Pendragon's Folly, Chapter 8
Title: Pendragon's Folly
Pairing: M/A, eventually.
Characters: in this chapter - Merlin, Miss Kay, Gaius, Arthur.
Rating: PG maybe even U
Chapter Word Count: 6,850
Warnings: No sex
Summary: There's an out of work wizard, a museum, a sizeable donation that turns it into a building site, suspicious happenings and magic. A sort of 'take your fandom to work' story.
Author's note 1: When it comes to romance, this story is the definition of 'slow burn'.
Comments are always greatly appreciated, loved and cherished.
Author's note 2: More thanks than I can say to my beta, plot wrangler and best friend, sparrow2000. And many, many thanks to DJ for (hopefully) catching the typos we missed. If you spot any more, please do let me know.
Disclaimer: I write fan fic. All the characters from the Merlin series are the property of the BBC and Shine, etc. No infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this writing.
Chapter 8
It was not until early on Wednesday morning that Arthur finally called Merlin back, waking him from the deep sleep he had eventually fallen into at around 2:00am.
He rolled over and fumbled for his phone. Pressing the 'accept' button more by instinct than by design, he held it to his ear. "'Lo," he mumbled.
Arthur's unmistakable voice asked, "Merlin?"
Suddenly more awake, Merlin pushed his duvet aside and sat upright on the edge of his bed.
"Arthur? Are you all right?"
"Pardon?" Arthur said. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"
Merlin briefly pulled the phone away from his ear so he could check the time. "Er… Because it's five o'clock in the morning and you're phoning me?"
"I'm calling you back, you idiot. You apparently need to talk to me? Urgently?"
"Oh, oh yes. Thanks." Merlin ran his free hand over his face and rubbed at his eyes to get the sleep out of them. "I wanted to tell you that the Mayor's refused to fund the Folly, so unless you can reverse your father's decision, the museum will never open again."
"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked. He sounded disgustingly wide awake for such an hour.
"You know your father withdrew the extra funding he agreed to?" Arthur made an affirmative sort of noise, so Merlin continued. "Right, well, the Trustees went to the mayor, but he said 'no', so, since you're sort of in charge at the moment…" he trailed off.
There was a prolonged silence at the other end of the line. "I see," Arthur said.
"So you'll do it. Right?"
"Do you have any idea," Arthur asked, "what my father's outburst has done to this company? The investors we had lined up on half a dozen projects have got cold feet and those already committed are trying to draw back. A charitable project at this time..." The floor was chill against the soles of Merlin's feet so he dragged the edge of the duvet across his lap and legs. In his ear Arthur continued in a firmer tone. "If my father decided not to add to his donation, I'm sure he had good reason." Merlin started to protest, but Arthur cut him off. "I will need to look into it," he said, "before I can even consider reversing his decision."
Wriggling his toes into a fold of the duvet, Merlin replied, "Oh, he had a good reason all right. He wants to do a land grab on the Folly. And if the Museum closes he'll succeed."
"What?"
"Gwen and I found the deed Thomas Pendragon drew up when he created the museum. There's a clause that says the building reverts to the Pendragon family, if the Museum's ever closed for good."
This time the silence lasted longer and Merlin opened his mouth to say something more, but Arthur pre-empted him. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said. His voice was cool and business-like. Merlin wanted to shake him. "I'll be in touch, once I've had a chance to check the details." Before Merlin could say anything else, he terminated the call and Merlin was left sitting on the edge of his bed, feeling shaken, but even more determined to go and talk to him, face to face.
After he had seen Miss Kay again.
***
Merlin grabbed the hand hold on the back of the seat in front of him, to steady himself as the bus drew away from the stop in Market Square and turned into Charlotte Street. The morning had seemed to promise a bright day, but the bits of sky he could see through the window, between the roofs of the houses, had taken on a heavy, slate-grey colour. As they pulled out of Camelot onto the A6152, it started to rain - an abruptly deafening clatter of ball bearings on the roof and as sudden a reduction in visibility. The bus momentarily slowed, before speeding up again with its windscreen wipers on double speed. The heavy rain didn't last long, but by the time they reached Lillebrook a steady drizzle was falling, adding a miserable chill to the air and streaking the window, transforming the normally jigsaw-pretty cottages and village green into an impressionist landscape. He had a sour taste from not enough sleep in the back of his throat, which, at odd moments threatened to climb up into his brain and cause his eyes to close. Hunching his shoulders against both the weather and his mood, he stuffed his hands as deeply into his jacket pockets as he could and slouched in his seat.
When the bus finally lurched off the roundabout and onto the Greatham road, he shook himself awake, clambered to his feet and staggered down the aisle towards the door. "Red Dragon, please," he said to the driver.
The driver drew the bus to a smooth stop opposite the pub.
With a dutiful, "Cheers, mate," Merlin climbed down onto the verge and made his way to the gate belonging to Heythorpe House.
The wind had picked up and it buffeted him, but the sky had finally begun to lighten. A watery sun broke through the low clouds as he pushed the gate open. Drops of water clung sparkling to the blades of the grass but, as he took the path across the open space, they still soaked his trousers up to his knee when they brushed against him. Once under the trees, heavy drops dripped onto his shoulders from the branches above and the flagstones were treacherous underfoot. He pulled his thin jacket tightly across his chest and picked his way along them with care.
In spite of his slower pace, the walk through the wood seemed shorter than it had the first time and he was soon striding confidently along the cinder path next to the lawn, from where the croquet hoops dripped silently at him.
Once again the kitchen door opened as he approached. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Miss Kay asked, waving him in and closing the door against the unseasonably chill wind.
They sat in the same chairs at the table as they had on his previous visit and he wasn't surprised when Miss Kay poured coffee into a mug from a tall pot and pushed it across to him, along with a jug of milk and a sugar bowl. "What is agitating you, my young friend?" she asked.
Having spooned sugar into his mug, Merlin clasped both hands around it, warming them. Miss Kay waited patiently until he looked up at her. "It's Morgana," he said. "She's the one with the magic and I think she's behind all the accidents." He paused as an idea occurred to him. "Unless... There can't be two of them, can there?"
"There are not," Miss Kay confirmed. "Magic has a signature and there was only one voice in Camelot, until you arrived."
"So it is Morgana?"
Miss Kay inclined her head. "As you say," she agreed.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.
"You know now."
"But..." Merlin shook his head. "I don't understand," he said. "She really did almost kill Pell? And Arthur, that time in the square? And, on Thursday morning?" Miss Kay nodded in reply to each question. "But why?" he asked. "It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense. Why would she want Arthur dead? The Folly's closed because she of what she did on Thursday, but if she wanted to wreck the museum, why would she do… whatever she did to Uther? We'd never have known what he was planning until it was too late. She exposed him."
Miss Kay looked steadily back at him. "So many questions," she said. "All of which will have answers. But they are not your prime concern."
"I hurt her yesterday," he admitted. "I think she's still in hospital. I had to, to stop her." His tiredness hung heavily on him and he blinked. "I don't understand anything," he said. "But... If it really is her-"
"You know it is."
"Yes. I know. But I mean, If it is... Then... Well.." He shook his head again. "She's like me?"
"She is nothing like you," Miss Kay said harshly. "I told you last time we met - you are magic. You breathe it, as a dragon breathes fire."
"And she doesn't?"
With a sigh Miss Kay said, "You weary me with your repeated questions. Her magic is discordant. Unlike you, she has had no training."
At Merlin's expression of surprise, she raised an eyebrow. "Did you not have guidance throughout your young life, from your mother and uncle?"
"Not about how to do magic."
Miss Kay snorted in amusement. "You don't need to be taught how to do magic, Merlin. For that you just need to believe what is possible. But your mother and uncle taught you when to use it and, more importantly, when not." She sat back in her chair with both hands flat on the table top. "The witch has talent, but no more than that. Without an amulet to focus it, she could achieve nothing more than minor charms and curses. Magic is merely a tool to her, a means of achieving her ends. Nothing more." She tilted her head, her eyes bright. Once again, Merlin had a fleeting impression of inhuman age. "Look inside yourself and tell me what the essence of magic is," she said.
Under her steady gaze, Merlin stiffened. "Do not fear," she said. "This place is protected. No harm can reach you in this house."
