The Secret of Excalibur

by Sahara Foley

  “Hush, woman,” Colly mutters. “Me jest havin' me pint with me mates.” He scowls at the bar, fidgeting on his bar stool. He's not nearly as brash now.

  As she stamps towards the bar, she thunders in her grating, whiny voice, “Ye a spendin' money we ain't got agin?” She elbows him over, then laboriously clambers on the stool next to him. She lets out a loud sigh. “Me ole feets jest a killin' me. Where's me pint, girl? Go on now, don't be a dawdlin'.”

  Poor Alyce jumps right to it, and sets a mug up in front of her. “Here you are, Mother.”

  Now, I really feel sorry for her. I want to pat her hand.

  Mrs. Dewhurst tips her mug up, and in seconds puts it down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Another girl, me throat is parched.” Sixteen ounces at a gulp. The second mug she half kills, before turning on Colly again. “What's this fool bet everyone's a talkin' about, man? 'Eard ye was up ta yer neck in it.”

  “Aw Mother, twasn't me, twas 'im there, the yank done it.” He leans back and points at me, looking like a schoolchild tattling on his classmates

  She glares at me like I'm going to steal something from her. “'Em be tellin' the truth, mister?”

  “Yes, ma'am, he is. I started the bet, set the limit, and put up my money. I did start it, and I will finish it.” I slightly bow my head to her.

  “'Well, mister, ye may be as much a fool as this'n 'ere is, but ye got right nice manners.” She reaches for the slate, and Colly shrinks into his collar. His other two mates slowly shuffle towards the end of the bar, trying not to be obvious. “Gawd Almighty, man, that 'ere's five hundret pounds. Are ye gone all daft?” She drains her mug in a gulp, then elbows Colly and Pauly off their stools. They land standing, but make no move to sit back down.

  “Alyce, get us all another one please,” Ruth says. I stare dumbfounded at her. “Tea isn't strong enough, Arthur,” she explains. I almost pat her.

  “Hurry girl, afore this fool father of yers 'as us so broke me can't be affordin' ta set down.” She grabs Colly's shirt, then roughly plants him on his stool. Pauly stands rooted to the spot. She glares at him, and he hastily sits back down. Turning her suspicious, medusa eyes towards me, she says, “Afore I kill 'im, mister, would ye be fer tellin' me jest what the fool done bet on?” Again, she drains her mug, then pushes it forward towards Alyce.

  I explain the bet to her, as she stares unblinking at me, then turns towards Colly. As she sips her ale, her bushy eyebrows knit together in what has to be deep and laborious thought. Her face cracks with a small grin, and she even chuckles, which sounds like the gurgling of a drain when the last of the water goes down.

  “'Well, if'n that don't beat em all. Ye done good Colly, fer onct.” To me, she says, “Ye know there ain't been a White that size been seen in all of ten years?”

  Colly visibly relaxes into his chair, his mates too.

  “Yes, ma'am, I do. But that doesn't bother me,” I tell her. Hell, if I have to, I'll zap in a Walleye from Minnesota.

  “Well, I 'ate ta think of losin' this much money, but I figure ye should call the bet off, at least till after the storm, mister. Uh, I bet 'em never tolt ye about that?” She elbows Colly again; more like a love tap this time instead of a wrestling move.

  Ruth leans forward. “Storm, what storm, ma'am?”

  “That's what I figured. Well, there's a 'igh a comin' down the coast now. Storm should be 'ere late tomorry afternoon sometime. Last un like this we 'ad put waves over thirteen-foot right up on the shore out 'ere, and done sunk our boats too.”

  Ruth looks at me with creased brows. “Arthur. Is that the storm Mr. Moynin was talking about last night?”

  I blink in puzzlement at her. How would I know? I was concentrating on Godzilla.

  Before I can make an excuse, Colly's old lady asks, “Pardon lady, ye folks know the Moynins?” Her voice actually sounds soft and friendly.

  “Yes, Mrs. Dewhurst, we stayed at their Inn last night. Very good people.” Ruth smiles at her and tenderly pats my hand.

  I stare down at my hand. Why my hand? Because she can't reach the old lady's hand?

  “Sakes alive, ye 'ear 'em, Colly? And ye be fer takin' money in an ol' unfair bet from friends of me baby sister.” She elbows him again with more than a love tap. “Ye best be fer callin' this all off, mister, ye can now, cause of the storm 'em never tolt ye about.”

