“So you’ll just go.” That’s what I say, but what I’m thinking is something else entirely. The statement goes along the line of, didn’t you desert King Arthur? That implies no more summoning ever, or at the very least, lots of ignoring such summons.
This world is a really freaky place.
“I think I understand,” says Nimue.
“Good,” I snark. “Because I don’t.”
Nimue raises her hands. Fresh bits of blue smoke whirl around her palms.
Then they slam into me.
One moment, I’m standing in my Scala robes. The next, I’m back on my blue horse.
“Better?” asks Nimue. “Not everyone is comfortable mounting.”
Without another word, Nimue and Merlin take off at a gallop. I flick my horses reins and follow. Who cares if I don’t understand much of what’s going on? At last, the moment is here.
Camelot, here I come.
30
Myla
Camelot, what a downer.
Once we arrive, Merlin and Nimue shove me into a tower room. The chamber is a small and round with one skinny window and a mattress stuffed with straw.
“So.” I eye the pair carefully. “What’s with this?”
“We must raise Avalon,” intones Merlin. “On order of the king.”
“Huh. Like you did the golden castle with Pendragon?”
“Yes,” replies Merlin. “We are magically bound to serve King Arthur.”
At this point, a rude-ish question pops into my head. Which I should just allow to pass by. No need to pry into personal stuff.
Don’t ask the question. Don’t ask the question. Don’t ask the question.
Fuck it.
“If you’d sworn to serve, how come you were roaming around the countryside in a fake wagon?”
Nimue lifts her chin. “We were exiled from the castle.”
I’d question this some more, but Nimue’s chin is wobbling a little bit. Merlin’s eyes glisten with tears. Clearly, whatever happened with King Arthur really upset them both.
“We must take our leave now,” says Merlin. “You should rest.”
“Hey,” I counter. “It’s like I told you before; I don’t need any more sleep.” I step toward the door. Nimue holds up her arm with her palm flat and facing toward me. The meaning is clear: Stay in the freaking tower.
“We can’t have you roaming the castle,” declares Merlin.
Pausing for a moment, I consider the situation. I could protest, but these are magic users. If I don’t play along, they might cast a nasty spell. As I recall, turning people into frogs was a big deal during this era.
I don’t want to be amphibian.
And I’ve broken out of worse situations.
So I lie my ass off.
“Oh gee golly.” I raise my arms and let out an extended yawn. “I am so darned sleepy.”
Not sure why this lie means I have to talk like I’m on a children’s TV program, but whatever. I’m rolling with it.
“We shall return when we can,” says Nimue. With that, the two mages step out the door. There’s the familiar snick of a lock being turned. I give them a full minute to take off before I try the handle.
Yup. Totally locked.
Giving up on the door, I head over to the window. There are a list of ways I could escape now, but one option is my favorite. I cross my fingers and call outside. “Fluffbottom?”
Nothing happens.
“Come on Fluff. I know you’ve been following me. I need your help here.”
My new best friend appears on my shoulder. “Hi, hi.”
I smile my face off. “Hi yourself, little guy.” I scratch his tummy with my pinky. “Why didn’t you appear before?”
“Shy, shy. I flew away when trouble came. Won’t do that ever again.”
“Don’t worry about the lab. Anyone can get scared when a mountain’s about to explode. You can do me a favor now, though.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Get me a key, will you?”
“Bye, bye.” Fluffbottom spreads his furry wings and takes off through the window.
Huh. That bye-bye wasn’t exactly conclusive. Fluffbottom may just take off at this point. He did before, after all.
Happily, Fluff returns in a few minutes. A large bronze key is held tightly in his little claws. “Back, back!”
“Well done, Fluff!” The imp drops the tiny bronze treasure onto my palm. “Ooh, it’s a skeleton key, too. Even better.”
I cross the room and set the key in the lock. Snick. Sure enough, the door opens with ease. Fluff marches across the floor with his ears and tiny tail in the air. So proud. He pauses to face me, his tiny chin raised. “Help, help. Fluffbottom is the best.”
“That you are.”
“More help?”
“Well, if you want to be super useful, go around and look for anything that might give details on how to stop Colossus from getting loose.”
“Failsafes and failsafes,” says Fluff.
I tilt my head. “What does that mean?”
“From Lucifer’s book. Prison-crypt has tricks and traps. Must break through seven seals to set Colossus free. It’s hard to open. Gives us time.”
“The Pendragon talked about that. Are the seals like doors?”
“Yes, yes,” repeats Fluff. “One for each deadly sin and its archdemon. I find more for you.” With that, the imp vanishes and does whatever Fluff thinks would helpful in this kind of situation.
Yay, Fluff.
I slip out of the room and head down a curly flight of stairs. The next floor down is empty. I figure that’s a good spot to start. Stealing out of the stairs, I find a wooden room lined with twelve doors and as many mirrors. Pausing, I wait for the inevitable rumble of servants.
No one shows up.
This floor lies deserted, which is odd. Even dumpy little castles like this one need tons of serfs to do even the most basic stuff. Believe me. After being married to Lincoln, I know these things.
Ah, Lincoln.
