Merlin's Legacy, Chapter 7, part 2

The writing still going strong --- All three short stories are over 2,000 words, while the African Firestorm outline is close to 12,000 words. Talked to Rick Chesler, and OUTCAST OPS has it's own twitter feed at @OutcastOps. I'll keep you updated on the progress of the novel.

And now, some more of Merlin's Legacy, the rest of Chapter 7:

***

        The darkness lasted only a couple of seconds before I found myself in a large stone chamber larger than the library. The floor, walls and ceiling were all made from squared-off stone blocks. Several corridors lead out of the room, to where, I had no idea. “What is this place?”
        “It really has no official name,” Cachmawri said. “We called it the Sanctum.”
        I walked into the center of the room and did a slow circle. A quarter of the chamber was another library, with chairs, bookcases, and a large reading table. Another quarter was a lab of some sort, with a workbench, beakers and other equipment I didn't recognized. The third quarter looked to be a museum, with display cases holding objects. The other quarter looked like a storage area, a refrigerator, cabinets and set of drawers centered around another large table. The way we’d come had a dark doorway.
        “How?” I asked. “There is no way all this can be hidden behind the library wall!”
        “It isn't,” Lucian said, walking into the chamber. “We are standing inside a pocket dimension, first created by Merlin himself, and used by each succeeding generation. It is a warehouse, a training area, a laboratory and a refuge. Here, you can learn how to be a wizard.”
        “How big is this place?”
        “I really don’t know. I never fully explored this place.”
        “Never?”
        Lucian shook his head. “Didn’t have the time.”
        The throbbing in my head got worse, and I started rubbing my temples again.
        “Head hurts?” he asked.
        “Yeah,” I replied.
        Lucian motioned toward a cabinet near the doorway in the storage area. "Top shelf, round bottle with white egg-shaped pills in it. Please get it.”
        The cabinet was unlocked and I found the bottle with no problem. I brought over to Lucian. “These?” I asked.
        “Yes. Take two of those. There’s bottled water in the refrigerator.”
        The refrigerator was well stocked with food and liquids, but I just grabbed a bottle of water and used it to wash down the two pills. Almost at once, the throbbing lessened. “Wow,” I said.
        “Feel better?” Cachmawri asked.
        “Yes.”
        “Good. I’ll show you some of the features of the Sanctum.”
        We spent an hour and a quarter going through the Sanctum. The corridors were built just like the main chamber, all stone, with iron-shod wooden doors leading to different rooms. I saw training halls, both for martial arts and Magus Artificium (Magical arts). There were storerooms, an Alchemy lab, a full kitchen, several bedrooms, an Olympic swimming pool (with changing rooms), and even a hot spring, One room had nothing but a large metal ring set into the chamber floor, surrounded by engravings of different symbols like the ones I saw on Lucian’s tomb.
        This place was huge, easily twice the size of the main house, which was large to begin with. There were stairs and other corridors leading to other parts of the structure we didn't explore.
By the time we returned to the main room, I was suitable impressed with the Sanctum. Lucian had stayed in the main hall, and was waiting for us when we came back. “Well?”
        “Just like the TARDIS,” I said.
        “Tardis?” Cachmawri asked.
        “It’s from a science fiction TV show,” Lucian said “A spaceship that is bigger on the inside than the outside.”
        “Ah. I need to check on a couple of things.” Cachmawri quick-stepped out the doorway leading to the library.
        “What do you think of this place?” Lucian asked me.
        “Very nice,” I said.
        Lucian motioned to a chair in the library quarter. “Please, sit.”
        I went over and sat down. Lucian stood behind another chair. “I know I’m dumping a lot on you all of a sudden,” he said. “And for that, I am sorry. Cachmawri wanted me to bring you up here after you graduated high school and make you my apprentice, but I vetoed the idea.”
        “Why?”
        “Because I didn't want you to be subjugated to the same life I was. My father, Quinton Merlin started training me in the Magus Artificium when I was twelve years old. I trained twelve hours a day, six days a week. And if my father wasn't home, Cachmawri would trained me. I had no friends, no social life, nothing but the training and the family.”
        “Did Grandpa know?”
        Lucian shook his head. “Sam knew something was wrong, but didn't know about the training or anything about magic. In any case, he knew that he couldn't stand up to our father. Quinton Merlin was very set in his beliefs, and had a very black and white view of the world.”
        “He doesn't sound like a nice man.”
        “Actually, he was a very loving, but stern, man. He and my mother raised all four of us with love and a disciplined work ethic. The only area in which my father was hard on me was in my training as the next Merlin’s Heir, and in that, he as unforgiving.”
“You didn't want to train me in the same way.”
        In part,” he replied. “But I've also seen many things over the years I wish I hadn’t, the horrors outweighing the few things of wonder. I didn't think I had the right to expose anyone else to it.”
        “But you should had contacted me and asked!” I said, standing up. “I could have come up here during the summer and trained. If being Merlin’s Heir is as important as you say it is, then doesn't stand to reason that a half-trained replacement would have been better than an untrained one?”
        Lucian gave me a sad smile. “Would you have said yes?”
        I stopped for a moment. “Maybe,”I replied. “But you could have exposed me slower to the idea of magic. Instead, I being deluged with all this stuff in a short period of time and I’m feeling overwhelmed.”
        “I’m sorry, Roger,” Lucian said. “I guess I was alone too long. That’s another reason why I didn't pull you into this life earlier. Being the Heir can be so lonely, and it can destroy relationships. It also consumes you life on a scale that few other roles demand. I didn't want you to be condemned to an entire lifetime of that.”
        “What about the next generation?” I asked. “Assuming a child is born into the family with this Magus Sensus in the next several years, what then? Would you delay bring them into the fold and risk there being no Merlin’s Heir?”
        “Roger, I—”
        “Lucian, please,” I said sharply. I then took a deep breath and said, “I could yell and scream for the next two days, but that isn't going to change anything. Grandpa said more than once that screaming about what life dealt you is a waste of time and energy. Best to use that time and energy into getting out what life tossed you into.”
“Sam was always a bit blunt. Took after our mother in that way.”
        I took a deep breath. “The thugs at the tomb weren't the first time I was attacked. I was attacked last week, in my apartment, by the same guys. They wanted the letter Charlie Windiciott sent me, only I hadn't received it yet. It would be one hell of a coincident if your murder and the attacks on me weren't related. Charlie Windicott also told me that his files were broken into the night of your murder and his letter was delayed until his files were sorted out.”
        “A reasonable assumption.”
        “In that vein, they’re not going to stop just because I inherit. And if Merlin’s Heir is that scary to them, they might up the ante.”
        “Magic?”
        I nodded. “The hooded creep didn't pull that appearing and disappearing trick with smoke and mirrors. And if they start flinging around magic, people could get hurt. It stands to reason that the best way to fight magic is magic.”
        A gong started up, and a female voice said, “Attention. There are intruders on the estate’s grounds. There are intruders on the estate grounds.”

