The Once and Future Camelot

by Felicity Pulman

  “I’m not staying. I plan to move on tomorrow,” Morgan said quickly.

  “Let’s see how things look after you’ve had a good night’s sleep. We’ll have a think about the future, and talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.” Morgan managed a watery smile. “And thanks, Elspeth. Thanks heaps.”

  After Morgan had helped to stack the dishwashers and tidy up, Elspeth locked the door and set off down the High Street. Morgan hoped they wouldn’t have far to walk. In truth, stress and emotion as well as the hike up the Tor had taken their toll; she was so exhausted she could hardly put one foot in front of another. But Elspeth turned into Magdalen Street and turned again, and after that it wasn’t too far to walk at all. The house was part of a row of terraces, distinguished by the arched trellis of climbing roses over the gate. There was a strong scent of roses and lavender as they walked through a small garden that looked like a bower of flowers and flowering shrubs.

  “Come and meet Merlin. I hope he’s still awake,” Elspeth said, as she inserted her key into the lock.

  “Merlin?”

  Elspeth laughed. “His real name’s Malcolm, but he’s usually called Merlin because of his shop. Merlin’s Cave,” she added, as she noted Morgan’s blank look.

  Morgan nodded. She’d noticed Merlin’s Cave on the High Street – how could she not with an Arthurian tragic for a mother? But she hadn’t been in it, and she said so.

  “You should go in and explore; there’s a lot of interesting stuff in there.”

  “Merlin?” she called, once they were inside. “Look what I’ve found! Her name’s Morgan. I’ve said she can stay with us for a few days.”

  “Morgan?” Obviously woken by their voices, a man pushed himself out of an armchair and stood up, yawning sleepily. Like his wife, he also had long gray hair, but no clips to hold it back. He had a straggly beard instead. At his first sight of Morgan he stopped dead momentarily, then stepped forward to grab her hand.

  So you’ve come at last. Do you know why you’re here? Why you’ve been sent? He didn’t say the words out loud, but Morgan heard them anyway. What did he mean? She hated hearing people’s thoughts and immediately summoned the words of her favorite song into her mind in an effort to block him. You say you have to go, please say it isn’t so … He was still holding her hand and she tried to pull free. But he was too strong for her, both physically and mentally, and he held on tight. “Merlin! What are you doing? Let go of Morgan, you’re frightening her.”

  At once he released her hand. I’ve felt for some time that we’re standing at the edge of a precipice, that we’re on the brink of disaster. Is it something to do with you?

  No.

  Merlin gave a small cackle of triumph. “Thought so.” He turned to Elspeth. “She can hear our thoughts!”

  “No, I can’t!” But Morgan knew that she’d just given herself away to someone who had the same powers as her own.

  “It’s a gift you’re lucky to possess.”

  “It’s not a gift I want. I hate it!”

  “It’s nothing to be hated – or feared – as long as you use the knowledge wisely.”

  “Merlin does it too, sometimes. It’s a bit hard to keep anything secret from him.” But Elspeth was smiling as she looked from her husband to Morgan. “Can you hear what I’m thinking now?”

  Resentful, Morgan stared at her for a few moments. “No,” she said. “I can’t always do it. It’s a bit like a radio really – sometimes it’s fuzzy and sometimes I can’t hear anything at all – but when it does happen I try to block it out.” She thought about it. “I could hear that your offer of help was genuine when we were in the pub. That’s why I came with you.”

  “So your gift does have some uses after all,” Merlin observed.

  “But what if it’s something I don’t want to hear? Something so hateful I … I can’t ever forget it.” Morgan’s voice shook on the last words as she recalled a scene from her childhood. She’d been in the local shop, half-hidden behind a stand of postcards when Mrs Harper – Carpy Harpy as she’d been dubbed because of her acid tongue – came into the shop. At once she’d buttonholed the shopkeeper to pass on the latest gossip, which soon turned into a discussion of Morgan’s own family. Horrified and disgusted by what she was hearing, but too frightened to move, Morgan had stayed hidden for a long time after Carpy Harpy had done her shopping and left, hiding until old Ms Braidwood had gone into the storeroom at the back and she could leave without being seen. The two old biddies had merely been passing the time, but what she’d heard had cut Morgan’s heart into shreds. She’d sought out her mother as soon as she got home, hoping that Igraine would deny everything and make things right again.

