little smile. And I'm not mentally pushing her this time.

  Basking in her approval, I'm interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. I focus my mind on it. “Ruth, that's Commander Dobie, he wants to tell you about a package he's having hand-delivered,” I inform her. “It, well, it's a package of bugs. He wants you to distribute them around the house. And by bugs, I don't mean the type that crawl.” With a sigh, I know our playtime is over. Damn, I'm just starting to make some progress with Ruth.

  Rolling her eyes with an I-knew-this-would-happen look, Ruth only comments, “What?”

  Toni opens the door. “Ma'am, telephone for you.”

  Ruth looks at me like I'm a blackhead she's trying to squeeze. “Why don't you talk to him, Arthur?” I follow her out of the kitchen into the dining room towards the phone as she asks, “And how did you know he was on the phone?”