The Secret of Excalibur (8 page)

I throw my bag on the bed, irritated. “Ruth, are you saying they might think I'm connected to the old Merlin?”

“No, but it seems at least one old lady is giving it some thought.” She stands and strolls into the bathroom.

With nothing else to do, I explore the room. Aside from the gigantic bed, there isn't much else. Of course, there isn't any more space. Old carvings mark the dark, brown ceiling beams, and even the bed posts. Runes. The bed has white, clean, cotton sheets and is accented by a very old, gold, silk canopy. There's also an ancient radio, but no TV.

Ruth wanders out of the bathroom as my watch shows 6:30 p.m. “If we're going to dinner, we have to get ready,” she says as she slips her sandals back on.

My stomach grumbles as I go into the bathroom and wash up. When I come out, she's retouching her makeup, and at ten to seven we start climbing down the stairs.

Ruth is holding and patting my arm as we climb down the steps. “Arthur, try not to do anything to upset the townspeople, or frighten them, okay? I mean, we're on holiday, and I don't want anything to ruin it.”

What else can I do?
I pat her back.

Wandering into the dining area arm-in-arm, I notice several men sitting in front of a big radio, and as luck would have it, the radio sends out a big blast of pure static. The men turn towards us, giving us hard stares.

We seat ourselves at a table by a wall, then Mrs. Moynin hustles out with a platter full of chops, while a serving girl brings us two mugs of ale. Both scamper off so fast we don't have a chance to thank them. The radio starts working again, and most of the men turn back around. But a few of them don't. They keep glaring with distrust at us as we eat. Before we're finished with our dinner, more patrons have made their way inside the pub, mostly big, rough-looking men, but a few women too.

On our second mug of bitter ale, Ruth tells me, “We're in what is called the Common Room, also known as the Great Room. It's where the people of the village gather in the evenings, as they have for centuries. Even today, in the age of the telly, the villagers still come here. They talk, drink, argue, play darts, sing, dance, play cards, and tell stories. The tradition hasn't changed much since the days of King Arthur and Merlin.”

And witch burnings
, I think.
Some of these men look the type.
What if witches were here today?

After 8:00 p.m., an old guy starts playing an accordion, while a group in a corner is having the loudest dart game on record. Over in the other corner by the fireplace, are two men either having an arm wrestling match, or needed an excuse to hold hands in public. Neither of their hands are moving or arms showing any evidence of straining.

Then, there's this big bozo, sitting at the table next to us, who keeps staring. I smell him from where I sit, my eyes stinging. He looks as big as a tree, with wide shoulders and hairy, thick, long arms. His clothes could've been from any age in history, but they smell like it must've been the Cretaceous Period. The Neanderthal smells like he's been collecting dinosaur shit all day with his bare hands, and has stains to prove it.

Ruth continues telling me the history of the area, about a lake sixty miles from here, where the sword of King Arthur was allegedly thrown in. And about a thousand other facts I'm not interested in enough to pretend like asking questions. She keeps going over the stories about the sword a lot.
How many books did I see in her library about King Arthur, Merlin, and the sword?
At least eleven books on Excalibur alone! The kid must be fascinated by the legends.
Well, there are worse things to get hung-up on.
Take Godzilla over there. He has an expression that faintly reminds me of Reshan, but a little dimmer.

Since I've gained my abilities, there've been times when I wanted to read someone's mind, but a tiny voice would pipe up and yell NO at me. I always listen to that voice, but I really want to learn what King Kong finds so damn interesting about us. He's been glaring at us since we came downstairs, even while we ate, and he's still staring.
No, I won't do it.
Sometimes, I get sick to my stomach from the feelings I run across in people's minds, and I don't want to be sick tonight.

Ruth's still talking, and I catch a phrase about an expedition she'd been a part of. “Back in the early seventies, seventy-two, I think. I was a graduate student back then. Anyhow, Dr. Tober had a trip organized, and since I was a qualified scuba diver he asked me to go. The truth is, I wanted to go more than he'll ever know. We were going to Lake George, the lake I was just telling you about.”

Oh great, what had she said?
I dart a glance from her back to Godzilla.

She takes a big pull on her mug and starts again. “The expedition took place right after school let out. In fact, a week from now will have been the anniversary of the trip. We stayed in tents, women in groups, men in groups. I found those sleeping arrangements very convenient, but some of my female friends didn't.