***

Merlin's Legacy and a Late Update

Well, I missed another Monday....

On the writing front, the African Firestorm outline is over 11,000 and complete up to Chapter 38, heading into Chapter 39. I'm beginning to see the end, but the climax is going to tricky to write, as I have to wrap all the threads together to complete the story. I know how the story ends --- I just need to get it there....

The Battletech stories are going well, I'll update them in my Battletech blog (http://thebattletechstate.blogspot.com/). Just suffice it to say, they are going well.

And I've decided to go a little bit farther in bringing the first draft of Merlin's Legacy to you, the reader. Here is part one of Chapter 7:

***

         I don’t know how long I laid there like a stunned fish, but when my senses started working again, I heard voices. One was the cat’s, while the other I vaguely recognized.
        “It’s tradition!” the cat was saying.
        “The situation is different,” the second voice said.
        “Are you sure he’s the one?”
        “You didn’t see him when those thugs attacked him. He used the energy powering the wards around my tomb and channeled it through him with only a little help from me. And that was with his Magus Sensus blocked.”
        “But he has so much to learn!”
        “And that is my fault, old friend. But he will learn for you.”
        “You should have brought him in sooner.”
        The second voice sighed. “I’ve already said it’s my fault. But the point is moot. And Roger has recovered.”
        I groaned and sat up. “What’s going on?” I asked.
       “That is my fault, I’m afraid.”
        I looked up and found myself staring up at the mirror image of the painting of the library.  He was wearing the bomber jacket, military trousers, and boots. I glanced at his hand and the dragon ring was there. “Uncle Lucian?”
        “Hello, Roger,” Lucian said, smiling at me. “Sorry about this, but it’s time you and I had a talk.”
        “But you’re dead!”
        “That’s one of the things we have to talk about. I have an offer for you, one that will change your life.”
        “What?”
        Lucian sighed. “Get up and we can continue this in the library.”
        I got up slowly. “But you’re dead!”
        “Yes, I know.”
        “But you’re here! And young!”
        “I’m here, yes, but I’m dead, and I’m a ghost.”
        I was on my feet now and looking at him. “But I can see you!”
        “Try touching me.”
        I reached out had tried to put my hand on his chest, only to have my hand pass through his body. I pulled my hand back and tried again, with the same result. I pulled my hand and looked at it. “I must be dreaming,” I muttered
        Sharp pain lanced through my left calf as if someone had pressed a nail against it. I yelped and hopped back.
        Lucian looked down. “That wasn’t very nice, Cachmawri,” he said in a disapproving tone.
        “We don’t have time for him to work through his disbelief,” the cat replied, walking past me and into the library. “There’s a lot he needs to know and only a little time to explain it in.”
        Lucian nodded. “He’s right. We need to move this along.”
        I walked into the library. Cach was sitting on a chair. He raised a paw and pointed at a nearby chair. “Sit.”
        I sat.
        Lucian walked over to stand near the fireplace. He stared into the fire for a few seconds. “Roger,” he said. “Have you ever thought about our last name?”
        “Merlin?” I shrugged. “I got teased about it for a few years, but no, not really.”
        “What would you say if I told you that Merlin of the Arthurian legends was a real person, and you are his decedent?”
        I blinked at him. “Okay.”
        “You accept that?”
        “I’m talking to a ghost and a cat and not freaking out.”
        Lucian smiled, making him look younger. “Good.” He looked over at Cachmawri. “This might work.”
        “You’ve only started,” Cachmawri replied. “We’ll see if he remains calm.”
         Lucian nodded, then looked back at me. “But there’s more. Not only you are Merlin’s decedent, you are his heir to his position.”
        “Heir to what?” I asked.
        “The position of Merlin’s Heir,” Cachmawri replied.
        “Okay,” I said, looking from cat to ghost and back again. “Which means what?”
        “Which means you’re a wizard,” Lucian replied.
        “A wizard?” I said, leaning forward. “As in magic?”
        “Yes,” Lucian said.
        “Real magic and not some sort of stage show?”
        “Yes.”
        “Like Gandalf, Harry Potter, Harry Dresden—”
        “Yes!” Cachmawri snapped in annoyance.
        “Cachmawri,” Lucian said gently. Then to me, he said, “Yes, Roger. Sixty-one generations of Merlins have followed the original in defending this world against those who seek humanity’s destruction.”
        “Like what?”
        “Demons, for one,” Cachmawri said.
        “Demons?” I asked. “Real demons?”
        “Demons are real, Roger,” Lucian said. “In fact, if you think of all the legendary creatures you’ve read or heard about in documentaries, there’s a grain of truth to most of them.”
        “There is?”
        “Yes.”
        “And I have to fight them?”
        "No,” Cachmawri said. ‘Most of the time, it acting as an intermediary between humanity and parabeings.”
        “Parabeings?”
        “The general term for those creatures that don’t fit into normal classification,” Lucian said.
        “Intermediary?”
        “The person who is Merlin’s Heir is one of the few humans parabeings take seriously,” Cachmawri said. “Sometimes the Heir has to protect humanity from the parabeings, other times, the Heir has to protect the parabeings from humanity. In addition, the Heir watches for magic misuse on both sides.”
