What A Chance (2/?)
Jan. 12th, 2010 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ifeelbetterTitle: What A Chance (2/?)
Rating: Still G...though Arthur has arrived with innuendo.
Warnings/Spoilers: Still none, not even for Bedknobs and Broomsticks anymore because we're off and flying without a map.
Word Count: 2,603
Summary: AU for Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Merlin is a recluse wizard-in-training in rural England during WWII. He has been coerced into temporarily adopting three children but, worse than that, his wizarding correspondence course (Pendragon Correspondence School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) ends abruptly without any explanation.
Author's Notes: Arthur is here and so is sexual tension! Rejoice, rejoice.
Dinner had been simply terrifying for the three children. Merlin apologized absent-mindedly, obviously without any real sense of the trauma he would induce, and served stuff of varying shades of green and grey. And he called it supper, too. Breakfast wasn’t any better.
“So what’s this, then?” Jared asked, his heart sinking as Merlin spooned something grey and lumpy onto their plates.
“What?” Merlin said, wincing as he moved, “Oh, it’s porridge substitute.”
“What did you substitute it with?” Sandy asked, carefully licking a spoonful of the stuff.
“Grain.”
The three children, without making eye contact, simultaneously pushed their plates away.
“What?” Merlin asked innocently.
“Did you hurt yourself last night, mister?” Jensen asked, with an obvious veneer of false innocence. Merlin knew trouble was stirring but couldn’t see from which direction it was heading.
“What?” he repeated, “Oh. Yes. Tripped.”
“Tripped, was it?” Jensen said, with the same smirk in his voice while he carefully kept his face under control.
“Quite. Nothing serious,” Merlin said, wincing again as he reached across the table.
“Lovely weather for flying last night,” Jensen said. Merlin froze.
“Flying?” he repeated carefully.
“There’s going to be a few changes around here, that’s for sure,” Jensen said, swept up in the dramatic moment. He pushed back his chair and began to move slowly around the table, his hands tucked into his sweater pockets. He hoped it was menacing. “We know what you are, see. You’re a witch, you are.”
“Wizard, Jenny. Boys can’t be witches,” Jared whispered loudly.
“Don’t call me Jenny!” Jensen hissed back.
“But he’s not a witch, stupid. He’s a boy!”
“Fine!” Jensen turned his attention back to the group. “We have some demands,” he told Merlin.
“I wrote them down,” Sandy added helpfully. Jensen rolled his eyes.
“I told her not to,” he explained. Sandy had already pulled out the piece of paper. She handed them to him. He tried to express, in his acceptance, that they were unnecessary and altogether too girly but that, seeing as she had already done all this work, he would deign to use it. And then he proceeded to read aloud from it. “One – no more rabbit food. We’ll have normal food, like bangers’n mash and sausage.”
“And sweets,” Jared added. “Lollies and such.”
“And sweets, lollies and such,” Jensen repeated. He had gotten distracted from the list of demands and began to extemporize. “And we’ll have no more of this ‘wash, wash, wash’ business. I’ll wash once a week the way I always did, thank you very much.”
“I’d rather you washed more, Jenny,” Sandy added.
“Me too, Jen,” Jared agreed.
“Shut up,” Jensen hissed. “And don’t call me Jenny.”
“So, let’s see if I’ve been following correctly,” Merlin said. “You want me to feed you differently and to allow you to be as filthy as you chose or else—what?”
“Or else what?” Jensen repeated. “Yeah, or else what.”
“You see, I’d much rather not have everyone in town knowing I practice magic,” Merlin continued. “So I’d very much appreciate it if you could keep this between you three and myself.”
“That’s what we’re saying, mister,” Jared explained impatiently. “That’s the demands part.”
“Have you considered the danger you might be in at this point?” Merlin asked, still carefully controlled. “I do practice magic.”
“What do you mean?” Jensen asked, crossing his arms defiantly. “You gonna change me into a toad or something?”
“I might.”
“Oh, Jenny, leave it,” Sandy said, beginning to be concerned.
“Go on,” Jensen said, turning a shade redder as he grew angrier. “Change me into a toad. I don’t think you can.”
