by K. M. Shea
“Where do I fit into this? I’m not Arthur. I can’t help you,” Britt said, stooping to reclaim her backpack, which had dropped in the same patch of weeds Britt woke up in.
‘Merlin’ watched her with calculating eyes. “That is where you are mistaken. After it became apparent that Arthur would not be returning I cast a second spell on the sword. There is a law regarding this sword—which I tied into the spell,” Merlin said, fondly resting a hand on the sparkling sword. “Whoso pulls this sword from the stone shall be crowned King of Britain,” Merlin quoted. “It never gives a deadline to the proclamation. My second spell was designed to withstand time and to bring the first person who touched the sword and would be able to pull it out back in time.”
Britt stared at the false wizard, unimpressed.
“Time travel spells are very difficult. It took months to craft, but obviously it worked because here you are.”
“That is a load of crap. Time travel? I’m sorry, even for the sake of our vacation I’m not willing to buy that. Lyssa, Grace, come on. We weren’t supposed to do anything King Arthur themed today. You promised! I’m cold, I want to go to the Holmes museum,” Britt said, her voice echoing in the quiet graveyard.
‘Merlin’ rustled his cloak like a ruffled bird fixing its feathers. “I’m sorry, I fail to see the cause of your hesitation.”
“Hesitation? Buddy, you’re looking at solid refusal. For starters you have got to be the worst Merlin actor ever. You’re like, wearing Gandalf’s robe and cloak from Lord of the Rings—which works I guess—but you can’t be much older than me. What, are you like thirty? Everyone knows Merlin is as old as dirt.”
“It’s not my fault Uther wouldn’t listen to me without a fake white beard. I don’t know what sort of brutish land you come from—who has ever heard of a woman wearing leggings?—but appearances are important here. No one is going to listen to a fourteen-year-old boy wizard. Magic is all about deceiving the eyes to reveal the truth, which is what I did,” Merlin said.
Britt hitched her backpack over her shoulders. “You obviously have a complex. But this will not work anyway. There’s no way I could be your King because I’m not British. I’m American, a tourist. Plus I’m not a guy,” Britt said before turning around. “Amber, I’m leaving. Do you want to come with?”
“Yes, well the law doesn’t say ‘whatever Anglo male pulls the sword from the stone’ does it? Your gender and homeland mean nothing to me. The only thing that matters is that you can pull the sword from the stone!” Merlin snapped.
“There’s no way I can pull it!”
“Prove it!”
“Fine!”
Britt stalked up to the gleaming weapon and wrapped her fingers around the hilt. She was elated when there was no shock of electricity, but irked as the grinding of metal against metal tickled her ears when she pulled the sword free from the anvil.
Britt stared at the sword, which was well made—historically accurate even. “This means nothing,” Britt said, stabbing the sword back in the ‘stone’ as Merlin smirked. “Clearly it’s rigged. I’m outta here,” Britt said before striding across the cemetery, heading for the gate.
Merlin stopped smiling and lurched after her. “Where are you going?” he hissed, grabbing her wrist. “Are you mad? If someone sees you dressed like this they’ll burn you as a witch.”
“Now that’s a likely story,” Britt said as she stubbornly forged ahead.
“You’re indecent,” Merlin insisted, still holding Britt’s wrist when they popped out of the cemetery.
Britt took two steps into the dirt street before she stopped. The scents of hay, sweaty men, and animal poop hit her in an overwhelming wave. There was a rhythmic, metallic clang from down the street—a blacksmith nailing a horseshoe on a horse. A man dressed in a tunic walked past, his ancient nag pulling a cart full of chickens. Buildings did not stretch to the sky in cement structures, but squatted low to the ground with thatched roofs and wooden walls. It was even colder outside the cemetery, and a few flakes of snow fell from the cloudy sky.
Britt turned on her heels and fled to the graveyard.
“Now do you understand what has happened?” Merlin asked as Britt yanked her arm from his grasp.