  “Did you love my father?” she demanded, when she’d found her. Her mother had been arranging a vase of roses on the grand piano, but at Morgan’s question she stopped to face her daughter.

  “Of course I did. What an extraordinary thing to ask after all this time.”

  “How did he die?”

  “In a car accident. You know that, surely. But it all happened so long ago; I can’t think why you’re raising it now. You were only two or three at the time; you can’t even remember him.”

  Morgan had a vague memory of being lifted high onto a pair of broad shoulders and taken down to the paddock to see a newborn lamb. But maybe she was imagining it.

  But he was just a farmer; he wasn’t good enough for you. She thought it but didn’t say the words out loud. She waited for a response, but her mother had turned back to the vase she was arranging. She picked up a rose and deftly de-thorned it with the gadget she always used for that purpose.

  And everyone around here believes that my father got in the way of your ambition, and that his death wasn’t an accident, Morgan thought, once more repeating what she’d just overheard. Half-fearful, she waited for her mother’s reply. She’d suspected for a while that not everyone could hear thoughts as she could, and it seemed now that she was right when her mother calmly inserted the deep red rose into the arrangement and stepped back to admire it.

  “But you couldn’t wait to get married again, and have a baby,” Morgan said aloud.

  “We were lucky not to be turned off the farm,” her mother said curtly. “Your father was just Harold’s tenant, you know. Harold would have had every right to ask us to leave so he could bring in someone else to do the work.”

  “And so rather than waste any time grieving for my father, you married Harry instead.” A tramp and a gold-digger. That was what Carpy Harpy had called her mother.

  Igraine huffed an impatient sigh. “I did what I had to do, for both our sakes,” she said.

  And the baby came really quickly – like six months later? So who is Arthur’s father anyway? My dad – or Harry Easterbrook?

  “And Arthur’s even got the Easterbrook surname. Why?”

  “Your father was dead by the time Arthur was born.” My precious boy. “Harold wanted him to have the protection of his name.”

  While acknowledging his son at the same time? Morgan hadn’t thought of it before. Now that she was questioning everything, it made perfect sense. Clearly the gossip she’d overheard had been founded on truth.

  “At least he got a son and heir out of lying with you. It was more than his first wife could manage.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say, Morgan. Who’s been putting these thoughts into your head?” My God, is that what people are saying about us? Her mother’s face was flushed with anger. She picked up another rose and jabbed it into the vase. She hadn’t stripped it of thorns, and she swore quietly as a bead of blood swelled on her fingertip, red as the roses she was arranging.

  “You’ve obviously been listening to gossip and lies, and I don’t want to hear you repeating any of this ever again, do you hear me? Now I suggest you go off and tidy your bedroom or do some homework, or something. Make yourself useful for once.” She took out a handkerchief and scrubbed at the blood on her finger.

&n
bsp; Who’s been talking to her? I do hope she’s not going to stir up any trouble. Maybe we should send her off to boarding school, get her out of our way for a while?

  Morgan put her fingers in her ears, her usual tactic when trying to block out people’s thoughts. She felt small, uncomfortable, and desperately sad. But even with her ears blocked, Igraine’s thoughts flowed through. She’s doing it again. Rude. Graceless. God, she behaves like a common street kid sometimes. Takes after her father, of course. He was always tactless, and stubborn with it. Yes, boarding school’s the answer. She’s old enough to go.

  In a desperate effort to block out her mother, Morgan began to sing loudly. Even so, Igraine’s voice came through for she was shouting as loudly as Morgan was singing. “I’ve had enough of your rudeness and insubordination, Morgan. Go to your room, and stay there!”