"No, that's not…" He broke off because she was right; he was afraid to relax and turn his attention inward, leaving himself exposed. He searched her face, which in some subtle, undefinable way, no longer appeared entirely human, let alone that of a genteel, elderly lady. Yet it was reassuring and he nodded.
He relaxed against the chair back, clasped his hands lightly in his lap and allowed his shoulders to drop. His consciousness expanded an inch beyond his skin and he sighed contentedly, as the aura of Miss Kay's promised security was confirmed and flooded through him.
"Now turn it inwards," Miss Kay murmured and he did so, diving like a seal inside himself and allowing the ocean of his unconscious to enfold his conscious mind. It was green, and blue, and gold, and it swirled, ebbed and flowed to the rhythm of his double thumping heart and the roaring rush of air in and out of his lungs. It sang with the chaotic collision of blood cells in his veins and gurgled with the acid in his stomach. It filled the gaps between the cells in his skin and his muscles. It was curled up in every nucleus, wrapped around each strand of DNA. It soared through the marrow of his bones, zipped along the synapses of his nervous system and lay as a calm pool of tranquillity at the base of his brain.
It was complete within him and it completed him. It was the power that made him animate and he was its manifestation.
A calm voice spoke within his mind, coaxing and patient. "Now come back," it said.
He followed the voice outward and opened his eyes.
Miss Kay sat opposite him and his right arm was stretched across her kitchen table. She held his hand gently in hers. A shadow of energy zinged under the skin of his back and brow, like Alka-Seltzer to the brain. He felt like he could run a marathon and dance all night afterwards.
He drew his hand away and picked up his coffee mug. She nodded.
"It's not like that for everyone?" he asked.
"At the smallest level, yes. In the centre of each cell, in every living thing, there is magic. You've seen it; you've felt it."
"Yes," Merlin said. "It's like watching small fireworks."
"You felt the difference inside yourself."
"Yes. I think so. I felt it in my blood. I've never sensed that from the people and animals I've touched."
"Nor will you."
"But Morgana?" He shook his head to clear it of the last rainbow drops. "Okay I can believe that she's not like... that. But she still has magic. Still uses it. She's trying to use it to hurt Arthur." He lifted his mug to his lips and took a sip. "I guess I need to know why," he said, "because then maybe I could help." Miss Kay made a soft noise of protest. "I don't mean help her do it. I mean... Try and sort out whatever's wrong, so she wouldn't feel like she had to... Or, or something? I mean, whatever's wrong... If we knew what it was..."
He trailed off and Miss Kay made a 'harumphing' sound. "Your determination to see goodness in people will be your undoing," she said. "I fear that your fates are now joined. She is nothing but darkness, compared to your light. She hates and that passion now rules her."
"But why?"
"Why?" Miss Kay sounded faintly amused. "Because wild magic is dangerous to the wielder. And for jealousy, of course." Merlin stared at her. "Her brother got everything," Miss Kay explained, "and she was abandoned by her father. He didn't recognise her when she needed him, but she saw him."
"Her brother? Her father? She's never mentioned a brother and she said her father died. What do they have to do with any of this? What do they have to do with Arthur? With Uther?" Miss Kay said nothing. She sat as still as a stone. It was almost as if she wasn't breathing and something in the weight of her gaze made him gasp. "She's Uther's daughter?" he whispered. "She's Arthur's sister?"
With what could almost have been a smile of approval, Miss Kay nodded and said, "Indeed she is."
"But… how?"
"I believe you are old enough to understand the mechanics," Miss Kay said with a note of tart finality.
She nodded at the mug he still held. "Drink," she said. "The witch has served her purpose, but if she is allowed to continue, she will go too far."
"What do you mean, her purpose?" Merlin asked.
Miss Kay looked down her nose at him. "That is not your concern," she said. "It is accomplished. But you and Arthur are two sprouts on the same tree, Young Merlin. It is your destiny and you cannot escape it. It will take courage and strength, as well as magic to prevent the witch from fulfilling her desires. You must stop her, before she snuffs out Arthur's future, as she has done Uther's. Go and find your Pendragon. Talk to him. And when you need me, call. I will come."
With that, she stood and walked away into the house, once again leaving him in the kitchen wishing he had the temerity to follow her into her lair and demand more of the answers she obviously could but refused to give. Instead he sat and drank his coffee, hoping she would return, even though he knew she would not. Then he got up, let himself out of the house and went to the pub for a pint while he waited for the bus to take him back to Camelot.
*****
When Merlin got back to the museum, he found Gaius, Gwen and three men from Leon's crew dismantling the displays in the Foyer and packing the objects into crates for transport.
There was no email from Arthur, so after some hesitation he went to help them.
By the time the Greenswood staff knocked off, the display cases in both the Foyer and the Ticket Office where empty. The glass topped table in the Ticket Office had been pushed to one side and a neat stack of boxes from the stores and crates full of display objects occupied the centre of each room.
"This lot will go to the Riverside, tomorrow," Gaius said, "We'll get the Ladies Waiting Room finished tomorrow, too. The mummies are off to Caerleon on Friday and Winthrope's Cabinet Makers are arriving on Monday to dismantle the display cases in the Ticket Office."
"What about the rest of the stuff in your workroom?" Merlin asked.
"We'll do that tomorrow afternoon," Gaius said. "If Leon is willing to lend us the help for a little longer."
Merlin stretched aching muscles and looked around at the results of their labours. He had always loved being in the galleries before they opened to the public in the morning. They had seemed a secret, special place in the half gloom, before the lights were switched on. With the displays gone, the dirty paintwork on the walls and the signs of damp near the ceilings were much more obvious. The rooms looked sad and neglected. For once he was glad to leave for the day.
On the walk home he finally had an opportunity to tell Gaius about his visit to Miss Kay, about Morgana's parentage and what Miss Kay had said about her motives. With Gaius's questions, they had reached Francis Street before he managed to finish his story.
They continued to worry over it all through their evening meal. The Camelot Echo, bought at Mr Kumar's shop on the way home, contained a statement from the Council saying that the Folly had been gifted to the town and that the Council was committed to seeing it open again. It sounded like the sort of thing the board of a football club said in support of their manager, the week before they sacked him. Neither Gaius not Merlin felt particularly reassured.
When they finished their meal Merlin set his empty plate aside. "I'm going to London tomorrow," he said.
Gaius pushed his own plate away and rested his elbows on the table. "To do what?" he asked.
"Miss Kay said I should talk to Arthur. And I'd have gone today if I hadn't gone to see her."
"And you'll tell him about," Gaius waved his right hand in a vaguely inclusive gesture, "everything?"
His uncharacteristic unwillingness to voice the word made Merlin laugh. "I think I have to, don't I?"
Gaius didn't join him in his amusement. "That could be very dangerous," he said.
Abruptly sobered by the fear he heard in Gaius's voice, Merlin nodded. "I know. But this is Arthur's life. When Morgana gets out of hospital..."
"No, wait." Gaius held up his hand like a policeman directing traffic. "Think, Merlin. I like Arthur too, but what you're talking about is telling him the secret that could get you killed, or worse, if it became common knowledge. If that happened, at best you'd have to run and hide. You'd never be able to see your mother again."
It was true. Although neither his mum, nor Gaius, had ever spelt it out in such stark terms when he was young, it was the fear that had underlain his entire life, the assumption he had grown up with as an unquestioned truth. It was the fact that had always sat as a barrier between him and other people, inhibiting friendship and precluding intimacy.
But this was Arthur.
He paused, because Gaius deserved more than an instinctive reaction.
Arthur was the only person Merlin had ever met whose entire being glowed gold and caused Merlin's soul to tingle with excitement in a sympathetic resonance. He could be a wanker with his assumption of entitlement, but he had scolded Merlin into a greater understanding of responsibility and duty. Merlin had seen him throw back his head and laugh without consideration and felt he should do it more. He loved his father and the inherited memory of his mother.
Merlin suddenly realised that he thought of Arthur as more than a friend, and far more than a mere employer. He reached out and placed his hand over Gaius's. "I trust him," he said. "I don't know why, or how, maybe it's magic too, but I do."
