The Merlin Chronicles: Box Set (All Three Novels)

by Daniel Diehl

  While the team of engineers and computer experts set to work studying the strange, archaic devices and the infinitely complex equipment Peter Haskell had connected to it, Morgana watched them from across the room, making one telephone call after another, alternately chatting amiably and shouting orders to those in the room and those at the opposite end of the phone line. For the sixth time in less than half an hour Morgana turned her back on her chief R&D engineer, picked up her phone and wandered across the length of the room toward her private bar. Leaning on the silky smooth mahogany bar counter, she punched a long series of numbers into the phone and waited. Finally, she pasted a greasy, artificial smile on her face and spoke.

  “Col Archemboldo? Lou Morgan, here... I'm fine, Miguel, my dear. How are you?... Um hum... and keeping all the nasty peasant insurgents in line, are we?... Oh, good. I wouldn't want anything to happen to my favorite President for Life.” She emitted a little chuckle from the back of her throat, but it sounded like the noise a feral cat makes when it’s angry. “Are you happy with that last shipment of Stinger missiles?... Good, I was sure they would work out for you... Oh, you've installed the AWAC system, have you? Oh, good...Yes, it is a larger item than I usually deal in, but when I had the chance to acquire one, I thought immediately of you...Not at all, my pleasure.”

  Before continuing, Morgana le Fay began pacing back and forth, keeping a wary eye on the men who were tinkering with her precious equipment on the far side of the room. “Listen, Miguel, you know that last order you faxed to me? Well, I was hoping we could work out a little trade... What I really need is some equipment to put together a little air interdiction force. I want to build up something similar to what you have, just enough equipment to neutralize a few rag-tag insurgent forces. Exactly. Just enough to disrupt their center of gravity. What a quaint way of putting it. I like that. Could you wait just a minute, Miguel?”

  Pulling the phone away from her face and covering the mouth piece with one hand, Morgana shouted across the room. “God, damn it, Peter, tell your drones to be careful with that disk. If they drop it their kids are all going to be orphans in about two fucking minutes.” Instantly, the smile returned and the phone went back to the side of her head.

  “I'm sorry about that, Miguel, one of the dogs was just about to piss on the carpet. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, my little air interdiction force... Oh, now, I would never turn around and sell them to one of your enemies, my dear. In fact, I have no intention of selling them at all... I know, but you never can tell what the future holds in store, can you? Like the Boy Scouts say ‘Be Prepared’.

  “Well, I was thinking in terms of close air support - just enough to destroy a small scale insurgency. I was thinking, oh, maybe a dozen A-10s, a dozen-and-a-half or two dozen Blackhawk helicopters... That’s right, for troop transport, but I want them to be fully operational as gunships, too... No, no, obviously I don't have to worry about ammunition or missiles, do I?” Again the cunningly cruel laugh. “Oh, and I need two C-130s... That’s right, for mid-air refueling, but again, I want them fitted out as gunships - I hear they are charmingly effective things when guided by skilled hands... Oh, really, that’s too bad. Alright, then, two C-130s fitted out as tankers and two more fitted out as gunships. Can we do that?... Oh, obviously, but just think how much I will owe you and how grateful I will be. If it’s too much of a problem for you I’m sure I can strike some kind of a bargain with that nice man from Blackwater or dear, sweet Mr Cheney but then I wouldn’t owe you any favors, would I? Good… I knew you were just the person I needed to talk to. Now, you go do your thing with your people and get back to me. I look forward to hearing from you soon, then... What? Oh, absolutely, I'd love to... Yes, I remember the place, their wine was superb. Good, I’ll be expecting your call. Ta-ra.”

  She walked toward the desk, tapping the phone against her perfect, white teeth, mumbling to herself. “As soon as you deliver everything I need, little man, I’ll give you an evening you will never forget. Of course, you won't remember it either. Dead men have such piss-poor memories.” Then, looking up, “Damn it, Peter, what the hell are you doing now?”