        I held up my hands and stood. “Wait a minute!” I said, “Give me a few minutes to process this!” I began walking up and down. “You want me to become the new Merlin’s Heir, right?”
        “Yes,” Lucian said.
        “And you’re a wizard, right?”
        “I was a wizard. Now, I’m a ghost.”
        “So, I’m a wizard too, right?”
        “You have the ability.”
        “Why me? Why not one of my uncles or my sister or brother?”
        “Because you’re the only one in two generations of Merlins that has a Magus Sensus.”
I stopped and looked at him. “A what?”
        “Magus Sensus,” Cachmawri said. “Latin for ‘Magical Sense.’ It means you have the ability to sense and tap into the energy necessary for magic.”
        “What energy?”
        “The energy all around us. For example, Lumen Globus.”
        A sphere of light the size of a softball appeared above Cachmawri’s head. It glowed with about the same light as a flashlight. “There is energy all around us, Roger,” Cachmawri said. “Different types, but all can be tapped for different spells. For example this glow globe is using the energy from the light on the table back there. Now watch what happens when I use another form of energy. Ingnus Globus.”
        The ball of light suddenly became a ball of fire, and even from several feet away I could feel the heat It floated there like a miniature sun. “Dispellere,” Cachmawri said and the fireball vanished.
        “Anyone with a strong enough Magus Sensus can use magic,” Lucian said. “The problem is that only six hundred thousand people world-wide have even the rudimentary sense, and of that number, maybe six thousand people have a strong enough Magus Sensus to use magic.”
        “And I’m one of those six thousand?”
        Lucian nodded. “The Merlin line has always had strong wizards through the centuries.”
        “If I have this Magus Sensus, why didn't I know about before this?”
        “When you were a newborn, I set up blocks around your Magus Sensus.”
        “I think I remember that,” I said. I held up my hand with the ring. “When I put on this ring, I had a flash of memory. You were leaning over me in the maternity ward.”
        Lucian nodded. “The ring is the symbol of the position of Merlin’s Heir. It has been passed down through generations of Merlins.”
        “So, what about this Magus Sensus? Is it dangerous?”
        “Only to the untrained,” Cachmawri replied.
        “The blocks prevent you from accessing your Magus Sensus unless you happen to be near a place of strong concentration of energy,” Lucian said, “like my tomb.”
        “Your tomb,” I said.
        Lucian nodded. “My tomb is surrounded by wards designed to prevent anyone from breaking into my tomb and disturbing my body. It was the energy fueling the wards that you used to send those thugs flying.”
        “When I heard voices at your tomb, it was you?”
        “It was.”
        I began pacing again. “So, I can use magic, in order to be the protector of humanity against Parabeings and vice versa. I have this magical sense—”
        “Magus Sensus,” Cachmawri said.
        “Right,” I said. “Magus Sensi-thingie that allows me to feel and manipulate the energy around me and cast spells like a RPG wizard.”
        “RPG?” Cachmawri asked.
        “Role-playing game,” Lucian replied.
        I stopped and looked at Lucian again. “So, why are you dead?”
        “I was murdered.”
        “Yes, shot, then fell. Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
        Lucian scowled. “Because being a wizard doesn’t make you immune to bullets or grant you the ability to automatically detect a sniper. We can do things most humans only dream of, but we are still human.”
        “Any idea who shot you?”
        “No. I was shot in the back and had no time to do anything.”
        “Why were you out there at night?”
        Lucian became sober. “I made a mistake.”
        “A mistake?” I asked.
        He nodded. “There’s been a series of incidents, involving churches being broken into and desecrated and livestock missing.”
        “Yes, I know about them. The sheriff thinks it’s kids fooling around with Satanism.”
        “It’s much more than that,” Cachmawri said.
        “Cachmawri’s right,” Lucian said. “I also thought it was kids fooling around, but I found sings that this was something much darker and serious.”
        “What did you find?”
        “Evidence of a sorcerer.”
        I frowned. “Sorcerer?”
        “There are two types of Magic users,” Cachmawri said. “Wizards and sorcerers.”
        “What’s the difference?”
        “Wizards use the energy around them for their magic,” Lucian said. “But sorcerers use unnatural energy for their spells.”
        “Unnatural energy?” I asked.
        “Sorcerers deal with demons to gain their power. They use demonic energy to fuel their spells. On the one hand, they don’t need to have a Magus Sensus to cast spells, and they can become dangerous in a matter of weeks or months. On the other hand—”
        “They have to deal with demons,” I finished. “And I’m guessing demons don’t hand out that much power for free.”
        “They don’t,” Cachmawri said.
        I nodded. “So, there’s a demon-dealing sorcerer in the area.”
        “Worse than that,” Lucian said. “There’s a demonic cult operating in the area.”
        “A demonic cult?” I said.
        Lucian took several steps away from the fireplace. “Yes, Roger. I should have seen the signs earlier, recognized them, but I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security.”
        “You can’t blame yourself.”
        “Yes, I can. Once more, I should have seen it earlier because I’d seen the same signs back in the aftermath of World War Two.”
        “I’m guessing you didn’t fight a normal war.”
        “Not as you know it. What do you know of Nazi Occultism?”