Gaius nodded ruefully. "Yes, I see that you do," he said. He still looked worried, but he also looked resigned. "Well, if you're determined, you had better do it tomorrow, as you say. Gwen mentioned that they're letting Morgana out of hospital in the morning."
"And Miss Kay said she'll try to kill Arthur again. I'm sorry, but I have to warn him. I have to tell him everything. And to do that, I have to be there. Talk to him face-to-face."
"Yes." Gaius said. "I know. But Merlin?"
"Yes?"
"Please be careful, my boy. There is no easy way to do this."
"Don't worry, Uncle Gaius, I know that."
Gaius shook his head. "I do worry." He turned his hand over and gripped Merlin's strongly. "And if it goes wrong, call me immediately, okay?"
"Sure, yes. But it won't. I feel it."
"But if it does. I have always had an escape plan for you, since you were a toddler, and I still do. So call me, okay?"
Merlin nodded, his eyes prickling. "Yes. Thank you. I will."
*****
Merlin sat staring out of the window of the coach, watching the embankments and roadside plantings intermittently obscure the long view. The gentle slopes of Albionshire gave way to miles of flat fields, yellow with rape seed flowers and green with maturing grasses. It was flat and open land, with none of the intimacy of the hills and dairy farms around Camelot, or even the moors and smallholdings of Ealdor. In the distance the cooling towers of a power station loomed over the landscape, giant sentinels, reminding nature that humans now had dominion.
The road was clear and the bus was making good time. It was also half-empty, so Merlin had no neighbour to distract him from his thoughts, or ask about the book he held open on his lap. He re-read the spell, although he knew he had it memorised, then he went back to watching the fields, clouds and occasional glimpse of the east coast mainline from the window.
All too soon the landscape closed in as the green belt gave way to Outer London. All too soon, because Merlin was still worrying about what he should do when he arrived. He went over again in his mind the various methods he had considered for approaching Arthur, trying to find an alternative to the rather chancy one he had figured out just before falling asleep the night before.
Any attempt to see Arthur at Pendragon's Head Office was discarded, because he was pretty certain he would never get through the firewall of administrative assistance. And anyway, he needed time without interruptions to tell his story. He knew the name of the nursing home where Uther was staying, but there was no certainty that Arthur would visit and Merlin didn't fancy hanging around for hours in the hope that he would. He had no idea where Arthur lived, so he couldn't wait for him there. That left tracking him with magic. Merlin reckoned that he would still spend a lot of the day hanging around, waiting, but the money saved by taking the bus instead of the train would pay for a taxi and there was something thrilling about the idea of jumping into a black cab and saying, 'follow that car'.
He looked down and read the spell again.
When the coach pulled into Victoria Bus Station, he shoved the book into his pack, stood and slung the pack onto his shoulder. He followed his fellow passengers out through the station, onto Elizabeth Street and then turned left onto Buckingham Palace Road, towards the railway station where he would be able to catch the tube.
As always, the city was thronged with people all walking at different speeds and all seemingly intent on making progress difficult for others. The pavement was edged with trees in small squares of bare soil that looked starved for water and through the leaves the bright sunshine did its best to make the city seem attractive, but the air caught in Merlin's throat, thick with exhaust fumes. It was a relief when he spotted the train station up ahead. He crossed the road and went in.
Dodging the hurrying travellers across the pale granite floor, between coffee stalls, instant photo booths and shops selling ties, socks and newspapers, he made it to the entrance of the underground and fought his way down the steps against a tide of incoming. His first twenty minutes in London had reminded him why he had chosen to go to his Uncle Gaius in Camelot, rather than accept Will's invitation of a flat share and a free bed until he found a job.
He managed to negotiate the ticket machine, unlike the luckless tourist next to him who had to be assisted by the man queuing behind him, and found his way through the barriers and the crowds to the correct platform. Finally, he squashed himself into the travelling sardine tin that was the tube train and he was on his way into the city. He allowed his pack to slide off his shoulder, hugged it to his chest, leaned back against the door and relaxed.
Half an hour later he was sitting under a wide orange awning on the pavement outside the small, independent coffee shop Streetview had promised him, opposite Mercia House where Pendragon's occupied the fourth floor. It was nearly two o'clock and a trickle of people were entering the building, no doubt returning from their lunch breaks. Merlin sat back and sipped his coffee, simply glad to be still in the bright, city sunshine.
His eye was caught by a flash of blond hair on the opposite pavement, but the man was wearing lycra and carrying a bicycle helmet. Merlin watched him as he went into the bank next to Mercia House.
Pulling his pack onto his lap, he dug out the silver pen Arthur had lent him to write the gift tag for Gaius the previous week. He examined it, studying the way the burnt sunset light from the awning reflecting off the curved barrel. Twisting it between his thumb and forefinger, the clip with its discrete engraving came into view. Latin. Merlin had no idea what it said and had forgotten to check. Taking a deep breath he held it between the flat palms of his hands and, with his elbows resting on the table top, brought his hands up to his mouth as if he was occupied in ostentatious prayer. Simultaneously relaxing his body and tightening his mind, he could taste the strengthening of the orange light around his hand. It deepened and shone with the sound of light bells in a strong wind and a sensation like gravity. With no ouija compass needle to focus on, he sank into recollection of Arthur sitting at a wrought iron table in a garden, drinking tea and glowing golden.
Awareness expanded abruptly in a purple and aniseed explosion that tasted of chocolate and threatened for a moment to spread him evenly across every dimension of the layer-cake-multiverse. Arthur was in the building opposite. Somewhere up and across and not too far, he was working, thinking, talking, reading.
Moving slowly, Merlin slipped the pen into his jacket pocket and picked up his coffee cup. He took a sip and held the link. Sitting quietly on the edge of the drop into nothingness, his spirit soared above the city and like an eagle he could see every detail. Arthur occupied the centre of his vision; an awareness too profound for images. He waited and watched how the Arthur-shaped kaleidoscope occupied existence. How it dipped and twirled and stayed as still as a limpid pool of spring water in the hollow of a tree. He waited.
By the time he felt comfortable enough to glance at his watch, it was 3:25 and his coffee was cold. No one had bothered him, though. No orange aproned worker ants had hassled him to move, or reorder, or leave, although his table was cleaned twice while he sat there. It might have been a passive-aggressive hint, but he ignored it, enjoying the wonder of the Arthur-centric world.
After an hour, when he felt confident that he wouldn't lose the connection, he ordered another coffee and a milk shake, and sat sipping at them until the cafe closed at six o'clock. Then he transferred to the pub three doors down and nursed a half of lemonade on a tall stool at the window. At eight o'clock his focus moved. It walked across, paused, floating down to street level and started to approach. Merlin stood up and went to the door.
He hovered outside the pub, like a smoker getting his fix and watched with his physical eyes the imposing entrance of Mercia House. Beyond their reach Arthur's presence loomed closer. Merlin realised he was fidgeting, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, like a boxer preparing for a fight.
Arthur stepped out onto the pavement and into view. He was with another, older man. They stood talking for a few minutes and Merlin edged along his side of the road, waiting for a gap in the traffic so he could cross. The older man clapped Arthur on the shoulder and turned away. Arthur walked to the curb and looked towards the oncoming traffic. He raised his arm. Merlin saw an opening and darted across, just as a black cab drew up and Arthur began to climb in. There was no time. Merlin reached the taxi's side, opened the other door and tumbled into its spacious passenger compartment.
"Excuse me," Arthur said, "but I think you'll find -" Merlin cut the spell, an abrupt bereavement of sensation that left him momentarily stunned. He looked up. "Merlin?" Arthur said.
"Yes. Hi. Um…"
"What the hell?" Arthur asked. "What are you doing here?"
Merlin righted himself. "I came to see you."
"That is patently obvious," Arthur replied icily. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you," Merlin said, taking the seat next to him and turning to face him.
Arthur lifted his briefcase from between them and laid it across his knees. "And you lost my number?" he suggested.
"No, but… It's complicated. And important. Really, really important," Merlin said.
The taxi driver, apparently decided that it was neither a kidnap, nor an attempted hijack, interrupted with a, "Where to, guv?"
Arthur regarded Merlin silently and Merlin tried not to squirm. "Very well," Arthur agreed. Without looking away he said, "South Kensington. Cromwell Mews East." Merlin grinned as ingratiatingly as possible and Arthur settled back in his seat. "Whatever it is, it had better wait until we get home," he said. He looked at his watch. "Will it take long?"
