Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Legends

by Lydia Sherrer

  “Good grief,” Sebastian said, subdued. “No wonder she hated Arthur and Merlin and the rest.”

  “Possibly. Perhaps that’s when the seeds of dissension were planted. But Geoffrey’s Vita Merlini implies at least some cooperation between Morgan, Merlin, and Arthur. It was only the later, romanticized texts from the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries that painted her as an evil enchantress. I’m sure her actions and motivations were much more complex than any of the stories accounted for. Ultimately, we don’t really know what happened, and maybe never will. Though, perhaps if we find her alive and she’s, well,”—Lily shrugged, making a face—“not too intent on killing us, we can ask her and find out the truth.”

  “Good luck with that,” Sebastian said as he polished off the last bit of food on his plate, finally sated enough to pour himself a leisurely cup of tea. Looking up, he glanced past her and raised a hand to wave someone over. Lily turned to see Hawkins and Cyril winding their way toward them through the tables. “You have somewhere in mind to start looking?” he asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Let’s let these two get fed, then meet upstairs to talk strategy. I assume you have some sort of spell you can cast to ensure we’re not overheard?”

  Lily rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I can come up with something,” she assured him dryly. When Hawkins and Cyril arrived she gave them a polite ‘good morning’ and rose to offer her seat. She was done eating and had research to do in preparation for their day, now that she had Internet access again.

  “Alright. Meet you up there in, say, half an hour?”

  Lily nodded, nudging the “sleeping” Sir Kipling awake and informing him that he would have to come up to their room if he wanted anything for breakfast.

  She left the three men to their food and headed upstairs, mind busy with thoughts about tidal tables and coastal geography. They were a grateful distraction from thinking about…other things.

  3

  The Narrow Fort

  Lily stood at the top of a long flight of wooden stairs. They wound down the cliff face, which dropped before her over a hundred feet to the crashing waves below. The stairs, of course, leveled out before they reached the ocean, extending to bridge the gap between the mainland and Tintagel Island. There used to be a passable land bridge between the two, but it had eroded away over the centuries and was now just a tumble of rock. Once over the gap, the stairs climbed again to eventually reach the ancient ruins atop that stony height covered in mossy grass.

  Though not the most impressive ruins she’d ever seen, Tintagel Castle’s claim to fame was more due to its historical significance. Built half on the mainland and half on the jagged island projecting into the Cornish sea, its historical connection to the legends of King Arthur had inspired the imaginations of countless generations.

  Gazing down at the long descent in front of her and the subsequent climb, Lily could easily imagine how strategically important the site might have been as a remote and well-protected stronghold for various rulers, starting with the ancient Romans. Its very name, Tintagel—a combination of the Cornish words din and tagell—meant “fort of the constriction,” most likely alluding to the narrow and easily defensible land bridge which led up to where the castle’s main stronghold would have been.

  It was a good thing, Lily concluded, that she was not afraid of heights. Despite the sturdy railings on either side of the walkway, it still looked treacherous. The wind didn’t help, picking at her clothes and hair and making them whip back and forth in the constant gusts. She couldn’t imagine braving the climb if things were slippery. Since the day was dry, however, and she was wearing her new boots with impressive rubber treads, she felt brave enough to venture down towards the crashing waves.

  Behind her trailed Cyril—wide-eyed with child-like glee as he rattled off historical facts about their surroundings—and Sir Kipling, who looked distinctly unhappy with the way the wind was ruining his long hours of laborious grooming.

  Hovering a short way ahead and behind like a pair of guard dogs were Sebastian and Hawkins. Lily was certain John Faust wouldn’t bother them out in the open, but Sebastian had been adamant. He pointed out that they wouldn’t always be out in the open, and that it was better to be safe than sorry. To keep warm from the wind, Sebastian had produced a worn but hardy leather jacket, and Hawkins showed up in a knee-length wool trench coat and the ubiquitous English flat cap. He looked positively British to the core, gazing about with his perpetually serious expression.

