“And for your advisers, it was,” replied Galahad. “It gave each of them a cutting share of the dividends.”
“Oh.”
“For standard folk, though, it resulted in less money for hiring helping hands. You can read all about it in Investments, Inc. magazine.”
“Seems I don’t need to, Sir Galahad,” Arthur said while chewing the inside of his cheek. “When we get back, I shall have to put you in a room with my advisers so that we can get things fixed. I shant have my subjects roaming around and attacking convoys because of some silly tax that only benefits the wealthiest in the land.”
“But that’s the way it’s done, sire,” Galahad said with a look of confusion.
“Is it?”
“Seems the norm to me,” said the main highwayman.
“Aye,” agreed his partner.
“Yep,” the rest of the knights and Merlin said in unison.
“Well, I think it’s time that gets changed,” Arthur concluded after a few moments. “For now, what say we treat these gentlemen to a pint of ale and some stew?”
“That would be most excellent, sire.”
“I haven’t had me a decent stew in months.”
“Lance-A-Lot,” Arthur commanded, “give these men a few coins from my coffer. I want them to each have enough to feed their families for a month.” The two highwaymen were all smiles at this. “I assume that you men have names?”
“Chauncey McDermott,” said the larger of the two.
“Leatherton Felhue III,” said the other.
“Of the famous Felhue clan in the Southwest?” asked an astonished Arthur.
“No, sire,” responded Leatherton, “from the not-so-famous group in the Northeast.”
MERLIN’S NOTEBOOK: INNS
While it can certainly be argued that staying at any one of the inns in all of Britain is better than sleeping under a wet sky, I would state that the benefit is marginal.
Most innkeepers spend the majority of their lives looking for the quick buck, doing as little as possible to keep their lodgings in proper repair. It's rare to find a place that has all the boxes checked. There are a few, to be sure, but those are often in the wealthier districts, and they attract clientele capable of spending a king's ransom to garner a fanciful stay.
During my younger years, I learned the horrors of staying at the wrong inn. Bedbugs, watery ale, week-old stew, moldy bread, damp rooms, and exorbitant prices were the norm, and that was for the nicer places. The more seedy joints also had rats, lice, leaking roofs, and hired thieves that were given keys to all rooms in return for a cut of the profits from whatever the thieves picked up.
SADO'S TAVERN
Sado’s Tavern was certainly large enough to hold them all, and there did appear to be plenty of stables available for the horses, but it wasn’t exactly a place befitting a king. The landscaping was shoddy, the grass stood nearly waist-high, the siding looked rotted in most places, and the roof was holier than a friar. But with the clouds growing darker and the wind picking up, it was better than staying out in the open.
“It appears a tad rundown,” said Arthur with one eye on the coming storm.
“That it does,” Lance-A-Lot replied sourly.
“I assure you, sire,” said Chauncey, “that it’s the nicest place within ten miles.”
“Which doesn’t mean all that much,” noted Merlin.
“And my cousin owns it,” Chauncey added, “so I’m sure we’ll get a good rate.”
“Well,” Arthur said resignedly as a single drop of rain hit his nose, “I don’t expect we have much choice at this point. I wouldn’t want to sleep in the rain.”
“Looking at that roof,” said Merlin, pointing, “I’d wager we’ll be sleeping in the rain either way.”
“They’ve a decent ale, sire,” Leatherton said, “and their stew has been known to have spices from time-to-time.”
“Then I guess we shall have to make it our home for the night. Lance-A-Lot, please go have a word with the innkeeper and get everyone rooms.”
Lance-A-Lot dismounted and began wading through the high grass.
“Be careful with the innkeeper’s main negotiator,” said Chauncey. “She’s a wily one.”
“She’s got nice knockers, though,” Leatherton was quick to point out.
“Oh, no doubt of that,” agreed Chauncey. “Made of wrought iron, they are.”
“Her breasts are made of wrought iron?” Sir Gareth asked.
“Not now, Sir Gareth,” Arthur said, interrupting the discussion, “we have to focus on preparations. Sirs Purcivale and Tristian, would you be so kind as to work with the inn’s stable boy to get all of our horses fed and stored up for the night?”
“O’course, sire,” said Purcivale, hopping down from his steed. “We’ll be right to it, won’t we, Tristy?”
“Like too bugs havin’ a nibble, I’d say.”
“Maybe a couple of pigs basking in the mud, yeah?”
“Nah,” Tristan said with a start, “that’s Gaheris, that is!”
The two men laughed at that as everyone else stood waiting for Geheris to pummel them.
“What’s this you’re saying about me?” asked Gaheris.
Purcivale shrugged and said, “That ye bathe about as much as a squealer, is all. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it, guv…unless I’m downwind, that is.”
“Yeah,” Tristan added in support of his friend, “dirt’s got nothing on you, in a manner of speakin’. Somethin’ to be proud of, I’d wager.”
“Are you two implying that I stink?” said Gaheris with a squint of his only eye.
“Implying it?” said Purcivale. “Wouldn’t dream of implying it. Would I, Tristy?”
