Nights 'Round the Table (9/14)
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen
There were five of them and six courses plus alcohol. It was Forridel who found the space with some friends of friends, in a cookie factory turned live-work space in East Oakland. Will D. arranged for the beer pairings, Gilli had the brilliant idea to serve it all on kid’s partyware which incidentally gave them the theme of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and Will E. fed the announcement of the supper club though the usual channels, set up the online payment system, kept the books, and convinced Merlin he had time to do two of the courses.
Merlin was pretty sure that Will E. charged too much, but when he asked, Will made some noise about how people would pay anything to say they knew someone before they were famous, and he could make a million dollars exploiting hipsters and their need to be cool.
The location had been decked out in potted palms and fake statuary that someone, probably Forridel, since she had connections everywhere, had convinced one of the local prop shops to lend them. They had crates of beer to go with each dish, six courses prepped and ready to finish, and 35 expected attendees. Merlin had forbidden Will E. from adding a second night.
He knew there were plenty of chefs out there who did this kind of thing all the time, but the stress of doing something technically illegal while in the midst of filming had Merlin on edge, especially since it was largely based on his name that people were coming.
Word had spread quickly about the filming for A Wizard in the Kitchen. It had only taken one person on Yelp to tell everyone that Ambrosia was full of cameras, and suddenly the place was packed every night. When Gilli got the brilliant idea that he wanted to put up a supper club, Merlin balked at participating. He had nothing like free time to invest in doing it. Fortunately Gilli also planned out the entire menu and found the basic recipes, so that all Merlin had to do was take his assigned courses and make them better.
The two Wills had found a few other people and drafted them into hosting duties, handing out plates, and filling glasses. Merlin didn’t know them, but given they seemed relaxed and happy to be there, and he assumed they were coworkers of Will D.
The five round tables were covered with khaki table cloths. Each setting consisted of brown napkins, and three plastic cups. The water glasses were plastic chalices someone had found and done things like add rhinestones and stickers to so they all looked different. He supposed they were supposed to be false grails.
It took forever to get started, people treated it as an event to be fashionably late to, not as a reserved dinner they needed to be on time for, lest they lose their seat. But once they got everyone seated, the movie started and drinks poured, everything moved quickly.
Forridel, Gilli, and Merlin took turns on their courses. They’d done most of the prep at The Ring where Gilli worked, since it was just a breakfast and lunch place. Each dish originated from the film’s locations, from Peru to Egypt, and they had tried to select dishes that would complement each other. For the dessert, though, they decided it would be funniest if they went with stuffed dates.
Merlin stayed in the narrow kitchen except when he had to plate his dishes (Nepali momos and Lamb with orzo) or to assist in plating the others’. He didn’t know if there was any merit to what Will had said. Maybe people were here because of him and maybe it was because of the trendiness of supper clubs or even the relative coolness factor in the theme. But he did get the opportunity to see who was out in the dining area, and there were several heavy hitters. He recognized Edwin from The Black Beetle, and Anhora from Unicorn and an older man with a neatly trimmed grey beard who stood out in the crowd of mostly thirty-somethings. There was something overwhelmingly familiar about him, but Merlin couldn’t place him, until Will D. came flying into the kitchen just after the entree was served to tell them that Taliesin Baird had complimented his beer choices.
Forridel dropped the spoon she was using to drizzle honey on dates. “Taliesin? I thought he never left New York.”
Gilli proceeded to panic. “Fuck, why would he come to this? I mean yeah we’re awesome, but Taliesin? He’s got, like, three Michelin-starred restaurants. How do you live up to that?”
Merlin took a deep breath. “We just have to get through it. He’s probably just slumming it or something. We serve dessert and the digestif and we clean up and go home, just like we planned. If good things come of it, then cool, and if not, then we can tell our grandchildren about the time we hosted an unlicensed dinner and gave food poisoning to one of the world’s most famous restaurateurs.”
“You think he’ll get food poisoning.” Will D looked concerned.
“No, but it’ll make a better story. Send the kids in to serve this last course. We’ll face our fates soon enough.”
