Tales of the Once and Future King

by Anthony Marchetta

  The lumber wharf swayed as the bow brushed against it. Gawain and Galahad were all business as they hooked the ship into the pulley system that would lower the Ether Joy into the great hall. Percival and Bedivere made eyes at one another as they worked. Those two didn’t yet know what the rest of the crew already did.

  Turning to Galahad, Arthur said, “Once we’re tied in for the night, send Percival to find me. I’ll be with Henry, finding out who is the best of the best.” Galahad’s head bobbed in response, and Arthur added, “Let’s hope the two don’t mind being roused from their beds and plied with coin.”

  Act Two

  Dover Castle

  Two Days Later

  “Will it hold?” Arthur stared at the engine as Henry’s men raised the Ether Joy upward and out of the keep, to the tip of the air dock. Once Bors had the repairs managed, he’d disappeared.

  “Aye,” Bors nodded. “Those two were nigh skilled enough to join us back at home.”

  Arthur’s shoulders lifted. He hadn’t realized the weight he’d felt since Bors had nervously delivered the bad news, mid-flight over the channel. He was young, leading a group of older-than-him knights in trying to build an empire. Sometimes, he second-guessed his decisions. Maybe this one had been the correct one. “Good, good, then we’re headed home this morning.”

  “It’s been a fine respite, sir,” Gawain beamed at Arthur from the shadows of the empty hold, in better spirits than before.

  Arthur chuckled. “Indeed.” It had taken several hours to bargain the best tinker and blacksmith from their beds to have a look at the Ether Joy’s inner workings. Arthur wagered those two wouldn’t be able to keep their tongues from wagging in the pubs. They had been awestruck. It was a good thing the races were only a month away, many more encounters and the rumors would become ugly. Great Britain didn’t need their own version of Frankenstein’s monster. That debacle had been bad enough for the morale of the region.

  Arthur took the steps two at a time with Gawain close behind. “Do you have anything to do, Gawain?”

  “No, sir,” his toe caught on the top step and his next step was a heavy one. Sir Gawain was nervous. Gawain cleared his throat, then continued, “That is to say, sir, I wondered if I might have a word with you.” Gawain wiped at the sheen on his upper lip.

  “Is that a sheen, brother? You didn’t perspire when a horde descended from the mountains.” Gawain ducked his head and pressed his lips into an awkward smile.

  “Prepare for departure,” Arthur bellowed, pleased with the stampede of running feet that followed. His men could still move posthaste, when they had a mind for it. “Spit it out, Gawain.”

  “My… my… lady friend has an elderly aunt that would like to travel with us, sir. They have kinfolk near Camelot, and I told them…” He stuttered and then tugged on his beard. “That is, I told her that we could ferry her from here to there.”

  “Ah, and why would you make such promises?” Arthur bit back the smile, enjoying the fluttery behavior, so different from the usually stalwart knight.

  “Chivalry, Sir Arthur,” he answered, tugging even harder on his heavy beard.

  Arthur’s laugh echoed over the boat. “Stop plucking on your beard, Gawain.” Arthur clapped Gawain’s shoulders. “Your beloved maiden may like that half of your face hidden. Bring them aboard. How much trouble could one aged aunt be?”

  Gawain relaxed. “I’ll return shortly. They’re waiting nearby.” Gawain bustled away, returning quickly with two women. They must have been waiting just around the corner, bags in-hand.

  The willowy one had long, loose blond hair. She was dressed in a pretty silks and a smile, leading a shuffling, age-stooped woman behind. The older had graying black hair and she squinted as though she couldn’t see.

  The younger led the older to Arthur’s side. Gawain’s chest swelled, and he said, “Captain Arthur, this is my betrothed, Nyneve. Her people are from the lakes.” And then he turned to the older woman. “This is Merlyn.”

  Arthur bowed low, taking each of their hands in turn. “Pleased to be of assistance to such lovely ladies.” Turning to Gawain, he said, “Take them below. They can stay in the Captain’s Quarters.” Gawain’s eyes widened slightly, but his surprised expression was quickly replaced with grin.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “Thank you, sir.” And he ushered the duo away, hovering and fluttering around them.