Merlin hesitated and Arthur sighed again. "You won't get back to Camelot tonight," he said. "Where are you staying?"
"The last bus from Victoria's at 10:30. Or I can call Will. He lives in Walthamstow."
"You came by bus?" He said it as if the very concept was foreign, but he didn't wait for an answer, picking up on the other half of Merlin's suggestion. "Will, your friend from the Daily News?"
"Yeah."
Arthur looked at his watch again. "No, you can't stay with a journalist. And especially not that one." He shook his head and ran his hand across his face. He looked tired. "Never mind. It can wait for now." Merlin wanted to say something in defence of Will, but Arthur raised one hand. "Just, wait," he said. Settling back into the seat, he laid his head against the cushion and closed his eyes.
Merlin decided to heed the instruction and spent the journey staring out of the window at the passing shop fronts and the traffic.
Eventually the taxi turned into a narrow cobbled lane and Arthur stirred himself. "Just up there," he said to the driver. "By that car." The taxi pulled up behind an SUV that was blocking the entire road, in spite of being parked as close to the front of the house as was possible, given the row of pot plants under the window. Merlin climbed out and looked around while Arthur paid.
The road was more of an alley than a street, albeit a very posh alley. The small, neat cottages had obviously once been stables and housing for the coachmen serving the four and five story townhouses that loomed above them. But that was as far as any resemblance to Francis Street and Milton Avenue went. The houses in Cromwell Mews East were now a Marie Antoinette version of working-class cottages. They had plain frontages, many with garage doors on the ground floor, but all the pointing was clean and the paintwork was fresh and bright. Even the cobbles underfoot looked as if they had been recently laid by a film company. Possibly Disney.
Arthur led the way past the SUV and stopped at a single black door with a bright, brass knocker in the shape of a unicorn rampant, next to a similarly black garage door. He pulled out a key and unlocked it. "Wait here," he said, "while I turn off the alarm." He went in and Merlin hovered on the door step. "Alright," Arthur said. "Come in," and he led the way up a flight of narrow stairs.
At the top of the stairs the building seemed to expand, TARDIS-like. Merlin found himself in a large open-plan kitchen/dining room/living area. There was a fireplace set between two small windows at the far end with a comfortable looking sofa and two chairs grouped in front of it. The floor was fashionable plain, pale wood and large rugs defined and separated the soft seating area from the glass-topped dining table, while the kitchen with its single large window occupied the near end of the space. An open staircase led up to the second floor.
Arthur put his briefcase on the dining table and turned around. "Drink?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you," Merlin said and Arthur nodded. He went to the kitchen while Merlin edged cautiously into the room. "Take a seat," Arthur called. "I have a feeling this might take some time?"
He returned with two bottles of beer and handed one to Merlin. Walking past Merlin, he put the other on the mantelpiece. "I really need to get changed out of this stuff," he said, indicating his suit. "Can you give me a moment?"
"Yeah, sure," Merlin said.
"Okay." Arthur went to the stairs up to the next floor, throwing, "And for god's sake, sit down," over his shoulder as he disappeared from view.
Merlin did as he was told, perching on the edge of the sofa and clutching his bottle in both hands.
He was still there when Arthur returned ten minutes later in a pair of soft looking sweat bottoms, a t-shirt and flip-flops.
Arthur retrieved his beer and folded himself into an elegant sprawl in one of the armchairs. "You've come to plead the museum's case, I suppose," he said.
"Uh…" The assumption took Merlin by surprise, because yes, he had, but there were so many other things as well. It did, however, provide a starting point. "Sort of," he said.
Arthur saluted Merlin with his bottle and took a drink. "Let me explain," he said. "The company cannot release any more funds to the museum right now. Your suppliers have been informed that any delivery already made will be honoured, but that any future orders must be authorised by me. Your employment is secure for the next three months, so you can assist Gaius with the move. Greenswood will make the building secure. The lease on the store at Riverside has been paid for eighteen months. I authorised that this morning. You know how much of the original donation is left. I will honour that commitment." He paused, but frowned Merlin to silence when he opened his mouth. "Pendragon's has projects on eight different sites that are now in jeopardy," he said. "My father is in hospital, unlikely to be fit to return to work for weeks, and unable to respond to his detractors." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. It looked brittle and hard. "It doesn't matter that he never broke any laws. The press represented his actions as fraud and asked why he isn't being prosecuted. It would take months for any enquiry to straighten the story out and by then it wouldn't matter; the press would call it a white-wash."
Reeling slightly under the flood of information, Merlin took a sip from his bottle to give himself a moment. "Will you go bust?" he asked and Arthur laughed.
"No," he said. "And for God's sake don't go suggesting that anywhere else." Merlin shook his head. "But it's a mess that will require some sorting out and I have to do the best I can for the company."
That sounded ominous. "But you love the museum."
Arthur nodded. "I do, but what I want and what we can afford are two different things. My father's -"
"I need to tell you something," Merlin said, cutting him off. "What your dad said. And the accidents - to Pell, to you - they weren't accidents."
"Don't talk rubbish, Merlin. Of course they were. What else could they be?"
"It was Morgana."
Arthur's eyebrows rose and he stared at Merlin. "Morgana? Your friend Morgana? Lance and Gwaine's admin, Morgana?" he asked.
"Yes. Except, obviously, if she's trying to kill you, she's not my friend," Merlin said. "She meant to hit you with the bust of Thomas Pendragon."
Arthur relaxed, seemed to sink further into his chair and finally his smile looked real. "Merlin," he said, with a slight shake of his head. "Putting aside the absolute impossibility of her engineering the fall of that bust when she wasn't even in the building, why would she do something like that?"
Now that the moment to start telling it all had arrived, Merlin realised how difficult it was to break through the habits of a lifetime. It didn't matter that he, quite illogically, trusted Arthur. It didn't matter that Arthur's life was at stake. His mouth refused to form the words. "Um… I don't know?" he said.
While he'd been struggling to shape a proper reply, Arthur had sat up again. There was a note of warning in his voice when he said, "You know something, or you think you do. What is it?"
Merlin winced. "You're not going to like it."
"I don't like it now," Arthur said. "So tell me."
"She's your sister."
"What?!"
With a certain sour satisfaction, Merlin said, "Told you, you wouldn't like it."
"Oh, no," Arthur said. "Now you've gone beyond ridiculous."
"Your father had an affair with her mother."
That made Arthur pause. "How old is she?" he asked.
"A year older than you."
"No!" Arthur said, getting to his feet and walking over to the fireplace. "My parents were married for four years before I was born."
"I know." Arthur spun and Merlin added, "I googled them."
Although he slammed his beer bottle down on the mantelpiece, Arthur didn't shout. His voice was cold and precise, but there was an audible vibration in it that betrayed his emotion. "That's enough!" he said. "This conversation is over. I don't know what you hoped to achieve by it, but it's not going to work. I think you should leave now. If you hurry you'll be in time for that last bus."
"Magic!" Merlin blurted. "She did it with magic."
Arthur, who had started to walk towards the stairs leading down to the ground floor, turned. The expression on his face had gone beyond annoyance. Merlin held up his hand to stay him. "Magic's real, Arthur," he said.
Arthur pointed at the stairs. "Out. Now!"
Merlin stood. Keeping his eyes locked with Arthur's, he turned his hand so it was flat, palm upwards. "Look," he said and a small swirl of tiny coloured lights began to form and dance above his palm. Once he had the complex orbits stabilised, he looked up. Arthur's eyes were fixed on the lights. Merlin concentrated and began to bring them closer to each other, until they coalesced into a single, blue-green ball, about the size of a large glass marble that swirled with silver and gold.
The sound of a gasp made him look up again. While he'd been manipulating his light show, Arthur had come back across the room. He was slightly bent forward, so his face was only a foot from the globe. His expression made something in Merlin's chest swell.
Arthur reached out his hand, but aborted the gesture. "You can touch it, if you like," Merlin said. "It's not hot."
Arthur looked up. "Or not," Merlin added, closing his hand. When he opened it again, the ball was gone.
Arthur abruptly straightened and collapsed into the chair behind him.