  Knowing it wasn’t going to get any less steep no matter how long she looked at it, Lily finally started down the wooden walkway, holding tightly to the railing as wind gusted about her with frightening strength. The advantage of this overcast, chilly, and windy weather was that they had the site more or less to themselves. Apparently they’d arrived at the tail end of the summer tourist season, and the groups of holiday-goers still around weren’t especially keen on traipsing about in such miserable weather. Sir Kipling did not use the walkway. He found it easier to clamber down over the rocks and mounds of springy grass bordering the staircase where his claws had purchase. Yuki was nowhere in sight, having trotted off as soon as they’d arrived with a mental comment about having smelled a rabbit. Lily wasn’t worried. The fox knew to stay within calling distance, and he was serving the role of lookout as he roamed about.

  On their way down to the land bridge, they passed several instances of stone ruins marked with placards declaring their history and significance. Cyril, walking behind her, educated her on some of the relevant details as they climbed.

  “My goodness, look at those arches! Simply gorgeous. Did you know there was most likely an important Roman settlement here before Rome fell and the Romans abandoned Britain? And later, during the fifth to seventh centuries, they believe this was the site of a thriving coastal town. They’ve found luxury goods here imported all the way from the Mediterranean.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Lily called, voice almost carried away by the wind.

  “Of course, very little remains from the time of King Arthur. Most of these stone ruins are left from a castle Earl Richard of Cornwall built in the thirteenth century. Though a strategically powerful location from a defense standpoint, this area had very little political value in the overall power structure of England. Historians believe Richard built a castle here because of the powerful legends attached to the island. By aligning himself with King Arthur of legend, he was probably trying to improve his popularity and status among his subjects here in Cornwall. In any case, the castle didn’t last long. It fell into disrepair barely a century later. See these stone foundations here?” Cyril pointed to a line of stone barely visible above the spongy grass that covered the cliffside.

  Lily turned, having to hold whipping strands of hair out of her face in order to see the spot he indicated. Her hair would be a complete mess when they finally got back to their rooms.

  “These could have been supports for the gatehouse,” Cyril said loudly, pointing at several other places around them and making a motion with his hands as if outlining a gigantic roof and mighty portcullis. “And down there, where the walkway bridges the gap,” he pointed ahead of them. “The original land bridge, which connected the two parts of the castle, here on the mainland and there on the headland, collapsed around the fifteenth century.”

  Looking forward, Lily could see where the cliff dove down almost into the water. Only the smallest bit of land was still above the tide, and certainly couldn’t have been traversed by anything but man or animal clambering down and back up the rocks—thus the walkway bridge. Nothing killed the tourist trade like inaccessibility. Even with the bridge, though, the number and steep incline of the steps before and after it dissuaded any tourist not fond of a good workout.

  Continuing their downward climb, Lily and her friends finally reached the bridge. At mid-morning, the tide was coming off its peak, and waves crashed just below them, the wind catching their spray and blowing it across
Lily’s face. They crossed the bridge quickly, Cyril having fallen silent to avoid getting a mouthful of salty water.

  As they began to climb the other side, Lily heard a piteous meow behind her. She turned, looking for its source. There, on the other side of the bridge, stood Sir Kipling, back hunched and legs tucked close in the cold wind. The crashing waves of the high tide had sprinkled the bridge with water, and the distressed feline kept raising and flicking each front paw as if to somehow escape the dampness.

  Lily put her hands on her hips. She was not unsympathetic to her cat’s predicament but knew it wasn’t as bad as it looked. He wasn’t actually scared of anything, he just didn’t want to get wet. Unfortunately for him, Lily was not of a mind to go back and carry him across, no matter how pitifully he cried. Water wouldn’t kill him.

  “Come on, scaredy-cat!” She yelled over the noise of the waves and wind. “It’s just a bit of water. If you can’t take it, maybe you should go back to the hotel.”

