Arthur was being careful not to let his gown touch anything. He was well aware that dungeons were intended to be untidy and uncomfortable, but this was pathetic. The smell alone made him wonder how the torches that were encased behind latticed metal containers didn’t explode. There were rats and bugs, and it was warm and damp. The lighting barely illuminated chains on the walls, a ceiling that was dripping what he could only hope was moisture from the humidity, and a floor that was an uneven mix of dirt and stone.
“This place is disgusting,” said Bors, wiping away a drop of water that had landed on his head.
“And it smells terrible,” agreed Kay.
Gaheris inhaled deeply. “Reminds me of home.”
“Your home smells like urine?” asked Kay with a wince.
“Think of who you’re speaking to, Sir Kay,” Bors reminded.
“Oh, yes. True.”
“Something doesn’t add up about all of this,” said Merlin as he sat on one of the stone benches. He obviously didn’t mind the filth. “That emperor’s name…” He trailed off.
“Flaccidus?” said Galahad.
“Yes. It’s wrong.”
Galahad nodded. “On many levels.”
“No, I mean I don’t recall there being an emperor with that name.”
“Well, his real name was Longus Dongus.”
“None by that name in lore either, Sir Galahad,” noted Gaheris.
“Exactly.” Merlin took off his hat and began twirling it. “I wonder if we’ve ended up in a parallel universe somehow.”
“A what?” Arthur asked, thinking certain he’d never heard this term before.
Merlin plopped his hat back on and stood back up, walking to one of the far walls. “I have to think.”
Everyone else stood around, except for Gaheris, who took up Merlin’s vacated seat. He, too, didn’t mind the grime. To be fair, it was more likely that the grime minded him.
“What the shet is a parakeet university?” Arty said, finally. “I didn’t know birds went to school.”
“No,” corrected Galahad. “It’s a parallel universe.”
“Oh,” Arty said with a look of understanding. “That’s different, then.”
Arthur was surprised by this. “You know what they’re talking about, Arty?”
“Not a clue.”
“It’s an alternate timeline,” explained Galahad with a sigh.
“Well, that clears it up,” said Arty, rolling his eyes. “Thanks fer yer keen explanation.”
By now, Guinevere had stepped into the fray and was standing with her arms crossed. She often did this whenever she was irritated, seeking knowledge, or both. Usually when she was irritated, though, she was staring at Arthur. Since she was clearly looking only at Galahad, Arthur assumed she was in a learning mood.
“What exactly does that mean, Sir Galahad?” she asked. “And please use terms we can understand.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s kind of difficult to explain, really.” He scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “I don’t even fully understand it myself. I’ve just started reading about it recently, truth be told.”
“Do your best,” instructed Guinevere.
This was another thing she said quite often to Arthur.
Galahad closed his eyes for a few moments while bouncing his head around. It was as though he were rehearsing what he was going to say.
“Imagine that there are two of you in existence,” he said, peering out at Guinevere from a squint.
“I like it already,” said Arthur.
Nobody laughed.
“You can’t see the other one,” continued Galahad. Then he began making hand gestures as he spoke. “They can’t see you either. But you both exist. Your lives will be the same to a point, but they’ll also be vastly different. This is because the other you couldn’t have made all of the exact choices you made, nor could all of the people who have influenced your world or your particular life have influenced theirs in precisely the same way.”
“Have ye been drinkin’, man?” said Arty. “I dinnae see a flask aboot, but if’n ye have some to share—”
“King Arty,” admonished Guinevere, “if you don’t mind?”
Arty’s shoulders dropped. “Sorry, lass.”
“Now, Galahad,” she said, “how many copies of me exist, exactly?”
“There are likely an unlimited number, my lady. All of them with different lives, different thoughts, different feelings...” He shrugged. “But they’re all you, in a manner of speaking.”
“Sounds like a pile of horse dung, if you ask me,” stated Bors.