Pendragon's Folly, Chapter 9
Pairing: M/A, eventually.
Characters: in this chapter - Merlin, Miss Kay, Gaius, Arthur.
Rating: PG maybe even U
Chapter Word Count: 6,850
Warnings: No sex
Summary: There's an out of work wizard, a museum, a sizeable donation that turns it into a building site, suspicious happenings and magic. A sort of 'take your fandom to work' story.
Author's note 1: When it comes to romance, this story is the definition of 'slow burn'.
Comments are always greatly appreciated, loved and cherished.
Author's note 2: More thanks than I can say to my beta, plot wrangler and best friend, sparrow2000. And many, many thanks to DJ for (hopefully) catching the typos we missed. If you spot any more, please do let me know.
Disclaimer: I write fan fic. All the characters from the Merlin series are the property of the BBC and Shine, etc. No infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this writing.
Chapter 8
It was not until early on Wednesday morning that Arthur finally called Merlin back, waking him from the deep sleep he had eventually fallen into at around 2:00am.
He rolled over and fumbled for his phone. Pressing the 'accept' button more by instinct than by design, he held it to his ear. "'Lo," he mumbled.
Arthur's unmistakable voice asked, "Merlin?"
Suddenly more awake, Merlin pushed his duvet aside and sat upright on the edge of his bed.
"Arthur? Are you all right?"
"Pardon?" Arthur said. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"
Merlin briefly pulled the phone away from his ear so he could check the time. "Er… Because it's five o'clock in the morning and you're phoning me?"
"I'm calling you back, you idiot. You apparently need to talk to me? Urgently?"
"Oh, oh yes. Thanks." Merlin ran his free hand over his face and rubbed at his eyes to get the sleep out of them. "I wanted to tell you that the Mayor's refused to fund the Folly, so unless you can reverse your father's decision, the museum will never open again."
"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked. He sounded disgustingly wide awake for such an hour.
"You know your father withdrew the extra funding he agreed to?" Arthur made an affirmative sort of noise, so Merlin continued. "Right, well, the Trustees went to the mayor, but he said 'no', so, since you're sort of in charge at the moment…" he trailed off.
There was a prolonged silence at the other end of the line. "I see," Arthur said.
"So you'll do it. Right?"
"Do you have any idea," Arthur asked, "what my father's outburst has done to this company? The investors we had lined up on half a dozen projects have got cold feet and those already committed are trying to draw back. A charitable project at this time..." The floor was chill against the soles of Merlin's feet so he dragged the edge of the duvet across his lap and legs. In his ear Arthur continued in a firmer tone. "If my father decided not to add to his donation, I'm sure he had good reason." Merlin started to protest, but Arthur cut him off. "I will need to look into it," he said, "before I can even consider reversing his decision."
Wriggling his toes into a fold of the duvet, Merlin replied, "Oh, he had a good reason all right. He wants to do a land grab on the Folly. And if the Museum closes he'll succeed."
"What?"
"Gwen and I found the deed Thomas Pendragon drew up when he created the museum. There's a clause that says the building reverts to the Pendragon family, if the Museum's ever closed for good."
This time the silence lasted longer and Merlin opened his mouth to say something more, but Arthur pre-empted him. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said. His voice was cool and business-like. Merlin wanted to shake him. "I'll be in touch, once I've had a chance to check the details." Before Merlin could say anything else, he terminated the call and Merlin was left sitting on the edge of his bed, feeling shaken, but even more determined to go and talk to him, face to face.
After he had seen Miss Kay again.
***
Merlin grabbed the hand hold on the back of the seat in front of him, to steady himself as the bus drew away from the stop in Market Square and turned into Charlotte Street. The morning had seemed to promise a bright day, but the bits of sky he could see through the window, between the roofs of the houses, had taken on a heavy, slate-grey colour. As they pulled out of Camelot onto the A6152, it started to rain - an abruptly deafening clatter of ball bearings on the roof and as sudden a reduction in visibility. The bus momentarily slowed, before speeding up again with its windscreen wipers on double speed. The heavy rain didn't last long, but by the time they reached Lillebrook a steady drizzle was falling, adding a miserable chill to the air and streaking the window, transforming the normally jigsaw-pretty cottages and village green into an impressionist landscape. He had a sour taste from not enough sleep in the back of his throat, which, at odd moments threatened to climb up into his brain and cause his eyes to close. Hunching his shoulders against both the weather and his mood, he stuffed his hands as deeply into his jacket pockets as he could and slouched in his seat.
When the bus finally lurched off the roundabout and onto the Greatham road, he shook himself awake, clambered to his feet and staggered down the aisle towards the door. "Red Dragon, please," he said to the driver.
The driver drew the bus to a smooth stop opposite the pub.
With a dutiful, "Cheers, mate," Merlin climbed down onto the verge and made his way to the gate belonging to Heythorpe House.
The wind had picked up and it buffeted him, but the sky had finally begun to lighten. A watery sun broke through the low clouds as he pushed the gate open. Drops of water clung sparkling to the blades of the grass but, as he took the path across the open space, they still soaked his trousers up to his knee when they brushed against him. Once under the trees, heavy drops dripped onto his shoulders from the branches above and the flagstones were treacherous underfoot. He pulled his thin jacket tightly across his chest and picked his way along them with care.
In spite of his slower pace, the walk through the wood seemed shorter than it had the first time and he was soon striding confidently along the cinder path next to the lawn, from where the croquet hoops dripped silently at him.
Once again the kitchen door opened as he approached. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Miss Kay asked, waving him in and closing the door against the unseasonably chill wind.
They sat in the same chairs at the table as they had on his previous visit and he wasn't surprised when Miss Kay poured coffee into a mug from a tall pot and pushed it across to him, along with a jug of milk and a sugar bowl. "What is agitating you, my young friend?" she asked.
Having spooned sugar into his mug, Merlin clasped both hands around it, warming them. Miss Kay waited patiently until he looked up at her. "It's Morgana," he said. "She's the one with the magic and I think she's behind all the accidents." He paused as an idea occurred to him. "Unless... There can't be two of them, can there?"
"There are not," Miss Kay confirmed. "Magic has a signature and there was only one voice in Camelot, until you arrived."
"So it is Morgana?"
Miss Kay inclined her head. "As you say," she agreed.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.
"You know now."
"But..." Merlin shook his head. "I don't understand," he said. "She really did almost kill Pell? And Arthur, that time in the square? And, on Thursday morning?" Miss Kay nodded in reply to each question. "But why?" he asked. "It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense. Why would she want Arthur dead? The Folly's closed because she of what she did on Thursday, but if she wanted to wreck the museum, why would she do… whatever she did to Uther? We'd never have known what he was planning until it was too late. She exposed him."
Miss Kay looked steadily back at him. "So many questions," she said. "All of which will have answers. But they are not your prime concern."
"I hurt her yesterday," he admitted. "I think she's still in hospital. I had to, to stop her." His tiredness hung heavily on him and he blinked. "I don't understand anything," he said. "But... If it really is her-"
"You know it is."
"Yes. I know. But I mean, If it is... Then... Well.." He shook his head again. "She's like me?"
"She is nothing like you," Miss Kay said harshly. "I told you last time we met - you are magic. You breathe it, as a dragon breathes fire."
"And she doesn't?"
With a sigh Miss Kay said, "You weary me with your repeated questions. Her magic is discordant. Unlike you, she has had no training."
At Merlin's expression of surprise, she raised an eyebrow. "Did you not have guidance throughout your young life, from your mother and uncle?"
"Not about how to do magic."
Miss Kay snorted in amusement. "You don't need to be taught how to do magic, Merlin. For that you just need to believe what is possible. But your mother and uncle taught you when to use it and, more importantly, when not." She sat back in her chair with both hands flat on the table top. "The witch has talent, but no more than that. Without an amulet to focus it, she could achieve nothing more than minor charms and curses. Magic is merely a tool to her, a means of achieving her ends. Nothing more." She tilted her head, her eyes bright. Once again, Merlin had a fleeting impression of inhuman age. "Look inside yourself and tell me what the essence of magic is," she said.
Under her steady gaze, Merlin stiffened. "Do not fear," she said. "This place is protected. No harm can reach you in this house."