They followed Merlin’s instructions, the crowd finished their meals and applauded and thanked the chefs, and busing went smoothly. Merlin went to work packing away equipment while Forridel handled the leftover food and Gilli began running their gear down to his car. Merlin was caught up in his own head, thinking of how he could continue the movie theme and do another dinner, when he realized he had someone behind him.
“Merlin Emrys?”
“Yeah?” He asked, turning around and coming face to face with Taliesin himself. “Sir.”
“I wanted to discuss your career with you. Where are you working?” He seemed genuinely interested.
Merlin blinked, convinced he couldn’t have heard that right. “Um, I’m doing a show right now for Pendragon, but it’s mostly because they were desperate for a show and my uncle wasn’t as interested in being the star.”
“I rather doubt it was all due to your uncle, but that’s not why I wanted to speak to you. I’m opening a new restaurant next year, and my chef at Crystal will be moving to the new location. I’d like to offer you the sous chef position at Crystal now, and if all goes well, you will be made executive chef when Dave leaves.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes, pretty sure he couldn’t be hearing that right. “Me? Are you sure? Did my dad ask you to give me a job?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met your father. But,” he said, pulling out a business card. “Give me a call if you’re interested when you’re done with your filming schedule.” Taliesin handed him the card . “I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, as he rejoined his small entourage, and left.
Merlin went back to tearing down the venue decor. He knew Taliesin would have no reason to lie to him, but he found it hard to believe that his culinary skill was enough to make someone like Taliesin offer him a job with no idea of who he was or where he worked. He didn’t think he’d ever need it, but he put the man’s information in his phone just to be able to say he had it.
Merlin always felt a bit useless at catering gigs. Most of the real cooking was done beforehand, which left only assembly and plating on-site. In truth, Merlin’s biggest role at jobs like this was to keep the people hosting the event from causing too much disruption to the catering staff, something which was remarkably difficult to do with a film crew hovering over his shoulder.
It didn’t help that A Wizard in the Kitchen had aired its debut episode only five days earlier, to rave reviews, and people kept wanting to come over to tell the Ambrosia staff how very much they enjoyed the show. And, Merlin suspected, to try to get a little camera time themselves.
“I’m afraid Chef Du Cameliard is quite busy at the moment,” Merlin said, gently herding a sharply-dressed, middle-aged woman away from where Gwen was spinning delicate, molten brown sugar webs over individual servings of cardamom custard. “I’ll be happy to pass on your compliment, though. I’m sure she’ll very much appreciate it.”
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt,” the woman said, giving a longing look over Merlin’s shoulder, “but are you sure I couldn’t speak with her for just a moment? I won’t be long.”
Merlin just barely refrained from grinding his teeth. He would have bet good money the woman’s longing gaze was for the camera crew, not Gwen.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, “but it wouldn’t do to interrupt her concentration. You know what they say about breaking an artist’s concentration.”
Merlin wasn’t actually familiar with any sayings regarding the subject, but the woman nodded as though he’d said something profound and allowed him to lead her back out into the main part of the event hall.
When Merlin turned to head back to the kitchen, he found himself face to face with Arthur Pendragon, looking like something out of a magazine as he lounged against the door jamb in a jet-black suit and tie. Merlin was acutely aware of the grease spot on his own coat, the result of an incident earlier involving melted butter and a lighting technician who wasn’t paying enough attention to where he was going.
“I thought for a minute there I was going to have to rescue you,” Arthur said with that infuriatingly smug grin that made Merlin want to hit him. Or maybe lick him. He could never quite decide.
“Sorry you didn’t get to play the brave and noble knight,” Merlin answered, “but I doubt I’d make a very good damsel, anyway.”
Arthur cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know. Maybe with a little pink taffeta...”
“As much as I’d love to hear more about your kinks, Arthur, I’ve really got to get back to work.”
He’d meant it as a joke, a little extra bite to the reminder that, unlike Arthur, Merlin was at the banquet to work. Except Arthur’s smug smile faded away and his eyes were suddenly wide and serious.
“You invited me,” he blurted.
