“Who is that?” he grumbled.
“He’s the Dark Knight,” Wilhelm said. Then, he added, “No, not Batman. Sorry, I meant the Evil Knight.”
This was too much for Gaheris. “Why don’t we just kill him now and be done with it?”
“Ha ha,” Kay said with a laugh that appeared genuine. “Again with the jokes.”
Bors leaned over and hissed, “Will you keep your mouth shut, please!”
“And I thought people in our time were stupid,” Gaheris replied with a growl as the Evil Knight exited the area.
SEEKING ALLISON
Merlin and Galahad walked into the large sterile building known as a hospital. They had both seen pictures of places like this, but it was always different seeing something in person.
There was an echo to the main room, which likely came from general murmur of the people walking around. Merlin somewhat understood the mechanics of sound, and seeing that there were hard, glossy floors and a wide open space, his brain churned up thoughts of something called reverberation. Galahad would likely know—the man was a quick study, after all—but Merlin wasn’t in the mood for a lengthy discourse on the subject.
They walked up to a grand desk where a young lady sat. Her hair was up in a bun and she wore thick-framed, red spectacles. From the look on her face, Merlin assumed she was confused by their outfits.
“Nice outfits,” she said in a deadpan voice.
“Thank you,” Merlin replied, unsure if she was being serious or sarcastic. Considering the young man next to her was snickering, Merlin assumed the latter. He chose to ignore it. “I am seeking Dr. Smith.”
“There are eleven Dr. Smiths on site. You’ll need to be more specific.”
“Ah, yes. My apologies. Dr. Allison Smith.”
The clerk typed away as an elderly man stepped up next to them. He gave both Galahad and Merlin the once-over, shook his head, and began talking with the young man across the counter.
“Nobody here by that name, mister,” said the clerk who was helping them. “We have a Dr. Albert Smith. Maybe that’s who you mean?”
“Not unless she’s made a number of changes to her anatomy, no,” Merlin said, scratching his left eyebrow.
“Happens a lot these days.”
“I imagine it does.”
“Well, again, there are no doctors on duty by the name of Allison Smith.”
“She’s a patient,” Galahad pointed out.
“Ah, yes. True. Good man, Galahad.”
“Galahad?” the clerk said. “You guys are really taking this acting stuff seriously, aren’t you?”
“Indeed.” Merlin shrugged at Galahad. “So, yes, Allison Smith, who happens to be a doctor, though not of the healing profession, is a patient.”
“Right. Well, we have an Allison Smith on the third floor. Room 327.”
“Excellent!” Merlin rubbed his hands together, feeling pleased that he would be seeing Allison soon. He had been rather worried about her over these last months after all. But there was a problem. He had no clue how he was to get to this Room 327 the young lady had mentioned. “Um—”
The clerk pointed across the room. “Take the elevator.”
“Oh, right, of course,” said Merlin with a smile, and then added, “Sorry, the what?”
“Come with me, Merlin,” said Galahad with a huff.
“Merlin?” said the clerk, laughing. “You look nothing like what I’d imagine Merlin to look like.”
Merlin frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“No offense. You’re just rather short is all, and you don’t seem very wizardly.”
“I’ll have you know that—”
“We should really be going,” Galahad said, dragging Merlin along.
“Yes, well, yes.” They took a few steps toward the elevator when Merlin yanked his arm away from Galahad. He turned back to the clerk. “Excuse me, miss, but what is your name?”
“Katy,” she replied.
“Well, you look nothing like a Katy to me,” Merlin said, his nose turned up.
“Good one, Merlin,” Galahad said. “Can we go now?”
“The nerve of some people. Telling me that I look nothing like, well, me. Who does that?”
“Apparently a clerk named Katy. Let’s turn our attention back to the task at hand.” Galahad motioned to the elevator. “We have to get into that silver-looking box.”
“The elevator, yes.”
“You’re familiar with how to use it?” Galahad asked. “I’ve seen pictures, but I’ve never looked at any videos on MeTube.”
“YouTube.”
“Right, that one.”
“And, no, I don’t,” Merlin said at length. “Honestly wouldn’t have even recognized it as an elevator if ‘Katy’ back there hadn’t called it one.”
“Why did you use air quotes?”
“Never mind that. Just follow everyone else into that box and let’s see what happens.”
An elderly lady with a pleasant hat was standing between Merlin and Galahad. She was just a wisp of a woman, barely reaching Galahad’s shoulder. Of course, this made her only slightly shorter than Merlin.
“Could you press two please?” she asked.
“Uh—”
“Right there in front of you, young man.”
“I...” Galahad looked straight ahead and then down. There sat a series of buttons that all had numbers etched on them. “Oh, right. There you go. Hey, it lit up like those lights back home.”
“Yes, it does that,” the old woman said with a giggle. “Are you going to floor two as well?”
“No, ma’am. We are going to three.”
“Then you had better press that number, too.”
“Ah, yes, right. Thank you.”
Merlin was still stewing as the box jolted and began lifting. It was somewhat frightening, but he was more set in a fit of irritation and so his subconscious mind decided not to bother him with the fear.