        “I know a few of the top leadership were obsessed with it. Heinrich Himmler comes to mind.”
        Lucian nodded. “Himmler was obsessed with the occult, and he gathered experts together and began contacting several demon lords for aid and power.”
        “He offer souls in return for the power,” Cachmawri said. “Innocent souls.”
        “Himmler formed a department in the SS simply called Office 51, and placed the resources of the SS at their disposal. Office 51 handled all sorcerer activity, and ran their own concentration camp to supply both labor and souls for the demon lords. When word got out, it sent shockwaves through the magic and parabeing community. Some groups sealed themselves away, while others looked to join the Nazis. But most saw the danger for what it was.”
        “You fought.”
        “The Allies gathered wizards and we fought the war on the mystical level,” Lucian said. “And we managed to disrupt most of their operations, including several last-ditch efforts that could have prolonged the war and turn it into a nightmare.
        “Good for you,” I said. Cachmawri sighed.
        After the war,” Lucian continued, “I spent five years hunting down remnants of Office 51, destroying or seizing objects and files from the survivors. Most of the Nazi sorcerers who went underground would set up in an area, slowly recruit followers, contact one of the demon lords and begin to build a base of power. Most moved too fast or overreached themselves and were destroyed. But a few managed to evade justice and went underground.”
        “So you think that a Nazi demonic cult is operating here in Pilgrim’s Cove?”
        “A demonic cult, almost certainly,” Cachmawri said.”There’s no evidence that there’s any Nazi influence.”
        “Several objects from Office 51 were never recovered,” Lucian said. “They’re still out there and still dangerous in the hands of wrong people.”
        “We’re getting sidetracked here,” I said. “Uncle Lucian, How bad can this demon cult be?”
        “If they summon a demon, and the demon gains a foothold in this world? Bad, on a scale that would make World War Two look like a pillow fight.”
        “Oh, crap.”
        “In more ways than one,” Lucian said.
        “If the Circle finds out about it, they’ll do anything to stop it.”
        “Who’s the Circle?” I asked.
        “The Excalibur Circle are the decedents of the original Knights of the Round Table,” Cachmawri said. “When it comes to things like demons and sorcerers, they are ruthless and tend to destroy everything in the zeal to hunt these people down.”
        “Define zeal.”
        “Remember those fires out west last year? The one in which a dozen people were killed and an entire mountain town?”
        “Vaguely.”
        “That was the Circle, hunting down and destroying a demon cult. The fire was set to destroy the evidence.”
        “Wonderful,” I muttered. “Uncle Lucian, why were you out at Table Rock when you were murdered?”
        “I was investigating the area because I found traces of a recent demonic ceremony,” Lucian said.
        “Why here?” I asked.
        “This area has several intersecting lay lines,” Cachmawri said. “The energy around here is much greater than in many other places.”
        “Okay, fine,” I said and began pacing again. “What do you want from me?”
        “Find the demonic cult and stop them,” Lucian said. “Find the person who murdered me. Become the new Merlin’s Heir.”
        I stopped as my head began to throb. “Oh,” I said. “Just like that?”
        “Just like that.”
        “I don’t know anything about magic!”
        “Cachmawri can teach you,” Lucian said. “he has been the mentor for fifteen generations of Merlin Heirs.”
        I looked at the cat. “Fifteen generations?”
        “I am much older than I look,” Cachmawri said.
        “Five hundred years?”
        “About that.”
        The throbbing in my head got worse. I put my fingers on my temples and began massaging them. “I’m getting information overload.”
“We don’t have time to deal with your disbelief,” Cachmawri said, sounding annoyed.
        “Which is why I included the stipulation that Roger spend the night alone,” Lucian said. “I know we couldn't expect him to digest everything quickly.”
        The cat looked at the ghost. “This is going to take longer than one night.”
        “We have several more hours before Charlie makes the second call. We’d better show him the Sanctum.”
        “Are you sure?”
        “We have to show him what Merlin’s Heir has to work with.”
        Cachmawri sighed. “All right. Roger.”
        I stopped rubbing my temples. “What?”
        “I need you to open the Sanctum.”
        I stared at him. “The what?”
        The cat hopped off the chair. “Follow me.”
        We went over to the bookcase to the right of the painting. Cachmawri sat in front of the painting, facing me. “Now,” he said, “place your left hand on the outside of the bookcase, about shoulder high.” I did so. Cachmawri stared at where my hand was. “Move your hand up two inches and toward you half an inch.”
        I did so, and felt the wood under my hand give. “Don’t push it yet,” Cachmawri said. “Now, with your right hand, reach out to that red leather book on the fourth shelf, just above eye level.”
        “Of Mice and Men?” I asked, reading the title off the book’s spine.
        Place your hand on top of the book and pull it toward you at the same time pressing the button on the side of the bookshelf.”
        I did as directed and I head a “click.” The entire bookcase swung away from the wall and to my right, leaving a dark space behind it. Cachmawri stood and walked into the darkness. “Follow me,” he said, his tone echoing. I glanced back at Lucian, who nodded silently. Taking a deep breath, I went into the darkness.