Britt cupped her hands around her eyes as she sank to the ground, her knees weakened. “I couldn’t have been out for that long. There’s no way Lyssa could have arranged for me to be dumped in a renaissance village after getting knocked out—unless they drugged me,” Britt pushed up her sleeves and inspected her arms, looking for any injection marks.
She didn’t see any, but terror and adrenaline clawed at her heart. The world started to tilt, and Britt couldn’t seem to breathe enough air. “Oh crap,” Britt said before sinking back on her butt and putting her head between her knees. “Crap,” Britt repeated with more feeling. “Am I dead? Did I die when I was shocked? It’s the middle of July, why is it snowing?”
Merlin placed a cautious hand on Britt’s shoulder. “Britt Arthurs, are you alright? I did not think there would be any ill effects of time travel, but I am sure this must come as a shock to you. It is acceptable to find yourself overwrought.”
Britt jerked her head up, ready to shout hysterics at the handsome wizard. When she met Merlin’s eyes she paused. Merlin was too cute for his time. He was suspiciously cute, in fact. His hair wasn’t long either, unlike his two companions. It was short and soft, and he had no facial hair.
Britt inhaled before she let her head sink between her knees again. “That’s it, I must be dreaming. I subconsciously made up a hot Merlin. I bet I’m knocked out and stuck in a backwater British hospital because of that lightning strike. I’m just experiencing King Arthur in my dreams because Lyssa has been forcing her chivalry propaganda on me. I can deal with this. I’m just unconscious. This is all a dream.”
Merlin produced a vial and handed it to Britt.
Britt hesitated. Was it wise to take a drink from a stranger? She looked up to stare at the handsome figment of her imagination and shook her head. It didn’t matter, she was dreaming anyway. Britt took a swig from the vial and almost choked. She had been expecting water; instead the suspicious wizard had fed her a bitter liquid.
“What was that?” she coughed as Merlin reclaimed the vial and tucked it up a sleeve.
“Water laced with hops.” He said. “To calm you. It’s used in Beer.”
“I can’t imagine why. It tastes awful,” Britt complained.
“It also had some Valerian extract in it, which would account for the taste,” Merlin said as he watched Britt shakily stand. “That is it?” he asked as Britt made a small circuit around him. “No more panicking? You aren’t going to shed a thousand tears?”
“Nope,” Britt said, watching her feet as she walked. “No sense but to keep dreaming,” she muttered under her breath as she adjusted the straps on her backpack.
Merlin hummed in approval. “Excellent. I think you will make a great king, Britt Arthurs. You handle unexpected situations quite well. I don’t think you will face such a mind boggling situation as King as you did right now. Well done.”
Britt snorted but finally lifted her gaze and rolled her shoulders back. “Alright, what next?” If this was a dream it was best to play along.
“We prepare you for pulling the sword from the stone. Officially like, that is to say. Come. New clothes are in order—you must be positively chilled in that garb—and I must introduce you to your family,” Merlin said, weaving his way to the back of the cemetery before ducking into the church.
Twenty minutes later Britt uncomfortably shifted her weight as she stood for inspection under Merlin’s critical gaze.
She was wearing a tunic. A blue tunic that matched the shade of her eyes and hit her knees. Beneath the tunic she wore an inner tunic made of linen that stuck to her like a second skin. She also had on hose, or chausses as Merlin called them. Britt almost laughed in his face when the man explained that instead of wearing pants, men wore drawers, the tunic
, and the fitted socks/chausses. The final piece of her ensemble was a stuffed doublet, which was worn under her outer tunic in an attempt to flatten her chest. It worked. She was as flat as a board and more than a little grateful for the extra layer in the cold weather.
“When you are king your curves will be easier to hide as it will be acceptable for you to wear armor. But for now you are nothing but a squire, so this will have to do,” Merlin said, selecting a belt.
Britt cinched it around her waist. “You’re going to hide my gender then?”
