Cups and Saucerers - Chapter 7 of ?

[camelittle]

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Chapter summary:

The first step to finding out what happened to Arthur all those years ago is to talk to the person convicted of his murder - Arthur's sister, Morgan.

~#~

“Who are you?” she said, frowning.

“They call me Merrill these days,” he said, “but my close friends call me Merlin.”
“Merlin?” she said. “The mythical wizard? Please, don’t insult my intelligence.” But he didn’t return her smile. Dark eyes bored into hers. She found herself caught in his hypnotic stare, and her sarcastic laughter died in her throat.
~#~

Later that week
Tuesday 6th June, 2014. Parkhurst Road, Holloway, North London.


Guy’s old bones did not approve of this new venture, but he decided to go along with it. If Merlin really was determined to plough on, Guy had better be on hand to mop up the inevitable mess.

“Good grief,” he thought to himself, massaging his aching temples. “I’m getting too old for this.”

They were walking along the strangely traffic-free Holloway Road towards Parkhurst Road, having eaten a nondescript supermarket sandwich. Many of the other businesses on the road were boarded up after the recent North London riots, but thankfully faithful Sainsburys was still open for business. In past years, Holloway Road had been a congested, busy, bustling thoroughfare, one of the main routes out of London to the north. But now that petrol was too expensive for most ordinary people to afford, there was just the occasional electric bus trundling past. The few people walking around looked worn down, shabby and furtive even in the middle of the day. Merlin, who rarely left the tea shop these days, was visibly shocked by the changes in the area. Guy fingered the knife he now kept in his pocket, eyes darting warily about. An old man had to be careful in these difficult times, even when he was walking around with the physical embodiment of magic a friendly presence at his side.

They turned down Parkhurst Road, which was a typical North London architectural mongrel-an eclectic mixture of old and new, cheap and expensive, housing and shops. Holloway Women’s Prison, a nondescript red-brick institution, Merlin’s destination for the day, dominated one side of the street.

While Merlin veered inside the prison, Guy, knowing that his knife wouldn’t make it past the metal detector, walked on and sat sipping orange juice in the Lord Palmerston pub in Tufnell Park. He opened his copy of The Guardian and tapped at the crossword with his pencil while he waited for Merlin to return. Guy wondered if Morgan would even remember him. She would not have seen him since she was 14 years old.

~#~

Morgan was tough; after nearly a decade in prison she knew how to put up walls and deflect uncomfortable questions. But when Merrill Ambrose walked through the door, she found herself transported back to happier times--to her childhood and scowling teenager-hood, to her annoying little brother who had grown to be her rock, and who had for a while, been her only friend. So she found herself more than usually brusque with the tea-shop owner.

“Oh,” she said, her voice wavering a bit but not enough that anyone would notice, “it’s you.”

“Yes,” he replied, his kind eyes doing their best to break down all her carefully constructed barriers. She wondered what he thought of the changes time had wrought-of her shaved head, her tattoos-and shook herself. She wasn’t supposed to care.

He looked around, to see if anyone was watching, waggled his fingers as if to say “magic”, and flashed a broad smile. He had always had devastating smiles, but she forced herself not to return this one. She had had a lot of practice at not-smiling. “It’s wonderful to see you,” he said, and then grimaced as his brain caught up with his words. “Although the venue could be better?”

“I didn’t recognise your name,” she said, picking nervously at the skin between her fingers, “but it’s not as if anyone else ever visits me, not since Leon… erm,” Shit. She didn’t want to expose her vulnerability when it came to Leon. That was one wound that would never heal. It was one that she had made herself.

“Thank you for letting me see you,” he replied. “It took me a long time to find you. I have been looking for years, ever since you left Edinburgh.” He reached across the table to calm her restless hand with a touch. Her heart fluttered when she saw the sincerity in his face. She scowled to hide her reaction.

“I am so sorry I didn’t find you,” he continued. “The intervening years have not been kind to you, have they?” She flinched, feeling her defences crumbling.

“Well, they have clearly been kind to you,” she said in a brittle voice, pulling her hand away. He did not look any older than he had when she knew him twenty years ago.

“You should see the portrait in my attic,” he joked, although his face was sad.

She had had enough. “Why are you here?” she said. “Lovely though it is to converse with someone who has actually read Oscar Wilde, no-one visits me here unless they want something, at least not since... I am not sure that I understand what you want from me.”

