The master of dreams, p.17
The Master of Dreams, page 17
“Makes no difference,” said Merlin. “All roads lead to me.”
“Do any of them pass by the kitchen?” asked Sir Pellinore. “My appetite is returning, now that I realize we’re going to live.”
“Have I said that?” growled Merlin.
“Now that I realize we’re probably going to live,” amended Sir Pellinore.
They walked ahead for another hundred feet, then found their way blocked by a wall of ancient books.
“What now?” said Raven.
“Are you not thrilled and mystified and fascinated?” said Merlin.
“By a bunch of books?”
“You say that as if they’re common objects.”
“Where I come from, they are,” said Raven.
“You come from Camelot, Mordred,” said Merlin sternly.
“Where I’ve been, then.”
“Really? And you can read?”
“Of course I can read.”
“That makes two of us in the entire kingdom,” said Merlin. “No, make that three. I forgot that Arthur can read some of the printing on that damned sword of his.”
“I hope I’m not required to read my way past this damned wall,” said Raven.
Suddenly he was confronted by a tall, slender man with a long white beard, a beautifully embroidered robe, a tall conical hat with the figures of the zodiac on it, and a wand in his left hand. He brought the wand up to his mouth, the top of it morphed into a lollipop, he licked it, and it became a wand again.
“You’re Merlin, of course,” said Raven.
“Who else would I be?” replied the bearded mage.
“It’s Merlin, all right,” said Sir Pellinore. “I can tell by the wart at the tip of his nose.”
“The castle, the dragon, the magic spells, they don’t convince you, but you know I’m Merlin because of a facial blemish,” said the magician severely. “I’m starting to remember why I don’t like you very much.”
“No offense meant,” said Sir Pellinore hastily.
“I hate to think of how obnoxious you can be when you do mean to offend,” said Merlin. He turned to Raven. “But back to you and literature, Mordred. Do you think he was crazy?”
“Do I think who was crazy?” asked Raven, puzzled.
“Captain Queeg, of course.”
“I can only offer an opinion based on the movie.”
Merlin shook his head. “I’d ask what a movie is, but I’m afraid you might tell me. Maybe we should discuss the bird instead?”
“The bird?”
Merlin nodded. “Right. I’ve still got a chapter or two to go. Do you think it will wind up with the fat man or the broad? Or does Sam Spade dope it out and get it back?”
“Telling you would spoil it for you,” replied Raven.
“Hah!” said Merlin. “I knew you didn’t know.”
“I most certainly do,” replied Raven.
“Rubbish!”
“None of them wind up with it,” said Raven. “It’s a phony—and Sam Spade sends the girl over for killing his partner.”
“Arrrgh!” screamed Merlin.
“Is something wrong?” asked Raven. “You sound like you’re in agony.”
“You ruined it for me!” whined Merlin. “Now there’s no sense finishing the damned book.”
“You did ask.”
“Only because I was sure you’d never read it!” growled Merlin. “I was just showing off.”
“Look,” said Raven, “we don’t have to discuss books at all. We could address my problem instead.”
“We’ll get to it,” said Merlin. “But you’re the first person I’ve been able to discuss literature with in centuries.”
“But my answer seems to have distressed you.”
“From this point on I’ll only discuss books I’ve finished,” said Merlin.
“But then we discuss my problem?”
“Absolutely, probably,” answered Merlin.
“What the hell does that mean?” asked Raven.
“It means if neither of us dies of old age before the book discussion is over.”
“Forget it,” said Raven. “We talk books for one hour. Then we discuss my reason for coming here.”
“I suppose so; it’s better than nothing,” said Merlin. “I agree.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
“Where to start, where to start?” muttered Merlin. “Sometimes it’s difficult, having 37,409,574 facts in my head.” He grimaced. “For example, I can tell you with absolute certainty who’s going to win the 2134 Super Bowl.”
“Really?”
Merlin nodded. “Definitely.” Suddenly he frowned. “But for the life of me, I can’t tell you what a Super Bowl is.”
“Must be awkward at times,” said Raven, against his will feeling some sympathy for the old wizard.
“You’ve no idea,” muttered Merlin. He was silent for a moment. “You’re sure you don’t have a copy of Mansfield Park with you?”
“Afraid not.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t answer the question I’ve been puzzling over all day.”
“What is that?” asked Raven.
“Romeo and Juliet are a pair of well-spoken but shallow teenagers who know each other for less than a week before they die. Why is that his most popular play?”
“Beats me,” admitted Raven, whose notion of high theatrical art leaned more toward musical comedies with lots of dancing girls.
“Ah, well, let’s get on to real literature.”
More real than Shakespeare? thought Raven, but kept his mouth shut.
“Poetry,” explained Merlin. “The highest literary art form. And there is one particular poem I’ve been wanting to analyze for years. In fact, it was when I got a little tipsy and tried discussing it at a banquet that Arthur banned me from his castle and made me live out here amid the birds and the flowers and all of Nature’s other disgusting creations.”
“And what poem was that?”
“How thoughtful of you to ask,” said Merlin. “It is Mallory’s Le Morte d’Arthur.”