***

Craig

Merlin's Legacy, The Rest of Chapter 6

Well, not much to say. Been goofing off a bit, but I need to get back to writing again....

Here is the rest of Chapter 6:

***

       Dinner was nearly ready when we walked into the Nesbille home. The dining room was similar in decor to the living room in style and structure. Abby, wearing an apron and looking like everyone’s favorite grandmother, bustled Donella and myself to our places at the table, then disappeared into what I thought was the kitchen.
       Charlie Windicott was already sitting at the table, a glass of wine in front of him, looking at a folder filled with papers in his lap. He looked up when we sat at our assigned places. “How was your shopping trip?” He asked, closing the folder and putting it away in his briefcase, which was behind him on a sideboard.
       “Successful,” I replied, sitting at one end of the table, the one farthest away from the kitchen. Donella sat on my left, while Charlie was on my right. The table was large enough for six, so there was plenty of room for the four of us.
       “We ran into Myra Goldleaf at Wihite’s store,” Donella said darkly as she helped herself to some mashed potatoes.
       “I take it she made a spectacle of herself?” Abby asked from the kitchen..
“She was trying to browbeat Brenna Kettler into changing the prices of items Myra was buying!”
       “That’s Myra for you,” Charlie said, placing a couple of pieces of ham on his plate. “That woman wants everything she can get without paying for it.”
       “Who?” Abby asked and she strode into the room, holding a bowl with two oven mitts.
       “Myra Goldleaf,” Donella said.
       Abby glowered and she put the bowl on an empty hotplate. “Oh. That woman. She’s bad news at the best of times.”
       “I do feel sorry for her husband,” Charlie said.
       “She’s married?” I said, taking the bowl of mash potatoes from Donella and spoon a healthy helping onto my plate.
       “To a man half her size and opposite disposition,” Abby said. “She bullies him unmercifully. I don’t know how he stands it.”
       “We also ran into Damien,” I said, passing the mashed potatoes onto Charlie.
       Donella shot me a scathing look, and Abby frowned. “Damien Brackett?” the older Nesbille asked.
       “Yes. Is he usually that arrogant?”
       “He’s an arrogant punk. Speaking of which,” Abby shot her niece a disapproving look. “I got a call from Sandra McIntyre this morning,” she said. “She said Damien harassed you at work last night.”
       “It’s nothing,” Donella replied.
       “You can’t let it go on,” Charlie said. “What he’s doing is illegal.”
       “He hasn't done anything.”
       “Yet,” Abby said. “Boys like him think money will allow them to do anything.”
       “I can handle him,” Donella said.
       “For how long?” Abby asked, slicing into her ham with a little more force than necessary.
       “We could sic Margaret Teague on Damien,” I said. “I’m sure she wouldn't tolerate his actions with Donella.”
       This earned me two scowls, one from Donella and one from Abby. “You've met Margaret?” Abby asked, her tone flat and cool.
       Charlie coughed. “I introduced them at the office.”
       Abby shot him a look of annoyance, then said, “Margaret Teague is an amoral woman who should be barred from practicing law.”
       “She’s an excellent legal mind,” Charlie said.
       “I’m sure she is,” Abby said, sarcasm dripping from her words. “I’m sure they hang on every word she utters in the courtroom.”
       “We ran into her at the hardware store,” I said. “She said she had some college brochures she wanted Donella to see.”
       If looks could kill, the one Donella gave me would have left nothing of my body. Abby’s glare turned on Donella. “Oh?”
       “She was just there,” Donella said. “I got away from her as fast as I could.”
       “She did,” I said.
       “That woman is trouble,” Abby said. “Mark my words.”
        Donella sighed. “She isn't that bad,” she said. “She has never been anything but honest and straightforward with me.”
       “I don’t trust her,” Abby said.
       “She’s mentored half a dozen girls in town.”
       As they continued back and forth, arguing the merits of Margaret Teague, I tuned them out. In the back of my mind, I had the strange feeling that I was being watched. I looked around and spotted Cachmawri sitting in the corner of the room to my right, watching me intently. I stared back, but the cat didn't look away. Instead, it laid down and continued staring at me, as if to say, “I’m going to be here all night.”
       “Roger?”
       Cachmawri’s stare began to unnerve me, but despite that, I continued staring back, not wanting to lose to a cat. Something in these yellow eyes told me that Cachmawri wasn't a stupid cat.
       “Roger!”
       I turned back to the table, startled by my name being shouted. “What?”
       “What are you staring at?” Abby asked.
       “Cachmawri,” I replied. “He’s—” I looked back, but the corner was empty. “Er, he was in this corner over here, staring at me.”
       “Speaking of which,” Donella said. “What are we going to do with Cachmawri?”
       “Do?” I asked.
       “Cachmawri was Lucian’s cat,” Abby said. “We’re only taking care of it now because of Lucian’s death. Technically, he’s your cat.”
       “To be honest,” I said, “I don’t know anything about taking care of a cat, and It’s going to take a few weeks for me to plow through Lucian’s estate and get that sorted out. So, why don’t you hold onto him for now? We can revisit the situation down the road.”
       “Fair enough,” Charlie said. “But Lucian did state in the will that Cachmawri is your cat.”
       “All right,” I said. “Once I’m organized and on top of things here, Cachmawri can live with me.”
       The conversation turned to other subjects, including Pro Football (Both Nesbilles were die-hard Patriot fans, while I was a Ravens fan. Charlie deferred, as he wasn't really into sports), the cooler than average temperature (leading to the speculation of climate change), and the unusual happenings that had been going on. I listened as the three of them discussed the church break-ins and desecrations, the disappearing livestock, and Lucian’s murder.
       “Lucian was very troubled by the break-ins and the missing livestock,” Abby said. “He thought it was all connected.”
       “How?” I asked.
       “He didn't go into detail. The county investigators think it’s teenagers flirting with Satanism, but Lucian wasn't convinced it was just kids.”
       “Did Lucian go out much at night?” I asked.
       “On occasions, I think, but Lucian could have easily left without us here knowing about it.”
       “Where is this Table Rock?” I asked.
       “About six or seven miles from here,” Charlie replied. “Northeast. “it’s a mass of granite about the size of a football field, sheer drops of about seventy feet or so on three sides, while the fourth side is a steep slope. There’s a spectacular view from the top, but it also has a reputation for being a teens hangout. The Sheriff’s broken several underage drinking parties up there over the years.”
       “Why would Lucian be doing out there?” I asked. “And at night?”
       Charlie frowned. “I had no idea he was out there at night. I thought he’d been killed earlier in the day.”
       “According to the Sheriff, Lucian was seen in town during the early evening,” I said.”So he was killed later that night.”
       “I see. The Sheriff hasn't discussed the case with me much.”
       “He might have been investigating the area on his own,” Abby said.
       “Why?” I asked.
       “I believe they found the remains of a cow up there about a month ago,” Charlie said. “Enough was left to ID it as one of the missing livestock.”
       “But why?” I asked again. “Was Lucian some sort of amateur detective, solving crimes all over the world?”
       “Not that I know of,” Charlie said, spearing a few green beans on his plate then putting them into his mouth.
       Abby was looking at me, frowning. “You didn't know your uncle very well, did you?”
       “I didn't. And that’s something I wish I could change. But it’s too late now.”
       “I think the two of you would have gotten along,” Charlie said. “Lucian was a great man.”
       I picked up my wine glass. “Then, a toast to a man that, to my sorrow, I am finding out about too late to say thank you to. To Lucian Merlin.”
       We stood and touched glasses.