  Chapter Five

  “Bless my soul, if it’s not young master Jason Carpenter, great white hunter, returned from the hinterlands to grace our humble house with his presence.” Bunny, the ever cheerful bartender, was nearly alone in the main room of the Minster Inn when Jason walked in. The only customers were a table with half-a-dozen academics from the University of York and another with Beverley and Merlin, who had only come in minutes before, ordered a drink and settled into a corner near the fireplace. When Merlin came out in public he adopted the role of Jason’s grandfather, tying his hair back in a ponytail and wearing his brown tweed suit. Looking like an ageing musician or an antiques dealer was bound to attract less attention than looking like what he was; chaplain and court wizard to a king who had been dead for more than sixteen centuries. Judging by the raised voices coming from the larger group, Jason knew they were arguing about King Richard III who had been killed in battle at the end of the Wars of the Roses in 1473, and whose remains had been recently discovered under a car park in the town of Leicester.

  “By God, the bloody Tudors killed my king and Leicester has no right to his bones.”

  “They should bring him home to York where he belongs.”

  “The department needs to petition the government. We’ll bring as much pressure to bear as possible.”

  Jason smiled at the passion of these men for their country’s past. If only they knew that a central character from a much earlier chapter in England’s long history was sitting only ten feet from their table, how might they react? Brushing off the thought, he took off his coat, shaking off the light dusting of snow before hanging it on the hook behind the door. He waved to Beverley and Merlin but before joining them he walked the few steps to the bar counter to get a drink. “Hi, Bunny. Nice to see you again.”

  The bartender’s name wasn’t really Bunny, of course. Jason didn’t know his real name, nobody seemed to, but with his baby face, sweeping handlebar moustache, bright blue eyes and perpetual smile customers had long ago decided that he looked like one of the RAF flying aces from the Second World War who all had weird nicknames like Ruffles or Binkey or something equally upper-class sounding. Consequently, by some unspoken, mutual consent everyone had started calling him Bunny and he played up to the image with endless gusto.

  “And it is nice to be seen, lad. Have you come to regale us with tales of daring-do and add some sparkle to our dull and mundane existence here at the Minster?” Never slowing the pace of his flowery, Victorian prose, Bunny busied himself pulling a pint for Jason and passing it across the bar.

  “Maybe later. I promise I’ll catch you up on everything that has gone on, but I'm meeting Beverley and...ahh...my granddad.” He waved a hand across the room with a smile, indicating the table where his friends sat.

  Bunny smiled toward the corner table, raised a hand in greeting and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Do my old eyes deceive me, or is that the same charming lady who you insisted was no more than a friend only a few months ago?”

  Jason felt a warm, crimson flush creep upward from his collar as he twisted his head and offered a lop-sided smile. “Yep. Same one.”

  “Good lad.” Then, raising his eyes to Jason's, he added “So, aren't you going to introduce your old Uncle Bunny to the lady and gentleman?”

  “Bev, Grandpa, this is my friend Bunny; Bunny, Beverley McCullough and my Grandfather, Merlin Carpenter.” After greetings, smiles and nods passed across the room, Jason hurried toward the table, leaving Bunny with the promise that he would fill him in on the past few months before going home.

  “So, my boy, tell us what you learned about the Ark of the Covenant.” Merlin closed the Gnostic Gospel that he had been going over with Beverley, and folded his hands on the crumbling leather cover. “Was your Professor Daniels and his priest friend able to give us any direction?”


  Jason took a long pull from his pint, sat it on the table and launched into a detailed re-cap of everything he had learned from Fr John Cunningham, ending with a description of the Urim and Thummim which, he explained, might well be the ‘light of the world’ described in the weird riddle in the Gnostic manuscript.

  “In all my years I have never once heard, nor read, about these objects. Does the good Reverend Father think they were designed to serve the same function as St Peter's keys?”