“Telling me that I don’t look like Merlin,” he grumbled. “Hah!”
The woman looked up at him. “You’re supposed to be Merlin?”
“I am Merlin.”
“Shouldn’t you be a little taller, then?” she said and then raised her eyebrows at Galahad. “I think you two should be looking for floor seven.”
“Oh? The lady at the front said Ms. Smith was on floor three.”
The elevator stopped and dinged. Then the doors split open and the old lady scurried out. She stopped and looked back at the two men, giggled again, shook her head, and said, “Merlin? Please.”
The doors closed.
“This is ridiculous. What does a man need to do to prove he’s Merlin?”
“Based on the observations, my guess would be to grow a little taller.”
Level three looked just like level two had, from inside the elevator anyway.
The two men took a gingerly step out and looked around. Everything was white and looked sterile. There was no color pop from paint or anything of the sort. The only pieces that had any color to them were the machines that were sitting in various locations throughout the area. What the machines were for, Merlin couldn’t say. Obviously they had something to do with doctorly pursuits, unless they were robots of some sort. Allison had mentioned a fair deal about robots, though these seemed a little too stationary to fit her description of them.
“May I help you?” asked a woman who was dressed in white.
“My name is Merlin and this is Galahad—”
“Merlin? You?”
Merlin squinted, but bit his tongue. “We’re seeking Allison Smith in room 327, if you please.”
“Right behind you there,” she said. A moment later she snickered and added, “Merlin.”
“This is very unnerving,” said Merlin as they walked to room 327.
“I’d say it’s quite telling of how history has built you up into something you’re obviously not.”
“Wait out here,” Merlin demanded. His apprentice was clearly enjo
ying seeing his master’s humbling moments far too much. “Sit in one of those chairs and read a magazine. You are fond of those, after all.”
“I’d rather just come along with you,” Galahad replied.
“And I’d rather you didn’t. Sit, read, and stay. I’ll be back.”
“Whatever you say, ‘Merlin.’”
“Did you just air-quote me?”
“Everyone else does.”
YOUR PANTS, PLEASE
I’d rather not have to order you to do it, Mitch,” Arthur said as they stood at the corner of an intersection.
Cars were zooming this way and that along the main road. How anyone could get used to such mayhem was beyond Arthur. He had enough difficulty managing two horse-drawn carriages in the middle of town. Of course those were rather a bit larger and the roads in Camelot were also more narrow. Still, the fumes that these car-things made were offensive to the nose. Then again, so were the fumes the horses were known to make.
“Who’s Mitch?” asked Arty.
“Sir Lance-A-Lot’s actual name is Mitch,” Guinevere answered.
“No foolin’?”
“He prefers to be called Sir Lance-A-Lot when we’re around the men, though,” said Arthur.
“Ah, you mean the nets.”
“I doubt he’d care what I called him around nets.”
“Bah.”
“Anyway, Mitch,” Arthur continued, pointing at Scottish Arthur’s legs, “his gown is obviously showing and so he’ll need to wear your pants.”
“But, sire, I only have tights on under these.”
“Yer after wearin’ tights?”
“You wear a gown, sire,” Lance-A-Lot replied tightly.
“Fair enough. I just didn’t know you were after being of the same ilk, is all.”
“He’s not,” Arthur explained. “All of the knights wear tights under their suits of armor.”
Arty furrowed his brow at that. “Why?”
“Um…” Arthur began, but hesitated just enough that it was clear he’d fallen under the moniker of “suspicious.”
“Oh, no way,” Lance-A-Lot said with a gasp. “You mean that you ordered tights as part of the standard garb because of your interest in wearing, well, tights?”
Arthur cringed. He knew he shouldn’t have done it back in the day, and the knights had all staunchly protested, except for Bors and Kay, of course. But everyone else had complained for quite some time. It had required a decree before they finally gave in.
“Seemed harmless enough at the time,” Arthur answered finally, “and you have to admit that it does help protect against chafing.”
“As you say, sire.”
“Oh, come on, Mitch, you of all people have to appreciate that tights are useful in holding certain parts of your person in check.”
Lance-A-Lot looked like he wanted to reply tersely, but he controlled himself.
“I would be derelict in my honesty were I to state that as a falsehood, but I’m still not pleased that it was imposed via trickery.”
“Well,” Guinevere noted, “the side benefit is that it makes your particular situation even more appealing.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m standing right here, turtle dove,” Arthur said, waving his hand in front of his lady’s eyes.
“Sorry, dear.”
“Yer all talkin’ about his girth pickle, eh?” asked Arty.
“Sorry?” said Arthur.
“What’s that?” said Guinevere.
Lance-A-Lot frowned. “My what?”
Arty rubbed his eyes and shook his head.
“His McDingy,” he said, as if trying to clarify the situation.
“Hmmm?” said Arthur.
“The man’s chubby buddy.”
“Not following you,” said Guinevere.
“His dragon flask.”
“What is it you’re speaking of, King of Scotland?” Lance-A-Lot demanded.
