The Invisible Tower

by Nils Johnson-Shelton

  “I’m adopted, I already know that!” Artie was halfway to the door. His instincts were to turn and run, but something about the power of the man’s voice held his attention. It was like a spell was being cast over him.

  The old man continued, “Yes, but ask about Mr. Thumb. Ask him where you’re from. Ask Kynder today, and if he tells you that you are special too, then please consider coming back here tomorrow. You’ve nothing to fear! If you allow me to show you something, then the controller is yours—and Kay’s as well!”

  “Kay—how do you know my sis—” He was so close to the door now.

  “I know much about you, Arthur. You’ve nothing to fear from me. You are my king! You are my king and I am now and forevermore at your service!”

  Artie stumbled through the door into the blinding daylight as these preposterous words rang in his ears. Barely paying attention, he tripped across the pavement and back into the same cab, and without saying a word the driver sped off to the Hilton.

  4

  IN WHICH WE LEARN THAT ARTIE IS A PERFECTLY REGULAR AND LOVELY SON

  When Artie got back to the hotel room he lied, saying that the store was closed but that it would be open early the next morning before the tournament started, and that he’d be happy to go back and get Kay a controller then. Kay was soothed a little, and Kynder was satisfied that it would be taken care of, and so they passed the rest of the day quietly hanging out in the room and around the pool on the roof.

  Artie didn’t mention the old man—wizard—Merlin—whatever—at all. But he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Trying to fall asleep that night was torture. How had that dude known Kay’s and Kynder’s names? Had he used magic on Artie? Was there even such a thing as magic? Was Artie going crazy?

  He had to be.

  But even if he was, this Merlin guy had touched on the question that Artie had longed to know the answer to: Where was he from? Kynder had never told him, preferring to play it off like it wasn’t important because they had such a great little family. Still, like a lot of adopted kids, Artie couldn’t help but wonder if he had come from somewhere—from someone—special. He didn’t want to take anything away from Kynder, because he loved his dad a ton, but now more than ever he needed to know if he had come from someone important.

  He resolved to do as the old man had said and ask. So, as Kay snored away in the other bed, Artie gathered his nerve and whispered into the darkness, “Kynder?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “You awake?”

  “A little, Arthur.” Kynder turned over and rubbed his face hard. “What’s up?”

  Artie said quietly, “I heard you talking to her yesterday.”

  Kynder paused. Finally he breathed, “You … did?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell Kay.”

  Kynder sounded sad when he said, “Me either.”

  “It’s okay. It’s better that way. But that’s not what I want to talk about. It just got me thinking. You know, about how you got me. Can you tell me how you got me? Please?”

  Kynder sighed and said, “I adopted you, Arthur, you know that. Kay’s mom and I adopted you, and awhile later Kay’s mom left us. That’s all.”

  Artie took a deep breath and then he said, “Yeah, but the thing is, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and I really want to know more. Look, don’t ask me how, but I’ve heard a little about Mr. Thumb. Please, can you tell me the rest?”

  Of course Artie knew nothing about Mr. Thumb, but he had to take a chance.

  And it worked. After a few moments Kynder propped himself up and began talking. This was more or less how it went:

  On a clear September night Kynder and his ex-wife were woken by a horrible sound coming from Kay’s baby monitor: a sudden and horrendous coughing fit.

  Kynder jumped out of bed and ran to Kay’s room, his ex-wife not far behind. Kay’s door was half open and they could see the warm glow of her night-light coming from inside. She coughed and gasped desperately.

  But then she stopped, and the light from her room got much brighter. This, along with Kay’s silence, made Kynder and his ex-wife freeze in astonishment.

  Kynder took a deep breath and continued. He said, “Then Kay laughed, and the light went off and we went into the room. Kay was in her crib, her hair standing on end. And next to her, out of nowhere, was you. The two of you were staring at each other. It was—well, it was disorienting to say the least.”

  “Where did I come from?”