"No, that's not…" He broke off because she was right; he was afraid to relax and turn his attention inward, leaving himself exposed. He searched her face, which in some subtle, undefinable way, no longer appeared entirely human, let alone that of a genteel, elderly lady. Yet it was reassuring and he nodded.
He relaxed against the chair back, clasped his hands lightly in his lap and allowed his shoulders to drop. His consciousness expanded an inch beyond his skin and he sighed contentedly, as the aura of Miss Kay's promised security was confirmed and flooded through him.
"Now turn it inwards," Miss Kay murmured and he did so, diving like a seal inside himself and allowing the ocean of his unconscious to enfold his conscious mind. It was green, and blue, and gold, and it swirled, ebbed and flowed to the rhythm of his double thumping heart and the roaring rush of air in and out of his lungs. It sang with the chaotic collision of blood cells in his veins and gurgled with the acid in his stomach. It filled the gaps between the cells in his skin and his muscles. It was curled up in every nucleus, wrapped around each strand of DNA. It soared through the marrow of his bones, zipped along the synapses of his nervous system and lay as a calm pool of tranquillity at the base of his brain.
It was complete within him and it completed him. It was the power that made him animate and he was its manifestation.
A calm voice spoke within his mind, coaxing and patient. "Now come back," it said.
He followed the voice outward and opened his eyes.
Miss Kay sat opposite him and his right arm was stretched across her kitchen table. She held his hand gently in hers. A shadow of energy zinged under the skin of his back and brow, like Alka-Seltzer to the brain. He felt like he could run a marathon and dance all night afterwards.
He drew his hand away and picked up his coffee mug. She nodded.
"It's not like that for everyone?" he asked.
"At the smallest level, yes. In the centre of each cell, in every living thing, there is magic. You've seen it; you've felt it."
"Yes," Merlin said. "It's like watching small fireworks."
"You felt the difference inside yourself."
"Yes. I think so. I felt it in my blood. I've never sensed that from the people and animals I've touched."
"Nor will you."
"But Morgana?" He shook his head to clear it of the last rainbow drops. "Okay I can believe that she's not like... that. But she still has magic. Still uses it. She's trying to use it to hurt Arthur." He lifted his mug to his lips and took a sip. "I guess I need to know why," he said, "because then maybe I could help." Miss Kay made a soft noise of protest. "I don't mean help her do it. I mean... Try and sort out whatever's wrong, so she wouldn't feel like she had to... Or, or something? I mean, whatever's wrong... If we knew what it was..."
He trailed off and Miss Kay made a 'harumphing' sound. "Your determination to see goodness in people will be your undoing," she said. "I fear that your fates are now joined. She is nothing but darkness, compared to your light. She hates and that passion now rules her."
"But why?"
"Why?" Miss Kay sounded faintly amused. "Because wild magic is dangerous to the wielder. And for jealousy, of course." Merlin stared at her. "Her brother got everything," Miss Kay explained, "and she was abandoned by her father. He didn't recognise her when she needed him, but she saw him."
"Her brother? Her father? She's never mentioned a brother and she said her father died. What do they have to do with any of this? What do they have to do with Arthur? With Uther?" Miss Kay said nothing. She sat as still as a stone. It was almost as if she wasn't breathing and something in the weight of her gaze made him gasp. "She's Uther's daughter?" he whispered. "She's Arthur's sister?"
With what could almost have been a smile of approval, Miss Kay nodded and said, "Indeed she is."
"But… how?"
"I believe you are old enough to understand the mechanics," Miss Kay said with a note of tart finality.
She nodded at the mug he still held. "Drink," she said. "The witch has served her purpose, but if she is allowed to continue, she will go too far."
"What do you mean, her purpose?" Merlin asked.
Miss Kay looked down her nose at him. "That is not your concern," she said. "It is accomplished. But you and Arthur are two sprouts on the same tree, Young Merlin. It is your destiny and you cannot escape it. It will take courage and strength, as well as magic to prevent the witch from fulfilling her desires. You must stop her, before she snuffs out Arthur's future, as she has done Uther's. Go and find your Pendragon. Talk to him. And when you need me, call. I will come."
With that, she stood and walked away into the house, once again leaving him in the kitchen wishing he had the temerity to follow her into her lair and demand more of the answers she obviously could but refused to give. Instead he sat and drank his coffee, hoping she would return, even though he knew she would not. Then he got up, let himself out of the house and went to the pub for a pint while he waited for the bus to take him back to Camelot.
*****
When Merlin got back to the museum, he found Gaius, Gwen and three men from Leon's crew dismantling the displays in the Foyer and packing the objects into crates for transport.
There was no email from Arthur, so after some hesitation he went to help them.
By the time the Greenswood staff knocked off, the display cases in both the Foyer and the Ticket Office where empty. The glass topped table in the Ticket Office had been pushed to one side and a neat stack of boxes from the stores and crates full of display objects occupied the centre of each room.
"This lot will go to the Riverside, tomorrow," Gaius said, "We'll get the Ladies Waiting Room finished tomorrow, too. The mummies are off to Caerleon on Friday and Winthrope's Cabinet Makers are arriving on Monday to dismantle the display cases in the Ticket Office."
"What about the rest of the stuff in your workroom?" Merlin asked.
"We'll do that tomorrow afternoon," Gaius said. "If Leon is willing to lend us the help for a little longer."
Merlin stretched aching muscles and looked around at the results of their labours. He had always loved being in the galleries before they opened to the public in the morning. They had seemed a secret, special place in the half gloom, before the lights were switched on. With the displays gone, the dirty paintwork on the walls and the signs of damp near the ceilings were much more obvious. The rooms looked sad and neglected. For once he was glad to leave for the day.
On the walk home he finally had an opportunity to tell Gaius about his visit to Miss Kay, about Morgana's parentage and what Miss Kay had said about her motives. With Gaius's questions, they had reached Francis Street before he managed to finish his story.
They continued to worry over it all through their evening meal. The Camelot Echo, bought at Mr Kumar's shop on the way home, contained a statement from the Council saying that the Folly had been gifted to the town and that the Council was committed to seeing it open again. It sounded like the sort of thing the board of a football club said in support of their manager, the week before they sacked him. Neither Gaius not Merlin felt particularly reassured.
When they finished their meal Merlin set his empty plate aside. "I'm going to London tomorrow," he said.
Gaius pushed his own plate away and rested his elbows on the table. "To do what?" he asked.
"Miss Kay said I should talk to Arthur. And I'd have gone today if I hadn't gone to see her."
"And you'll tell him about," Gaius waved his right hand in a vaguely inclusive gesture, "everything?"
His uncharacteristic unwillingness to voice the word made Merlin laugh. "I think I have to, don't I?"
Gaius didn't join him in his amusement. "That could be very dangerous," he said.
Abruptly sobered by the fear he heard in Gaius's voice, Merlin nodded. "I know. But this is Arthur's life. When Morgana gets out of hospital..."
"No, wait." Gaius held up his hand like a policeman directing traffic. "Think, Merlin. I like Arthur too, but what you're talking about is telling him the secret that could get you killed, or worse, if it became common knowledge. If that happened, at best you'd have to run and hide. You'd never be able to see your mother again."
It was true. Although neither his mum, nor Gaius, had ever spelt it out in such stark terms when he was young, it was the fear that had underlain his entire life, the assumption he had grown up with as an unquestioned truth. It was the fact that had always sat as a barrier between him and other people, inhibiting friendship and precluding intimacy.
But this was Arthur.
He paused, because Gaius deserved more than an instinctive reaction.
Arthur was the only person Merlin had ever met whose entire being glowed gold and caused Merlin's soul to tingle with excitement in a sympathetic resonance. He could be a wanker with his assumption of entitlement, but he had scolded Merlin into a greater understanding of responsibility and duty. Merlin had seen him throw back his head and laugh without consideration and felt he should do it more. He loved his father and the inherited memory of his mother.
Merlin suddenly realised that he thought of Arthur as more than a friend, and far more than a mere employer. He reached out and placed his hand over Gaius's. "I trust him," he said. "I don't know why, or how, maybe it's magic too, but I do."
Gaius nodded ruefully. "Yes, I see that you do," he said. He still looked worried, but he also looked resigned. "Well, if you're determined, you had better do it tomorrow, as you say. Gwen mentioned that they're letting Morgana out of hospital in the morning."