He nodded and swallowed, looking away. “I find it hard to believe that the girl I knew would do what they say you did, Morgan. And yet, you have always maintained that you are guilty. What happened?”

“I might have known,” she said bitterly. “All these years, and still it’s all about Arthur. It always was with you, wasn’t it, Merrill?” When he didn't deny it, she nodded. The truth was that it was not just Merrill. All the reporters who had come prying and snooping had asked the same thing. She didn’t matter, it was all about the golden boy Arthur. Resentment and grief battled in her heart.

She frowned, thinking back to that awful day. She couldn’t really remember what had happened; she could remember talking to Moore in the coffee shop, remembered Arthur stumbling in and blurting out that he’d had an accident, but then everything went blank. The next thing she knew, she was standing in a pool of blood with a sharp knife from the coffee-shop kitchen in her hand, her brother still and lifeless on the floor. It hurt to think about it even now. Her head started to throb.

“I told the police everything,” she said. “I don’t see why I should go over it all again with you.”

He nodded and touched her hand again. “Because I want to help you,” he said.

She sneered. “The best lawyers I could afford couldn’t help me. What makes you think you  can?”

Merrill flashed her a smile that held no mirth.

“Because I can do this,” he said. He held up a hand, fingers splaying, and then Morgan felt an emotion she had not experienced for nine long years: utter shock and awe. Merrill’s eyes flashed gold, and at that moment all the noise and activity in the room stilled. The clock stopped ticking. There was silence apart from the beating of her pulse in her ears.

“What just happened?” she whispered, looking around herself in disbelief. Merrill shrugged and waggled his fingers.

“Magic!” he replied, with that sad smile again. “I have slowed down time so that we can talk freely.”

Realising that her mouth was slack, she closed it with a snap. “Who are you?” she said, frowning.

“They call me Merrill these days,” he said, “but my close friends call me Merlin.”

“Merlin?” she said. “The mythical wizard? Please, don’t insult my intelligence.” But he didn’t return her smile. Dark eyes bored into hers. She found herself caught in his hypnotic stare, and her sarcastic laughter died in her throat.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You’re the only living soul who knows who I really am, apart from a mismatched pair of dragons and an elderly hippy named Guy.”

He paused, and his eyebrows drew together, and he seemed to grow older, sterner. Her heart was pounding but she could not move. She felt cornered, a frightened mouse caught by a cat.

“I have waited,” he said. His voice deepened, she swore it almost had a hint of thunder in it. It echoed with profound grief, and vibrated in her chest. “I was trapped, bound to the earth for eternity, awaiting his return, and not permitted to die. And then, miraculously, he came. My friend. My King. Your brother. He returned. And you killed him.” He pointed at her. “You have never denied your guilt. Why shouldn’t I just kill you now?” He sounded detached, curious, but she heard his deadly intent and saw the shimmer in his eyes.

“No,” she whispered, “please don’t, I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why I-“ She was panting, she realised, on the edge of tears, panicking; it would not do to go out into the jail looking this vulnerable. The vultures would tear her to shreds. She took a moment to regain her composure, took a couple of deep breaths, avoiding his unnerving stare.

He leaned forward across the table and reached up to her temple, where a tattoo of two entwined dragons curled from her ear up into her bare scalp. He traced it with a curious finger and then reached up with the other hand.

“It hurts you to think about it, doesn’t it?” he said. She leaned into his gentle, soothing fingers as they massaged her head, her eyelids drooping. Relief seemed to spread from his fingers, radiating into her skull, calming her, numbing the pain.

“Why did you kill him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t remember anything.” Her eyes blurred and she pushed his hands away. She gasped as the pain returned. It had always been like that, whenever she tried to remember, to work out why and how she could have killed her brother, her maddening, arrogant, irritating brother who was also the kindest, most generous person she knew. Why had she done that? What had she done? She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes to try to stop the needles shooting through her head. It never worked. “I don’t know,” she said again through the sobs.

“I don’t believe that you killed Arthur,” Merlin said, if it was indeed him and not some talented charlatan. “I think I can fix it.  It’s my destiny.”

“How?” she said, trying to hide the anguish in her voice.

He flashed her another disarming smile and wiggled his fingers. “Magic!” he said. He leaned forward and pressed his calming fingers to her grateful temples, and for a blessed moment she experienced a profound sense of a burden shared.

~#~

When Merlin emerged and rejoined Guy in the Lord Palmerston, he looked exhausted. “Are you all right?” said Guy, concerned about the black rings under Merlin’s eyes.