  “Honestly, Artie, I still have no idea.”

  Kay turned and grunted in her bed.

  Artie and Kynder quietly looked in her direction. Satisfied that she was still asleep, Kynder continued in a low whisper, “My ex-wife was totally confused and scared, but for some reason I wasn’t. I checked you out and cleaned you up and gave you a bottle. You were a plump, healthy little boy. You and Kay seemed happy together, which helped calm me even more, but not Kay’s mom. The things that happened that night—and the next day—changed her forever, and not in a good way.”

  Artie’s heart sank a little at what this meant: Kay’s mom left because of him.

  Kynder went on, “For the rest of that night we were in shock. You guys drifted off peacefully, but my ex-wife and I couldn’t possibly go back to sleep. We went to the kitchen, made coffee, and decided that in the morning we’d call the police. I still have no idea why we didn’t call them right away, but we didn’t.

  “Which brings me to your Mr. Thumb. As the coffee brewed the phone rang, and on the other end was a man that went by that name. He had a British accent. He wanted to talk about you. What could I say but ‘Go ahead.’

  “Immediately he referred to you as Arthur Kingfisher, as if you were already a part of the family. He said that it was no coincidence that you had come to us—to me and Kay, actually—that the three of us were meant for one another—and that by three that afternoon we’d get a FedEx package with a bunch of paperwork that would facilitate our legally adopting you into our family. I tried to ask him questions, but he kept interrupting me, and when he was done telling me what was going to happen, he just hung up. I had no way to call him back.

  “Still in shock, we waited. You guys got up and I fed you and dressed you. You and Kay spent the morning playing together so well that, in a very real and very strange sense, you did feel like part of the family. In fact, to me you already were. I know this sounds weird, but it was like a spell. From that moment on, I loved you like a son. The same could not be said for Kay’s mom, though, and ultimately it was too much for her to handle. Within the year she’d left, and until yesterday I’d never heard from her again. She left because she couldn’t adapt to you, but, Artie, her leaving wasn’t your fault. It was her fault and her fault only.”

  Artie sank into his pillow and whispered, “Thanks,” even though he felt pretty crummy. Kynder put a hand on his son’s shoulder and went on.

  “Anyway, at three on the dot the doorbell rang. It was the FedEx guy. Just a regular FedEx guy with a clipboard and a smile. I signed for the package, brought it in, and opened it up. It contained everything Mr. Thumb said it would. Still feeling spellbound, and with hardly a word between us, Kay’s mom and I sat down and read everything, filled the papers out, stuffed them into the proper envelopes, and put them in the mail. Within a week we received confirmation from the state of Pennsylvania that you were ours. The rest, as they say, is history.”

  Kynder lay back down. Artie didn’t know what to say. Kay sounded completely asleep.

  Finally Artie asked, “So that’s it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  Artie took another breath and asked, “So, does this mean I’m special or something? That I’m, like, a freak of nature? I mean, where did I come from?”

  Kynder took what felt like forever to answer. But when he did, he sounded simultaneously sad, happy, relieved, and full of honesty. “Like I said, Artie, I really have no idea. I’ve tried to convince myself that you’
re normal, but the fact is you’re not. If for no other reason than the way you appeared in our lives, you are special. Heck, for all I know you could be a space alien, or a fairy, or an android from the future. But, Artie: to me, it doesn’t matter. None of it. I love you more than my own heart, if that’s possible. To me you’re special for one reason and one reason only: and that’s that you are my son. My perfectly regular and lovely son.”

  5

  IN WHICH ARTIE RETURNS TO HIS HUMBLE SERVANT

  Well, that did it. Artie knew before he fell asleep that night that, for better or worse, he was definitely heading back to the Invisible Tower. Maybe the old man knew more about where he came from. Maybe he even knew this Mr. Thumb.

  The next morning Artie got up early and told Kynder and Kay that he was going to get “the best custom Xbox controller this side of the Mississippi.” He said he’d be back with time to spare.