“Agreed, Borsy,” said Kay, which was not surprising considering he nearly always agreed with Bors. “It goes against all that we’ve been taught in the church as well.”
“That it does,” Galahad agreed. “I fully admit that it’s quite difficult to believe. I’m merely telling you what I’ve read.”
“You realize that a man could be sentenced to an eternity in hell fire for even imagining such thoughts,” said Kay.
“Equally hard to believe,” replied Galahad.
“Where did you learn of this, Sir Galahad?” Guinevere asked.
“Just one of Merlin’s many books.”
Merlin had moseyed back to the group and was listening to the end of Galahad’s lecture.
“They were all given to me by Allison,” the wizard said. “The thing that Galahad is discussing is known as Rope Theory.”
“String,” Galahad amended.
Merlin looked at him. “Hmmm?”
“String Theory.”
“Ah, yes, that’s it.”
Guinevere was nodding slowly. Arthur had little faith that she understood their words any more than he did, but then again she always did have a way with seeing things outside the box.
“And how does this knowledge help us in our current situation?” she asked.
“I don’t know that it does, Gwen,” answered Merlin. “I’m just worried that if this emperor isn’t in our native dimension, there may be many other things that are out of whack.”
“If it’s not our dimension,” said Guinevere, “could our other selves be living here?”
“No,” said Galahad. “We are far in their past.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” interrupted Arthur, “but if none of this is helpful, why are we discussing it?”
Merlin scoffed at this. “Science is always helpful, Arthur, even if it doesn’t solve the particular problem at hand.”
“Can I say somethin’ now?” asked Arty, raising his hand.
“Yes, Arty?” said Guinevere.
Arty looked from face to face as if building up the courage to spit out what was on his mind. Arthur guessed that it was really Guinevere he was worried about. Clearly he was a man who was also married to a woman who had the upper hand.
“Yer all batshit loony,” he bellowed. “Talkin’ aboot bunches of people bein’ the same and all that. Everyone knows there’s only one of ye, unless ye’ve got a twin or somethin’. Besides, that ain’t after helpin’ us get out of here, is it? Nay, we need to be after settin’ up a plan.”
“He’s right,” said Galahad.
Arty had his finger up and wagging in Galahad’s face, but it gradually slowed down its pace and then lowered. Arty was left with a confused look. “I am?”
“Not everything you said, no. Just the part about us needing a plan.”
“Oh.”
“Anyone have any ideas?” asked Arthur.
“We could do a play for the emperor,” suggested Bors, going with his mainstay solution for everything.
“Jolly idea,” agreed Kay... of course.
Arthur fought not to sigh. “And how would that help us?”
“Get on his good side, obviously,” Bors answered.
“Well, it may help the rest of you,” Arthur said, pondering the situation, “but I’m doubtful it will save Arty and me.”
Merlin reached out and put his hand
on Arthur’s shoulder. “Kings make sacrifices all the time.”
“For their own lot, yeah,” agreed Arty, sniffing. “You ain’t me lot.”
“True, Arty,” Arthur said. “This isn’t your fight. I must do this alone.”
“No,” Guinevere stated. “There has to be another way.”
“Actually,” Arthur said, gazing into his wife’s eyes, “this may be the only way. If I speak with this Flaccidus fellow alone, maybe he’ll agree to let you all live.”
“What about you, Arthur?”
“As Merlin said, my love, kings must sometime make sacrifices.”
“No,” Guinevere said as her face lost all color. “You can’t do that.”
“I’ll die by your side, sire,” Gaheris announced, standing back up.
Arthur thought certain he heard the stone bench release a breath of relief.
“No, Gaheris,” Arthur said gently, “you won’t.”
Gaheris stood firmly. “I die where I die.”
“That’s true,” noted Merlin.
“This is not up for debate, Gaheris,” said Arthur, putting on his most kingly voice. “You’ll be needed to protect the others.”
“Even Bors and Kay?”