"And Miss Kay said she'll try to kill Arthur again. I'm sorry, but I have to warn him. I have to tell him everything. And to do that, I have to be there. Talk to him face-to-face."
"Yes." Gaius said. "I know. But Merlin?"
"Yes?"
"Please be careful, my boy. There is no easy way to do this."
"Don't worry, Uncle Gaius, I know that."
Gaius shook his head. "I do worry." He turned his hand over and gripped Merlin's strongly. "And if it goes wrong, call me immediately, okay?"
"Sure, yes. But it won't. I feel it."
"But if it does. I have always had an escape plan for you, since you were a toddler, and I still do. So call me, okay?"
Merlin nodded, his eyes prickling. "Yes. Thank you. I will."
*****
Merlin sat staring out of the window of the coach, watching the embankments and roadside plantings intermittently obscure the long view. The gentle slopes of Albionshire gave way to miles of flat fields, yellow with rape seed flowers and green with maturing grasses. It was flat and open land, with none of the intimacy of the hills and dairy farms around Camelot, or even the moors and smallholdings of Ealdor. In the distance the cooling towers of a power station loomed over the landscape, giant sentinels, reminding nature that humans now had dominion.
The road was clear and the bus was making good time. It was also half-empty, so Merlin had no neighbour to distract him from his thoughts, or ask about the book he held open on his lap. He re-read the spell, although he knew he had it memorised, then he went back to watching the fields, clouds and occasional glimpse of the east coast mainline from the window.
All too soon the landscape closed in as the green belt gave way to Outer London. All too soon, because Merlin was still worrying about what he should do when he arrived. He went over again in his mind the various methods he had considered for approaching Arthur, trying to find an alternative to the rather chancy one he had figured out just before falling asleep the night before.
Any attempt to see Arthur at Pendragon's Head Office was discarded, because he was pretty certain he would never get through the firewall of administrative assistance. And anyway, he needed time without interruptions to tell his story. He knew the name of the nursing home where Uther was staying, but there was no certainty that Arthur would visit and Merlin didn't fancy hanging around for hours in the hope that he would. He had no idea where Arthur lived, so he couldn't wait for him there. That left tracking him with magic. Merlin reckoned that he would still spend a lot of the day hanging around, waiting, but the money saved by taking the bus instead of the train would pay for a taxi and there was something thrilling about the idea of jumping into a black cab and saying, 'follow that car'.
He looked down and read the spell again.
When the coach pulled into Victoria Bus Station, he shoved the book into his pack, stood and slung the pack onto his shoulder. He followed his fellow passengers out through the station, onto Elizabeth Street and then turned left onto Buckingham Palace Road, towards the railway station where he would be able to catch the tube.
As always, the city was thronged with people all walking at different speeds and all seemingly intent on making progress difficult for others. The pavement was edged with trees in small squares of bare soil that looked starved for water and through the leaves the bright sunshine did its best to make the city seem attractive, but the air caught in Merlin's throat, thick with exhaust fumes. It was a relief when he spotted the train station up ahead. He crossed the road and went in.
Dodging the hurrying travellers across the pale granite floor, between coffee stalls, instant photo booths and shops selling ties, socks and newspapers, he made it to the entrance of the underground and fought his way down the steps against a tide of incoming. His first twenty minutes in London had reminded him why he had chosen to go to his Uncle Gaius in Camelot, rather than accept Will's invitation of a flat share and a free bed until he found a job.
He managed to negotiate the ticket machine, unlike the luckless tourist next to him who had to be assisted by the man queuing behind him, and found his way through the barriers and the crowds to the correct platform. Finally, he squashed himself into the travelling sardine tin that was the tube train and he was on his way into the city. He allowed his pack to slide off his shoulder, hugged it to his chest, leaned back against the door and relaxed.
Half an hour later he was sitting under a wide orange awning on the pavement outside the small, independent coffee shop Streetview had promised him, opposite Mercia House where Pendragon's occupied the fourth floor. It was nearly two o'clock and a trickle of people were entering the building, no doubt returning from their lunch breaks. Merlin sat back and sipped his coffee, simply glad to be still in the bright, city sunshine.
His eye was caught by a flash of blond hair on the opposite pavement, but the man was wearing lycra and carrying a bicycle helmet. Merlin watched him as he went into the bank next to Mercia House.
Pulling his pack onto his lap, he dug out the silver pen Arthur had lent him to write the gift tag for Gaius the previous week. He examined it, studying the way the burnt sunset light from the awning reflecting off the curved barrel. Twisting it between his thumb and forefinger, the clip with its discrete engraving came into view. Latin. Merlin had no idea what it said and had forgotten to check. Taking a deep breath he held it between the flat palms of his hands and, with his elbows resting on the table top, brought his hands up to his mouth as if he was occupied in ostentatious prayer. Simultaneously relaxing his body and tightening his mind, he could taste the strengthening of the orange light around his hand. It deepened and shone with the sound of light bells in a strong wind and a sensation like gravity. With no ouija compass needle to focus on, he sank into recollection of Arthur sitting at a wrought iron table in a garden, drinking tea and glowing golden.
Awareness expanded abruptly in a purple and aniseed explosion that tasted of chocolate and threatened for a moment to spread him evenly across every dimension of the layer-cake-multiverse. Arthur was in the building opposite. Somewhere up and across and not too far, he was working, thinking, talking, reading.
Moving slowly, Merlin slipped the pen into his jacket pocket and picked up his coffee cup. He took a sip and held the link. Sitting quietly on the edge of the drop into nothingness, his spirit soared above the city and like an eagle he could see every detail. Arthur occupied the centre of his vision; an awareness too profound for images. He waited and watched how the Arthur-shaped kaleidoscope occupied existence. How it dipped and twirled and stayed as still as a limpid pool of spring water in the hollow of a tree. He waited.
By the time he felt comfortable enough to glance at his watch, it was 3:25 and his coffee was cold. No one had bothered him, though. No orange aproned worker ants had hassled him to move, or reorder, or leave, although his table was cleaned twice while he sat there. It might have been a passive-aggressive hint, but he ignored it, enjoying the wonder of the Arthur-centric world.
After an hour, when he felt confident that he wouldn't lose the connection, he ordered another coffee and a milk shake, and sat sipping at them until the cafe closed at six o'clock. Then he transferred to the pub three doors down and nursed a half of lemonade on a tall stool at the window. At eight o'clock his focus moved. It walked across, paused, floating down to street level and started to approach. Merlin stood up and went to the door.
He hovered outside the pub, like a smoker getting his fix and watched with his physical eyes the imposing entrance of Mercia House. Beyond their reach Arthur's presence loomed closer. Merlin realised he was fidgeting, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, like a boxer preparing for a fight.
Arthur stepped out onto the pavement and into view. He was with another, older man. They stood talking for a few minutes and Merlin edged along his side of the road, waiting for a gap in the traffic so he could cross. The older man clapped Arthur on the shoulder and turned away. Arthur walked to the curb and looked towards the oncoming traffic. He raised his arm. Merlin saw an opening and darted across, just as a black cab drew up and Arthur began to climb in. There was no time. Merlin reached the taxi's side, opened the other door and tumbled into its spacious passenger compartment.
"Excuse me," Arthur said, "but I think you'll find -" Merlin cut the spell, an abrupt bereavement of sensation that left him momentarily stunned. He looked up. "Merlin?" Arthur said.
"Yes. Hi. Um…"
"What the hell?" Arthur asked. "What are you doing here?"
Merlin righted himself. "I came to see you."
"That is patently obvious," Arthur replied icily. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you," Merlin said, taking the seat next to him and turning to face him.
Arthur lifted his briefcase from between them and laid it across his knees. "And you lost my number?" he suggested.
"No, but… It's complicated. And important. Really, really important," Merlin said.
The taxi driver, apparently decided that it was neither a kidnap, nor an attempted hijack, interrupted with a, "Where to, guv?"
Arthur regarded Merlin silently and Merlin tried not to squirm. "Very well," Arthur agreed. Without looking away he said, "South Kensington. Cromwell Mews East." Merlin grinned as ingratiatingly as possible and Arthur settled back in his seat. "Whatever it is, it had better wait until we get home," he said. He looked at his watch. "Will it take long?"