  “I don't know. I was sort of afraid to ask him too many details for fear I would look even crazier than I felt. I mean, Dr Daniels was there and he already thinks I've gone around the bend, and I really don't want to screw up my chances of getting back into school. Assuming we all survive, and the world survives, I really would like to get my life back someday.”

  “I understand. I hope you get back into school, too.” Merlin commiserated with Jason’s shattered life but his mind was already charging ahead, laying new plans and scheming new ways to destroy Morgana and close the dragon gate permanently. “But in the meantime it’s essential for us to have all the information possible if you are going to go to Axumia looking for these things. This is not a quest to be undertaken lightly.”

  Scowling, Jason pointedly said “You mean ‘we’ are going to Ethiopia, right?”

  “No.” Merlin directed a gnarled index finger across the table. “I mean YOU are going there. This is now your quest. My quest is to deal with Morgana and we must each deal with our own destiny by utilizing such information as we can gather about our particular portion of the larger puzzle.”

  “This is starting to sound like one of those global scavenger hunt programs on telly and I think it’s going to be brilliant fun.” Tempering her enthusiasm, Beverley added “But will this be as dangerous as it was when you were in Mongolia? I mean, don’t you think you lads should stay together for protection?” Beverley had been quiet up until now, but she was obviously concerned and knew full well that the dangers Jason and Merlin had faced in the Orient had been far worse than they had led her to believe.

  “No, I don't.” Merlin shook his shaggy head vehemently. “In fact, we can assume that Morgana has no knowledge of the Urim and Thummim. If she had, she would have made every effort to steal or destroy them centuries ago; that would allow her absolute control over the dragon gate and she would no longer be concerned as to whether I was alive or not.”

  Jason leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I sure hope so, and you can call me a wuss if you want to, but I really don’t need another risky adventure. We just got back from one adventure four lousy days ago and that one almost got us killed. Three times.”

  “Jason…” Merlin leaned across the table and locked Jason’s eyes with his magnetic stare. “It’s not like we have any choice in the matter. You absolutely must go to Axumia. Besides, when we followed Morgana to Mongolia she was fully aware that we were trailing her. Now, I’m certain that she thinks we’re both dead. And with the invisibility unguent we can continue to hide from her for as long as is necessary.”

  Jason nodded his head in weary agreement and moved on. “So, assuming these stones, or whatever they are, really are in Ethiopia, and also assuming they can do what your friend Vivian thinks they can, if we can get hold of them you should be able to block the dragon gate once and for all?”

  “If all of these variables work to our advantage, yes. Except, of course...”

  Jason and Beverley waited for Merlin to frame the last part of his thought but it was Jason who repeated the operative word. “Except?”

  “Except that, in the meantime, we still have to locate the physical entrance to the dragon gate before I can seal it permanently.”

  Squinting hard at Merlin, Jason muttered over the edge of his beer glass. “There’s still more to this sentence, isn't there?”

  “Only that Morgana le Fay knows where the gate is and I don't.”

  “Oh, right. So all we have to do is locate one particular cave out of thousands, find the invisible entrance to the dragon gate that might, or might not, be hidden somewhere inside this cave, find the Ark of the Covenant, borrow the two magic stone things that may or may not be in it and close the dragon gate for all time before Morgana finds us and her thugs can kill us. Piece of cake.” Beverley reached across the tiny, round table and laid her hand across Jason's.

  Merlin leaned forward offering a conspiratorial grin. “Equivocate all you like, Jason, but reserve judgment until you’ve heard my news.”

  A flicker of hope danced across Jason's eyes. “You have news?”

  “Indeed I do. Our friend Mistress le Fay is having the device with which she communicates with the dragons disassembled.”

  “And what does that tell us?”

  “Sadly, I had no way of hearing her conversation with the workmen, but it’s not unreasonable to assume that she will be moving it to wherever the gate is. And I think we can reasonably assume that means our unknown cave.”