Merlin stared. “I what?”
“At the pub,” Arthur said, not meeting his eyes. “You said I should stop by filming, and then Morgana had an extra ticket to this thing and I saw on the filming schedule that you’d be here, so... I came.”
“I thought you’d forgotten about that by now,” Merlin said. Or that Arthur was just blowing him off, after Percy had made him sound like some sort of obsessed stalker.
“No,” Arthur said, raising his eyes to look straight at Merlin. “I didn’t forget.”
Merlin wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or possibly just bang his head into the nearest wall until he lost consciousness. Arthur Pendragon had to be the most confusing, frustrating man in existence, and Merlin didn’t have the time or patience to deal with him tonight.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” Merlin said.
A shadow of Arthur’s cocky smile returned. “No one’s stopping you.”
Merlin gave him a flat stare, refusing to let himself be sidetracked by dimples. “You’re blocking the doorway.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “Right.”
He stepped aside, although just barely. Merlin could smell his cologne as he walked past.
“Wait,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin’s arm just as he made it through the doorway.
Merlin turned to him. “Make it quick. I need to get back to protecting our staff from camera-whoring socialites.”
“Look,” Arthur said, “I don’t do this often, so you’d better appreciate it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
Merlin stared. Maybe Arthur was just crazy. “Sorry for what?” He wondered if he was going to hate himself later for asking.
“For whatever it is I keep doing to make you uncomfortable,” Arthur said, his hand still on Merlin’s arm. “I don’t mean to, so. Sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Merlin said, shaking his head.
“But,” Arthur said, his brow furrowing, “what about that night at the pub?”
At the-- Oh. Oh, Merlin was going to kill Percy the next time he saw him.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Merlin said. “Percy was just being an ass, that’s all.”
“But it wasn’t the first time it happened,” Arthur insisted. “Every time we talk, it’s fine for a bit, and then you get all... weird and fidgety.”
“Me?” Merlin asked, incredulous. “I get weird and fidgety?”
“Yes!” Arthur said. “That’s it, exactly.”
“No,” Merlin said, “that’s not it at all. You’re the one who--” He broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get back and make sure the fish course gets out properly.”
“I’m not going to apologize again,” Arthur told him, his thumb stroking along Merlin’s biceps.
“Good,” Merlin said. “Now, are you going to let go of me so I can do my job?”
Arthur looked down at his hand as though he were stunned to find it still resting on Merlin’s arm. Merlin’s annoyance got the better of him.
“I’m not the one who’s uncomfortable, Arthur,” he said, lowering his voice. “I mean, yeah, sometimes it’s a little distracting that you’re as hot as you are, but you’ve met my friends. I’m used to being surrounded by hot people.”
Arthur gaped at him.
“And, yeah,” Merlin continued, “sometimes I really kind of wish you’d make up your mind about whether or not you want in my pants, but I’m not uncomfortable that you might.” Surely sexual frustration could be counted as a separate category from discomfort.
Arthur continued to stare at him, mouth working soundlessly.
“I’m going to get back to work,” Merlin told him. “I’ll see you around.”
This time, Arthur didn’t try to stop him.
Something of Merlin’s irritation must have shown on his face, because Gwen stopped arranging candied roses atop her custards long enough to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder and sympathetic smile.
“Merlin!” He hadn’t even managed to get his apron back on before Freya rushed up to him, eyes wide with panic. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You’ve got to come with me.”
“What is it?” Merlin asked, alarmed. “Did something break? Is someone hurt?”
Freya shook her head. “It’s Gaius. Those two fanatics from Blessed Cafe are here, and they started harassing him about his choice of staff, and, well, you know how protective he gets. They’re starting to make a bit of a scene.”
“Go,” Gwen said, never looking away from her desserts. “I can handle everything back here.”
Merlin followed Freya, trying to ignore the several members of the film crew that trailed after them. He didn’t even want to think about this ending up on national television.
He found Gaius staring down the two women near the back of the hall, on the opposite end from where he’d been speaking to Arthur. He was relieved to see that while they had drawn a bit of attention, it wasn’t nearly the crowd he’d been fearing from Freya’s description.