  That did it. He gave one last yowl as if to psych himself up for the task, then dashed across the bridge as fast as his kitty legs could carry him. Not stopping once across, he kept coming at full speed, bounding up the steps until he reached their group and then making a beeline for the closest patch of grass beside the walkway.

  “There, that wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” Lily asked.

  Sir Kipling, busy rolling in the grass to help dry his fur, stopped to glare at her. “Do you have any idea how disgusting it is to lick salt out of my fur?”

  Lily shrugged. “Sorry, but there’s going to be more where that came from. If Morgan’s resting place is on this island, the entrance is most likely hidden in a cave, and most of those flood at high tide.” Her cat didn’t reply, being too busy licking his fur into submission.

  Looking up, Lily spotted Yuki bringing up the rear. He trotted jauntily across the bridge and even stopped to jump up on the railing and put his head to the wind, closing his eyes as if thoroughly enjoying the experience. The whole display was, Lily suspected, a taunt directed at his rival. And its significance was not lost on said rival, who paused his vigorous grooming to glare daggers at the fox.

  “Well, that was glorious. Shall we move on?”

  Sebastian chuckled and turned, starting back up the last few flights of steps, which would take them to the beginning of the ruins atop the island. Before following, Lily beckoned Yuki over with a gesture.

  “Yes, O radiant one?”

  She looked at him askance, not sure if he was trying to be funny. “While we’re taking a look around the ruins, I want you to circle the island. Get as far down toward the water’s edge as you can and look for caves, crevices, any openings. I assume the entrance to Morgan’s tomb will be hidden, magically or otherwise. See if you can find any hint of magic, or even anything that looks like human writing or marks in the stone. Just be careful, alright? Some of the cliffs are dangerously steep.”

  “Fear not, O noble lady. For my feet are swift and my steps are sure. After all, I am no pussy cat.” He gave a barking laugh and loped off, ignoring Sir Kipling’s hiss as he passed the scowling feline.

  “Well, come on, Kip”—Lily reached down to give her cat a sympathetic scratch behind his damp ears—“you’ve got a reputation to defend.”

  They spent several hours exploring the island, carefully examining all of the stone ruins and earth foundations that had been excavated, looking for any sign of magic or even inactive dimmu runes. Sebastian and Hawkins spent most of that time standing and gazing about, or talking together in hushed tones, even though Lily had invited them to help look. Either they took their duties as lookout very seriously, or else they were just bored of staring at rocks.

  Besides the odd tourist, however, they encountered no other living thing on the island. Lily even kept an eye on the sky above her but saw no suspicious-looking black dot that might be Oculus, her father’s raven construct. Seagulls winged past, cawing their raucous cries, and one darker shadow soared high above the coastline only to turn and dive, quickly disappearing among the rocks. Probably a falcon after its dinner.

  An hour after noon, they stopped to eat a sparse lunch of sandwiches Lily had packed away in her bag. The break enabled them to sit down and rest while discussing their next move in low tones. Having looked up the tidal times earlier that morning, Lily knew low tide would be around five pm, and so their best chance of finding any hidden entrances would be as the ocean sank and revealed the many caves which dotted the coast. At the mention of caves, Cyril piped up that there was one in particular, called Merlin’s cave, that they should explore.

  “The story goes this cave was where Merlin caught up baby Arthur from the sea and declared him the future king.”

  “Hm, was that…” Lily racked her brain, trying to remember the books Cyril had assigned her. “Ah, yes, Tennyson! The Idylls of the King?”

  “Correct!” Cyril exclaimed, seeming delighted. “Written in the latter half of the nineteenth century, some believe as an allegory of society’s conflicts in Britain during the Victorian era.”

  “Wait a minute.” Sebastian held up a hand. “I thought Arthur was born from some duke’s wife after that Ufer guy pretended to be her dead husband and…you know,” he trailed off delicately.