  Ruth has the pleading look again, plus she pats my arm. I might have called the bet off, but for that damn pat.

  “Ma'am, I appreciate your concern for us, but I'm afraid we intend to go on with the bet, storm or not.”

  “We?” Ruth stammers, “WE?”

  “Yes, kid, we're a team, so you're going with me.” To refrain from patting, I wrap both hands around my glass. She has a you-must-be-crazy look as she clutches her necklace. In her mind I say, *Hey, don't worry, kid. The storm won't bother us, relax.*

  With a resigned look and heavy sign, Ruth leans forward to Mrs. Dewhurst. “Ma'am, I'm going with him too. If he's not worried, neither am I.”

  She could've tried to sound more sincere. But she didn't pat my hand. Instead, her arm drops and she pats my leg.

  “Lordy, ye better talk 'im outen it, lady, or at least don't go yerself,” Mrs. Dewhurst declares as she crosses herself.

  “We're a team, ma'am, if he goes, I go,” Ruth says more forcefully, with some sincerity in her voice.

  To Ruth's mind, I say, *Thank you, kid.*

  She gives me a small smile. “Please, Alyce, another round.” My, she's turning into an alky.

  “Lord above, I's a settin' and a drinkin' with fools. But ye saw it Lord, I's done tried to talk 'im outen it, I surely did.” She gulps her ale, to keep up with the new round. “Colly Dewhurst, ye done afflicted 'im with yer affliction, man.”

  “Huh, what affliction, woman? Are ye daft 'ere?” he asks as he eyeballs her elbow, trying to scoot away from her.

  “Why stupidity, man. Now I'll 'ave ta be fer explainin' to poor Mary 'ow ye done got 'er friends kilt. Then, youn yer lazy daughter 'ere'll probably jest a set in 'ere and drink up the money anyways.” Another elbow. Looking back at me, she whines, “This'n 'ere's me daughter, and she ain't got no more ambition then 'er old man 'ere, who jest fishes, drinks, and makes fool bets. But I ain't so sure on this'n, seein 'ow all these fool men 'ere knows is that lake and the fish. I guess if'n they say ye canna be doin' er, then I jest 'ave ta be fer agreein' with em, sir.” She gulps her drink. Colly and his mates relax even more, now that the old lady is on their side, probably for the first time.

  Ruth looks at me, but says to everyone else, “Well, we're going so that's that.”

  Colly's cousin, feeling safer now, blurts, “Ye ain't never seen no ten to thirteen-foot waves, and that little, plastic boat of yers ain't gonna make it, wench.”

  Because I already knew what he was going to say, I'm up and moving before Relman can react. I snatch Colly's cousin off his stool by his shirt collar, holding him several inches off the floor. “When I put you down, you have ten seconds to apologize to the lady, or I'm going to get really angry,” I snarl at him.

  He's struggling and kicking, face turning beet red, eyes bugging out, making gurgling sounds.

  With scuffling and scraping of chairs again, Relman and the other three escorts jump up. “Sir, please, let him go?” Relman begs.

  I slowly lower the choking man to the floor. “Ten seconds, mister,” I demand, still holding his collar, but loose enough for him to breathe again.

  He starts hacking, choking and gasping, taking in huge lungful of air. It's pretty clear he's going to need more than ten seconds before he can speak.

  Colly sits up straight and announces, “Beggin' yer pardon, mister, 'im canna talk, so I'll be doin it fer 'im.” He pushes his stool back, stands and faces Ruth. “Lady, donna be takin' no offense at me mate 'ere, it's the drink, it 'appens sometimes. I'll be apologizen' fer 'im now.” He gives her a small bow.

  Again, I see what's about to happ
en. Colly spins fast for such a large man, and swings from his shoulder at my face. I shove his cousin over in front of me, and they connect with a loud thud, then I release Pauly and they fall in a heap on the floor.

  Relman and his men quickly jump on Colly, cuffing and standing him on his feet. Pauly is out cold. One of the escorts says, “No real damage, sir. A few broken teeth and this one is unconscious.”

  “Now, ye went and done it up good, ye fool,” Mrs. Dewhurst wails. “I ain't got no money fer no solicitor.” She has tears glistening in her paralyzing eyes.