“Very well,” Merlin said, pulling open a drawer in the cabinet and taking out a small notebook. He looked into the pocket on the inside of his sweater for his reading glasses. “Let me see. . .” he said as he flipped through the pages.
“Give it up, Jenny,” Jared hissed. He turned to Merlin, “We didn’t mean it, mister, honest.”
“I did so mean it,” Jensen insisted, “And I bet he’s not even a real magician. I bet he can’t do anything at all. He couldn’t even ride a broom properly.”
“Ah,” said Merlin, having found the appropriate spell, “Here it is.” He coughed politely and tried to look intimidating and magical. It didn’t work. “blesio bod llygoden.”
As he spoke, a sparkling blue light enveloped Jensen and, within the blink of an eye, he had been replaced by a tiny dormouse.
“Oh dear,” Merlin said. “I must have muddled the last bit.” He looked back at his notebook. “That’s what I did wrong—this is the Mouse Spell!” Jensen-the-mouse squeaked emphatically.
Merlin’s cat meowed menacingly from the corner. Jared scooped Jensen-the-mouse up protectively and petted him carefully with one finger.
“We’re ever so sorry, Mr. Emrys!” Sandy said, grabbing Merlin’s sleeve plaintively. “Can’t you change him back, please?”
“No danger there, Sandy,” said Merlin, “My spells don’t last all that long anyway. He should change back in a minute or two.”
It was quite sooner than that, leaving an embarrassed Jensen sitting precariously on Jared’s lap.
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful for your silence on the subject of my magic,” Merlin explained, once they had all regained their seats and resumed the meal. “But wouldn’t you accept something else in exchange? How about one of my spells?”
“They worth anything?” Jensen asked.
“We could choose something useful,” Merlin said. Sandy looked at Jared and then down to her feet.
“Could you send us back to London?” Jared asked quietly. “It’s just my mum—“
“—and my old man—“
“—I think my sister might be—“
“Didn’t they send you here?” Merlin asked. He sometimes forgot they were actually children, what with Jensen’s tough exterior and Jared’s mature generosity and Sandy’s organization. But all three were looking at him with eyes filling with tears.
“I don't really know,” Sandy admitted. “I slept in the tunnels one night, when the bombs were really loud, but my sister never came and got me in the morning and then I couldn’t find her.”
Merlin pulled her towards him and held her as tears spilled over. The two boys tried for their best manly reserve but were sniffling loudly.
**
After all three had a good cry, Merlin brought them downstairs to his “magic lair,” as Jared called it.
“I think I know just the thing for all of us,” Merlin said, shuffling through the papers on his desk. “Something to take us away, right?”
“Like a holiday?” Jared asked, investigating the jars of makeshift portion materials.
“How far away?” Sandy asked. She leaned over one jar in particular, reading, “’Poisoned dragon liver’?”
“Did they poison the dragon or just the liver?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t actually know, they come in packages,” Merlin said. “Ah! Here it is! The Travelling Spell.”
“What does that do?” Jensen asked. He was pretending to be too good for such petty curiosities, though his eyes followed Jared and Sandy’s more enthused investigations.
“What it sounds like,” Merlin said, “Do either of you have something that we could twist? Like a ring or a bracelet?” Sandy shook her head but Jared dug into his pockets industriously.
“Always pick up a few things, you know,” he explained, “Let’s see—got a piece of string, lovely bit of broken glass, couple of lollies, and this bed knob.”
“What are you doing with a bed knob?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t know, it just came right off with a twist,” Jared said, shrugging. “It’s from the bed upstairs.”
“That might do!” Merlin said, holding it up to look at. “This really might do.” He looked back to the paper, putting his reading glasses on again. “teithiwch.”
The door knob glowed briefly in a pinkish hue.
“That it?” Jensen sneered. “It’s really magical now?”
“Yes, indeed,” Merlin said. “It will be quite simple, actually, for us to use the bed from upstairs as a means of transport.”
“Hey, mister, what’s this Pendragon Correspondence School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” Sandy said, picking up the unopened letter from the night before.
“You know, I had quite forgot about that!” Merlin said, as she handed it to him. He quickly opened it and read its contents aloud:
Dear Mr. Emrys:
I regret to inform you that the Pendragon Correspondence School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be discontinued immediately. The current wartime constraints make the practice and dissemination of magic impossible. I am especially grieved that the cessation of the course will preclude your receipt of the final spell in which you expressed such interest.