  “Uther, Sebastian, not Ufer,” Lily corrected him. “And yes, that is the more likely historical chain of events. Tennyson was a poet, however, not a historian. Idylls of the King was never meant to be a historical account.”

  “Well, then why are we interested in this Merlin’s cave?”

  “We’re not, exactly,” Lily said, cutting off Cyril’s heated reply. “We’re interested in caves in general, but I suspect the easily accessed caves along the mainland coast where mundanes have been poking around for decades are the least likely to hold a hidden entrance. That’s why I sent Yuki around the seaward side of the island, to look for anything more remote and difficult to access. What do you think, Dr. Hawtrey?”

  The professor nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, yes. I suppose you’re right, though we can’t positively rule out any cave until we’ve examined it. The entrance is surely concealed from mundanes, so it might be in plain sight, so to speak.”

  “That is possible,” Lily conceded, “but based on the paranoia Morgan displays in her journal, I think we should focus our efforts on the more remote spots first.”

  “Agreed.” Cyril finished his sandwich and stuffed the empty bag into his pocket, full of barely contained excitement. He was disgustingly fresh after a morning spent bent double, examining rocks in minute detail. “Shall we, then?”

  “Shouldn’t we wait till Yuki gets back?” Sebastian said around a mouthful of sandwich. Knowing his appetite, Lily had made him two.

  At a polite cough, all eyes turned toward Hawkins. Lily hadn’t even seen him eat his sandwich. It had just…disappeared, she assumed into the manservant’s stomach, since he held his empty sandwich bag in his hand. “I believe a wait is unnecessary. The fox has returned.”

  He pointed at Cyril, or rather, behind Cyril, and the professor turned to find the fox almost on top of him. The poor man started in surprise, wobbled precariously, then slid off the rock he’d been perched upon.

  Cyril swore—quite colorfully for a simple scholar—and picked himself up. “Will you stop doing that?” he demanded, ignoring Sebastian, who was slapping his knee in mirth.

  “Doing what?” The fox sat, ears perked and head tilted, the picture of innocence.

  “Inflicting your presence on us,” Sir Kipling muttered, giving Cyril some much-needed support that, unfortunately, the wizard couldn’t take solace in. All he heard was a disgruntled meow.

  Lily clapped her hands together, diverting everyone’s attention from the potential squabble. “Well, I think we’ve had plenty of time to eat and rest. Why don’t you tell us what you found, Yuki?”

  “There are indeed several caverns on the far side of the island down by the water. But most of them do not go very far back a
nd, of the ones that do, I could not enter, as they were flooded by the tide.”

  Lily’s heart sank, but Yuki continued.

  “I did, however, find two things of interest. One was an odd marking on a stone outside one of the flooded caverns.”

  “What did it look like?” Lily asked eagerly.

  The fox cocked his head. “Like two moons, side by side.”

  Lily decided to puzzle over that one later. “And the other thing?”

  “A cavern upon the island itself, nestled among the ruins. I did not explore it, simply saw the entrance as I passed.”

  Brow wrinkling, Lily wondered why they hadn’t spotted this cave themselves. “Alright. Let’s go take a look at that one, first. Maybe by the time we’re done with that, the tide will have gone down enough for us to explore the other cave.”

  Plans made, they all rose and packed away their things.

  The “cave” on the top of the island turned out to be more of a small tunnel, which is why Lily had missed it. From the path, it looked like a simple culvert with a ditch cut into the ground leading up to its sunken entrance. They had to climb over a railing to get to it, and everyone, especially Sebastian, had to crouch to enter it. The walls curved inward to form a peaked ceiling, and the stone surface looked worked as if it had been carved out of the stone rather than formed naturally. The tunnel went back about a dozen yards and was both empty and devoid of any sort of ancient mark. After a thorough search they emerged, disappointed, back into the wind that gusted across the high, plateau-like island.