Merlin hesitated and Arthur sighed again. "You won't get back to Camelot tonight," he said. "Where are you staying?"
"The last bus from Victoria's at 10:30. Or I can call Will. He lives in Walthamstow."
"You came by bus?" He said it as if the very concept was foreign, but he didn't wait for an answer, picking up on the other half of Merlin's suggestion. "Will, your friend from the Daily News?"
"Yeah."
Arthur looked at his watch again. "No, you can't stay with a journalist. And especially not that one." He shook his head and ran his hand across his face. He looked tired. "Never mind. It can wait for now." Merlin wanted to say something in defence of Will, but Arthur raised one hand. "Just, wait," he said. Settling back into the seat, he laid his head against the cushion and closed his eyes.
Merlin decided to heed the instruction and spent the journey staring out of the window at the passing shop fronts and the traffic.
Eventually the taxi turned into a narrow cobbled lane and Arthur stirred himself. "Just up there," he said to the driver. "By that car." The taxi pulled up behind an SUV that was blocking the entire road, in spite of being parked as close to the front of the house as was possible, given the row of pot plants under the window. Merlin climbed out and looked around while Arthur paid.
The road was more of an alley than a street, albeit a very posh alley. The small, neat cottages had obviously once been stables and housing for the coachmen serving the four and five story townhouses that loomed above them. But that was as far as any resemblance to Francis Street and Milton Avenue went. The houses in Cromwell Mews East were now a Marie Antoinette version of working-class cottages. They had plain frontages, many with garage doors on the ground floor, but all the pointing was clean and the paintwork was fresh and bright. Even the cobbles underfoot looked as if they had been recently laid by a film company. Possibly Disney.
Arthur led the way past the SUV and stopped at a single black door with a bright, brass knocker in the shape of a unicorn rampant, next to a similarly black garage door. He pulled out a key and unlocked it. "Wait here," he said, "while I turn off the alarm." He went in and Merlin hovered on the door step. "Alright," Arthur said. "Come in," and he led the way up a flight of narrow stairs.
At the top of the stairs the building seemed to expand, TARDIS-like. Merlin found himself in a large open-plan kitchen/dining room/living area. There was a fireplace set between two small windows at the far end with a comfortable looking sofa and two chairs grouped in front of it. The floor was fashionable plain, pale wood and large rugs defined and separated the soft seating area from the glass-topped dining table, while the kitchen with its single large window occupied the near end of the space. An open staircase led up to the second floor.
Arthur put his briefcase on the dining table and turned around. "Drink?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you," Merlin said and Arthur nodded. He went to the kitchen while Merlin edged cautiously into the room. "Take a seat," Arthur called. "I have a feeling this might take some time?"
He returned with two bottles of beer and handed one to Merlin. Walking past Merlin, he put the other on the mantelpiece. "I really need to get changed out of this stuff," he said, indicating his suit. "Can you give me a moment?"
"Yeah, sure," Merlin said.
"Okay." Arthur went to the stairs up to the next floor, throwing, "And for god's sake, sit down," over his shoulder as he disappeared from view.
Merlin did as he was told, perching on the edge of the sofa and clutching his bottle in both hands.
He was still there when Arthur returned ten minutes later in a pair of soft looking sweat bottoms, a t-shirt and flip-flops.
Arthur retrieved his beer and folded himself into an elegant sprawl in one of the armchairs. "You've come to plead the museum's case, I suppose," he said.
"Uh…" The assumption took Merlin by surprise, because yes, he had, but there were so many other things as well. It did, however, provide a starting point. "Sort of," he said.
Arthur saluted Merlin with his bottle and took a drink. "Let me explain," he said. "The company cannot release any more funds to the museum right now. Your suppliers have been informed that any delivery already made will be honoured, but that any future orders must be authorised by me. Your employment is secure for the next three months, so you can assist Gaius with the move. Greenswood will make the building secure. The lease on the store at Riverside has been paid for eighteen months. I authorised that this morning. You know how much of the original donation is left. I will honour that commitment." He paused, but frowned Merlin to silence when he opened his mouth. "Pendragon's has projects on eight different sites that are now in jeopardy," he said. "My father is in hospital, unlikely to be fit to return to work for weeks, and unable to respond to his detractors." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. It looked brittle and hard. "It doesn't matter that he never broke any laws. The press represented his actions as fraud and asked why he isn't being prosecuted. It would take months for any enquiry to straighten the story out and by then it wouldn't matter; the press would call it a white-wash."
Reeling slightly under the flood of information, Merlin took a sip from his bottle to give himself a moment. "Will you go bust?" he asked and Arthur laughed.
"No," he said. "And for God's sake don't go suggesting that anywhere else." Merlin shook his head. "But it's a mess that will require some sorting out and I have to do the best I can for the company."
That sounded ominous. "But you love the museum."
Arthur nodded. "I do, but what I want and what we can afford are two different things. My father's -"
"I need to tell you something," Merlin said, cutting him off. "What your dad said. And the accidents - to Pell, to you - they weren't accidents."
"Don't talk rubbish, Merlin. Of course they were. What else could they be?"
"It was Morgana."
Arthur's eyebrows rose and he stared at Merlin. "Morgana? Your friend Morgana? Lance and Gwaine's admin, Morgana?" he asked.
"Yes. Except, obviously, if she's trying to kill you, she's not my friend," Merlin said. "She meant to hit you with the bust of Thomas Pendragon."
Arthur relaxed, seemed to sink further into his chair and finally his smile looked real. "Merlin," he said, with a slight shake of his head. "Putting aside the absolute impossibility of her engineering the fall of that bust when she wasn't even in the building, why would she do something like that?"
Now that the moment to start telling it all had arrived, Merlin realised how difficult it was to break through the habits of a lifetime. It didn't matter that he, quite illogically, trusted Arthur. It didn't matter that Arthur's life was at stake. His mouth refused to form the words. "Um… I don't know?" he said.
While he'd been struggling to shape a proper reply, Arthur had sat up again. There was a note of warning in his voice when he said, "You know something, or you think you do. What is it?"
Merlin winced. "You're not going to like it."
"I don't like it now," Arthur said. "So tell me."
"She's your sister."
"What?!"
With a certain sour satisfaction, Merlin said, "Told you, you wouldn't like it."
"Oh, no," Arthur said. "Now you've gone beyond ridiculous."
"Your father had an affair with her mother."
That made Arthur pause. "How old is she?" he asked.
"A year older than you."
"No!" Arthur said, getting to his feet and walking over to the fireplace. "My parents were married for four years before I was born."
"I know." Arthur spun and Merlin added, "I googled them."
Although he slammed his beer bottle down on the mantelpiece, Arthur didn't shout. His voice was cold and precise, but there was an audible vibration in it that betrayed his emotion. "That's enough!" he said. "This conversation is over. I don't know what you hoped to achieve by it, but it's not going to work. I think you should leave now. If you hurry you'll be in time for that last bus."
"Magic!" Merlin blurted. "She did it with magic."
Arthur, who had started to walk towards the stairs leading down to the ground floor, turned. The expression on his face had gone beyond annoyance. Merlin held up his hand to stay him. "Magic's real, Arthur," he said.
Arthur pointed at the stairs. "Out. Now!"
Merlin stood. Keeping his eyes locked with Arthur's, he turned his hand so it was flat, palm upwards. "Look," he said and a small swirl of tiny coloured lights began to form and dance above his palm. Once he had the complex orbits stabilised, he looked up. Arthur's eyes were fixed on the lights. Merlin concentrated and began to bring them closer to each other, until they coalesced into a single, blue-green ball, about the size of a large glass marble that swirled with silver and gold.
The sound of a gasp made him look up again. While he'd been manipulating his light show, Arthur had come back across the room. He was slightly bent forward, so his face was only a foot from the globe. His expression made something in Merlin's chest swell.
Arthur reached out his hand, but aborted the gesture. "You can touch it, if you like," Merlin said. "It's not hot."
Arthur looked up. "Or not," Merlin added, closing his hand. When he opened it again, the ball was gone.
Arthur abruptly straightened and collapsed into the chair behind him.
Pendragon's Folly, Chapter 9