“--some nerve bringing that man’s son here!” the blonde woman was saying.
Merlin had never met Morgause Cornysh, but he recognized her from photos, just as he recognized the dark-haired woman beside her as Nimueh Linn. He supposed it wasn’t entirely surprising to see the two of them here, since the event was a fundraiser for raising awareness about the positive environmental impact of buying from small, local, organic farms, but why on earth were they shouting at Gaius, of all people?
“Now you listen to me,” Gaius said angrily.
Merlin cut in before he could go any further. “Is there a problem here?”
Nimueh turned disturbingly blue eyes on him, lips curved in a smile that was far from friendly. “I’m surprised to see you here, Chef Emrys.” She glanced pointedly over his shoulder. “Especially with a camera crew. What will Daddy say?”
“If you have an issue with my father, I suggest you take it up with him,” Merlin told her, his voice cold. “I’m not in the habit of making apologies for my family.”
“No,” Nimueh said, that odd smile never changing, “based on what I know of your family, I don’t imagine you go in much for apologies at all.”
With that, she turned on her heel and strode off into the crowd, regal as any queen.
Morgause shot a venomous glare first at Gaius and then at Merlin. “Don’t think this is over,” she hissed before stalking after Nimueh.
Merlin turned to Gaius. “What was that about?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Gaius answered, patting Merlin’s shoulder. “Just some lingering resentments from years long gone.”
Merlin nodded, but he couldn’t help thinking the resentment seemed to be a lot more than lingering.
After the dinner, Nimueh and Morgause went straight back to the Blessed Cafe. They smiled at their regulars and made gestures to those of the staff who would understand such things. Together, they slipped into the administrative office and shut the door. Morgause began cleaning the dry erase board on the wall while Nimueh booted up the office computer.
“This is absolutely unacceptable,” Nimueh said as she began searching keywords. “It was bad enough that we were willing to prostrate ourselves to the progeny of Uther Pendragon in order to share the truth of the old ways, but for Merlin Emrys to gain access to such an audience, when he is so obviously his father’s son. I had hopes that the boy might be salvageable given that he had chosen to reckon his descent matrilineally.”
“You must find something we can use against him. Somewhere on the Internet is the information we need to break him. Do not limit your search to him; his parents may provide the key to his downfall.” There was a knock at the door and Morgause stopped writing the names of known associates of Merlin long enough to answer it. “Tauren. Bring us a carafe of the cold brewed coffee, and inform Alvarr we will need his presence and yours shortly.” He bowed and Morgause closed the door.
“I’ve found it, and it is perfect.” Nimueh said, looking up from the monitor with a gleeful expression. “Anthony Balinor has donated funds to a research group attempting to isolate the genes responsible for flavor in wild strawberries, in order to reintroduce it into domesticated species.”
Morgause’s eyes lit up as she draped herself across Nimueh’s back in order to see the monitor. “He supports GMOs? This must be a gift from the gods themselves, that it should be so easy.”
There was another knock at the door, but this time, Nimueh simply bade them enter. Tauren placed the coffee on the desk and then he and Alvarr stood silently awaiting orders.
“Gather your soldiers. The whole of the Bloodguard. Tauren, you will lead the front on the Internet. Go to forums and blogs, and especially Yelp. Make it look like Ambrosia serves genetically modified foods. The rumors must be impossible to trace back to us. Alvarr, you will gather our ground forces. There must be protesters outside Ambrosia whenever they are open. Both of you, ensure that our efforts are focused on Merlin Emrys and him alone. We must drive him to desperation.”
“Yes, Priestess,” the men said in unison, as they turned and left.
Morgause returned to her dry erase board and began detailing the strategy they would need to convey to their followers. Nimueh came up behind and her slipped her arms around Morgause’s waist. “Merlin will be left with no choice but to denounce his father, or watch as everyone turns against them both.”
“Not even the Pendragons will be able to stand under the weight of what we will do to him,” Morgause said, turning in Nimueh’s arms so that she could properly express her satisfaction.