Once again, the thought of my husband fills my heart with unease. Is he safe?
Shaking my head, I focus on the task at hand, namely opening doors and snooping around. I open the first door. It’s a long and thin dressing room filled with boots.
Wait, boots?
Scrunching up my face, I think this though. Medieval folks are always organizing stuff into a single spot. Like a buttery, a creamery, or my favorite, the chocolaterie. Maybe this is a boot-ery or something?
Meh. Whatever it is, it isn’t helping me figure out how to stop Colossus from escaping.
I move on to the next door. Once again, the skeleton key works perfectly. This is a larger space and it’s nothing but crowns. Before, I thought the boot-ery might be a place to benefit everyone. But keeping tons of crowns around is for one person only, King Arthur.
Interesting. That might explain why there are no servants around. This must be the king’s private dressing area. Once the drama of getting ready is over, everyone moves on with their day.
Only ten more doors to go. I try to the next in line.
It’s a chamber of underwear only. All onesie cotton thingies, too. As a matter of fact, this is the same exact style that I’d put on baby Maxon.
Whoa. King Arthur in a onesie. Can’t unsee that now.
Moving on.
This door opens to a larger space that holds a bunch of leather armor.
Even better, it also holds my half-naked husband. A knot of worry unwinds within my soul.
Oh, Hells yes.
31
Lincoln
After I snuck away from the reception chamber, it took me twenty minutes and two helpful servants to find where King Arthur stores his extra battle gear. For a time, I tried on various armor options. Then the door opens.
Which brings me to the present moment.
“Myla?” I ask.
Without saying a word, the woman rushes in and kisses my face off.
That’
s my Myla, all right.
There are a million things I could say now. How much I’ve missed her. The secrets I learned about archdemons, the Crimson Scourge, Colossus, and the upcoming party. But all those thoughts vanish as her mouth moves across mine. I slide my hands down her thighs, grip the folds of her Scala robes, and pull the fabric upward.
Myla pauses. “The world’s about to end, everyone we know could vanish permanently, and Colossus might escape any minute … but we’re about to have sex?” Her pupils are flashing red, which means she’s all for the carnal option here.
As am I.
In reply, I hoist her robes higher. “I believe we are.”
Footsteps sound from outside the closet. We pause. After another kiss, I drop Myla’s robes, steal closer to the door, and listen. It’s hard to hear much, but I catch the odd word.
“What’s going on?” whispers Myla.
“Some servants are here; it seems Arthur demands a change of clothes.” My eyes widen as I hear the last bit of news. “And Xavier is on his way.”
Myla’s irises keep flashing red. “So no sex.”
“Not yet. In a matter of seconds, this place will be overrun with servants.”
She grumbles as she straightens her Scala robes. “Humans … end of the world … pain in my ass. GAH!”
I couldn’t agree more.
Myla eyes the leather armor. “My robes won’t change here. I should probably grab some battle gear.”
Which is logical. Myla can get replacement robes made, given enough time. She quickly finds a decent set of leathers.
“Where is Xavier?”she asks.
I press my ear to the door once more. “Can’t tell. We’ll need to actually leave this chamber to discover that fact.” I finish pulling on my leather breastplate. “To bad there aren’t any weapons in here, but I do have my baculum.”
“Me, too.” Myla pats the pockets of her body armor. “All set. Now how should we work this?”
“Meaning?”
“We’re clearly strangers in a strange closet.”
I hook my arm about her. “We walk out like superstars and demand to know where your father is.”
“What can I say?” asks Myla. “I love this plan.”
Together, Myla and I step out of the closet and into a whirlwind of activity. I march over to a nearby servant.
“Excuse me, my good woman. Where are the archangels gathering?”
“On the southern courtyard, sir.” She gestures out the thin window. Sure enough, I see a small gathering of white robes and golden wings. Although his back is toward me, I’d know one particular outline anywhere.
Xavier.
Myla sighs. I must imagine that it’s good to have your archangel Dad around, even if he doesn’t know who you are.
“Thank you.” I bow my head. “If you’ll excuse us.”
As Myla and I step away, my wife speaks to me in a low voice. “Well done, sir.”
“Thank you, milady. Now let’s get in some trouble.”
32
Myla
As Lincoln and I navigate through Camelot’s halls, I catch the outline of someone someone lurking in a far-off alcove. A slice of light illuminates the man’s face.
I stop.
Look.
Rub my eyes.
Look again.
No doubt about it.
Drusus is here.
And I’m not talking about the angelic version of this guy. Before me stands the walking, talking, living Drusus. A little younger, but still him. I mean, the angelic Drusus wouldn’t tell me when he’d been alive, but I’d assumed it was about a hundred years ago. Still, there really isn’t any reason Drusus couldn’t be living now.
Lincoln draws his brows together. “Why have we stopped?”
I nod toward the shadowy guy. “That’s Drusus,” I whisper.
“Are you certain?”
Good question.
I clear my throat and then speak in an extra loud voice. “Excuse me, are you Drusus?
The man steps out of the shadows. “I haven’t been called that name in years. These days I’m known as Dalston Rusus the Bard.” He bows, a movement that shows off the extra-huge feather in his mega hat. “At your service.”