***

       After a desert of warm apple pie, I followed Charlie up to the main house, using my own car. Donella rode up with me, my purchases in the back seat. Charles frowned as he saw the stuff I was carrying into the house. “Is that stuff really necessary?”
       “I don’t intend on sleeping tonight,” I replied.
       As soon as we entered the main hall, I made a beeline to the library. “I’m going to spend the night in here,” I said, putting my supplies on a love seat.
       “Surely the bedroom would be more comfortable,” Charlie said.
       “The only finished bedroom in this home was Uncle Lucian’s,” I replied. “And the creepy factor is too strong right now.” I looked at the room, picked up a chair and carried it to a section of bookshelves between Lucian’s painting and the doors out to the main hall. “Donalla,” I said, could you please bring that side table over?”
       Charlie watched us as Donella and I arranged a pair of chairs and the side table into a close grouping. “Well,” he said. “There are a few ground rules you must follow. First, you are to remain in this house, alone from nine pm to six am. Between those two times, I will make two phone calls. You will not know when those calls will come, and you must answer both of them.”
       “And if I don’t?”
       “Then the inheritance will pass from your hands into a number of charities.”
       I stopped and looked at him. “I lose the inheritance?”
       “Regrettably, yes.”
       “Now you tell me?”
       Charlie exhaled slowly. “I was not allowed to mention that, until now.”
       “That’s cruel!” Donella said angrily.
       “Where’s the phone?” I asked.
       Donella picked up an old-fashion rotary-dial phone. “Here it is.”
       “Will the wire reach from there to the table here?”
       “I think so.”
       “Bring it over and make sure the ringer is on loud.”
       Donella brought it over and placed it on the table next to the chair. I picked up the receiver and listened to the dial tone for a few seconds. “It works,” I said, placing the receiver back on the cradle. “Any other surprises I need to know about tonight?”
       “No,” Charlie replied. “Those are the terms. Stay here, answer both phone calls, and in the morning, Lucian’s estate will be yours.”
       “Okay.” I eyed the seating arraignment critically. “This looks good enough.” I looked at Charlie. “This place have an alarm?”
       “Yes,” he replied, he removed a sealed envelope and handed it to me. “The codes to activate and deactivate the system. One control panel is behind the painting nearest the front door, and there’s a second one upstairs in Lucian’s bedroom.”
       “Thank you,” I said, taking the envelope.
       Charlie glanced at his large gold-colored wristwatch, which seems to be a bit large for his wrist. “We have about twenty minutes before the vigil begins.”
       “Good,” I said. “Charlie, could I speak to Donella for a moment, alone?”
       He smiled slightly, while Donella looked puzzled. “I’ll be out in hall,” he said, walking toward the doors.
        I waited until the door, then motioned to Donella to walk over to the foot of the stairs. “What do you want to talk to me about?” she asked. “Before you ask, no I will not go out with you.”
       I lost my train of thought for a few seconds. “That wasn't what I was going to ask you about that,” I said. “That wasn't even in the top five things I wanted to talk to you about. Top seven, maybe, but not top five.”
       A smile pulled at her lips, but she folded her arms and looked at me. “All right, what?”
       I inhaled, then exhaled, inhaled again, and said, “Until last week, I had a normal life. But sine then, I've been attacked twice by thugs who wanted to kill me, been notified that my great-uncle, who I hadn't seen or communicated with in ten years has made be the sole heir of an estate in the ten figure range, found out said great-uncle was murdered and now, I have to spend the night in an empty house in order to collect the inheritance. Does that make any sense to you?”
       “When you put it like that, no.”
       “Good. I thought I was the only one.”
       Another smile tugged at her mouth. “Roger,” she said. “This place is a fortress. No one is getting in here tonight or any other night, unless you want them in here. This is probably the safest place in the area. You’re going to be all right.”
       “I know.”
       “Is that it?”
       “If I inherit—”
       “When you inherit.”
       “All right, when I inherit, I’m going to need someone who knows what going on around here, who is trustworthy and who isn't.”
       “Me,” Donella said.
       “You,” I replied. “Everyone I've talked to so far about Lucian sees him as a   near saint and they expect me to be the same. Only I’m not Lucian.”
       “And you want someone to tell you what Lucian would do?”
       “No, I need someone who knows who Lucian would trust and who he avoided. I need someone who knows the lay of the land around here.”
       “Charlie could help you there.”
       “But you saw Lucian nearly every day. You and your aunt probably know Lucian better than Charlie Windicott does. Hell, I know you know him better than I do!”
       She nodded slowly. “And what do I get out of it?”
       “Every time you help me, I take you and your aunt out to breakfast, lunch or dinner, my treat.”
       She tilted her head to consider the proposal. “All right,’ she said. “you’re on.”
       Thank you,” I said. “we’ll start tomorrow.”
       “Good. Anything else you want to talk about?”
       “Probably, but I’ll only think of them after you’re left.”
       “I’ll be by in the morning,” she said.
       “There’s one other thing you can do before you go.”
       “What?”
       “Help me get a fire started in the fireplace?”