Next
There were five of them and six courses plus alcohol. It was Forridel who found the space with some friends of friends, in a cookie factory turned live-work space in East Oakland. Will D. arranged for the beer pairings, Gilli had the brilliant idea to serve it all on kid’s partyware which incidentally gave them the theme of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and Will E. fed the announcement of the supper club though the usual channels, set up the online payment system, kept the books, and convinced Merlin he had time to do two of the courses.
Merlin was pretty sure that Will E. charged too much, but when he asked, Will made some noise about how people would pay anything to say they knew someone before they were famous, and he could make a million dollars exploiting hipsters and their need to be cool.
The location had been decked out in potted palms and fake statuary that someone, probably Forridel, since she had connections everywhere, had convinced one of the local prop shops to lend them. They had crates of beer to go with each dish, six courses prepped and ready to finish, and 35 expected attendees. Merlin had forbidden Will E. from adding a second night.
He knew there were plenty of chefs out there who did this kind of thing all the time, but the stress of doing something technically illegal while in the midst of filming had Merlin on edge, especially since it was largely based on his name that people were coming.
Word had spread quickly about the filming for A Wizard in the Kitchen. It had only taken one person on Yelp to tell everyone that Ambrosia was full of cameras, and suddenly the place was packed every night. When Gilli got the brilliant idea that he wanted to put up a supper club, Merlin balked at participating. He had nothing like free time to invest in doing it. Fortunately Gilli also planned out the entire menu and found the basic recipes, so that all Merlin had to do was take his assigned courses and make them better.
The two Wills had found a few other people and drafted them into hosting duties, handing out plates, and filling glasses. Merlin didn’t know them, but given they seemed relaxed and happy to be there, and he assumed they were coworkers of Will D.
The five round tables were covered with khaki table cloths. Each setting consisted of brown napkins, and three plastic cups. The water glasses were plastic chalices someone had found and done things like add rhinestones and stickers to so they all looked different. He supposed they were supposed to be false grails.
It took forever to get started, people treated it as an event to be fashionably late to, not as a reserved dinner they needed to be on time for, lest they lose their seat. But once they got everyone seated, the movie started and drinks poured, everything moved quickly.
Forridel, Gilli, and Merlin took turns on their courses. They’d done most of the prep at The Ring where Gilli worked, since it was just a breakfast and lunch place. Each dish originated from the film’s locations, from Peru to Egypt, and they had tried to select dishes that would complement each other. For the dessert, though, they decided it would be funniest if they went with stuffed dates.
Merlin stayed in the narrow kitchen except when he had to plate his dishes (Nepali momos and Lamb with orzo) or to assist in plating the others’. He didn’t know if there was any merit to what Will had said. Maybe people were here because of him and maybe it was because of the trendiness of supper clubs or even the relative coolness factor in the theme. But he did get the opportunity to see who was out in the dining area, and there were several heavy hitters. He recognized Edwin from The Black Beetle, and Anhora from Unicorn and an older man with a neatly trimmed grey beard who stood out in the crowd of mostly thirty-somethings. There was something overwhelmingly familiar about him, but Merlin couldn’t place him, until Will D. came flying into the kitchen just after the entree was served to tell them that Taliesin Baird had complimented his beer choices.
Forridel dropped the spoon she was using to drizzle honey on dates. “Taliesin? I thought he never left New York.”
Gilli proceeded to panic. “Fuck, why would he come to this? I mean yeah we’re awesome, but Taliesin? He’s got, like, three Michelin-starred restaurants. How do you live up to that?”
Merlin took a deep breath. “We just have to get through it. He’s probably just slumming it or something. We serve dessert and the digestif and we clean up and go home, just like we planned. If good things come of it, then cool, and if not, then we can tell our grandchildren about the time we hosted an unlicensed dinner and gave food poisoning to one of the world’s most famous restaurateurs.”
“You think he’ll get food poisoning.” Will D looked concerned.
“No, but it’ll make a better story. Send the kids in to serve this last course. We’ll face our fates soon enough.”