  Gawain shouldn’t be so surprised. Arthur much preferred sleeping on deck in fair weather and in a hammock strung between supports in bad. And if Arthur hadn’t been certain before, he was sure now. Gawain was smitten.

  They launched without issue.

  Arthur crouched as he stepped through the doorway and into the low-ceilinged dining hall. Preparing for crowds of passengers, Arthur had the room fashioned by separating the hold into two parts. The stern portion was the engine room, the bow side had been developed into a kitchen and an eating gallery that could accommodate up to one hundred hungry passengers.

  Arthur’s stomach had been complaining nearly since the moment they left the Dover Castle airport. “What’s for mid-day, Percival?” he bellowed. The echo in the cavernous dining room amused him. A squeaky noise sounded followed by the clearing of a throat. “Percival?”

  When Percival didn’t answer, Arthur continued into the galley where Percival was stoking the fire, as he leaned against the cabinetry that covered the sidewall. One of the wives of a master ship builder had added the short drapes to each of the open-faced cabinets. “What was that?” Percival asked. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Arthur lifted an eyebrow. “Did you trap a mouse?” Percival shook his head. “A bird?” Percival shook his head again. “Are you practicing the mating call of the rarest albino Indian peafowl?”

  Percival didn’t answer, but only hung his head as he poked at the flames, his expression miserable. Arthur studied the quiet man in front of him, searching for a clue. Behind Percival’s legs, the curtains hiding the lard bin fluttered, and then Arthur noticed fingertips poking out from beneath.

  “You’re hiding something, Percival, and I cannot have a man who hides things on my ship.” Percival’s gaze snapped to Arthur’s and his eyes widened. “As soon as we return to Camelot, you’re dismissed.”

  A gasp sounded from the cabinet. Several thumps followed by an “ow” and pained muttering before Bedivere tumbled from the cabinet, crashing into Percival’s legs and knocking him to the floor ahead of her. Arthur chuckled, and then Percival’s troubled face broke in a grin, but Bedivere clamored to her feet, sputtering.

  “You can’t do that. He was hiding me, worried about my honor.” She shot Percival a scathing look. “Even though he didn’t need to. I shouldn’t have climbed into the shelf.”

  Arthur crossed his arms and frowned at Bedivere. “Should I be concerned for your honor?”

  Bedivere drew herself to her full height. “You are not old enough to concern yourself with my honor, Arthur Pendragon.” She drenched Arthur with an icy stare. “My honor,” she said, “is intact. If you must know…” She put her hands on her hips. “I kissed him.”

  Pervical squawked. “Beddy, don’t tell him that.” And then his pale cheeks turned bright red and the muscle in his jaw worked.

  “Well, it’s true,” she said.

  “Yes, but…” he said.

  “I can see my job here is done.” Arthur raised his hands as he backed from the room. In the dining hall, he turned on his heel. “I’m off to fetch our guests,” he called over his shoulder. His chuckle turned to laughter as Bedivere proclaimed that she would never wear skirts either, and if Percy thought she would, why, he had another thing coming.

  At the stern, the Captain’s Quarters were built on deck, but below the helm, separated from the crew noise by a hallway with storage closets on either side. Arthur listened at the threshold of the corridor, trying to hear women’s voices. Hearing nothing, he eased down the hall. The solid door was ajar, so he peaked inside.

&nbs
p; The room was empty, barely touched. Arthur strolled inside. Two carpet bags sat under the table in the middle of the floor. As he turned a slow circle next to the only chair, he noticed the rug on his floor had been moved to expose the access to the engine room. The grate was wide open. Unless there was an emergency, no one used that exit except Arthur.

  His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted. Just who had Gawain brought onto their ship? Templar spies? He crouched beside the square opening and stared into the shadows below. He couldn’t see anything, but he heard two women whispering. Prickles slithered up his spine, raising goosebumps, malaise rolling over him.

  Arthur placed his foot on the top rung, but a low creak rumbled through the ship, and then another rumbled so loud Arthur’s insides vibrated. He hesitated at the top of the ladder. If they were under attack, his men might need him.

  Outside the Captain’s Quarters, shouts and the sound of running feet filled the air. There was a sound like ripping metal and the whole vessel shuddered. From above, Arthur heard Galahad roar, “Captain, come quick.”

  Arthur stepped back into his room, rushed through the door, and out onto the deck and into pandemonium.