  He took another cab to the store—with a different driver this time, thank goodness—but when he got there, it was closed. Artie started knocking, and very quickly the door unlatched. Artie pulled it open, but no one was there. The bell tinkled again, saying, “Welcome.” Maybe bells could talk.

  He stepped in and made his way to the back. Behind the big black desk stood the old man, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cutoff blue jeans and the same porkpie hat and wooden pendant as the day before.

  “Hello, my boy! So glad to see you. What did—”

  Artie had played through his mind exactly what he was going to say, and he stood tall and spit it out: “Hold up, mister. Let me say something. I asked Kynder like you said, and he told me some stuff that I’m guessing you already know and that I’m not going to repeat. Mainly because it sounds pretty nutty.”

  “Okay.”

  “Yeah, well, the gist is that my dad says he isn’t sure where I’m from, but that Mr. Thumb helped him adopt me. Kind of. Anyway, you said yesterday that you’re Merlin and I’m King Arthur. That still sounds totally crazy to me—and I really don’t believe you—but if it helps me learn a couple things about myself and also get that controller before my sister’s tournament starts, I’m willing to play along. You just have to promise that you’ll answer some of my questions, and that I’ll get out of here in time.”

  The old man laced his fingers together and placed them on his small but bulging tummy. All he said was, “Done.”

  Artie took a deep breath. He’d never been more nervous in his life, but something about the confidence that this man seemed to place in him made him feel strong and certain.

  For Artie Kingfisher this was a first. The school bully, Frankie Finkelstein, wouldn’t even have recognized him.

  Artie said, “Okay, so you’re Merlin. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “All right. How old are you?”

  “About seventeen hundred years, give or take.”

  “Wow. Okay, I don’t really buy that, but whatever.”

  “Don’t worry, you will.”

  “And you think I’m King Arthur.”

  “That’s correct. But I don’t just think it—I know it. And I can prove it to you, if you give me your faith and a little bit of time.”

  “We’ll see. Who’s Mr. Thumb? My father?”

  Merlin laughed. “Good goodness, no, my boy! Thumb is more fairy than man.”

  “Okay, then who is my father?”

  “Hmm. That’s a harder question to answer. The short answer is Uther Pendragon.”

  “And my mom?”

  “Lady Igraine.”

  “And where are they?”

  “Dead, my boy! Been dead for ages!”

  Artie furrowed his eyebrows and said, “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t! Please, Arthur—”

  “Artie. Only Kynder calls me Arthur.”

  Merlin nodded. “Please, Artie, come with me. Let me show you what it is you’re here to see.” Merlin stepped away from the desk and motioned for Artie to join him. “We have to go to the basement. Don’t worry. I am in your charge, Artie. Nothing bad will happen to you. Come.”

  “I don’t know,” Artie said slowly. He really didn’t. And yet, there was something inside him that wanted nothing more than to go with this Merlin character.

  “It will be worth your while. Then the controller will be yours.”

  “It won’t take too long?”

  “Don’t worry about the time, I can take care of that.”

  “What, with a spell or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So you are a”—Artie cut himself off, not believing what he was about to ask—“you really are a wizard, then?”

  “My dear boy, what a preposterous question! I am Merlin! What kind of Merlin would I be if I weren’t a wizard?”

  Artie couldn’t deny that he had a point. Provided this was all really happening, of course.

  Artie shrugged. “Well, you don’t look like one.”

  “What did you expect? It’s the twenty-first century. Robes are too drafty. And the pointy hat went out of style hundreds of years ago, my liege.”

  That was weird, being called a liege.

  “I really can’t believe this,” Artie said, as much to himself as to Merlin.

  Merlin ignored him, moved to the curtain behind the desk, and parted it. “Come with me,” Merlin pleaded.

  And reluctantly, Artie did.

  Merlin’s basement was unlike anything Artie had ever seen.