“Would be downright criminal to imply that he stinks, Purcy.”
“Hmmm,” said Gaheris, looking unsure. Finally, he said, “You’re both idiots.”
The rain was starting to pick up now. If there was any one thing that Arthur despised, it was being caught in the rain. Worse, he hated it when all of the gear and such became damp. It was uncomfortable.
“Enough of this,” he said. “We need those horses tended to quickly.”
“Right, right,” Purcivale replied, reaching out for the king’s reins, “we’re on it. No need to get your panties in a bind, sire.”
“My what?” Arthur said, looking down at himself worriedly.
“Yer lady-britches, guv,” Tristan explained.
“I…uh…”
“It’s just a sayin’, sire. Nothing to get all worked up about.”
“Yeah,” said Tristan, “ain’t like we was sayin’ your bra strap was showin’.”
Arthur looked at his shoulders.
“Oh, for the love of…” Merlin started and then pointed at the two knights. “You two get to work before I turn you into a couple of goats.”
“Nay doin’ that, Mr. Wizard,” said Purcivale with a look of horror. “We don’t want to be goats, do we Tristy?”
“Not with Sir Gareth around, Purcy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Gareth while blinking rapidly.
Tristan pursed his lips for a second. “Just sayin’ that I’m ever surprised that there ain’t little Gareth’s jumpin’ around your yard with horns and bucked teeth, I am.”
“My point exactly, Tristy.”
“Wait a second here,” Gareth argued, “are you two idiots trying to say that I f—”
“That’s it,” Merlin said in a loud voice as he grabbed both Tristan and Purcivale by the fronts of their tunics. “Go! Now!”
The two knights scrambled off, pulling a few of the horses along while the stable boy took the others. Everyone watched them go. Arthur felt generally wrong with everything that they had said, wondering how much of it was true.
Lance-A-Lot stepped out of the inn with a smirk on his face and lipstick on his collar.
“Told you she had nice knockers,” Leatherton said with a knowing nod.
“Wrought iron ones,
too,” said Lance-A-Lot with a faraway look.
“Odd, ain’t it?”
“Indeed, especially the way—” He stopped himself and then turned quickly to Arthur. “Sorry, sire. It was just, well…anyway, I have secured the rooms for the night. They’re on the first floor so we won’t have issues with rain.”
“Good, good. How much did she take, Sir Lance-A-Lot?”
“Almost all of it.”
“I’m talking about the money.”
“Oh, right. It was twenty-five shillings.”
“That’s robbery!”
“It was originally fifty shillings, but after I—”
“Never mind, Lance-A-Lot,” Arthur said quickly, slamming his eyes shut and grimacing. “I neither need nor want the details.”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing them,” said Allison.
Merlin stared at her in shock.
“Right,” Arthur said. “Look, let’s just get in there and get some stew and ale before we get drenched.”
QUESTIONS
Merlin wasn’t one who enjoyed partying. At least not in the traditional sense. Booze and babes just weren’t his thing. His idea of getting down was playing music from the future—specifically disco—while tinkering with various forms of technology. But he knew that Allison was more into the nightlife than he was and that worried him. She wouldn’t divulge any information to hurt the time line when sober, but she was partaking in the consumption of alcohol and that left Merlin uneasy.
“Allison,” he said, tapping her on the shoulder, “may I have a word?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing,” he said as they moved away from the main table. “Fraternizing with this bunch could cause you to have loose lips. You said that you had to be careful or it could screw up the future…though I’m still not a hundred percent sure what that means.”
“Chill, Merl,” Allison said. “I’m just asking questions and having a few brews. It’s not like I’m filling anyone in on technology or recent scientific breakthroughs. Of course,” she added thoughtfully, “I share information with you all the time.”
“True, but you know I don’t speak to anyone about anything.”
“Fair enough,” she said between sips, “but what happens if you get hit by a bus? That cave of yours has a lot of goodies in it.”
“What’s a bus?”
“My point is that your knowledge of my era is far more risky than my questioning of these boobs.”
Merlin furrowed his brow and looked at her chest in confusion.
“Don’t take that literally, Merl,” she said, lifting his chin back up. “I was being derogatory.”
“Oh, I see. Well, just be careful.”
“You worry too much, Merl,” she said before walking back to the party.
Merlin didn’t feel that he worried too much. It was just the right amount. Truth be told, he didn’t care if the future got sullied due to her making a mistake; he was more concerned about her saying something that gave away the fact that he didn’t really know how to do magic.
Most of his lifestyle was allowed due to the general populace’s lack of understand regarding what precisely magic was, after all. Without that, he was nothing but a middle-aged, scrawny guy with long hair. Or, as Allison had put it, a “hippie.”
“You look troubled, wizard,” Galahad said as Merlin grabbed a chair at the next table over.
Merlin nodded. “Always one problem or another in my profession.”
“Seems to be. A lot of inconsistencies, too.”
“Oh?”
Galahad leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around how you managed to water all those fields at the same time up north, during the drought.”
“You know about that?”
“It was in Wizards’ Quarterly.”
“I thought I was the only one who read WQ?”