Yours faithfully,
Arthur Pendragon.
Merlin despondently removed his glasses and sank back in his chair.
“Is that Pendragon like the general, do you think?” Jensen asked. “I heard the Nazis are scared of him, right enough.”
“Don’t be daft, Jen,” Sandy said, “He wouldn’t be related to a magic teacher, now would he?”
“I can’t think why he would stop now,” Merlin said, mostly to himself. “And I was so close!”
“Can we help, do you think?” Jared asked, moving towards Merlin.
“No, I don’t think—“ Merlin stopped as an idea hit him, “Actually, there is something you could do, all of you.”
“Name it, sir,” Sandy said immediately.
“I don’t want to put you in any sort of awkward position,” Merlin began, “but I must go see Mr. Pendragon. I absolutely must have that final spell. I really do believe I can make a significant contribution to the war effort with its help.”
“So what do we have to do?” Jensen said, uncertainly.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to go to London. Briefly. I won’t need very long, only long enough to find Mr. Pendragon and get that final spell from him,” Merlin explained.
“To London? Course we can do that, mister,” Jared said.
“And I think we should use the new spell,” Merlin finished.
“Go to London by magic?” Sandy said, her eyes glowing. “Cor!”
“So you wouldn’t mind, then?” Merlin said, looking at each child. “You’ll come with me?”
Jared and Sandy nodded emphatically. Jensen shrugged, which Merlin chose to interpret as agreement.
**
The magical trip was awkward more than anything else. It’s strange enough to re-arrange your brain to think of beds as anything other than stationary objects. Add the glowing lights and the twinkling stars of the transit period and all three children were left speechless by the time they arrived in London. Even Jensen looked thoroughly amazed.
The bed screeched to a halt across a cobblestoned street in foggy London. Sparks flew up behind as it slowed.
“Come one and come all! Gather around to be astounded,” they heard a voice say around the corner. Merlin and the two boys jumped off and, in silent agreement, began to push the bed towards the voice.
“Abandon all your preconceptions,” a man was saying as he unfurled an endless trail of magical tools from his briefcase. His grin was cheeky to say the least and people were stopping, against their better judgment, and probably not a little induced by the personal beauty of the man in question.
“I will astound you with the most dazzling of tricks and sensations! I have potions for baldness, spells for young lovers, alchemy, enchantment, sleight of hand, voodoo—anything your heart desires,” he was saying, demonstrating his magical prowess as he spoke. It wasn’t much to speak of. He had mastered all the most mundane tricks of a common marketplace conjurer but had no real magic. Merlin could see that immediately.
But he was touched with – something. There was an extra kick to his tricks, as if someone had glossed them in a magic veneer.
“Arthur Pendragon has everything you could possibly need,” the man said and Sandy pulled at Merlin’s coat.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” she asked.
“What’s he doing, then?” Jensen asked. “I thought he knew real magic.”
“I wish I knew,” Merlin said. Mr. Pendragon was currently pouring rotten milk into a volunteer’s hat. Unfortunately, it was still in the hat when he replaced it on the volunteer’s head.
The crowd was thoroughly unimpressed and dispersed quickly. A couple of people had dropped a coin into the magician’s briefcase out of pity.
“Excuse me, sir,” Mr. Pendragon said, making a show of speaking to Jared as if he was an adult, “Could I interest you in a magic whistle?”
“What does it do, then?” Jared asked.
“Its call can be heard for miles around and,” he said, “it tastes like peppermint.”
“Done,” Jared agreed, reaching into his pocket and handing over his small fortune. The whistle, it turned out, didn’t whistle but it did taste of peppermint so Jared, at least, was satisfied.
“Excuse me, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin said, tapping the man on the shoulder, “I have been looking for you—“
“And it seems that you have found me!” Mr. Pendragon said, with obviously forced mirth, “I can make all of your dreams…oh, bugger that.” He sagged visibly. “What do you want?”
