“Are you sure you don’t want to see some of the other items first? It may ease your minds.”
“We go where we go,” repeated Gaheris.
“As you wish,” Merlin said with a shrug. “Okay, you’ll all have to be pushed together into the center of that platform.” He motioned them all to squeeze in. “We all have to fit, so squash together, nice and tight.”
“Ooh, Lance,” Guinevere said playfully. “Careful with that thing, will you?”
Arthur jolted while struggling to look over his shoulder. “What thing?”
“His sword, Arthur. That’s all I meant.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry.”
“I wouldn’t have complained about the other thing,” Guinevere hinted.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, dear. You were saying, Merlin?”
“Let me adjust these dials and I’ll jump in with you.” Merlin was clicking and tapping and moving things around on the picture screen. Sometimes the things that the wizard did were downright terrifying. “Make sure to leave me a small space up there or you’ll be on your own.”
“Gaheris smells of wee,” Purcivale announced.
“And they say we’re the rotted bunch, eh Percy?”
Gaheris did not appear bothered by this comment. He merely said, “I go where I go.”
“Everyone out,” yelled Arthur as he pulled Guinevere away from the knight’s vicinity. Gaheris was the only one left on the platform. “Honestly, man, tell me that you didn’t just soil your trousers.”
“I did not do as such, sire,” Gaheris replied evenly.
“Okay, then.” Arthur waved at the group. “Everyone back in.”
They resumed their positions on the platform.
“I soiled them right before we walked into Merlin’s house,” Gaheris stated, clearing up the situation.
“Everyone out!” Arthur was tired of having this talk with Sir Gaheris. “Did you bring a change of clothes with you?”
“No,” Gaheris replied.
“Turn and face the wall, then.”
“Why?”
“Do as you’re told, Sir Gaheris,” commanded Lance-A-Lot, “or you shall be left behind.”
He did so, which resulted in Sir Purcivale pointing and saying, “The stains on the back are worse than the ones on the front, Tristy.”
“I feel like a prime diamond compared to him, I do,” commented Tristan.
Arthur dropped his head for a moment and groaned.
“Does anyone have a change of pants handy?”
“I do,” said Guinevere. She reached into her pack and pulled out a set of men’s trousers. When she looked back up, everyone was staring at her. “What? I’m a lady. We prepare for things like this.” She quickly handed the pants to Gaheris. “Go and put these on.”
“But—”
“No buts, Sir Gaheris,” she said in a tone that relayed she meant business. “You are making us late. The pants are all man, I assure you. Now go and change out of that lot you’re wearing.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And don’t even think about leaving your old ones on my floor,” Merlin hollered after the departing Gaheris. “Throw them outside!”
Everyone milled about as they waited. Merlin kept yelling at Purcivale and Tristan to keep their hands off things, which seemed fruitless. Arthur was curious about a number of items, too, but he’d learned the hard way that it was better to keep one’s hands in one’s pockets when in the lair of Merlin the Wizard.
“Everyone back in,” Arthur said as soon as Gaheris returned. The pants had fit him fine, though they were maybe just slightly short.
“Expecting a flood, gov?” Tristan asked the returning knight.
“What?”
“Cut it out,” Arthur warned before Purcivale could chime in.
Merlin took two steps toward the platform, but stopped at the side wall and put his hand on a post that was sticking out a few inches.
“Looks like everyone is set,” he said. “I’m flipping the switch now.”
He flicked the post and a series of lights began to glow under the floor. There were reds and blues and whites and greens and yellows. They rotated faster and faster until it was all Arthur could do to hold in his breakfast. Soon the floor began to vibrate and he felt a scream begin to well up within his soul. But then, just as quickly as it had all started, it stopped… After first making a pop and whir sound.
“What happened?”
“Not sure,” Merlin said, running back to the desk. “Damn. Says here we’ve got one too many people in there to launch. Either that or someone is carrying too much bulk.”