  Men rushed this way and that, checking things as they went. Bedivere scaled the rope net that surrounded the Zeppelin with a dagger in her teeth, checking for anything and everything that might be out of place. Arthur dashed to the side of the ship and peered over the railing. They weren’t losing altitude. That was good. From behind the wheel on the helm deck, Gawain beckoned Arthur with a frantic wave.

  As soon as Arthur was close enough, Gawain said, “Sir, the blades aren’t turning. We’re adrift.” He pointed at the stern railing.

  Arthur jogged passed Gawain without comment and studied the prop. The blades weren’t spinning and a trail of dark smoke bled from the engine exhaust pipe. He straightened just as Gawain let out a low whistle and a stream of curses under his breath.

  Gawain didn’t let go of the helm. Instead, he bellowed, “What’s the meaning of this?” And then Arthur saw what Gawain saw: a snarl-faced Bors urging a weeping Nyneve and the aged Merlyn ahead of him at blade point. Gawain whispered, “I have a short sword behind you, Captain. You can take it and I’ll rip the deranged Scotsman to pieces with my bare hands.”

  “Easy, Gawain, let’s ask a question or two before we go to war,” Arthur soothed. Then he yelled, “What the blast are you doing, Bors?” Perhaps the mechanic wasn’t cut out for the stress of the engine room. Arthur recalled the open hatch in his chambers and pursed his lips.

  Arthur climbed down to the main deck. “Bors, what is this?” he repeated, coming to a halt in front of the trio. Barefoot, Bedivere dropped to the deck beside Percival, who was still panting from his crisscrossing run as he checked the ship.

  “Captain,” Bors bit out. “I found them casting incantations over the engine. They have sabotaged us.” A murdering sheen colored Bors’ blue eyes. He was as good as married to the Ether Joy, and if these two had ruined her, Bors would be inconsolable. Unmanageable. Dangerous.

  “Ladies,” Arthur nodded to each of them. “I find that we’re in an interesting situation.” Nyneve sobbed louder, and Merlyn scowled at anyone close enough for her to see. He continued, “Before we proceed, it’s important to note that I was in my suite earlier.” Nyneve’s wailing stopped, and Merlyn lifted an eyebrow. Arthur went on, “I found something interesting, heard some fascinating whispers from beneath my private, engine room access.”

  “Very well, Captain Arthur,” Merlyn said. She straightened from her hunch, aging in reverse as the air around her shimmered and twisted as a façade fell away. Straight, dark hair fell to her waist. Nyneve crossed her arms and adopted an apathetic air, tears dried and gone. “Let’s drop all pretense, shall we?” She settled her hands on her hips. “How is Myrddin? Still have a touch of foretelling?”

  Bors’ expression turned smug. And in the shared, shocked quiet, Arthur heard Gawain’s sharp intake of air. Adrift in the skies, Arthur had a new problem. Two women had control of his ship.

  Act Three

  The sunlight slanted through the clouds, throwing bits of rainbow throughout the wispy clouds. Arms crossed, Arthur was in a standoff with two spell casters that had sabotaged his airship. “What do you want?” he asked, trying to keep the sneer from his face.

  Merlyn smiled. “Take us home.”

  Arthur scowled. “We were already on the way. Why would you destroy the engine?”

  “Winchester isn’t our home.” Nyneve answered. She glanced at Merlyn. “We’re sisters, and our home is Stonehenge. You will take us there.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would we fly you to Stonehenge? It’s hours beyond Winchester.” He turned away, already dismissing their request. “If we set down in Winchester, we can send you on in a carriage pulled by animated horses. We have a pair of steam-powered steeds that we can send with you. You’ll arrive without delay.”

  Merlyn laid her hand on Arthur’s forearm. “No, Captain Arthur, you will take us to Stonehenge.” Merlyn’s gaze was intense, her eyes as green as the Irish fields.

  Nyneve took Arthur’s hand, and he studied the slender, pale fingers wrapped around his. When he glanced up, he found Nyneve’s gaze. Her gray eyes were stormy as the sea beneath a hurricane. Lightning flashed in her irises. “We came aboard for you, Arthur. There’s something you must see there.” Arthur felt drawn in, enticed by tumult.