“The Death of Arthur,” said Sir Pellinore. “I can see why he might not have been too thrilled with it.”
“An understatement,” said Merlin, and promptly began a scholarly analysis of the poem.
It was quite some time later that he paused for breath.
“I think your hour’s up,” said Raven.
“It feels more like five minutes,” complained Merlin.
“It’s been an hour, maybe more.”
“But I was just getting to the good parts,” whined Merlin. “The parts about me.”
“Next time.”
The ancient mage shrugged. “All right—fair is fair. What did you want, Mordred? A spell to entice that gorgeous cook in Arthur’s kitchen? A sure tip on the pending battle between Sir Lancelot and the Black Knight? Just name it.”
“I was cast here from my own land by a magic spell,” said Raven. “I need a spell or at least some mechanism to get back.”
“And that is your request?”
“Partially.”
Merlin frowned. “Partially?”
“There is every chance that the woman I love is here too, but under a different guise.” He paused. “You see, I appear to you as Mordred, but in my own world I am Eddie Raven. If she’s here, and I suspect that she is, she will appear as someone you’re all used to, just as I do—but I will recognize and know her as Lisa, and of course I want to take her back with me.”
“That’s quite a request,” said Merlin.
“You’re said to be quite a wizard,” replied Raven.
“There are only two master magicians in all of Camelot, and you’re talking to the best of them,” said Merlin.
“That’s why I’m here,” said Raven. “So . . . how do I get back? Is there some incantation, some particular spot I have to go to, or what?”
“I’ll need some time to work on it,” said Merlin. “After all, I need to determine not only where to send you, but when.”
“And with whom,” added Sir Pellinore. They both turned to him. “I know, I had my eyes closed, but I was listening, not sleeping.” He paused. “Well, not entirely. Not during the good parts of the poem, or when Mordred was explaining his problem.”
“I shall retire to my quarters to think about it,” announced Merlin, “and will surely have an answer for you in the morning, Buzzard.”
“Raven.”
Merlin shrugged. “Whichever.” He turned and began walking into the darkened interior of the castle. “I strongly recommend you two stay here. Wander too far into the dark, and you may never find your way out, always assuming you make it through the night uneaten.”
His voice became weaker, and soon he was out of both sight and earshot.
“I hope he can help me,” remarked Raven, sitting down on a large, not very comfortable, wood chair.
“So do I,” said Sir Pellinore. “Because if he can’t . . .”
“I’m stuck here forever?”
“Probably not,” said Sir Pellinore. “But the only other master of magic with the skills to return you to your time and place is Morgan le Fay, and you don’t want to deal with her.”
“Morgan le Fay,” repeated Raven. “Yeah, I think I remember reading about her. Is she any good at her craft?”
“Her skills are unquestioned,” replied Sir Pellinore. “But while Merlin might charge you an arm and a leg for his services, she’ll charge you that same arm and leg, and see to it that they toil in her service for the next half century.”
“Then let’s hope that Merlin can dope out the proper spell,” said Raven.
“He’s pretty good,” agreed Sir Pellinore. “And when all is said and done, Atlantis probably wasn’t his fault.” He paused thoughtfully. “Well, at least, not entirely.”
26
They were up with the sun, and as they were wandering around, trying to find the kitchen, Merlin suddenly materialized out of empty air.
“Good morning,” said the mage. “Well, as good as it can be when the sun is still in the eastern half of the sky.”
“Have you solved my problem?” asked Raven eagerly.
“Not entirely,” replied Merlin. “I came up with three spells that will transfer you to other worlds, but I suspect none of them is the right one.”
“You’re sure?”
Merlin frowned. “Do you live in a chartreuse and mauve world peopled by talking dinosaurs?”
“No.”
“Or one with seventeen human sexes, none of which are women?”
“No,” said Raven.
“I’ll bet Sir Lancelot would like it,” added Sir Pellinore.
“I thought not,” said Merlin. “Well, I shall keep trying.”
“What about the third world?” asked Raven.
“Don’t ask.”
“I’ve got to,” said Raven.
Merlin sighed deeply. “It was populated by a few million versions of myself,” he said, frowning. “Every one of them better looking and more powerful.”
“So what do I do now?”
“I’m still working on it,” answered Merlin. “You mentioned that the two of you wanted to go to Arthur’s castle. I happen to have some business there, so why don’t I just transport us?”
“And Champion,” said Sir Pellinore.
“Champion?” asked Merlin, frowning in puzzlement.
“My noble steed.”
“You mean your rickety used-up old horse?” said Merlin.
“He who insults my horse dies!” yelled Sir Pellinore, his hand moving to the handle of his sword. He jerked it a couple of times, but nothing happened. “Damned thing’s stuck!” he muttered.
“How fortunate for me,” said Merlin. “I’d have gone crazy trying to decide which of the best three thousand spells to use on you had you actually pulled the damned thing out of the scabbard.”
“Well, I can’t present myself at court with a sword that won’t come out,” said Sir Pellinore. “If I promise not to use it on you—this time, at least—will you magic it out for me?”