“Nothing I can do about it,” Lance-A-Lot said apologetically.
“No, not that,” Merlin replied and then appeared to think about it. “Well, actually, maybe it is that. Not sure. Anyway, somebody needs to stay behind.”
Percivale raised his hand. “I vote wee-wee pants.”
“Aye, I’m with Percy. The Patriarch of Soiled Britches should be the one to go.”
“I could crush the both of you with one hand,” Gaheris stated.
“And yet you can’t manage to give the old pits a scrub?”
“Not to mention—”
“Okay, you two, that’s enough,” Arthur commanded. They weren’t even at their destination and these two were already causing as much of a metaphorical stink as Gaheris was causing a literal one. “I think we’re going to leave two people behind, instead of just one.”
“Who?” asked Merlin, looking up.
“Sirs Purcivale and Tristan, that’s who.”
“Us?” said Purcivale.
“What did we do?” said Tristan.
Arthur gave them a hard stare. “You’re both antagonistic, that’s what.”
“Just saying it like it is, guv,” Tristan said, looking hurt.
“Ain’t our fault that Gaheris makes a rotting carcass smell perfumey.”
“That’s it—”
“Hold yourself in check, Sir Gaheris,” said Arthur, putting his arm out. “Tristan and Purcivale, you’ll be leaving us now.”
“But—”
“If you’re not off this platform and out of Merlin’s house within thirty seconds, I’ll release Sir Gaheris upon the both of you.”
Tristan gawked. “Okay, okay!”
“We’re going already,” agreed Purcivale.
Merlin shook his head while he resumed tapping on the thing on his desk.
“Honestly, the best choice you’ve made in a while, Arthur. Those two are a pain in the rump.”
“Yes, but they can be rather resourceful at times.”
“Right, well, looks like they’ve done us a favor actually.”
“How so?”
“I had the wrong data entered in here,” Merlin answered. “Had we not had the extra bodies along, magic only knows where we would have ended up.”
“That’s a scary thought,” said Galahad.
“Agreed,” Guinevere said.
“Nothing to worry about.” Merlin scratched his head. He then obviously realized that he’d not had his hat on. He reached back and grabbed it. “I’d forget my leg if it wasn’t attached to me.”
“What about your robe?”
“Ah, good point, Galahad. Shouldn’t run off to a quest without looking wizardly, eh?”
“Is this going to be much longer?” asked Bors. “I’m not all that fond of tight spaces.”
“Just a couple more minutes,” Merlin said while chewing his fingernails. “Just a couple more minutes.”
SEEKING ARTHUR
Scottish Arthur strode into the village surrounding the castle as if he owned the place. It was the kingly way to act, after all.
He found it interesting that none of the guards questioned him or anything. Maybe they knew he was a king and thought better of it. His men were trained to be extra wary of kings, but it could be that the English Arthur was more trusting.
Just as he rounded the corner that brought
him past a merchant’s cart, he looked up and saw Sirs Purcivale and Tristan. He remembered them specifically from their trip down to Scotland because they were both highly annoying.
“Ah, laddies,” he said heartily, feigning good tidings, “great to see ya.”
“I think he’s just called us a couple of ladies, Tristy.”
“By the sounds of it, he has,” said Tristan. He gave Arty the once over and added, “Not sure if I should be offended or worried.”
“No two shakes on that, Tristy,” Purcivale said with a nod. “I’ve not got on my steel undies.”
“Best to keep facin’ him, Percy.”
Arty wasn’t sure, but had the distinct feeling that he should be offended by their discussion.
“What are ye two babblin’ aboot?”
“Now he’s talkin’ footwear,” Purcivale said.
“Sounds as much, it does.”
“Bah,” Arty said. “Yer a waste of me time. Where can I find Arthur?”
Purcivale pointed up the hill at the side of a mountain that seemed to be painted like a tree. In Scotland a mountain was after being a mountain and a tree was after being a damn tree. Yet again, it didn’t appear that England held to the same rules.