“Yes,” Merlin said, picking up a comb and leather cord. “I understand that the sword found you a worthy candidate in spite of your sex. All of my cohorts will understand as well, so they will be informed of the situation. The people I want to hide you from are your enemies—the greedy, tyrant kings we seek to overthrow—and the general population. Peasants are a rather super suspicious sort of folk.”
“I don’t see how this will work, then. My hair is long and I’ve got a girly face.”
“Your hair may be long for your time period, but here it is common practice for women to have hair to their lower back, or occasionally even their knees. Your hair is actually rather manly—if a bit better kept,” Merlin said, handing Britt the comb and cord. “Tie the upper half of your hair back, yes like that.”
“Gee, thanks,” Britt said as she tied off her hair.
“As for your features, they are unfortunately delicate. But that can be easily explained. We will say you have some faerie blood in your family. Everyone knows faeries are fine and beautiful, and no one will think twice about the matter. Perfect, you look just like a strapping young boy of 15. You are tall for your age, but that will be advantageous. Arthur couldn’t quite manage a beard yet, so I dare say no one will question your lack of facial hair between your age and the faerie blood.”
“Fairies? Those aren’t real.”
Merlin flicked Britt in the forehead with his pointer finger. “Of course they are. Don’t insult them or they’ll ruin your life. Now for your family. Sir Ector, Sir Kay, enter as you will,” Merlin said, turning to shout the words into the hallway.
Merlin’s graveyard minions trooped into the room, standing at attention.
“Sirs, this is our new King: Britt Arthurs. From henceforth you are to refer to her as Arthur. And a him. The sword has judged her to be worthy candidate, and she pulled the sword from the stone unaided,” Merlin said, planting his hands on his hips.
“My King,” the two men murmured, kneeling before Britt—who was unconvinced of the show of devotion.
“Britt Arthurs, I present to you Sir Ector and his son Sir Kay. Sir Ector took you in when you were but a babe and lovingly raised you as if you were his own son,” Merlin said, gesturing to the shorter, portly figure.
Sir Ector had a fierce beard and large ears. His eyes were kind and his stout belly jingled as he smiled, but Britt found herself prejudice against the man.
Britt’s father had left her mother when she was ten. As far as she was concerned fathers were unnecessary cranks in the mechanics of life. It was unlikely this man would be of any help to her at all.
“If the sword finds you worthy so do I. It will be an honor to serve under you,” Sir Ector said before bending his considerable girth into a bow.
“And this is your foster brother, the churlish Sir Kay. Kay is twenty, and a proper knight in his own right. Because of his great love for you—or because he wanted cheap labor—he made you his squire,” Merlin said.
Although the wizard’s words were mean, Merlin cast a mischievous look at Kay.
The young knight bore it well and ignored the wizard. He was taller than his father and built like an American football player—wide but muscled. Unlike his father he sported a mustache, and—Britt noted with vexation—his hair was only a few inches shorter than Britt’s.
“My King,” Sir Kay stiffly said, kneeling once more.
“The introductions have been made, so let us move out. Arthur needs to meet the knights who will serve him before the tournament on Christmas Day when he pulls the sword,” Merlin started.
“Christmas? No wonder it’s freezing. I was visiting England in the middle of July,” Britt muttered.
“We have two days, men. We must use them wisely,” Merlin continued, speaking to the knights more as if they were his troops than his companions.
The father and son nodded—Sir Ector cast a smile at Britt—and left the church.
Britt moved to follow them, but Merlin caught her by the shoulder. “A moment of your time please, Britt,” Merlin said, adding her name when Britt raised an eyebrow at him.
Merlin waited until Sir Ector and Sir Kay were out of hearing distance before speaking. “You are going to be overwhelmed in the coming days, but it is important that you grasp this. Lean on these two men. Kay was raised to be the King’s helper, and I handpicked Sir Ector out of all the knights in the realm as the one most suitable to advise and raise the future King. They are willing to serve you…and they are hurting. Arthur abandoning his responsibilities cut both of them deeply. They miss him terribly, and they regret much. It would be a kindness to them if you did choose to trust them.”