  The memory was as raw now as it had ever been. Morgan blinked a few times in an effort to regain her composure. “I found out early on that, unlike my precious brother, I wasn’t loved and I wasn’t wanted,” she said. “In fact I learned that my brother is really my half-brother, the pet of the family. They dote on him, my mother and stepfather, whereas they wish I’d never been born. But you know what? I’d really rather not have known any of it.”

  ‘That’s tough.” Merlin’s voice was sympathetic. Elspeth was more practical. “You’re exhausted. Go and have a wash while I make your bed. Tomorrow we’ll talk. Things will look much brighter then, I promise.”

  *

  In spite of her misery, Morgan fell instantly asleep and woke feeling refreshed and, as Elspeth had promised, feeling somewhat more optimistic about the day. She was rather ashamed of her outburst of whining self-pity, and was prepared to apologize when she left her room to find them.

  But the house was empty. There was a note addressed to her on the kitchen table, and Morgan learned that she was to go to the pub for breakfast, after which Merlin wanted to speak to her.

  She was in half a mind to carry out her plan to leave, to keep on going – but she had no place else to go, and besides, the thought of the music festival the following weekend was a great temptation for her to stay a while longer. She walked over to the large window in the sun room, noticing now what had been too dark to see the night before: the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey and behind them and some distance away, the huge green mound of the Tor crowned by the crumbling tower of St. Michael’s church. Just looking at the Tor brought a measure of calm and even a slight flutter of hope.

  She set off to find the pub, looking about with interest as she walked down to the High Street. The town was crowded with tourists who, like her, were checking out the scene. They swarmed in and out of the numerous shops selling magic and witchy stuff, crystals and typical tourist tat, and the bookshops with their windows displaying titles covering everything from Christian Glastonbury to the more esoteric aspects of the place. There were regular shops as well, along with numerous charity shops which also seemed to be doing a good trade. Morgan made a special note of those while looking, with some fellow-feeling, at a homeless guy dossed down in a doorway. Would that be her soon? She hurried on past several other strays who sprawled, bottles and cans in hand, along the benches beside the great church halfway up the High Street.

  The pub was packed to the brim with hungry diners obviously drawn in by the special breakfast menu advertised on a big board outside. There she found Elspeth along with two other waitresses, all of them busy filling people’s orders and serving food at great speed. Elspeth beckoned Morgan over as soon as she caught sight of her. “You don’t mind if she shares your table, do you?” she asked, not waiting for an answer as she pushed Morgan down into a seat at a table that was already occupied, and hurried away.

  Morgan gave the couple an apologetic glance, but they were too busy tucking in to the breakfast special to pay her much attention. Morgan’s stomach rumbled. She was just about to order the special when a plate laden with eggs, bacon and all the trimmings was placed in front of her.

  “Eat up.” Elspeth bent to whisper. “Don’t worry. It’s on the house.” She was gone before Morgan could thank her.

  Having mopped up the last bit of egg with her toast, and feeling fortified to face the day, Morgan stood up to thank Elspeth, and once more offered to pay. But Elspeth waved her away. “Don’t forget to go and see Merlin,” she said. “He has news for you.”

  Morgan hesitated outside, reluctant to face the self-styled wizard once again, knowing that he would hear her thoughts just as she could hear his. The knowledge made her feel vulnerable. She’d always thought she was the only one, until now. Finally, curiosity overcame her misgivings and she retraced her steps down the High Street. She’d passed Merlin’s Cave earlier; now she lingered outside for a few minutes, summoning up enough courage to walk in. She couldn’t help smiling as she noticed a stuffed owl sitting on a bare branch at the side of one window, with perky ears, a hooked nose and a beard. It was a long-eared owl, according to the sign, but Morgan thought it looked just like Merlin. She walked in, a jangling of wind chimes heralding her entrance. Her smile grew broader when she noticed that Merlin was wearing a cloak of feathers, completing his identification with the owl. She wondered if the effect was coincidence or deliberate. He was busy with a customer and gave her a half-salute before returning to business, so Morgan felt free to prowl around the shop and inspect its contents.