They followed Merlin’s instructions, the crowd finished their meals and applauded and thanked the chefs, and busing went smoothly. Merlin went to work packing away equipment while Forridel handled the leftover food and Gilli began running their gear down to his car. Merlin was caught up in his own head, thinking of how he could continue the movie theme and do another dinner, when he realized he had someone behind him.
“Merlin Emrys?”
“Yeah?” He asked, turning around and coming face to face with Taliesin himself. “Sir.”
“I wanted to discuss your career with you. Where are you working?” He seemed genuinely interested.
Merlin blinked, convinced he couldn’t have heard that right. “Um, I’m doing a show right now for Pendragon, but it’s mostly because they were desperate for a show and my uncle wasn’t as interested in being the star.”
“I rather doubt it was all due to your uncle, but that’s not why I wanted to speak to you. I’m opening a new restaurant next year, and my chef at Crystal will be moving to the new location. I’d like to offer you the sous chef position at Crystal now, and if all goes well, you will be made executive chef when Dave leaves.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes, pretty sure he couldn’t be hearing that right. “Me? Are you sure? Did my dad ask you to give me a job?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met your father. But,” he said, pulling out a business card. “Give me a call if you’re interested when you’re done with your filming schedule.” Taliesin handed him the card . “I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, as he rejoined his small entourage, and left.
Merlin went back to tearing down the venue decor. He knew Taliesin would have no reason to lie to him, but he found it hard to believe that his culinary skill was enough to make someone like Taliesin offer him a job with no idea of who he was or where he worked. He didn’t think he’d ever need it, but he put the man’s information in his phone just to be able to say he had it.
Merlin always felt a bit useless at catering gigs. Most of the real cooking was done beforehand, which left only assembly and plating on-site. In truth, Merlin’s biggest role at jobs like this was to keep the people hosting the event from causing too much disruption to the catering staff, something which was remarkably difficult to do with a film crew hovering over his shoulder.
It didn’t help that A Wizard in the Kitchen had aired its debut episode only five days earlier, to rave reviews, and people kept wanting to come over to tell the Ambrosia staff how very much they enjoyed the show. And, Merlin suspected, to try to get a little camera time themselves.
“I’m afraid Chef Du Cameliard is quite busy at the moment,” Merlin said, gently herding a sharply-dressed, middle-aged woman away from where Gwen was spinning delicate, molten brown sugar webs over individual servings of cardamom custard. “I’ll be happy to pass on your compliment, though. I’m sure she’ll very much appreciate it.”
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt,” the woman said, giving a longing look over Merlin’s shoulder, “but are you sure I couldn’t speak with her for just a moment? I won’t be long.”
Merlin just barely refrained from grinding his teeth. He would have bet good money the woman’s longing gaze was for the camera crew, not Gwen.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, “but it wouldn’t do to interrupt her concentration. You know what they say about breaking an artist’s concentration.”
Merlin wasn’t actually familiar with any sayings regarding the subject, but the woman nodded as though he’d said something profound and allowed him to lead her back out into the main part of the event hall.
When Merlin turned to head back to the kitchen, he found himself face to face with Arthur Pendragon, looking like something out of a magazine as he lounged against the door jamb in a jet-black suit and tie. Merlin was acutely aware of the grease spot on his own coat, the result of an incident earlier involving melted butter and a lighting technician who wasn’t paying enough attention to where he was going.
“I thought for a minute there I was going to have to rescue you,” Arthur said with that infuriatingly smug grin that made Merlin want to hit him. Or maybe lick him. He could never quite decide.
“Sorry you didn’t get to play the brave and noble knight,” Merlin answered, “but I doubt I’d make a very good damsel, anyway.”
Arthur cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know. Maybe with a little pink taffeta...”
“As much as I’d love to hear more about your kinks, Arthur, I’ve really got to get back to work.”
He’d meant it as a joke, a little extra bite to the reminder that, unlike Arthur, Merlin was at the banquet to work. Except Arthur’s smug smile faded away and his eyes were suddenly wide and serious.
“You invited me,” he blurted.
