The Merlin Effect (12 page)

Kate grabbed him by the arm and hoisted. The old man
struggled to stand, nearly toppling them both. He pulled anxiously on his beard, then staggered to the chair by the desk and collapsed, breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?”

“Right? Oh, yes. Couldn’t be better. Nothing a good nap can’t fix.” His eyes narrowed, and he seemed confused. “Could have sworn…Wasn’t I just taking a nap?” He scratched, this time the other ear. “Yes, now I remember. A good nap in the corner. Then someone came in.”

“Me,” offered Kate.

“You?” He fought to lift himself from the chair. “Have we been properly introduced?”

“Yes,” she answered, half amused and half exasperated. She eased him back in the chair. “I’m Kate. You’re Geoffrey of something.”

“Bardsey. So we have.”

“Bardsey,” she repeated. “Wasn’t that the name of the island where Merlin died?”

Geoffrey nodded. “Entombed. By Nimue.” His eyes grew moist. “A miserable way to go, that.” He stretched his arm toward the porcelain dish, took another date. Chewing it slowly, he turned toward the window, then back to Kate, as if she had reminded him of something deep in his past. At length, he asked, “You know of Merlin?”

“A few of the stories. My dad knows a lot more.” She leaned against the desk, her expression grave. “Where are we, anyway?”

The wild eyebrows lifted. “You don’t know?”

“How could I know?” she retorted. “It’s all such a blur.”

“I take your meaning,” Geoffrey replied dispiritedly. “And it grows worse with each passing century.”

Kate stiffened. “Century?”

The old man’s eyes fixed on hers. “You are my first guest in…” He paused, trying to count on his fingers, then gave up in frustration. “In many years. Not many people care to pay a visit to the
Resurreccíon.
”

The name rang in Kate’s ears. “That can’t be true!”

Geoffrey spat out a pit, wiping his mouth with his ragged sleeve. “Forgive my manners. I’ve forgotten most of the little I knew.”

She seized his sleeve. “But the
Resurreccíon
got swallowed by the whirlpool ages ago!”

The brown rags stirred uncomfortably. “Ah, yes. A dreadful experience, let me assure you. One I don’t plan to live through again.” He swept his eyes over the chamber. “Not that I object to these quarters, mind you. Far better than Wytham Abbey, I should say! And well stocked. I could last another half millennium with a bit of rationing. All the best spices, including cardamom from India, to make my tea and freshen the air. Fine tapestries to look at, sea biscuits and garlic to eat, sweetmeats and honey for dessert whenever I please. Not to mention the fresh fish that wash up on shore. And let us not forget the dates! I do love them. The ship’s wine I finished off about a century ago, I’m afraid, but I still get plenty of clean water from this vaporous air. I could hardly want more, but for an occasional idle conversation like this.”

“This isn’t idle,” protested Kate. “This is serious! And I still don’t believe you. If you went down with the ship, how come you’re still alive?”

Geoffrey’s mouth gaped wide with another yawn. When finally he finished, he replied, “Oh, I do my best to keep occupied. It does get a bit tedious at times, of course. I keep reminding myself that the word
monk
comes from the Greek
monos
, for
alone.
So perhaps it is my fate to be here. Still, there’s not much to do except eat and sleep, pray and count combs.”

“Combs?”

The haggard head nodded. “It was the twenty-sixth of May—I remember it so clearly—when the
Resurreccíon
set sail from Manila, bound for Mexico. We were heavy with cargo, including a big shipment of ivory combs. Lovely ones, carved with Our Lady’s image. Thirty-one thousand, eight hundred and forty-three, to be precise.” He frowned. “Though for some reason I’ve been able to find only thirty-one thousand, eight hundred and forty-two.”

Feeling the bulge in one of her pockets, Kate’s stomach clenched. “So we really are…at the bottom of the whirlpool?”

“The very bottom.”

“And the light and air down here—”

“Is carried down the funnel, of course. It’s often a bit dusky, I admit, but the light is quite sufficient, unless perhaps you are practicing calligraphy.”