  I'm taken aback. It seems she's really concerned about poor Colly. Clearing my throat, I say, “Relman, why would MI6 be involved over a few guys having a brawl in a bar?”

  Colly and his wife flinch at the mention of MI6, and their eyes widen, faces going pale.

  “But, sir, he attacked you,” Relman protests.

  “I don't think so. Looks to me like the person he attacked was his poor cousin,” I say nodding towards the unconscious Pauly. “Why not let him go? Besides, Relman, it's his turn to buy a round. He's sat here sucking up his free ale, now, he buys. How about it?”

  “But, sir?”

  Before he can protest again, I demand, “Relman, now.” With a sigh of reluctance, the cuffs come off.

  “Mother, buy a round, me hands all swolled up.” Poor Colley's hand is red with swollen and bruised knuckles, and he's holding his arm tightly against his body. His mates revive Pauly, sitting him up on his stool, but he still looks dazed with a blank, glassy-eyed stare.

  Stepping back to my stool and my drink, I say, “Thanks for the drink, ma'am.”

  “Oh, Molly, Molly Dewhurst, sir. Mary Moynin's me baby sister. Now 'er man Tabby, 'im done good. Mine 'ere, 'im jest done.” She pats her poor Colly's hand.

  I wonder with concern whether patting is contagious.

  “Relman, thanks for releasing Mr. Dewhurst,” I say to him in the mirror. “When you call Commander Dobie, you should tell him we're going out fishing tomorrow, storm or not.”

  Meeting my eyes, Relman gives a curt nod.

  It's peaceful as we finish our drinks, getting ready to leave, except poor Pauly. No one notices him falling backwards until we hear him hit the floor with a loud kablump! I smother a laugh as we say our good nights and head for the door.

  “Now what, show-off?” Ruth asks with a laugh.

  “Now, I'll ravish your body until I fall asleep, wench,” I say, wagging my eyebrows at her.

  “Oh, you,” she says, punching my arm. “But really, what about the storm?” She has little creases in her forehead.

  “Don't worry about the storm, kid. It won't bother us. Besides, you'll be learning firsthand what it's like to go tenting and fishing in the rain.”

  “A tent,” she shouts, stopping in her tracks. “You're crazy. Camping in a tent during a raging storm?” Then, looking around, she realizes everyone in the pub probably heard her, and says quietly, “Sorry, but my God, a tent?”

  “What's the matter, you never slept in a tent before?” No, I will not pat, I admonish, clenching my hands into fists at my sides.

  “Of course I have, but not in a storm as bad as this one's reported to be. Mr. Moynin told me the storms blowing winds at a sustained rate of seventy-five miles-per-hour. And half the coast is under water from torrential rains and wind surge where the storm has already passed over. A tent?” she asks again incredibly, shaking her head.

  I shouldn't say it, but I can't stop myself. “Hey, kid, maybe you'll meet the Lady firsthand this time.”

  She jumps as if I touched her with a live wire, twirling on me. “Listen, mister, I don't care who you are, or what you can do. Don't ever tease me about that again, or you'll lose more than a thirty-second inch of your hide, I swear.” She's panting as if she ran the one-hundred-yard dash, and for the first time in days, her eyes are blazing.

  “I'm sorry, kid,” I say contritely, “I was making a joke. Forgive me? I won't do that again.” Gosh, now I understand how Colly felt.

  As quickly as her temper flared, she calms down as fast. “I'm sorry, Arthur,” she apologizes, taking my hand, “I guess you hit a nerve.”

  Some nerve, kid, I think sardonically, lightly squeezing her hand.

  We head upstairs to our honeymoon suite where Ruth rings the desk, ordering food from the kitchen. As I take a shower, I mentally focus again on the lake. I'm scanning for the big cliffs shown on the lake map brochure, and I find them, far to the West. Oh, and the one-hundred-foot-high cliffs also extend towards the South, about a mile from where the river runs in to the sea. The massive storm front should travel up the coast behind those cliffs, and whether the storm's half as bad as they claim, the wind will be blowing so hard anyone staying in that little cove there will be safe, and protected.

  Now, are there any Walleye? I'll scan for them later, after dark, when they're out moving. Satisfied with what I found, I'm toweling off when I feel something else. What's that?

  Metal? Alive?

  Startled, I refocus, probing deeper.

  Yes, it's alive, metal and moving. Then it's gone.