***

       Twenty minutes later, I was alone.
       After getting the fire started (With Charlie’s help), I saw them to the front door, bade them good night, closed the door after them, and locked it. Then taking the envelope with the security codes in it, I found the control panel right where Charlie said it would be, behind a painting of a local seascape that was attached to the wall by a hinge. Following the instruction, I set the alarm and replaced the painting.
       I stopped and listed to the silence. It was complete stillness, the thick stone walls blocking all outside sounds. I listened for a few seconds, creeping myself out in the process, then walked swiftly into the library, shut the door behind me and started my vigil.
       Besides the fire in the fireplace, which threw off gold light on the books around the room, the only other source of light was the lamp on the table next to my chair for the evening. I had chosen a large, overstuffed chair, and I slumped into it. I turned on the radio, and after a few minutes, found a radio station with a overnight talk show, and turned it up enough so I could hear it.
       I spent the next twenty minutes searching the shelves for a book to read. I chose Lord of the Rings, because of it’s size and the fact I hadn't read it in a while. I returned to my chair, opened a bag of beef jerky, a can of soda and started reading.
       I’m not aware of time or the place around me when I read. Instead, my time becomes the time of the characters, my place the land the characters are in. I read the words slowly, letting them sink in, taken to a time long ago, in Middle Earth. The radio and the strange calls became white noise, keeping me from hearing the silence.
       So, when the phone rang when I deep into chapter seven, I had to tear myself away from Frodo, Samwise and the rest of the Fellowship and grab the receiver. “Hello,” I said.
       I half-expected to hear a hideous voice snarl, “Get out!” Instead, I herd Charlie say, “Mister Merlin, this is Charlie Windicott. This is the first of two phone calls I’ve been instructed to make to you this evening. You are doing all right?”
       “I’m fine,” I replied, looking at my watch. It read eleven fifteen. “How are you?”
       “Still full from Abby’s dinner. I’m on the speakerphone here with my associates, Mister Raymond Blount and Miss—”
       “Miz,” Margaret said. “You know better than that by now, Chuck.”
       “Miz Margaret Teague,” Charlie said in a tone of resignation. “You are still in the house?”
       “I am. Just me and J.R.R. Tolkien.”
       “Who?”
       “He’s an author, Chuck,” Margaret said. “Roger’s reading.”
       “Oh.” There were a few seconds of silence, then Charlie said, “Sorry.”
       “That’s all right,” I said. “I’m still in the house. I’m warm, dry, and I have enough reading material to last the night. But may I speak to you in private?”
       “Of course. Just a moment.”
       There were a few muffled sounds and a click, then Charlie was back. “I’m alone. What did you want to talk to me about?”
       “How well did Lucian know me?”
       “Pardon?”
       “I’m a working stiff. My apartment could fit in this library and have room left over. Assuming everything goes right, I’m about to become a millionaire. There’s a half a dozen people whop have a closer blood tie than I do, including my father. But he chose me, a great-nephew that he saw maybe half a dozen times. So, how well did Lucian Merlin know me to make me his heir?”
       Charlie was silent for a few seconds. “I can’t answer that question, Roger. But for as long as I knew Lucian, which was eight years, you were the only person listed as heir in his will. Whatever his reasons for choosing you, he didn't make the choice in haste or recently.”
       “Really?”
       “Really. Lucian knew you well enough to make you his heir, and he never made a decision without knowing the facts beforehand.”
       I pursed my lips. “All right,” I said. “Thank you.”
      “You’re welcome. Now, back to business. I will call one more time before six am.”
        “Question,” I said. “Did Lucian tell you when to call, or do you determine the time of the calls yourself?”
        “Lucian spelled out the time of the calls quite clearly, and that I was to make both calls in the presence of witnesses.”
       “I see. Again, thank you.”
       “Again, you’re welcomed. Any other questions?”
       “Not at this time.”
       “Very well. Talk to you soon. Good-bye.”
       “Good-bye.”
       I hung up and leaned back in my chair. “One down,” I muttered, “One to go.”