“Of course.”
Gaheris appeared downtrodden. “As you command, sire.”
As if the air in the room weren’t thick enough, their conversation stagnated it. Even the torches seemed subdued by the revelation that Arthur was about to face his demise. But Merlin was right. Kings had the good life for a time, but there was always a moment of truth, or many moments of truth, where the king must stand and face the wrath of another in order to protect his people. This was Arthur’s moment. It was odd that it had to happen in an era that wasn’t even close to being his own, but a kingdom of six was just as deserving as a kingdom of six thousand.
“I’ll not stand for this, my husband,” Guinevere said, breaking the silence. “Merlin, you must do something.”
“What can I do, Gwen?” Merlin said desperately. “We’re in a dungeon. You know my magic is nothing but technology, and I have none of it with me that would aid in this.”
“Galahad?” she said. “You’ve studied!”
“Sorry, my lady.”
Guinevere spun towards Arthur. “I won’t allow it, do you hear—”
“Dear, listen to me,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “We’ve always known that we must be prepared to give ourselves for our people. It’s what we were born to do.”
“Ah, damn,” said Arty as Arthur and Guinevere embraced. “Why’d ye have to go an’ get all honorable?” He groaned for a few moments and then waved his arm in a wide arc and slapped himself on the leg with his hand. “All right, I’ll go with ye.”
“No, Arty, as you said—”
“Screw what I said. I’m just as kingly as yer after bein’. I can’t rightly let ya die alone.”
“Honestly, Arty,” Arthur said, “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Who says ye did? It’s me arse, not yers, and I’m after makin’ up me own mind as to what it does.”
Arthur nodded his head at his fellow king. “You’re a good friend, Arty.”
“Aye,” Arty said, looking away. “Let’s get this shet over with.”
MERLIN'S HOUSE
Doonan wasn’t sure what to make of this Knight Bedivere fellow. He seemed honorable enough, especially the way he’d handled that merchant who had been trying to force the turkey leg down Doonan’s throat, but for a man of such regard to be sloshing through town with a hangover was not very soldierly. Well, at least not as it pertains to the reputation of a Knight of the Round Table, anyway.
They had made their way up a small hill outside town where a cliff face stood. It wasn’t the biggest crag Doonan had ever seen, but it was the first one he’d ever sighted that was painted in the fashion of a tree.
Bedivere pushed a little button beside the door a few times. A punchy little song played each time. It was more than a bit unnerving to Doonan as magic was not something he found comforting.
“I wonder why he’s not answering?” said Bedivere.
“The wizard?” Doonan said worriedly.
“Yeah. I mean, I guess it is pretty early, but he usually is going to bed just about now.”
“But the sun’s up.”
“Your point?” said Bedivere, shielding his eyes.
Doonan sighed. “I’ve got none worth sharin’. You English sure is different.”
Bedivere looked at Doonan for a moment and then shrugged while nodding. At least he hadn’t tried to argue the point. Fact was, the English were different. They wore full battle gear instead of kilts, appeared to stay up all night drinking, and acted nonchalant about things like missing kings.
The knight reached again for the magical button, but instead knocked on the door.
It opened slightly.
“Well, that’s odd,” said Bedivere.
“It’s opened,” Doonan said with a gulp.
“You saw that too, eh?”
Doonan couldn’t help but think that the knight had said that sarcastically.
“Are ye makin’ fun?”
“Absolutely,” Bedivere replied and then pushed the door open. “Merlin?” he called out. “Merlin, are you here?” He took a step inside. “It’s Bedivere. You here? I sure could use some of those little pills that get rid of hangovers.”
“He’s after havin’ pills to clear the fog after a bout of drinkin’?”
“Just helps with the headaches, really,” said Bedivere. He then held his hand out to stop Doonan in place. “Stay here a moment.” He took two steps toward the back room and then stopped and looked back. “And trust me when I say that you don’t want to touch anything.”