I carefully scan the dude. Sure enough, he’s wearing the puffy shorts and tights combo that’s popular with minstrels of this time. He even carries a lute.
The question tumbles from my mouth, seemingly on its own. “What are you doing here?”
Drusus takes off his hat with a flourish. “I shall sing for King Arthur’s court. By my songs, shall all learn the greatness of Arthurian rule.”
I smack my lips. “I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why not?” asks Drusus. “I only take the deeds my king describes and place them to music.”
“What if I told you that you single-handedly erase the true nature of the Pendragon, Merlin and Nimue from history?”
“That’s not possible.”
“It’s more than possible,” says Lincoln. “In fact, I predict your songs will be turned into books that children will love—and be misled by—for centuries to come.”
“Here’s the thing,” I say. There’s not much time here, so I’m cutting to the point. “You need to change, honey.”
“What do you mean? I serve my king.”
I wag my finger at him. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about. Your songs about King Arthur are total lies. Now you’re all, hey I’m just doing my job, while I’m the one stuck watching you sit on a cloud and mope.”
“Mope?”
“Your angel self acts all droopy and sad for eternity. Only you don’t last for eternity. You start to fade because it’s horrible to watch how your lying songs ruin people.”
“Ruin,” says Drusus.
I set my fist on my hip. “You keep repeating what I say.”
Drusus shrugs. “You are strange girl who has cornered me in a hallway. Verily, it is much to comprehend.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll try to speak more plainly.”
“I thank thee.”
“If you do the wrong thing here—” I point to the ground “—Then you will suck at being an angel up there—” I gesture to the sky “—and eventually you will die. Forever.”
“Verily?” asks Drusus.
“Soooooooooo verily. The time to stop all your angelic suffering isn’t after you’re on a cloud and look like you’ve listened to break-up tunes for ten years solid. The moment to change your eternal fate is now. You’re on a bad path, friend.”
Drusus pales. “I shall go to Hell?”
“Depends how you define Hell,” says Lincoln. “You don’t have to be roasted over a fire to be tortured.”
Drusus takes a half-step backward. “I’m not certain of what you speak.”
Sure, he isn’t.
“Look,” I say. “Let me give this one last try. You need to get off the Sucksville Road and travel something that leads to Happy Forever Town. That way, when you’re hanging on your cloud, you can look down and go, wow, my shitty offspring isn’t a slimeball who’s killing sick people, he’s actually a good person who gives a crap about someone besides himself. You know what I’m talking about.”
Drusus stares at his slippy-on leather booties. “Perhaps. But what must I do?”
“Just go out there and sing the truth,” I state. “ You have gifts; they’re given to you for a reason. You’re supposed to use them for good.”
Drusus bows so low, his super-floppy hat falls off. “I thank thee for thy wisdom.” After putting on his hat again, Drusus marches off into the shadows. At double-speed.
I look to Lincoln. “What do you think the chances are that he’ll listen?”
“Fifty-fifty,” says Lincoln.
I sigh. “We’ll see.”
33
Myla
After the chat with Drusus, we quickly find the southern courtyard. I’m used to the castles in Antrum, whi
ch basically require a magical GPS to find where they hide the snacks. It’s super-easy here. Soon Lincoln and I step out onto a place of cobblestones, grass and trees that stands behind the castle proper. And there he is.
My father.
Or rather, my Not-Dad. It’s my father from a previous time before he met my mother.
Weird.
Not-Dad stands in golden armor, conversing with the other archangels. I scan the yard. There’s like, one guard around. No knights or King Arthur.
Weird-er.
I whisper to Lincoln. “The security around here sucks. You and I are total strangers and yet we’re waltzing around, asking questions and stealing supplies. I got chucked into a tower bedroom like forever ago and no one noticed I snuck out.”
“Tower room?”
“Long story.” It’s actually not that long but I’m really getting into this now. “I mean, it’s one thing when it’s only King Arthur hanging around or whatever. But now, my Not-Dad is out on the freaking lawn with no one to greet him and a guard who looks like he’s sleeping off too much mead and wench-time.”
Lincoln nods. “I met King Arthur. If that guard is anything like his king, then that is precisely what he’s sleeping off.”
I open my mouth super-wide in what I consider to be my mega drama shock face. This is one of the situations which calls for its use. “No. Way. King Arthur knows about this crappy guard situation?”
“He does. And I hate to break this to you, but King Arthur is a bit of a disappointment. I searched the castle for a time before we met up. I’d hoped there was some reason for his behavior such as say, a compulsion spell. Unfortunately, I think King Arthur is just a medieval douchebag.”
I stare at Lincoln for a long moment, my mouth still hanging open. “That’s a shocker, but I do see a silver lining here.”
A smile quirks Lincoln’s mouth. “So what’s your plan?”
And yes, I do have one.
“There’s no guard or whatever to stop us here,” I state. “That’s a bonus. I’ll just walk up to Not-Dad and start talking. My father has a thing about politeness. Remember when that lady kept petting his angel feathers and he wouldn’t stop her?”
The Brutal Time Special Edition Page 14