  She was aware of a fragrance in the air, and looked towards a stand of essential oils. Sure enough a burner was perched on the top shelf with a small card beside it denoting the oils in use which she read would relieve stress, promote serenity and uplift the spirits. Morgan took a deep sniff, wondering if it was possible that happiness could be found quite so easily. Orange, ylang-ylang and clary sage, according to the card. It was a heady mixture, and she did feel a little more optimistic, she realized, as she continued her progress around the shop. Boxes of crystals arranged around a few huge and stunningly beautiful stones caught her eye, and she bent over to inspect them. Some small pink ones were called Morganite; she gave a little snort of amusement and picked one up, holding it in her hand to wait for … what? Nothing, she decided and put it back. Pink rose quartz promised love, joy and serenity, and she held one of those instead, but the questions about her future kept on churning, with no obvious answers to be found. With a sigh, she returned the crystal to the box, and instead picked up a chunk of purple amethyst that resembled the rock she carried in her backpack. A stand of wands stood nearby. Acting on impulse, she snatched up a wand of oak and wondered if the two elements might help her weave a magic spell.

  A woman’s face flashed in front of her, so quickly she couldn’t grasp where it had come from or who it was. Herself? There was some resemblance, but she couldn’t be sure, since the vision vanished almost immediately. The amethyst lay in her hand, warm and vibrating slightly. Suddenly afraid, Morgan threw it back into the box, shoved the wand into its container, and hurried on towards a stand of magical objects: crystal balls, pentagrams, astrolabes, and a multitude of other oddities, all of which she examined with interest. Finally she stopped at the shelf that ran along one side of the shop. It was crammed with books about Glastonbury, its past and future, the ley lines and astrological signs in its geography; books about Celtic mythology, including Arthurian legends and the myths of Avalon; books about angels and goddesses, about Jesus and Joseph of Arimathea; about greening the planet and the worship of Gaia, about meditation and the practice of yoga and reiki; and guides to healing using crystals, plants and herbs. Morgan’s attention sharpened as she noted the various designs on the many different packs of Tarot cards displayed nearby; one of them bore a faint resemblance to the pack of wooden tablets that she’d brought from home. Maybe she should ask Merlin to explain the Tarot to her?

  There were CDs and DVDs as well, everything from soul music to relaxation and meditation. Morgan browsed among them for a while, seeing if there was anything she fancied, until a rack of clothing towards t
he rear of the shop caught her eye. Some of the gear was obviously designed for fancy dress parties; there were costumes for witches and wizards, with pointy hats to match; there were princess outfits, with fake diamond tiaras; and also fairy dresses, with attachable wings. Among them were brightly colored skirts and dresses in a variety of fabrics and styles, which Morgan decided were too out there even for her. Of more interest was a selection of medieval-style gowns made of lace, lustrous satin, and velvet. She inspected them one by one and finally unhooked a dress of green velvet from the rail. It had fitted sleeves that widened at the wrist, with decorative embroidery in a darker green and gold thread around the cuffs and also at the neck line. It was unusual, and it charmed her. She looked at the price tag, and whistled softly to herself.

  ‘Try it on.” Merlin materialized beside her. “There’s a changing room over there.” He pointed towards a small curtained alcove right at the back of the shop.

  The dress fitted her perfectly, tight under her breasts so that for once in her life she had a bust line to be proud of, then falling free in a loose skirt that hid her baby bump. Morgan peered at herself in the half-mirror inside the changing room, thinking that the emerald green made her eyes seem even greener than they really were. Recollecting that there was a full-length mirror outside somewhere, she pulled aside the curtain and ventured out to have a proper look.

  “You must have it. It suits you,” Merlin said, when he caught sight of her.

  Morgan pirouetted in front of the mirror. She badly wanted the dress, but she was also thinking about going to the music festival. The price of the ticket would wipe out most of her savings. “I can’t afford it,” she said.

  Yes, you can, and you shall have it. You can pay me back later. Merlin’s thoughts reached her, and she blinked.

  “I can’t. I haven’t got a job,” she answered out loud.

  “Yes, you have. Did Elspeth mention that I had news for you? I made a phone call early this morning, and there’s a job going if you want one.”