Doonan glanced around, seeing all sorts of fascinatingly terrifying items. There were lights with no flames, a ball with miniature bits of lightning bouncing around in it, and a stack of books that had all forms of designs on them.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he whispered. “Probably has some curse on this place as it is.”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Bedivere as if Doonan were an imbecile. “Well, let me look in the back.”
It wasn’t right for a man of Doonan’s status to be standing in a place like this. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end and his throat was dry. He’d faced the blade of an enemy more than once in his life as a soldier, but that was nothing compared to this. A blade was tangible. It was held by another man or woman and it poked at you. Simple. Physical. Reality. Magic was another beast completely. It was run by demons, and there was nothing simple about demons.
“Doonan,” Bedivere called, causing Doonan to jump, “come on back here.”
“Ye sure?” Doonan called back.
“Yes.”
“I’m fine where I’m at, so unless you really need me, I’d rather—”
“You want to find your king or not?”
“Aye,” Doonan replied as he started walking, cringing with each step.
He turned the corner and found Bedivere standing by a desk of some sort. On it sat a glowing rectangle that had words and images covering it. To the right was a disk-shaped floor that was connected to a semi-hollowed rock face.
“I’m not likin’ this,” Doonan said as his heart thumped. “What the shet is that?”
Bedivere glanced over. “Looks like a big circle in the ground to me.”
“Aye, I can see that. What’s it for, ye think?”
“I don’t know but there’s this magic flashing panel over here. Has numbers and such on it.”
“Yeah, I was after seein’ that, too. What are ye doin’? Don’t touch it!”
“Why not?” said Bedivere, hesitating.
“’Cause ye’ve no clue what it’ll do, ye daft bastard!”
Bedivere laughed. “Why is everyone so afraid of magic?”
“Hmmm, let’s see,” replied Doonan, adopting a sarcastic tone of his own. “Maybe it’s ‘cause it c
an make yer pee sting, cause her tallywhoosit to itch like something mad before it falls off, and it can give ye a fever ye won’t soon forget!”
“I think you just described an STD, not magic,” noted Bedivere.
“What’s the difference?”
“Right,” said Bedivere, blinking. “Well, this bit of the screen clearly says, ‘Tap here,’ soooo—”
“Noooooo!”
WHY ARE WE HERE?
Mrs. Smith, Lance’s new mother-in-law, had arrived to watch Mitch, Jr. while Allison and Lance headed back to rescue Arthur and the gang. She was a middle-aged woman who gave a clear indication of what Allison may look like as she grew older. Lance was not unpleased. He liked the white hair look, after all.
“I appreciate you watching little Mitchy, Mother,” Allison said as she continued typing away at her computer.
“Yes,” agreed Lance, “it is most kind of you, Mrs. Smith.”
“It’s no problem,” Mrs. Smith replied with a bit of an edge. “I can always play bingo some other night.”
Allison looked up from her screen. “That sounded sarcastic.”
“Did it?”
“Mother, what’s wrong?”
“Dear,” said Mrs. Smith, “it’s just that you had many potential suitors who would not have caused a situation requiring you to go back into the Roman era. Yet, you chose one from the Middle Ages.” She then looked over at Lance. “No offense.”
“I understand, Mrs. Smith.”
And he did. The fact was he was out of his element in this future, and it showed. The only things he’d mastered in his brief time in this era were the microwave oven, light switches, the shower, opening and closing blinds, the dishwasher, how to order pizza, and changing a diaper. He’d also learned how to use the television remote, but that seemed more of an innate skill with men… at least that’s what Allison had told him.
“I truly doubt you understand, Lance,” said Mrs. Smith, though not unkindly.
“We’ve been through this many times, Mother,” interjected Allison. “None of this was planned. It just sort of happened, and Mitch and I felt that it would be best for Mitch, Jr. for us to marry. That’s all there is to it.”
“And we love each other, too,” noted Lance.
Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur Page 25