Britt turned to watch the father and son disappear from view when they exited the graveyard. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 2
Enemies of the Crown
The morning of the tournament Britt sat on a wooden bench, watching the jousts. The many knights and lords Merlin had collected for his monarchy vision over the years were scattered through the field. Britt saw one or two of them every few minutes as they attempted to blend in and act normal. The ringleaders of the movement, though, were holed up in Sir Kay’s tent.
Two knights—one dressed in green the other in red—ran at each other from opposite ends of the field, their horses snorting and prancing. They lowered their lances as they drew closer. Crack! The green knight was knocked from his horse.
The red knight raised his lance in victory and the crowd roared.
Britt sighed, disgusted with the lack of realism in her dream.
A shadow fell over her. “Having second thoughts, Arthur?”
Britt bolted from the rough bench, only to plop back on it when she realized it was Merlin. “No. I just find this idea unrealistic at best. This is clearly a patriarchal society. Women have no rights. I find it excessively hard to believe that your knights would rally behind a woman.”
Merlin collected his robes around him before sitting next to Britt. “You are correct. Women do not rule here. But to be truthful, it’s not like you will be ruling much.”
Britt nodded, picking three of Merlin’s knights out of the crowd. “I thought as much. You have all my officials, advisors, even my top warriors picked out for me. Will I do anything but sit on the throne and give a face to your monarchy?”
“You judge too harshly. I did not mean to say you will have no power, Arthur. It takes more than a single man to change the course of history. That is why I gathered so many men. We aim to forge a new Britain. A better one. You won’t rule much at first, but as you win over the men I think you’ll be surprised at the power you will find you have,” Merlin said, fixing his eyes on her before kindly smiling.
Britt shivered. “These men follow you. You are the only reason they accept me as their King, woman or not. Why are you willing to give me a kingdom?”
Merlin looked back to the tournament. The red knight was facing off against a knight dressed in crimson. “I was taught magic by the fae. Some of the most powerful magic users are women, so I do not doubt your capabilities.”
“And?”
“And… perhaps I see more than you think I do, Britt Arthurs,” Merlin said, his smile was so slight it was barely a curl at the corners of his lips. “I forged the Sword in the Stone, and I made the spell that keeps it there. I know what is required to pull it free, and anyone who is able to do that deserves respect,” Merlin said as the crimson knight went crashing off his
horse. He abruptly stood. “Come now. It’s almost time. You had best go speak with Sir Ector and Sir Kay before you run off.”
Britt stood and fixed her warm cloak before she followed Merlin to the tent.
The past two days had been nothing but a parade of manly faces and endless drilling of names and titles. Sometime between memorizing names and choking down lamb stew Britt had realized that her dream was not like the books. This wasn’t the victorious crowning of the young Arthur where everyone knelt at his feet and adored him.
Merlin was too calculating for that.
Britt’s crowning was going to be a political movement. As King she could chose who to empower and who to weaken. Merlin had every knight, baron, and prince arranged in a manner he saw most fitting. It was Merlin who was pulling the strings. All of the choices were his; Britt was nothing but his puppet.
“Boy!” Sir Ector boomed when Britt entered the tent behind Merlin. (Sir Ector was trying exceedingly hard to befriend Britt. Britt didn’t know if it was to make their supposed relationship believable, or if it was because he was greedy for power.) “Did you get to see a joust? Are you well?”
Britt considered the question more deeply than Sir Ector meant for her to. Was she well? Britt didn’t care if she was the beloved one true king or merely Merlin’s mouthpiece. As long as the man didn’t put her life in danger or compromised her values she didn’t care what happened. This was all just a dream anyway. Besides, how often did one get the chance to rule medieval England? “Yes, I am well.”
Sir Kay slid a glove on his hand. “I will be grooming my horse. You know where to find me when you retrieve the sword, My Lord?”