“He’s in the wizard’s spot,” said Purcivale, “but you don’t want go in there.”
“Do ye know who yer talkin’ to, boy?” Arty said firmly.
“At least he got the gender right that time, eh Percy?”
“Mild relief comes along with that, I’ll safely say.”
Arty bristled and studied the two men harshly. “Is this any way to talk to a king?”
“As long as the king ain’t ours,” quipped Purcivale.
“And mostly even when he is,” added Tristan.
His first thought was to smack them both on the noggin, but this wasn’t his roost and he held no jurisdiction here. Still, he was planning to have a word with their king about the way they treated royalty. Based on the way they had acted when in Scotland, though, Arty had a feeling that Arthur didn’t fare much better when in their presence. They had to offer up some skill to make them worthy of being in the higher levels of military. Alas, Arty’s visual due diligence couldn’t spot it.
“Well, I need to speak with yer king.”
“Like I said, he’s in there.”
“Yer after tellin’ me he’s in that mountain? Or is it a tree?”
“It’s the wizard’s hut.”
“Ah. Makes sense.”
“Not to us,” said Purcivale, “but we’re not cut from the same lace as you lot.”
Arty looked at him. “Lace?”
“Cloth.”
“But you said lace.”
“Meant cloth.”
“Then why say lace?”
“He’s trying not to be cliché,” Tristan offered.
“But why’d ye say lace specifically?” Arty asked and then waved his hand. “Ye know what, never you mind. I’ll be takin’ me leave of ye.”
“Pretty touchy about the lace, eh Percy?”
“Must be a kingly thing, Tristy.”
Arty merely squinted at them and then walked away while shaking his head.
TRANSPORT
Arthur stood patiently as Merlin finished up his work. He had made a number of observations about picking proper points in the space-time continuum, dealing with chronology protection conjecture issues, targeting a proper world line, and something about avoiding becoming quantum foam.
Galahad was the only one who looked to understand the entire ordeal.
“Okay,” Merlin said finally, “I have set everything up. With Percy and Tristy gone, we now have room for two, including me, and that means we should be all set. Let me just hit this and we’ll have ten seconds.”
The wizard flipped the switch and jumped onto the platform. The lights began their dance again, as did the vibration of the floor. A flurry of noises had been added to the mix this time.
“Ah, there ye are,” said a Scottish voice.
Arthur opened his eyes and found himself staring right into the face of the king of Scotland.
“Arty?”
“Aye,” he said while looking around. “What the shet is this thing we’re after bein’ on? It’s awful cramped on this bit-o-metal.”
Merlin spun around in the cramped quarters and bellowed, “No, get off the platform!”
The scrawny wizard was pushing Scottish Arthur with all of his might, but the larger man didn’t budge.
“Do ye know who yer talkin’—”
THE FUTURE
The vibration stopped and the flash of light that had nearly blinded him subsided, but it still took a few moments for Arthur to gain his bearings. He reached out for Guinevere. She nodded. At least she was okay.
They were standing in a very strange room. It had smatterings of similarity to what he’d seen in Merlin’s house before the platform sent them to this new place, but there were also many differences.
The oil lamps were now all up in the ceiling and the people of this time had somehow managed to stop the flickering. His first thought was that having them up there was a decent enough idea. It gave the room a consistent lighting as opposed to little pockets of light. But how did they go about firing them up on a daily basis? He assumed there was some sort of access that he couldn’t see.
He also liked the way the walls were not of brick. Or maybe it was some new type of brick that was flat? How many times had he walked too close to the wall in the middle of the night and scraped his elbow? This was a grand solution to that problem. Plus, these walls had a touch of color. He’d seen painted brick many times, but the way this was done was just as smooth as the surface looked.