“I thought you were the one who wrote it, Merlin?”
“Exactly,” Merlin said. “Anyway, that job was just a case of simple physics. Take water from a source that’s at a higher elevation and…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I mean, I just cast a spell of…uh…watering. Yes, watering.”
“Right,” Galahad said slowly. “Always sounds pretty easy when you say it’s just magic.”
“It’s not that easy,” Merlin replied with a tired look. “Believe me.”
“The interesting thing is that it seems to take you a while to do this supposed magic. More interesting, though, is that nobody ever sees you actually doing it.”
“Supposed?” Merlin said with a huff. “Look, you, it’s not like doing magic happens with a mere flick of the wrist if, that’s what you’re thinking. That only happens at the cinema. Doing proper magic takes time, planning, and concentration.”
“What’s a cinema?”
“A place where wizards do magic.”
“Hmmm.”
“Look, Galahad, it’s hard to explain these things to non-wizards.”
“Maybe you just need to try harder.”
“I really don’t,” Merlin stated.
Galahad grunted and pushed himself back, grasping his mug and draining the contents of his ale. After releasing a hearty belch, he said, “There’s something odd about you, wizard.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“No, no, I mean your ‘magic’.”
“Of course it would seem odd to you, Galahad. You’re not a wizard. And did you just use air quotes?”
“I find it all interesting,” said Galahad, ignoring Merlin’s question. “You see, I read Architectural Digest, Engineering Times, and Project Periodical. They all talk about similar things that your magazine talks about. In each installment, they have almost identical situations that Wizards’ Quarterly does, but they use something they call science to solve each problem. And yet each time there is always some wealthy guy involved that ain't never named.”
Merlin pulled on his collar to relieve a little steam. “That is interesting,” he said. “I’ll have to look into those journals you mentioned. It would be nice to not have to resort to magic all the time. It’s very trying on the mind, you know.”
“And the wallet, I’d bet.”
“Huh?” said Merlin as he looked over at King Arthur. He pretended as if Arthur were calling him over. Pointing to himself as if saying, “Me?” Then he turned back to Galahad. “Looks like Arthur needs me for something. Kings,” Merlin said with a shrug. “What are you gonna do?”
“Uh huh.”
THE BLADES OF POWER
And I just think that we need to be more conscientious regarding how others feel, Sir Gaheris,” Arthur said to the gruff man.
“I say that those that ain’t with us is against us.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“Nope.”
“That’s not a very knightly way of thinking, I’m afraid.”
Sir Gaheris grunted and shook his head. “Liberals,” he said as if spitting.
“Pardon?”
“I need a drink,” Gaheris answered and moved away from the table.
Though the man was a top-notch fighter, he wasn’t exactly knightly material. Then again, none of them really were, except for possibly Lamorak. Arthur knew that his knights were the best swordsmen in the land—not considering Sir Gareth in that calculation, of course. But he’d envisioned something more from them. Honor, morality, strength of character. Each of them had this in measure, obviously, but Arthur had hoped they would all be of the same caliber.
Merlin sat down heavily, taking a look over his shoulder. Arthur wasn’t sure which was worse, speaking with Gaheris or dealing with Merlin. At least Merlin had some tact.
“How are you fairing with all of this travel, Merlin? You seem concerned about something.”
“I’m good, I guess. I worry about the cameras and equipment getting wet, and I could do without Galahad’s cons
tant scrutiny. Other than that I’ve got no complaints. You?”
“Shouldn’t have gone with the lace,” Arthur said.
“Hmmm?”
“Song, song, song!” the knights cheered, interrupting Arthur and Merlin’s conversation.
“I couldn’t,” Sir Gareth said in what was obviously mock protest. “I’m not properly warmed up.”
“Come on, give us a jingle, guv,” said Tristan.
“Here’s your strings, Gary,” Purcivale said, handing him the instrument.
“Okay, fine,” Sir Gareth said as he set about tuning up, clearly loving the attention. “Shall I play Blades of Power or Dainty Little Flower?”
“Blades of Power,” chimed the knights.
“Dainty Little Flower,” said Arthur.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“I mean, obviously Blades of Power. I was just wondering why you had a song called Dainty Little Flower in your repertoire.”
“For the ladies, sire.”
“Ah, yes. Right.”
Sir Gareth began to strum as the knights all settled down and craned their ears. As poor as Gareth was with the sword and the pike and…well, everything that pertained to fighting, he was one of the best bards that Arthur had ever heard. His voice was like a smooth flowing river and his playing was melodic and powerful.
The Blades of Power, they sing their song
They slash and smash, all the deathly night long
Their strength is stronger than the strongest of strong
The knights raised their mugs and sang, “The Blades of Power ring on!”
During battle the sinister foe is shattered
The Blades of Power leave cloth torn and tattered
Rain bounces off steel with pitter-patter
The Blades of Power ring on!
Sir Gareth yelled out, “Everyone!”
Slash, bash! The Blades of Power!
Destroying the bad while protecting our towers
Slash, bash! The Blades of Power!
Cutting their way right through our foes
Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur Page 6