Kate swallowed. “You’re pulling my leg.”

Geoffrey looked puzzled. “Pulling your leg? How could I? I’m nowhere near your leg.”

“I mean you’re fooling me.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “If you were to step a mere forty paces from this ship in any direction—not that I would advise it, mind you—you would meet the spinning wall of the whirlpool. And beyond that, the sea.”

“Half a mile down,” added Kate. “It’s a lot to swallow.”

“Yes,” laughed Geoffrey. “Even a large whale would have difficulty swallowing so much.”

“I didn’t mean…oh, forget it.”

“Don’t worry, though. After eighty or ninety more years you will come to accept living inside a maelstrom as a fact of life, as I have. Even your memories of blue sky will fade.” He glanced up wistfully. “I should have liked to see it once more, though. Just once.”

“But it’s not a fact of life!” objected Kate. “I want to see my dad again! And my mom. And Isabella. I’m not going to just sit around here eating dates forever!” Then a new realization dawned. “Didn’t you feel that tremor a while ago? There could be an eruption down here. Maybe a big one! It could wipe out the ship, the whirlpool, everything.”

Geoffrey yawned once more, this time for nearly a minute. “Quite so,” he said drowsily. “I feel another nap coming on.”

“No,” she insisted. “Not now.”

The old man’s eyelids closed. “Curious things, eruptions,” he murmured. “Most unpredictable.”

“Wait!” She shook him by the shoulders. “You can’t sleep now. Listen. I think my father’s down here someplace. In the submersible. Maybe, if we can find some way to contact him, he could help us get out of here.”

Geoffrey’s eyes opened a crack, regarding her suspiciously. “What would your father be doing down here?”

Kate started to speak, then hesitated. “He’s, ah, looking for the ship.”

“He wants the gold and silver aboard?”

“Well…not exactly.”

“Something else, then?”

She said nothing, remembering her promise not to reveal anything about the Horn. Yet…what harm could it possibly do to tell this old monk? It might even elicit his help. On an impulse, she pulled from her shirt pocket a soggy piece of
paper bearing a strange design. She unfolded it carefully, then held it before his face. “If you know what this means, then maybe I can trust you.”

Geoffrey studied the design, exhaling slowly.
“Benedicite,”
he said in a quiet voice. “So you know about Serilliant.”

I
know a little,” answered Kate.

“Are you,” Geoffrey asked, his eyes suddenly alight, “one of
the Order?
”

“The what?”

“The Order of the Horn.” Geoffrey pushed himself out of the chair. He clasped Kate in an enthusiastic embrace, surrounding her with rags whose odor overpowered even the pot of fragrant spices. “I thought I was the last!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking. “I am overjoyed, overjoyed indeed.”

“But—” began Kate, cringing at the potent smell.

“And we haven’t had a woman join the Order since, my goodness! Since Katherine of Monmouth, ages ago.”

Kate finally wriggled away. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, the Order of the Horn! The secret society dedicated to finding Merlin’s Horn and delivering it to the Glass House, where it truly belongs.”

She stared at him blankly.

“You have not heard of it?”

“And I’m not a member of it, either.”

Geoffrey’s bushy brows pinched together. “How cruel of you to mislead me.”

“I didn’t. You just assumed.”

“If you didn’t come here in search of the Horn, why did you come?”

She blinked. “By accident. I got thrown overboard.”

Geoffrey observed her, toying with his beard. “And yet you know about the Horn.”

“Not much, really. Just that lots of people have wanted it, for whatever reason. And whenever they find it, they lose it again.”

Light returned to the deep-set eyes. “That is truer than you know. Merlin is only one of many who have sought it and been disappointed. Even that sorceress Nimue, for all her cleverness, has been frustrated.”

“Nimue!”

The old man grimaced. “So you have heard of her. Let us hope that neither of us should ever have to meet her.”

“You mean she’s still around?”

“She is searching for the Horn, and nothing will stop her.”

Sadly, Kate nodded. “My dad’s in the same boat.”