  The space was very long and deep. In fact, Artie couldn’t see the end of it. There were brickwork arches holding up the ceiling, three abreast and about eight feet wide each, and the arches were supported by plain iron columns. Merlin paused in the first room to hang up his hat. This was an anteroom containing racks for clothing and hats, a long line of shoes on the floor, and a pedestal sink for washing up.

  After stowing his hat and grabbing a light bamboo cane, Merlin moved into the next room, beckoning Artie to follow. He did.

  Passing through the first archway was like being transported from a warm house into a hot, dank jungle. Every wall and surface was covered with plants of all kinds. Merlin moved quickly through this nursery without comment, and passed into the next room.

  This room was also filled with plants but it was near freezing. If the first room felt like a South American jungle, then this room felt like a Himalayan mountaintop. But things lived here too. Small, desperate plants clung to stones, and little gnarled evergreens grew from the walls and floor. Artie realized that his breath was visible. Strangest of all was that this room had a very stiff breeze, even though there were no fans to be seen.

  They moved through more rooms. One had a stream running through it; another was full of computers and video equipment; one was a fully functioning chemistry lab; at least three were menageries containing all different kinds of exotic animals. There was a room engulfed in differentcolored fires, none of which gave off any heat, and there was a room made entirely of blue glacial ice but that was not at all cold. There were five rooms full of books and scrolls and tapestries, each with a nice place to sit. There was a room full of hand-to-hand weapons from all over the world and all through the ages. There was a room that contained two jail cells and some chains with cuffs attached to the walls; this room was musty and dead-feeling. There were familiar places too: a kitchen, a completely modern living room, a game room, and a room with an elliptical machine and free weights.

  After they’d passed through the first jungle room, Merlin started talking like a tour guide.

  “You know, Artie, no person, fairy, troll, or sentient what-have-you—other than myself and Mr. Thumb—has walked through these rooms in a long, long time. For all intents and purposes, you are the first person to ever see these places. Yes, I’ve spent many a day down here whiling away my time. And I’ll tell you that I’ve not been lazy! In addition to all the old-style magic I know, I’ve learned quite a bit of the modern sciences down here—in fact, a little secret about ma
gic is that a good portion of it is scientific trickery. Oh, there are real magic spells that alter the fabric of space and time and substance and all that, but no small part of enchantment is just applied biology, chemistry, and physics.

  “In addition to learning the hard sciences, I’ve also become a pretty good computer programmer and a middling hacker. That’s how I got that message to you, of course, in the Otherworld game. Bless the internet; what a marvel!

  “Anyway… Listen, Artie, here is the cold, hard truth: you are King Arthur, like it or not, and I am Merlin and we have been reunited on purpose. The simple fact is that you are here to help me. And I will, to the best of my ability, do everything I can to help you.”

  Artie wandered behind the old man. He was no longer nervous. Now he was just flabbergasted. “Uh, okay.”

  “Now, you’ve heard of the sword in the stone, yes?”

  “I guess. That’s the one only King Arthur can pull out of the rock. Excalibur, right?”

  Merlin looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Wrong! Excalibur is not the one from the stone—no, Excalibur is with the Lady of the Lake. The sword in the stone is Excalibur’s cousin, Cleomede. It’s like Excalibur’s gatekeeper. If you can wield it in battle then you will have proved that you are worthy of Excalibur, at which point the Lady in the Lake will give it to you.”

  Artie stopped in a room full of spinning gears and gyroscopes and weird coils zapping mini bolts of lightning to one another. Merlin took a couple more eager steps before realizing his guest had frozen. He wheeled around with his head cocked.

  Artie said, “Wait—did you say ‘battle’?”

  “Of course, my boy! You are King Arthur! One of the greatest warriors the world has ever seen!”

  Artie knew that was so not true. He asked, “By ‘battle,’ you mean, like, real battle?”

  Merlin shook his head in an offhand, vaguely reassuring kind of way, and said, “No, fake battle.”

  There was a brief silence, and Artie exhaled.