  “What makes you say that? I mean maybe she’s just sending it out for an oil change or something?”

  “It appeared to me that the device's removal is a fairly major operation. She had an entire team of men dismantling it and there was a virtual mountain of hardware connected to it. Based on what little I know of such things, it was comprised entirely of computer components.”

  “Computer equipment hooked to a sixteen-hundred year old telephone?” Jason pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and shook his head in amazement.

  “Actually, it’s more like a two-way television. Remember, she can see the beasts as well as hear them. Considering the mass of wiring and electronic equipment connected to the thing, we can be reasonably certain there have been some fairly complex alterations made to the device in the recent past.”

  “Hmm. So this is a pretty major move for her, then.”

  “I would say so. And I don't think she would be going through this much work unless she believed she was ready to call in the dragons.”

  “And because she thinks we died in Mongolia...”

  “Precisely. She thinks that with me dead there is nothing to prevent her from opening the gate. Obviously, she wants to be there to greet her old allies, take her bows and remind them of what they owe her as they storm through on their way to conquer the earth.”

  “But, doesn't that make it all the more difficult for us?” Beverley was trying to sort through all this disconnected information and put it into some kind of order. Jason and Merlin turned their attention to her, watching as she played with an errant strand of auburn hair. “I mean, if she’s on her way to the gate, and we don't know where that is, and we don't even have these stone things, are we already too late?”

  “I don't think so, my dear.” Merlin was doing his best to reassure Beverley and Jason both. “She can't possibly open the gate so long as I remain alive; at least not without the Urim and Thummim and she obviously doesn’t know they exist. Granted, she is undoubtedly going to be less than pleased when she finds out her friends still can't get through...”

  “Less than pleased? She’s absolutely going to crap herself.”

  Merlin allowed himself a throaty chuckle. “As you say, Jason. And I don't believe it’s going to do anything to smooth relations between her and the Dragon Lords, either. I think we can safely assume that they have become a bit testy after waiting a thousand and a half years for her to bring them through.”

  “So there’s really nothing she can do right now?” Beverley knitted her brows, wishing Jason and Merlin would stick to the point and start putting together a coherent plan.

  “No. We, and the world, are both perfectly safe for the moment.”

  “But we still have to find this cave as soon as possible; I mean, we need to find it before she takes it over.” Beverley shook her head, not at all convinced that things were going to be either as easy, or as safe, as Merlin was making them seem.

  Merlin tapped the heavy book of Gnostic wisdom which he had moved
off the table and onto the vacant seat next to him. “The information is all right here, laid out for us. All we have to do to locate the cave is understand what it says.”

  “I hate riddles.”

  “My boy, it’s only a riddle because we don’t yet understand its meaning. Take for example the Book of Revelations and its reference to six, six, six. If you understand the context, or read the book in its original Aramaic, it is clear that the reference is to the Emperor Nero, not to Satan as most people in my day erroneously assumed.”

  Pulling himself up from the stool, Jason pushed a hand into the small of his back and said “Most people still think it refers to Satan.”

  “Really? How pathetically sad.”

  “Yeah. Well, we can’t worry about what other people don’t understand when we can’t even find the answer to our own little puzzle. So, at the moment, I think I am going to concentrate on finding us another drink. Who’s ready?”

  Stepping across the room, Jason sat the three empty glasses on the bar and whistled softly for Bunny who had disappeared into the back room. Seconds later, Bunny popped around the corner, a mischievous, toothy grin plastered across his face. “Be right there, Jason, old socks. Just taking advantage of the slow night to tote up the new stock and put it away.” He had only taken two steps toward the counter when he stopped. “Oh, wait. I have something to show you.” Dashing back into the cubby hole that served as both office and stock room, he re-emerged wearing a massive tricorn hat decorated with white boa feathers around the edge of its upturned brim. Thrusting his hands outward theatrically, he said 'What do you think of the new chapeau?'