Geoffrey, looking perplexed, scratched the point of his nose. “But Nimue doesn’t use a boat.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, Dad’s searching, too.” Another wave of longing washed over her. “I wish I knew how to reach him. I’m sure he could help us.”

“It is far easier to come here than it is to leave, I’m afraid. In fact, it’s impossible as long as the whirlpool lasts. Yet if he is seeking the Horn, perhaps he will come here on his own.”

“Before this whole place erupts, I hope.” She considered what Geoffrey had said. “So the Horn…is really here?”

Geoffrey chewed some hairs for a moment, then said only, “It is near.”

Kate edged a bit closer. “Is it the Horn that has kept you alive?”

“I cannot say for sure.”

“You must have a theory,” she pressed. “You’ve had five centuries to think about it.”

“Well,” he replied, “I have just a guess, nothing more.”

“And?”

“My guess is that…the Horn keeps me from dying. Just as it keeps the whirlpool from collapsing and this ship from crumbling. Perhaps its power circulates with the swirling vapors here, passing into the very timbers and sails above our heads.” He smacked his lips. “That would also explain why my dates remain so delightfully fresh.”

Kate backed up a step. “And it would also explain Isabella’s fish.”

Confused again, Geoffrey asked, “Whose fish?”

“My friend Isabella’s. The ugly old fish she found, the one with the wacky DNA chromosome. It should have been extinct.”

Geoffrey studied her worriedly. “You’re babbling, my dear. It’s all been a bit much for you, hasn’t it? You clearly need a nap.”

“I’m fine,” she replied tersely. “What else do you know about the Horn’s power?”

At that instant a tremor rocked the ship, sending both of them sprawling. The walls swayed violently, creaking and popping. The tapestry tore loose and fell. With a crash, the porcelain dish shattered on the floor.

Then, silence. Plumes of dust swirled around the room. Geoffrey groaned painfully as he crawled to the chair.

Kate clambered to her feet. “Are you all right?”

“Barely,” he replied. “Blast these tremors! Just look at my dates. Ruined! Covered with soot.”

Kate squeezed the thin arm beneath the tattered clothes. “Listen to me. We’ve got to get out of here before a really big one hits.”

“That could be centuries from now,” groused Geoffrey. He plucked a date from the floor, blew the dust off it, and took a bite. “Right now I’m worried about more pressing matters.”

“Like your dates,” said Kate in disgust.

“Not wholly ruined,” he observed, chewing slowly. “Pity about the dish, though.”

“At least you could answer my question.”

Geoffrey kept chewing. “Question?”

“Can you tell me anything else about the Horn’s power? And is there some way we can use it to get out of here?”

Seemingly oblivious, Geoffrey inserted the rest of the date into his mouth. He removed the pit and threw it over his shoulder, but it caught on his tangle of hair and remained there, dangling.

“Delectable,” he pronounced.

Kate demanded, “Come on. Tell me.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Tell you what?”

“About the Horn!”

“Persistent, aren’t you?” He crinkled his nose. “You remind me of another headstrong youth, one I understand Merlin found extremely difficult at times. His name was Arthur.”

She drew a deep breath. “I don’t care,” she replied. “Answer me.”

“Such stubbornness he had,” mused Geoffrey. “Imagine,
thinking he could civilize the Saxons! The very idea he could teach them how to farm, convince them to join hands with other peoples instead of vanquishing them. Why, it’s a wonder Merlin was able to keep him alive as long as he did. If that scoundrel Mordred hadn’t…” The old man suddenly looked much older. “I do hope Merlin was right, though.”

Caught off guard, Kate asked, “Right about what?”

“About Arthur,” came the wistful reply. “That he will one day return.”

His wrinkled hand reached under the chair for another date. Seeing this, Kate snatched it up and held it directly in front of his nose.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

He reached for the date, but she yanked it away.

“It looks delicious,” she said, twirling the sweet fruit in her fingers. “Soft, tender, juicy…”

“Please,” he protested. “This is highly unfair.”