The thing that confused him was the tables. “Desks,” Merlin had called them. Well, Arthur knew what a desk was, but the ones he’d seen were simple. Four legs, a top, a well for your quill, and a place for the paper you were writing on. He’d seen ones with drawers, too, of course, but these desks had “trays” for something called a “keyboard;” they had “paper clip” containers; they had “monitors” and “speakers;” and one of them even had the ability to grow taller, which Arthur still thought could have just been Merlin using magic to further strike awe into the questing party. Of all these desk items, Arthur thought the chairs most practical. They had wheels and cushions that could change height based on the size of the user. Fantastical!
The only one who hadn’t seemed fazed by all of these miracles was Galahad. That made sense being that the man was Merlin’s apprentice, something that Arthur was still coming to terms with.
It was a lot to take in, but primary on Arthur’s mind was the look that he was being given by Sirs Lance-A-Lot, Bors de Ganis, Kay, Galahad, and Gaheris. Something was clearly awry. He, Guinevere, and the king of Scotland were the only three still on the platform. Everyone else, except for Merlin, who was standing between both sides, had jumped away from the transporter when they’d arrived.
“Why are you all staring at me like that?”
“What the shet just happened?” Arty said while rubbing his eyes.
Galahad pointed at Arthur. “You’ve got the frilly on your willy.”
“What’s that?”
“Damn,” bemoaned Merlin. “Your ring is gone, or at least its power is.”
“What?” Arthur said, reaching up under his gown to check. “Nope, it’s still there.”
Scottish Arthur looked to be holding back a sneeze. “I feel like someone should be explainin’ somethin’ to me at the moment.”
“Why are you wearing lady’s gear?” Gaheris asked with a squint.
“Well, uh—Merlin?”
“Uh, right,” Merlin said quickly. “It must be something to do with the time travel. The magic somehow swapped Arthur’s normal clothes with Gwen’s. Yes, that’s it.”
“Could it be that yer not after bein’ able to hear me?” Arty said, waving his hands around.
“Nobody else’s clothes got swapped,” noted G
alahad. “Why just those two?”
“Maybe because he’s closest to her?” Merlin suggested.
“Technically,” Lance-A-Lot said, “I was closest to her during the last few moments.”
“Indeed,” Guinevere purred.
Arthur jolted at that. “What?”
“No, I mean closest as in married to her,” explained Merlin.
“Ah, right.”
“Helloooo,” Arty’s voice was getting a bit higher. “Anyone?”
“And what about him?” Galahad said, pointing at Scottish Arthur. “He looks to be wearing a similar getup.”
“Maybe it’s because they’re both kings?” Merlin didn’t sound too convincing.
“So ye can see me, then.” Arty let out a relieved breath. “That’s good. Wait... Ye can see me wearin’, uh—”
“That explains the clothes,” said Bors, “but what about the makeup?”
“Precisely what I was thinking, Borsy,” said Kay. “Looks like it’s been put on meticulously, too.”
“Magic?” Merlin attempted, sounding even less convincing than before.
Guinevere turned to Arthur and gave him a look that he was rather familiar with. It was the look that she gave him whenever she wanted him to do something he didn’t feel comfortable doing. Usually this look was accompanied with leather tie-downs and a safe-word, but she wouldn’t be expecting something like that now. He hoped.
“Maybe it’s time to be honest, dear.”
“About what?”
“You know about what,” she answered gently.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I really don’t,” Arthur said, his eyes imploring her to keep her lips sealed.
Arthur couldn’t believe his dearest was seriously considering opening the purse—so to speak—on his situation. If word of this spread through Camelot, he’d be laughed out of power, just like in his nightmares. And wasn’t it Guinevere who insisted on keeping all of this private in the first place? She’d been right, of course. Nearly always was. So what in the Seven Hundred and Nineteen Hells was she doing?
“Are we still after bein’ in the tree?” whispered Arty.
“Arthur,” Guinevere said with her hand on one hip, “either you tell them or I shall.”
Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur Page 12