Merlin stared. “I what?”
“At the pub,” Arthur said, not meeting his eyes. “You said I should stop by filming, and then Morgana had an extra ticket to this thing and I saw on the filming schedule that you’d be here, so... I came.”
“I thought you’d forgotten about that by now,” Merlin said. Or that Arthur was just blowing him off, after Percy had made him sound like some sort of obsessed stalker.
“No,” Arthur said, raising his eyes to look straight at Merlin. “I didn’t forget.”
Merlin wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or possibly just bang his head into the nearest wall until he lost consciousness. Arthur Pendragon had to be the most confusing, frustrating man in existence, and Merlin didn’t have the time or patience to deal with him tonight.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” Merlin said.
A shadow of Arthur’s cocky smile returned. “No one’s stopping you.”
Merlin gave him a flat stare, refusing to let himself be sidetracked by dimples. “You’re blocking the doorway.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “Right.”
He stepped aside, although just barely. Merlin could smell his cologne as he walked past.
“Wait,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin’s arm just as he made it through the doorway.
Merlin turned to him. “Make it quick. I need to get back to protecting our staff from camera-whoring socialites.”
“Look,” Arthur said, “I don’t do this often, so you’d better appreciate it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
Merlin stared. Maybe Arthur was just crazy. “Sorry for what?” He wondered if he was going to hate himself later for asking.
“For whatever it is I keep doing to make you uncomfortable,” Arthur said, his hand still on Merlin’s arm. “I don’t mean to, so. Sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Merlin said, shaking his head.
“But,” Arthur said, his brow furrowing, “what about that night at the pub?”
At the-- Oh. Oh, Merlin was going to kill Percy the next time he saw him.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Merlin said. “Percy was just being an ass, that’s all.”
“But it wasn’t the first time it happened,” Arthur insisted. “Every time we talk, it’s fine for a bit, and then you get all... weird and fidgety.”
“Me?” Merlin asked, incredulous. “I get weird and fidgety?”
“Yes!” Arthur said. “That’s it, exactly.”
“No,” Merlin said, “that’s not it at all. You’re the one who--” He broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get back and make sure the fish course gets out properly.”
“I’m not going to apologize again,” Arthur told him, his thumb stroking along Merlin’s biceps.
“Good,” Merlin said. “Now, are you going to let go of me so I can do my job?”
Arthur looked down at his hand as though he were stunned to find it still resting on Merlin’s arm. Merlin’s annoyance got the better of him.
“I’m not the one who’s uncomfortable, Arthur,” he said, lowering his voice. “I mean, yeah, sometimes it’s a little distracting that you’re as hot as you are, but you’ve met my friends. I’m used to being surrounded by hot people.”
Arthur gaped at him.
“And, yeah,” Merlin continued, “sometimes I really kind of wish you’d make up your mind about whether or not you want in my pants, but I’m not uncomfortable that you might.” Surely sexual frustration could be counted as a separate category from discomfort.
Arthur continued to stare at him, mouth working soundlessly.
“I’m going to get back to work,” Merlin told him. “I’ll see you around.”
This time, Arthur didn’t try to stop him.
Something of Merlin’s irritation must have shown on his face, because Gwen stopped arranging candied roses atop her custards long enough to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder and sympathetic smile.
“Merlin!” He hadn’t even managed to get his apron back on before Freya rushed up to him, eyes wide with panic. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You’ve got to come with me.”
“What is it?” Merlin asked, alarmed. “Did something break? Is someone hurt?”
Freya shook her head. “It’s Gaius. Those two fanatics from Blessed Cafe are here, and they started harassing him about his choice of staff, and, well, you know how protective he gets. They’re starting to make a bit of a scene.”
“Go,” Gwen said, never looking away from her desserts. “I can handle everything back here.”
Merlin followed Freya, trying to ignore the several members of the film crew that trailed after them. He didn’t even want to think about this ending up on national television.
He found Gaius staring down the two women near the back of the hall, on the opposite end from where he’d been speaking to Arthur. He was relieved to see that while they had drawn a bit of attention, it wasn’t nearly the crowd he’d been fearing from Freya’s description.