  But that's impossible, I think in shock. When I mentally focus on something, I stay in contact with the object until I quit scanning. It can't break off the contact on its own.

  Sitting on the closed toilet seat, I refocus again. Nothing. Frustrated, I scan again; the river, the bay, the cliffs, sand, trees, nothing else. Yet, I can almost feel something. It's around the lake somewhere, and, with another shock, I realize it just focused on me. I've never felt a mental scan before.

  Rubbing my forehead in confusion, I think, but where? The probe could've come from anywhere in the world, or not, for that matter. Something focused on me, and when I directed my attention to it, it pulled back. Whatever it is, it's powerful.

  I don't want to, even try to refrain myself, but I think about the sword, and the Lady. Metal. Alive. Not moving. And the only feeling of color I perceived was faded silver. No, it can't be. I run my hands through my damp hair. This is insane. Quit thinking like this. If I don't, I'll end up as obsessed with the old legends as Ruth. I'm already turning in to a patter, what's next, a sword fanatic?

  I ponder for a minute how Ruth would react if I told her I thought the sword was alive and living in the lake. Isn't that farfetched? I subconsciously back up a step and think about myself. If I can exist, with all my abilities, then what's beyond the realm of possibilities? Hell, I've never thought about this before, but I could live under water. A simple transference inside my body, and I'd be able to breathe water like a fish.

  But whatever I felt, I'll not be satisfied until I find it and figure out what it is. And crazy as it sounds, whether it is the damn sword, I'll know for certain.

  I feel a warm glow, and with a slight smile I know right then, that no matter what happens, I'll find whatever it is.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Striding out the bathroom wearing only a towel, there's a discreet knock on the door, so I swerve back into the bathroom to pull on my pants. Excited about what I found in the lake, I'd forgotten the dinner Ruth ordered. I seldom get excited about anything. Over kidney pie and good chicken soup, we hear the whopping blades of a helicopter flying closer.

  “Well, kid,” I say drily, “I guess we can tell how Dobie took the news.” I plop my napkin on top of the table. I'm starting to get irked with Dobie's constant interference.

  A minute later, the door sounds, hard raps. Boom! Boom! Ruth shrugs and glides to the door. A puffing, red-faced Dobie stomps inside; followed by Dr. Tober and two men I've never met.

  “Merlin, what you're going to do is insanity,” declares Dobie in his deep arrogant voice. “Are you trying to get yourselves killed?”

  “Commander Dobie, Dr. Tober, what a surprise,” I say with a sarcastic smirk. “And gentlemen?” I turn towards the other two men with raised eyebrows.

  “Uh, Merlin, these two are Mr. Williams and Mr. Halvorson,” Tober introduces them, nervously push
ing his glasses up his nose.

  As we shake hands, I can feel the PSI power flowing, so I glance over at Ruth with a quizzical look. She's plastered against the wall by the door, eyes wide, biting her lip and clutching her necklace. Two of the escorts are in the hallway, waiting.

  Then, it dawns on me. These men are two of Tober's best specimens. They can do a fairly good job of mind control on a normal and unsuspecting person, neither of which describes me. I let them continue their puny attempts at trying to control me. They're straining, veins sticking out on their foreheads and necks, sweat starting to bead. I can't even feel what they're trying to do. I become engulfed in anger again.

  “Dobie, Tober, you're a couple of fools for trying this stunt,” I snarl at them. As I'm speaking, I shut Williams and Halvorson down, hard. They fall like bricks, dead as doornails. They'll never use their mind control abilities on anyone again.

  Dobie backs up a few steps with a pained expression, clutching his head. I forgot how susceptible he is to my mental pushes. Tough shit. Tober is frozen stiff, in the process of removing his handkerchief from his breast pocket.

  “You people want to play a game, but you don't know the rules. These two morons weren't much better than you are Dobie, which is to say no good at all. And they're dead, Dr. Tober; your two super mind controllers are dead. They died because their brains exploded. If you want an autopsy, I'll rip open their heads for you right here, right now. Is that what you want, Dr. Tober?” I yell, out of control.

  My heart's racing, and my hands are shaking so badly I cross my arms against my chest. I've never felt this type of rage before. I'm starting to scare myself, fearing I might lose control. All it would take is one effortless thought, then bam, everybody dead. The possibility of losing control of my powers is why I left my friends and loved ones. Gritting my teeth, I fight the consuming rage, trying to get back under control.