“My name is Merlin Emrys and I was a student in the Pendragon Correspondence School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
“The what? Oh, that! Yes, the school,” Mr. Pendragon said, perking up slightly, “Now defunct, though. Didn’t you get the letter?”
“I read it this morning,” Merlin said, noticing how very blond Mr. Pendragon was and how very completely blue his eyes were, “to my dismay, sir. I came to London to ask especially for the final spell.”
“Well, if it’s magic you want, you’ll have to speak to my sister,” Arthur said. “She deals in the real stuff, you know. I’m just trying to make a few quid. Keep us in bread, as it goes.”
“Where can I find your sister then, Mr. Pendragon?” Merlin asked, beginning to lose his patience. “And may I say that it is incredibly impolite for a gentleman to take credit for a lady’s accomplishments. Your sister’s ought to be the name on the letterhead, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” Mr. Pendragon replied tersely. “And call me Arthur. Everyone does. Even my worst enemies.” He put an arm against the wall behind Merlin and leaned dangerously into Merlin’s personal space. “Though I hope I don’t have to count a charming creature like you in that group.”
“You will in a moment if you don’t back off, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin grumbled, though he may have blushed embarrassingly at the compliment. Arthur smirked and leaned away from Merlin, leaving the latter to breathe out a breath he hadn’t be conscious of holding.
“If you’d kindly take us to your sister’s house,” Merlin said, “I will be happy to ask her for the spell myself.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Emrys,” Arthur said, touching his hat. And if the way he slipped around the name sent the slightest of shivers down Merlin’s spine…well, it was chilly in London.
The children were grinning at them from the bed. Jensen especially.
Merlin made hasty introductions and then said, “If you’ll join us on the bed, please, Mr. Pendragon?” He hopped onto one side as he spoke.
Arthur looked dubious.
“Why?” he asked and then smirked again. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“The Travelling Spell, you prat!” Merlin said. “It’s your own damn spell! I can’t believe I paid for lessons in magic from you!”
“What, that worked for you, then, did it?” Arthur said, looking at Merlin with a different kind of attention. “The Travelling Spell? That worked for you?”
“Just get on, already,” Merlin grumbled, reaching across the bed to tug Arthur by the shirt. “And tell Jared the address, please.”
...to be continued!
Rating: Still G...though Arthur has arrived with innuendo.
Warnings/Spoilers: Still none, not even for Bedknobs and Broomsticks anymore because we're off and flying without a map.
Word Count: 2,603
Summary: AU for Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Merlin is a recluse wizard-in-training in rural England during WWII. He has been coerced into temporarily adopting three children but, worse than that, his wizarding correspondence course (Pendragon Correspondence School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) ends abruptly without any explanation.
Author's Notes: Arthur is here and so is sexual tension! Rejoice, rejoice.
Dinner had been simply terrifying for the three children. Merlin apologized absent-mindedly, obviously without any real sense of the trauma he would induce, and served stuff of varying shades of green and grey. And he called it supper, too. Breakfast wasn’t any better.
“So what’s this, then?” Jared asked, his heart sinking as Merlin spooned something grey and lumpy onto their plates.
“What?” Merlin said, wincing as he moved, “Oh, it’s porridge substitute.”
“What did you substitute it with?” Sandy asked, carefully licking a spoonful of the stuff.
“Grain.”
The three children, without making eye contact, simultaneously pushed their plates away.
“What?” Merlin asked innocently.
“Did you hurt yourself last night, mister?” Jensen asked, with an obvious veneer of false innocence. Merlin knew trouble was stirring but couldn’t see from which direction it was heading.
“What?” he repeated, “Oh. Yes. Tripped.”
“Tripped, was it?” Jensen said, with the same smirk in his voice while he carefully kept his face under control.
“Quite. Nothing serious,” Merlin said, wincing again as he reached across the table.
“Lovely weather for flying last night,” Jensen said. Merlin froze.
“Flying?” he repeated carefully.
“There’s going to be a few changes around here, that’s for sure,” Jensen said, swept up in the dramatic moment. He pushed back his chair and began to move slowly around the table, his hands tucked into his sweater pockets. He hoped it was menacing. “We know what you are, see. You’re a witch, you are.”
“Wizard, Jenny. Boys can’t be witches,” Jared whispered loudly.