“--some nerve bringing that man’s son here!” the blonde woman was saying.
Merlin had never met Morgause Cornysh, but he recognized her from photos, just as he recognized the dark-haired woman beside her as Nimueh Linn. He supposed it wasn’t entirely surprising to see the two of them here, since the event was a fundraiser for raising awareness about the positive environmental impact of buying from small, local, organic farms, but why on earth were they shouting at Gaius, of all people?
“Now you listen to me,” Gaius said angrily.
Merlin cut in before he could go any further. “Is there a problem here?”
Nimueh turned disturbingly blue eyes on him, lips curved in a smile that was far from friendly. “I’m surprised to see you here, Chef Emrys.” She glanced pointedly over his shoulder. “Especially with a camera crew. What will Daddy say?”
“If you have an issue with my father, I suggest you take it up with him,” Merlin told her, his voice cold. “I’m not in the habit of making apologies for my family.”
“No,” Nimueh said, that odd smile never changing, “based on what I know of your family, I don’t imagine you go in much for apologies at all.”
With that, she turned on her heel and strode off into the crowd, regal as any queen.
Morgause shot a venomous glare first at Gaius and then at Merlin. “Don’t think this is over,” she hissed before stalking after Nimueh.
Merlin turned to Gaius. “What was that about?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Gaius answered, patting Merlin’s shoulder. “Just some lingering resentments from years long gone.”
Merlin nodded, but he couldn’t help thinking the resentment seemed to be a lot more than lingering.
After the dinner, Nimueh and Morgause went straight back to the Blessed Cafe. They smiled at their regulars and made gestures to those of the staff who would understand such things. Together, they slipped into the administrative office and shut the door. Morgause began cleaning the dry erase board on the wall while Nimueh booted up the office computer.
“This is absolutely unacceptable,” Nimueh said as she began searching keywords. “It was bad enough that we were willing to prostrate ourselves to the progeny of Uther Pendragon in order to share the truth of the old ways, but for Merlin Emrys to gain access to such an audience, when he is so obviously his father’s son. I had hopes that the boy might be salvageable given that he had chosen to reckon his descent matrilineally.”
“You must find something we can use against him. Somewhere on the Internet is the information we need to break him. Do not limit your search to him; his parents may provide the key to his downfall.” There was a knock at the door and Morgause stopped writing the names of known associates of Merlin long enough to answer it. “Tauren. Bring us a carafe of the cold brewed coffee, and inform Alvarr we will need his presence and yours shortly.” He bowed and Morgause closed the door.
“I’ve found it, and it is perfect.” Nimueh said, looking up from the monitor with a gleeful expression. “Anthony Balinor has donated funds to a research group attempting to isolate the genes responsible for flavor in wild strawberries, in order to reintroduce it into domesticated species.”
Morgause’s eyes lit up as she draped herself across Nimueh’s back in order to see the monitor. “He supports GMOs? This must be a gift from the gods themselves, that it should be so easy.”
There was another knock at the door, but this time, Nimueh simply bade them enter. Tauren placed the coffee on the desk and then he and Alvarr stood silently awaiting orders.
“Gather your soldiers. The whole of the Bloodguard. Tauren, you will lead the front on the Internet. Go to forums and blogs, and especially Yelp. Make it look like Ambrosia serves genetically modified foods. The rumors must be impossible to trace back to us. Alvarr, you will gather our ground forces. There must be protesters outside Ambrosia whenever they are open. Both of you, ensure that our efforts are focused on Merlin Emrys and him alone. We must drive him to desperation.”
“Yes, Priestess,” the men said in unison, as they turned and left.
Morgause returned to her dry erase board and began detailing the strategy they would need to convey to their followers. Nimueh came up behind and her slipped her arms around Morgause’s waist. “Merlin will be left with no choice but to denounce his father, or watch as everyone turns against them both.”
“Not even the Pendragons will be able to stand under the weight of what we will do to him,” Morgause said, turning in Nimueh’s arms so that she could properly express her satisfaction.
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