“Well, along into the second week of our mapping and searching, we still hadn't found a single area of the lake that wasn't already mapped. So, Dr. Tober and Gordy rented a few small boats, and we thought we'd use them to row along the cliffs, where, as I said, you can't get to on foot. The next day, we were setup to work the cliffs. But that night, a clear, moonlit night, some of my friends and a few guys, decided to borrow the boats, after the Doctor and Gordy were asleep, so they could spend time alone on the beaches.” With a dreamy smile, Ruth gently strokes my hand, “I didn't understand why they wanted to go then, the idea of it, I mean. Because of that, I was supposed to be the lookout for them.

“Gordy slept soundly, but Dr. Tober went to sleep late, and always awoke early. My friends decided I would engage Dr. Tober in some form of conversation, in his tent, hoping it would help cover any noises they made. I didn't want to do it, but two of the girls were my best and dearest friends. So, I went. I took along the book you were reading the night when Dobie called, when was that? Oh yes, last night.” She stares into her mug. “Funny, it seems a longer time ago.

“Anyway, you must understand, if Dr. Tober had suspected what was going on, we would all have been expelled, and that would've spelled disaster for many of us. His course was, and still is I might add, one of the most highly regarded in the whole University. For him to expel you meant you were in limbo, where no one would hire you after that. Those types of black marks never go away, ever. But I still agreed, and went to see him.

“If I live to be one hundred, I'll never forget that night,” Ruth says in a hushed tone. “Now, I wish we would've been caught and expelled. It would've been so much easier.”

She rolls her shoulders, sitting taller. “When I entered Dr. Tober's tent, being the man he is, when he let me in, he pinned his tent flaps open. So, at first, I wasn't listening to him, because I was terrified he'd hear my friends as they rowed off in the boats. No one had counted on him opening the tent flaps. In fact, from where I sat, I could see my friends in the moonlight, as they rowed away.

“Yes, saying I was afraid doesn't begin to cover how I felt. Fortunately, he thought I was frightened by the stories he'd told us earlier. He started to tell me facts from his journal. Now, some of this I already told you, but not in this context, so if I repeat myself, please don't get bored. Okay?” She blinks at me with her gorgeous, green eyes.

Already told me what?
“Uh, no, kid, you won't bore me. Go ahead.” I wave to get the serving girl's attention and order two more mugs of ale. I think about ordering a drink for Godzilla.
Fuck him.

With a mental sigh, I wonder,
maybe I should go into Ruth's mind and learn what she's talking about.
But if I do, she might notice, and that could ruin what I'm hoping will be a great evening.
She's also giving off an emotional aura indicating that whatever happened was very important and traumatic for her.
Best to just sit and listen.

Trying to turn her mug to take a drink, Ruth fumbles it around, and I realize she's getting tipsy. After a sip, she begins again. “The time was close to eleven o'clock, and my friends were out of sight of Dr. Tober's tent, so I finally relaxed and listened. He told me of the various sightings on the lake, and how there were even documented episodes of wooden fishing boats coming into dock with deep slashes on their sides, and always on moonlit nights. Even though there hadn't been any boat damages for a while, the locals were still reporting sightings.”

Sightings? What the hell is she talking about? What did I miss?

Ruth holds her mug in a white-knuckled grip, eyes lowered. She takes a few deep breaths. Something's bothering her and it isn't the ale.

I lightly touch her hand, not patting. “Hey, if telling your story is bothering you, save it for another time. I'll still be around.”

But what I thought was a sigh before tears, turns out to be a sigh of resignation instead. She looks at me with sadness reflected in her gleaming eyes. “Arthur, I've never told anyone this before. I've gone over the incident in my mind so often, but I've never put it into words before. If I stop now, I'll never be able to tell it again.” She picks up her mug and drinks like a thirsty sailor, or as Godzilla over there did, and was. “Now, listen, because I won't stop. And if you think I'm crazy, well, okay. But I'm not.

“About one-thirty Dr. Tober and I were still talking. He'd gone through all his journals by then, and now we were talking about his own theories. He said he just knew it was there; too much had happened for it not to be. And I'm agreeing with him, my friends forgotten for the moment. Then, he showed me a map St. George drew after the crusades, but before he died. Remember I mentioned that?

“And on this map was sketched what looked like a cavern. But because of some stains on the map, there wasn't a way to determine the cavern's location. Dr. Tober said the stains were the blood of St. George, from the map being inside his mail when he died, and only one servant ever had any knowledge of the map.”

She's interrupted by a loud outburst from the men sitting around the radio. They're arguing over the comments made on a talk show.