“Don’t call me Jenny!” Jensen hissed back.
“But he’s not a witch, stupid. He’s a boy!”
“Fine!” Jensen turned his attention back to the group. “We have some demands,” he told Merlin.
“I wrote them down,” Sandy added helpfully. Jensen rolled his eyes.
“I told her not to,” he explained. Sandy had already pulled out the piece of paper. She handed them to him. He tried to express, in his acceptance, that they were unnecessary and altogether too girly but that, seeing as she had already done all this work, he would deign to use it. And then he proceeded to read aloud from it. “One – no more rabbit food. We’ll have normal food, like bangers’n mash and sausage.”
“And sweets,” Jared added. “Lollies and such.”
“And sweets, lollies and such,” Jensen repeated. He had gotten distracted from the list of demands and began to extemporize. “And we’ll have no more of this ‘wash, wash, wash’ business. I’ll wash once a week the way I always did, thank you very much.”
“I’d rather you washed more, Jenny,” Sandy added.
“Me too, Jen,” Jared agreed.
“Shut up,” Jensen hissed. “And don’t call me Jenny.”
“So, let’s see if I’ve been following correctly,” Merlin said. “You want me to feed you differently and to allow you to be as filthy as you chose or else—what?”
“Or else what?” Jensen repeated. “Yeah, or else what.”
“You see, I’d much rather not have everyone in town knowing I practice magic,” Merlin continued. “So I’d very much appreciate it if you could keep this between you three and myself.”
“That’s what we’re saying, mister,” Jared explained impatiently. “That’s the demands part.”
“Have you considered the danger you might be in at this point?” Merlin asked, still carefully controlled. “I do practice magic.”
“What do you mean?” Jensen asked, crossing his arms defiantly. “You gonna change me into a toad or something?”
“I might.”
“Oh, Jenny, leave it,” Sandy said, beginning to be concerned.
“Go on,” Jensen said, turning a shade redder as he grew angrier. “Change me into a toad. I don’t think you can.”
“Very well,” Merlin said, pulling open a drawer in the cabinet and taking out a small notebook. He looked into the pocket on the inside of his sweater for his reading glasses. “Let me see. . .” he said as he flipped through the pages.
“Give it up, Jenny,” Jared hissed. He turned to Merlin, “We didn’t mean it, mister, honest.”
“I did so mean it,” Jensen insisted, “And I bet he’s not even a real magician. I bet he can’t do anything at all. He couldn’t even ride a broom properly.”
“Ah,” said Merlin, having found the appropriate spell, “Here it is.” He coughed politely and tried to look intimidating and magical. It didn’t work. “blesio bod llygoden.”
As he spoke, a sparkling blue light enveloped Jensen and, within the blink of an eye, he had been replaced by a tiny dormouse.
“Oh dear,” Merlin said. “I must have muddled the last bit.” He looked back at his notebook. “That’s what I did wrong—this is the Mouse Spell!” Jensen-the-mouse squeaked emphatically.
Merlin’s cat meowed menacingly from the corner. Jared scooped Jensen-the-mouse up protectively and petted him carefully with one finger.
“We’re ever so sorry, Mr. Emrys!” Sandy said, grabbing Merlin’s sleeve plaintively. “Can’t you change him back, please?”
“No danger there, Sandy,” said Merlin, “My spells don’t last all that long anyway. He should change back in a minute or two.”
It was quite sooner than that, leaving an embarrassed Jensen sitting precariously on Jared’s lap.
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful for your silence on the subject of my magic,” Merlin explained, once they had all regained their seats and resumed the meal. “But wouldn’t you accept something else in exchange? How about one of my spells?”
“They worth anything?” Jensen asked.
“We could choose something useful,” Merlin said. Sandy looked at Jared and then down to her feet.
“Could you send us back to London?” Jared asked quietly. “It’s just my mum—“
“—and my old man—“
“—I think my sister might be—“
“Didn’t they send you here?” Merlin asked. He sometimes forgot they were actually children, what with Jensen’s tough exterior and Jared’s mature generosity and Sandy’s organization. But all three were looking at him with eyes filling with tears.
“I don't really know,” Sandy admitted. “I slept in the tunnels one night, when the bombs were really loud, but my sister never came and got me in the morning and then I couldn’t find her.”