“Certainly,” said Merlin. He pointed a bony forefinger at the sword and muttered a chant in ancient Aramaic.
“Thank you,” said Sir Pellinore, sliding the sword out of its scabbard. Suddenly he looked down at it and frowned, as it began writhing and hissing. “Uh . . . Merlin?”
“Boy, some people are never happy,” muttered Merlin. He uttered a brief spell in Swahili, and the snake became a sword again. “You could have done your enemies much more damage if I hadn’t changed it back.”
“To say nothing of my friends,” said Sir Pellinore.
“Well, yes, there is that,” admitted Merlin. “Shall we go?”
“How about some breakfast first?” said Sir Pellinore.
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Merlin. He reached into the air, snapped his fingers, and suddenly was holding a small crystal globe on his hand. “Here—catch!” he said, tossing it toward Sir Pellinore. It had become a ripe cantaloupe before it reached him.
The magician turned to Raven. “How about you?”
“I’ll have some eggs Benedict,” said Raven, wondering how the magician would first conjure and then deliver it.
Merlin made a mystic sign, suddenly had a pair of chimera eggs in his left hand, and tossed them to Raven. “Here you go—and my name’s Merlin, not Benedict.”
The eggshells broke as Raven caught them. “I guess I’m not that hungry after all,” he said, looking for something to wipe his hands with.
The magician uttered a brief chant, and suddenly Raven had a damp towel in his hands.
“We might as well go,” he said after cleaning his hands off.
“Fine,” said Merlin. “Follow me.” He headed off in the direction of a thick wall.
“But the door’s that way,” said Raven.
“Only when I will it to be,” answered Merlin. He uttered another brief chant, and suddenly the wall vanished just long enough for the three men to pass through to the outside. Merlin then led them to a raft that was tied to a small dock on the castle side of the moat, all three walked aboard it, and then it began hovering some ten feet above the water. Merlin directed it to Champion in still another language, it landed, Sir Pellinore spent a few minutes leading the suspicious horse onto the raft, and then they were aloft again, this time rising to a height of more than a hundred feet.
“I could get used to traveling like this,” said Sir Pellinore after they’d been cruising above the ground for an hour. He looked over the edge of the raft and waved to a surprised peasant below him.
“What’s that?” asked Raven, pointing to a large, beautifully kept castle in the distance.
“Oh, that,” said Merlin with a contemptuous sniff. “It’s Morgan’s, of course. She is such a show-off. Every window sparkling clean, every flower in bloom, no shrub out of place.”
“Morgan le Fay?” asked Raven.
“She’s as fey as they come,” growled Merlin. “Now let’s talk about something enjoyable, like war or torture.”
“Um . . . I hate to interrupt,” said Sir Pellinore, “especially when you’re about to discuss such delightful topics, but . . .”
“But?” said Merlin.
“I know it’s a beautiful day, and the sun is shining down upon us,” he said uneasily. “But . . .”
“But what?” demanded Merlin.
“But I’m freezing!”
Merlin chuckled. “Of course you’re freezing! You’re traveling into the wind wearing nothing but your underwear.”
“Damn!” said Sir Pellinore. “I never thought of that. I took my armor off to make it easier for Champion, and I never donned it again. I don’t even remember where I left it.”
“I’ll magic up a new set for you before we land,” said Merlin.
“How soon will we get there?”
“Maybe another hour.”
“Uh . . . not to complain or nag,” said Sir Pellinore, “but I could use it right now. I’m afraid to look, but I have a feeling my extremities are turning blue.”
“Not a problem,” said Merlin. He snapped his fingers. “Presto!”
“I’m still freezing,” complained Sir Pellinore. He tried to say something more, but was drowned out by the enormous oof from the surprised Champion.
“Uh . . . Merlin,” began Raven, blinking his eyes rapidly to make sure that he wasn’t imagining a shining set of silver armor covering every inch of the horse from head to tail.
“Oops!” muttered Merlin. Two quick spells denuded the horse and dressed Sir Pellinore in a truly impressive suit of armor. “Better?” asked the mage.
“Much,” said Sir Pellinore, and Champion seemed to nod his head in agreement. “Thank you, Merlin.”
“The day will come when you’ll render me a service in return,” said the magician.
“Me?” said Sir Pellinore, surprised. “What service could I possibly render to the greatest mage in the world?”
“I’ve always wondered what Questin’ Beast flank tastes like,” came the answer.
“Then it shall be yours, just as soon as I catch it!” promised Sir Pellinore.
“Good. I wasn’t in a hurry anyway.”
Raven looked down as more cultivated land began appearing, and after a few minutes he saw a magnificent castle in the distance.
“Arthur’s?” he asked.
Merlin nodded. “Arthur and those endless knights of his. Ten or twelve I could understand, but he’s up past forty now. Noisiest banquet table you’ve ever encountered.”
“Well, he’ll be minus Lancelot and Gawain, and of course Sir Pellinore won’t rejoin him permanently until he catches the Questin’ Beast,” said Raven.
“Or it dies of old age,” added Merlin. “And it’s still a confusing place to eat and live.” He shook his head sadly. “There are so many plots against the throne.”