“M’ fine,” said Merlin. “Starving though.”

Guy looked at his watch. It was 3.15pm; they had eaten lunch less than 2 hours ago. He rolled his eyes. “Is this some kind of 1500-year growth spurt,” he grouched, “or have you got a tapeworm?”

“Neither!” said Merlin, “I have just had an emotionally draining conversation with a convicted murderer, and I need refuelling, that’s all.”

“I know a nice tea shop in Clerkenwell,” said Guy, raising a hopeful eyebrow. But then he heard Merlin’s stomach growl. He sighed. “You’ve been messing around with time again, haven’t you.”

Merlin looked contrite. “I borrowed a few hours,” he said. “I’ll treat you to a pub lunch.”

~#~

Guy tucked into the wood pigeon, which he suspected in the current tough economic climate might actually be urban pigeon, freshly trapped on an Islington rooftop, while Merlin had a (probably safer) vegetarian crumble. They washed it down with London Pride. Guy was grateful that the Fullers Brewery had not yet succumbed to the catastrophic collapse of the economy. At least Pride was brewed fairly locally, and so the transportation costs were not too astronomical.

While they ate, Merlin related Morgan’s version of the events surrounding Arthur’s death.

“It all began in March 2004,” he said, shovelling in a forkful of crumble, “Just before the Easter break. Most of the finals students stayed in Cambridge to revise. Morgan was studying for her MPhil. Moore Dee-Reid was a first year, but he stayed in Cambridge as well. He had a girlfriend, Kara.”

“Wait,” said Guy, frowning. “You’re going too fast. Moore Dee-Reid? The Prime Minister?”

“Yes, back then he was a spotty undergraduate, who caught poor Morgan’s eye.” Merlin mopped his plate up with a large hunk of bread, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied groan of approval. “But Moore fell in love with a girl named Kara.”

“Ah. Unrequited love.” Guy gulped several mouthfuls of his pint. He was going to need it, he could tell. His head was hurting again. “It happens all the time,” he said, knowing how it felt.

Merlin nodded. “Moore started dating Kara in March 2004; he was completely smitten. Morgan realised her chances were over, but still pined for him.” He looked sad for a moment.

“Are you feeling sorry for your friend’s murderer, Merlin?” said Guy. Merlin was a sentimental idiot sometimes.

“No-I mean, yes, I do feel sorry for her, but I don’t think she did it,” he replied. He looked around the pub and leaned forward, his voice lowered. “She has been tampered with. Magically. Someone has erased her memory. I think she was framed.”

Guy frowned. He had to trust his friend on these matters, but sometimes his pronouncements seemed a bit far-fetched.

“Really Merlin?” he said. “Are you sure?” Tampered-with memories sounded painful. Guy winced, partly in sympathy, and partly because of the stabbing pain in his own head. “Poor girl,” he said, his voice a little faint.

The warlock nodded and slurped his beer. “Yes. So I’m going to find out what happened, find out who has messed with her brain, and fix it.” He lowered his voice even further, drawing Guy in with a conspiratorial whisper. “I think it was Moore, Guy.”

“Moore? The PM?” Guy cried, forgetting himself in a London Pride fuelled unguarded moment. A few heads turned in the pub. Guy lowered his voice. “Are you accusing the PM of Arthur’s murder?” he said, quietly this time. “You need to be careful what you say, Merlin. People have been jailed for less, you know.”

“I know; and that is why I believe her,” Merlin replied. “I knew Morgan. She would never have murdered her brother. The only other person present was Moore Dee-Reid.”

“He had an opportunity, but what was his motive?” said Guy.

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t know for sure,” he said, his mouth pursed up into a grimace. “But I’m going to find out. Morgan couldn’t tell me why she did it. Doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?”

Guy nodded. “You’re right. It does seem odd.” He felt a little odd himself. His vision had focused to a single tight point and his head throbbed.

“I’m going to go back in time, find out what was going on, and prevent it all.” said Merlin. “Guy?” Merlin’s voice faltered as he looked across the table at his friend. His expression became concerned. “Guy, are you OK?”

Guy didn’t feel OK. He couldn’t really bring himself to speak, the pain in his head was too great. Everything went blank for a moment. Then Guy found himself on the floor, surrounded by smashed crockery, with Merlin holding his hand.
“Guy!” Merlin was shouting. “Somebody get an ambulance! Guy!”

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