Merlin pulled her towards him and held her as tears spilled over. The two boys tried for their best manly reserve but were sniffling loudly.
**
After all three had a good cry, Merlin brought them downstairs to his “magic lair,” as Jared called it.
“I think I know just the thing for all of us,” Merlin said, shuffling through the papers on his desk. “Something to take us away, right?”
“Like a holiday?” Jared asked, investigating the jars of makeshift portion materials.
“How far away?” Sandy asked. She leaned over one jar in particular, reading, “’Poisoned dragon liver’?”
“Did they poison the dragon or just the liver?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t actually know, they come in packages,” Merlin said. “Ah! Here it is! The Travelling Spell.”
“What does that do?” Jensen asked. He was pretending to be too good for such petty curiosities, though his eyes followed Jared and Sandy’s more enthused investigations.
“What it sounds like,” Merlin said, “Do either of you have something that we could twist? Like a ring or a bracelet?” Sandy shook her head but Jared dug into his pockets industriously.
“Always pick up a few things, you know,” he explained, “Let’s see—got a piece of string, lovely bit of broken glass, couple of lollies, and this bed knob.”
“What are you doing with a bed knob?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t know, it just came right off with a twist,” Jared said, shrugging. “It’s from the bed upstairs.”
“That might do!” Merlin said, holding it up to look at. “This really might do.” He looked back to the paper, putting his reading glasses on again. “teithiwch.”
The door knob glowed briefly in a pinkish hue.
“That it?” Jensen sneered. “It’s really magical now?”
“Yes, indeed,” Merlin said. “It will be quite simple, actually, for us to use the bed from upstairs as a means of transport.”
“Hey, mister, what’s this Pendragon Correspondence School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” Sandy said, picking up the unopened letter from the night before.
“You know, I had quite forgot about that!” Merlin said, as she handed it to him. He quickly opened it and read its contents aloud:
Dear Mr. Emrys:
I regret to inform you that the Pendragon Correspondence School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be discontinued immediately. The current wartime constraints make the practice and dissemination of magic impossible. I am especially grieved that the cessation of the course will preclude your receipt of the final spell in which you expressed such interest.
Yours faithfully,
Arthur Pendragon.
Merlin despondently removed his glasses and sank back in his chair.
“Is that Pendragon like the general, do you think?” Jensen asked. “I heard the Nazis are scared of him, right enough.”
“Don’t be daft, Jen,” Sandy said, “He wouldn’t be related to a magic teacher, now would he?”
“I can’t think why he would stop now,” Merlin said, mostly to himself. “And I was so close!”
“Can we help, do you think?” Jared asked, moving towards Merlin.
“No, I don’t think—“ Merlin stopped as an idea hit him, “Actually, there is something you could do, all of you.”
“Name it, sir,” Sandy said immediately.
“I don’t want to put you in any sort of awkward position,” Merlin began, “but I must go see Mr. Pendragon. I absolutely must have that final spell. I really do believe I can make a significant contribution to the war effort with its help.”
“So what do we have to do?” Jensen said, uncertainly.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to go to London. Briefly. I won’t need very long, only long enough to find Mr. Pendragon and get that final spell from him,” Merlin explained.
“To London? Course we can do that, mister,” Jared said.
“And I think we should use the new spell,” Merlin finished.
“Go to London by magic?” Sandy said, her eyes glowing. “Cor!”
“So you wouldn’t mind, then?” Merlin said, looking at each child. “You’ll come with me?”
Jared and Sandy nodded emphatically. Jensen shrugged, which Merlin chose to interpret as agreement.
**
The magical trip was awkward more than anything else. It’s strange enough to re-arrange your brain to think of beds as anything other than stationary objects. Add the glowing lights and the twinkling stars of the transit period and all three children were left speechless by the time they arrived in London. Even Jensen looked thoroughly amazed.
The bed screeched to a halt across a cobblestoned street in foggy London. Sparks flew up behind as it slowed.
“Come one and come all! Gather around to be astounded,” they heard a voice say around the corner. Merlin and the two boys jumped off and, in silent agreement, began to push the bed towards the voice.