Glancing from them back to me, she continues, “Dr. Tober discovered the map in some old records he found at the University, many years before. And every year, on each summer vacation, he'd take a group of students to Lake George to search. Of course, the University didn't know about the map, and he never told them. These yearly expeditions were a graduate course, and since Dr. Tober was head of the course, the University endorsed the trips. He was at the Institute by then as well, but not full-time like now.” With a lopsided grin, Ruth excuses herself and heads for the ladies room.

Godzilla watches her for a few stumbling steps, then turns his attention back to me. His stare isn't a challenge, but it's not friendly either. I want to read his mind so badly, but think,
if Ruth wants to go on with her story, I should hear it.
But, you big ape, when the lady stops, I'm going to have some fun with you.

His face turns a darker color, and I wonder whether I accidentally spoke aloud. His tree-like arms and legs tense, and for a second, I think he's going to get up and attack me. But he doesn't. In fact, for the first time so far tonight, he actually turns away.

A tall, heavy man, with a white apron tied to a large, beer-belly, appears from the back room. He searches over the place, and when his eyes settle on me, he smiles and goes behind the counter, into what has to be the kitchen.

Ruth wobbles back into the dining area from the bathroom, weaving her way through the milling throng. Godzilla never glances up. As Ruth plops down, the man with the apron comes back out and heads for our table with a bottle and two glasses. He bows and sets them on our table.

“Name is Tabby Moynin, owner. Mamma says yer honeymoonin'. This ain't champagne, which we ain't got, but it's the best wine in the village, and the thoughts the same.” With a broad smile, he holds out his hand.

Rising, I give him a firm handshake. “Arthur and Ruth Merlin, sir. Pleased to meet you.”

He shakes our hands, then kisses the back of Ruth's hand with a grace that belies his size. With a mischievous smile, he says, “Always wanted to do that, sir. And this'n here's a lady if'n I've ever set eyes on one.” Well, Ruth is an aristocrat, and she thanks him with a slight nod and a demure, drunken smile.

“Mr. Merlin, excuse me, but Mamma says yer a magician. Now if'n I might be so forward sir, we don't often get no new talent around here. Could I be imposin' on ye folks fer a little demonstration? Nothin' big, mind ye, maybe a little trick or two?”

THAK. That's Ruth kicking the side of my boot. “Mr. Moynin, I'm sorry, sir, but I didn't bring any props with me. I, er, wasn't planning to need any.” I give him a wink.

He glances at Ruth and grins. “Damn, sir, please be fer beggin' me pardon. Of course not, not on a honeymoon.”

“Then, he ain't no damn good, no how,” a thunderous voice booms, drowning the polka song the accordion player's playing.

With hands on hips, Moynin confronts Godzilla. “Barney, shut yer mouth. The gentleman said no.”

“If'n he were worth his salt, won't need no props, no how,” Godzilla booms at me with a sneer. The huge, packed room goes eerily silent, all eyes trained on us.

Moynin leans closer, whispering to us, “Pay him no mind. Since his old woman died, he fancies hisself expert on everythin', and a sensitive too. Goes to séances, and talks to spirits.”

Shit, just what we need tonight, a three-hundred pound, muscle-bound, smelly and drunk psychic. What's next?

“Be beggin' yer pardon again lady and gent, fer troublin' ye,” Moynin apologizes loud enough for all the patrons to hear, then adds, “Happy honeymoon.” There's a smattering of applause, but most patrons are staring at Godzilla, who's staring at me.

Godzilla Barney stands for the first time since we've entered the dining area. He slowly looks around, then seeing no one will interfere with him, he heads for our table. Because of his size, it would take more than three men to stop him. I prepare myself to mentally put him down, hard, if, that is, he has a brain to work with. I really don't care whether his mind gets slightly fried, so long as he doesn't ruin the rest of our evening. I can be pretty ornery when I'm amorous.

He leans with his knuckles on our wooden table, making it creak. “If'n ye was any good Mister Magician, ye won't need no props. I say ye ain't no damn good.” He leers at Ruth. “If'n I had me a bird like ye is woman, I'd be up in the bed a showin' ye what a man is.”

“Are you looking for trouble, mister?” I thought I said that calmly, but several folks scoot away real fast, leaving the echo of screeching wooden legs on the wooden floor hanging in the air.

Within seconds, Moynin and two other men with what looks like axe handles hurry over. “Go set down now, Barney, ye had yer say. Now sit or get out, man. And I mean it, Barney.”

Godzilla glares with malice, blinks, then gives a small, mocking grin. Turning, he lumbers back to his table, sitting with his back to us.