Arty took a deep breath. “His jimmy, love banana, pink oboe, whiz whistle, ham javelin, slippery love dolphin, chicksickle, danglin’ fury.” They all just stared at him. “His blasted Cock-A-Saurus Rex!”
“Do you mean his lady dagger?” said Guinevere hesitantly.
“Never heard it called that before,” Arty admitted.
“Goodness, my sweet,” Arthur said, trying to hide his distaste. “Such language is not becoming of you.”
“It’s the trousers, Arthur. They make me speak out of the male side of my mind.”
“Ah, yes. Anyway, where were we?”
“Ye were after trying to get Captain Stiffy here to give me his pants,” Arty said.
“That’s right.” Arthur turned back to Lance-A-Lot. “Mitch?”
“As you wish, sire.”
Lance-A-Lot turned away and removed his britches. Underneath them were a long set of white tights. They were opaque, but they did little to hide outlines. From this angle, things weren’t that bad, but Arthur was not looking forward to his knight turning back to face them.
And when he finally did, Arthur couldn’t help but do a double-take.
“Great Scott, man,” Arty yelped. “How do ye not suffer from chronic back pain?”
“He has a big booty to help compensate,” Guinevere said dreamily.
Arthur glanced at her. “Booty?”
“The trousers again, dear.”
“Hmmm.”
Arty studied Lance-A-Lot’s member from various angles, looking similar to Merlin when the wizard was studying something out of the ordinary. To be fair, this was definitely out of the ordinary.
“Are you saying that’s what was in me Agnes?”
“My booty?”
“No, yer yard-o-beef.”
“Sorry, sire,” Lance-A-Lot replied calmly, “but a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“Kissin’ I can come to terms with, but that thing?” Arty pointed and then sighed. “Nay.” He then turned to look at Arthur. “Explains why I was hearing an echo when I was... Uh, never mind.”
“I’m familiar with said echo, Arty.”
“Can we change the subject, please?” Lance-A-Lot begged.
“I agree with Lance-A-Lot,” Guinevere said, coming to the knight’s defense. “You’ve heard that it’s not the size that matters, but rather how you use it, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Aye.”
“There you go, then,” Guinevere said with a firm nod.
“So yer saying that’s after bein’ true, then?” Arty asked hopefully.
“Not in the least, no,” Guinevere replied. “Honestly, I was hoping there wouldn’t be a follow-up question.”
“Oh.”
Arthur sighed and looked away. The sun was out and there was a shadow of Lance-A-Lot’s thing casting its way over Arthur’s midsection. Fitting.
“Anyway, I’m sure that will garner some glances from people, so do your best to hide it wherever you can.”
“I have an idea or two,” Guinevere said.
“Careful, my queen!”
CONSPIRACY
Gaheris had been left alone for a while as Bors and Kay spent their time building friendships with the other actors. They were all sharing techniques and the like. These were items that Gaheris did not understand.
What he did understand was that there was an evil knight amongst them.
Gaheris had met a few of these nefarious sorts in his lifetime. They were men without honor; they attacked when you weren’t looking; they struck fear into the timid and the weak; they drafted massive diabolical plans that were almost always too difficult to follow; they made sure to fully reveal the details of their plan before sending the targeted king to his demise; and they always wore black.
But this particular man was breaking one of the cardinal rules. He was allowing himself to be seen.
Bors and Kay claimed that the man was just another actor, but Gaheris didn’t buy it. From his perspective, this was the first bad egg of a knight he’d met who actually had a
chance at succeeding.
This fellow was using trickery so that everyone would accept him as one of their own, but at the right moment, the man would strike, and the attack would be so unexpected that he would likely taste victory.
Gaheris shook his head at the idiocy of it all as he set about checking each of the swords that were set out for the knights in this “play.”
Not a single one of them was sharp.
“So that’s how it’ll be, eh?” he said gruffly.
THE NEWS
Merlin walked into the room and found Allison sitting up in bed. The window blinds were open and the sunlight was streaming in, making the room feel warm.
“Merlin?” Allison said. “Is that you or am I hallucinating?”
“Depends on who you ask,” he answered with a snort, thinking of how everyone in this time had been treating him.
“What?”
“Nothing. Are you ill?”
“First things first,” said Allison. “How did you get here?”
“The time machine, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she said quickly. “Let me ask a different question: Why are you here?”
“Because I’ve spent the last number of years talking to you on a weekly basis and then suddenly there was radio silence for eight months.”
“Ah, yes, sorry about that.”
“I assumed you were in grave danger, or worse... dead.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, finding it bouncy. “I had to come and find out.”
“You do realize that this could seriously jeopardize all of history?”
“So you say, though I don’t see how.” Merlin had put a lot of thought to this, actually. He could see that someone going backwards in time could mess things up, but how could going forward impact anything? He shrugged. “Fact is that I still haven’t come to terms with all of the particulars.”
“You’ll just have to be careful to avoid interaction wherever possible.”
“Right,” Merlin said, avoiding eye contact.
“At least you’re in here and not out on the town somewhere. That would be very bad.”
“Hmmm.”
“What is it?” Allison asked.
“What’s what?”
Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur Page 15