“Abandon all your preconceptions,” a man was saying as he unfurled an endless trail of magical tools from his briefcase. His grin was cheeky to say the least and people were stopping, against their better judgment, and probably not a little induced by the personal beauty of the man in question.
“I will astound you with the most dazzling of tricks and sensations! I have potions for baldness, spells for young lovers, alchemy, enchantment, sleight of hand, voodoo—anything your heart desires,” he was saying, demonstrating his magical prowess as he spoke. It wasn’t much to speak of. He had mastered all the most mundane tricks of a common marketplace conjurer but had no real magic. Merlin could see that immediately.
But he was touched with – something. There was an extra kick to his tricks, as if someone had glossed them in a magic veneer.
“Arthur Pendragon has everything you could possibly need,” the man said and Sandy pulled at Merlin’s coat.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” she asked.
“What’s he doing, then?” Jensen asked. “I thought he knew real magic.”
“I wish I knew,” Merlin said. Mr. Pendragon was currently pouring rotten milk into a volunteer’s hat. Unfortunately, it was still in the hat when he replaced it on the volunteer’s head.
The crowd was thoroughly unimpressed and dispersed quickly. A couple of people had dropped a coin into the magician’s briefcase out of pity.
“Excuse me, sir,” Mr. Pendragon said, making a show of speaking to Jared as if he was an adult, “Could I interest you in a magic whistle?”
“What does it do, then?” Jared asked.
“Its call can be heard for miles around and,” he said, “it tastes like peppermint.”
“Done,” Jared agreed, reaching into his pocket and handing over his small fortune. The whistle, it turned out, didn’t whistle but it did taste of peppermint so Jared, at least, was satisfied.
“Excuse me, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin said, tapping the man on the shoulder, “I have been looking for you—“
“And it seems that you have found me!” Mr. Pendragon said, with obviously forced mirth, “I can make all of your dreams…oh, bugger that.” He sagged visibly. “What do you want?”
“My name is Merlin Emrys and I was a student in the Pendragon Correspondence School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
“The what? Oh, that! Yes, the school,” Mr. Pendragon said, perking up slightly, “Now defunct, though. Didn’t you get the letter?”
“I read it this morning,” Merlin said, noticing how very blond Mr. Pendragon was and how very completely blue his eyes were, “to my dismay, sir. I came to London to ask especially for the final spell.”
“Well, if it’s magic you want, you’ll have to speak to my sister,” Arthur said. “She deals in the real stuff, you know. I’m just trying to make a few quid. Keep us in bread, as it goes.”
“Where can I find your sister then, Mr. Pendragon?” Merlin asked, beginning to lose his patience. “And may I say that it is incredibly impolite for a gentleman to take credit for a lady’s accomplishments. Your sister’s ought to be the name on the letterhead, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” Mr. Pendragon replied tersely. “And call me Arthur. Everyone does. Even my worst enemies.” He put an arm against the wall behind Merlin and leaned dangerously into Merlin’s personal space. “Though I hope I don’t have to count a charming creature like you in that group.”
“You will in a moment if you don’t back off, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin grumbled, though he may have blushed embarrassingly at the compliment. Arthur smirked and leaned away from Merlin, leaving the latter to breathe out a breath he hadn’t be conscious of holding.
“If you’d kindly take us to your sister’s house,” Merlin said, “I will be happy to ask her for the spell myself.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Emrys,” Arthur said, touching his hat. And if the way he slipped around the name sent the slightest of shivers down Merlin’s spine…well, it was chilly in London.
The children were grinning at them from the bed. Jensen especially.
Merlin made hasty introductions and then said, “If you’ll join us on the bed, please, Mr. Pendragon?” He hopped onto one side as he spoke.
Arthur looked dubious.
“Why?” he asked and then smirked again. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“The Travelling Spell, you prat!” Merlin said. “It’s your own damn spell! I can’t believe I paid for lessons in magic from you!”
“What, that worked for you, then, did it?” Arthur said, looking at Merlin with a different kind of attention. “The Travelling Spell? That worked for you?”
“Just get on, already,” Merlin grumbled, reaching across the bed to tug Arthur by the shirt. “And tell Jared the address, please.”
...to be continued!