  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and yanked him backwards. “Get back, ye witch,” Bors barked. “Sir, they’re enchanting you.” Arthur blinked and shook his head to clear the muddle that had grown between his ears. Bors was right, but there was something to what Nyneve said. Something that echoed the manic mutterings of the wizard Myrddin.

  Gawain stepped between Arthur and the two women, his formidable axe clenched tightly in his meaty fists. Back to Arthur, he growled, “Enough, Nyneve. Your treachery is complete.”

  Nyneve stepped closer to Gawain, staring up into his eyes, and Gawain stiffened. “My feelings weren’t a lie, beloved.” She whispered, but the admission was loud on the deck without a wind or an engine or the bustle of crewman to drown out the words. “I shouldn’t have promised forever.” She leaned up on the balls of her feet, took Gawain’s face between her hands, and gently kissed his cheek. And then she leaned back, staring at each of them in turn, “We mean Captain Arthur no harm.”

  Gawain turned away, droplets glistening in his dark beard, catching the lessening light like precious gems. Bold-hearted Gawain had loved a mirage, and Arthur felt the wound of his brother deeply. Arthur sighed. He didn’t have time to commiserate with him. They had to work out the mess aboard the Ether Joy.

  Arthur threw his hands down in frustration. “What did you do to my ship?”

  Merlyn opened her mouth to speak, but Bors interrupted. “She destroyed another cylinder, but this time…” He grimaced. “Boom.”

  Merlyn laughed at the outraged Bors. “We kept the engine from shooting out the stern. You should thank us.” Her gaze cut to Arthur. “And we can repair it.”

  “With magic?” Arhur smoothed his fingers over his chin, considering their offer.

  “With magic, of course. That’s what we used to break it.”

  “And then what?”

  “You give us your word and go to Stonehenge. Alone, you must escort us to the center of the circle. After that, you’ll be free to go.” She tossed a grin at Bors, as if to say it was simple.

  “Arthur’s too smart for the likes of you,” Bors said, shaking his sword at her.

  Arthur lifted his hand. The Scotsman was getting riled again, and Arthur wanted to avoid any and all bloodshed. “It doesn’t sound like we have a choice, Bors. They’ve kidnapped all of us to get at me.”

  His mouth agape, Bors rounded on Arthur. “Y-y-you mean you’re going?”

  “I think so.” He crossed to his quarters. “Galahad!”

  The first officer trotted up, his face tight from the stress
. “Inspect the ship. Make it happen. When these two are ready,” he jerked his head toward Merlyn and Nyneve. “Send Percival.”

  “Yes, sir.” The muscle in Galahad’s jaw worked. He had opinions about Arthur’s choice, but Arthur didn’t ask to hear them, and Galahad stomped away.

  Inside his suite, Arthur picked up the two carpet bags and chucked them to the deck beyond. Then he slammed the door behind him.

  There was a noise outside Arthur’s door. At first, it was so soft, Arthur wasn’t sure he heard it, and he crossed the room to investigate. “Sir, we’re ready.” Percival said, his voice even quieter than his knocks.

  Myrddin’s book hadn’t been any help. He hadn’t picked up any more of the gibberish in the half-hour since he closed himself in. Magic wasn’t something he liked, and no matter how he stared at the text on the page, it didn’t make sense.

  Arthur pulled the handle and found Percival standing there and Bedivere hovering behind him. “I’ll meet you down there,” he said and jogged to his private access.

  As he set foot below, five crew members and two witches were assembled around the engine, the rods were mangled and bent. Bors stood apart, sullen and sour-faced. “Come on,” Arthur drew him in. “Let’s see what they can do.”

  Merlyn met Arthur’s eyes. “I think we’ll surprise you.” Arthur shrugged. Nyneve took Merlyn’s hand and the two began a repetitive chant. As their fervor increased, the engine room filled with a vision-warping shimmer. The air moved and breathy voices echoed the words the sisters spoke.

  As they watched, the metal rod twisted and turned, drawing straight as though possessed. The cylinders glowed bright red, heating until the casing fused back together.

  Within the hold, Bedivere whimpered and Percival drew her close, smoothing his hand over her back. Gawain’s mouth fell open, the mirror of Galahad. Bors fell to his knees and began a loud prayer.