       But despite the Hobbits’ journey, I couldn't get back into the story. After several pages of non-reading, I went back to the last page I remembered, Slipped in a bookmark, and laid it on the table. Then I got up, grabbed the baseball bat and went through the house, checking every room. Silence greeted me as I went through the house, but despite the stillness, I felt someone watching me. I didn't see or hear anyone, but the feeling was there, tickling my sixth sense.
       When I entered the study, I looked out the window and saw lightning in the distance. Dark clouds were forming over the ocean, blocking out the stars. “Oh, joy,” I muttered. I vaguely recalled reports of a late-night thunderstorm on the radio, but was too involved in my book to really listen.
       I finished my sweep through the house and returned to the library. As soon as I stepped into the room, thunder crackled over the house, though the thickness of the stone reduced it to a mild rumble. I threw another log on the fire and went back to my chair and settle in for another reading session.
       It took a few minutes, but I was back into the grove and well immersed in the Fellowship when I heard a scratching loud enough to break through my reading mode. I looked up, trying to localize the sound. The scratching came again, coming from the door. I got up, picked up my baseball bat and crept to the doors.        The scratching was low, near the bottom of the door. A rat? I thought. I gripped the bat with my right hand and the door handle with my left. The scratching came again, so I yanked the door open, raised by bat and prepared to smash —
       — Cachmawri.
       The cat sat there, it’s unusually intelligence yellow eyes looking up at me as if to say, “What took you so long?”
       I lowered the bat and leaned it against the door, then leaned down and picked up the cat. I held it up so I could look him in the face. “And why are you here?” I asked him. “It’s raining outside.”
       The cat looked at me and said, “Roger Merlin, you have been called.”
       I froze. “W-w-what?”
       “I said," the cat replied, "Roger Merlin, you have been called.”
       I saw the cat’s mouth move, heard the words, but my brain couldn't reconcile the two. I yelled, dropped the cat and backpedaled, only to trip over the bat. I fell, banged my head and saw stars.

***

I will get around to rewriting this one of these days.....

Craig

Another missed Monday.....

I know I missed it to, but the Valiant PRG stuff was due today, so I have to work on that, and the first draft is in. Which means I can go back to doing other things for a while.....

African Firestorm is back on the front burner, and I'm going to dive into the Battletech Universe and see if I can finish off some of these stories I have half-written. In the meanwhile, the next Part of Merlin's Legacy

***

        Donella returned in a couple of minutes later, carrying a couple of packs of hooks. “Put them in with the rest of the stuff,” I said, motioning to the cart. “On me.”
She shook her head. “I’ll buy these,” she said.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“If it’s about Margaret, no.”
“All right, I won’t.”
She looked a little relieved. “It’s just that Margaret sometimes acts more like my mother than my friend,” she said.
“You don’t want to go to college?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’m not sure that—”
“Hey beautiful.”
I knew the voice even before I turned to face the person who’d interrupted our conversation. “Hello, Damien,” I said.
Damien scowled. He was real good at it, but compared to my mom’s, he was an amateur. “Merlin,” he said. “Moving in on my girl?”
“I am not your girl,” Donella growled. “I’m nobody’s girl.”
“You will be,” Damien said with a cool smile. He was dressed in what I’d call preppy understated — polo shirt, designer jacket, slacks, and multi-hundred dollar athletic shoes. “How about a date tonight?”
“No,” Donella said firmly.
“Come on babe, I can show you a whole new life.”
I pulled a claw hammer from the shelf next to me and examined it.. I looked at Donella and held the hammer up. “What do you think?”
She looked at me in puzzlement. “About what?”
I stepped in front of Damien. “Do you think this is a good hammer?”
“Hey!” Damien snarled. “We we’re talking!”
I looked back at him. “No, that conversation’s over.”
“Listen you mother— “
Hello Mister Wihite,” I said, staring past Damien. He stopped and looked back. I dropped the hammer into the cart and pushed the cart as fast as I could, Donella went with me. By the time Damien realized that there was no one behind him, we were six feet away and turning into another aisle.
Once out of his sight, I put Donella’s hand in the cart and motioned her to go on. As she did so, I dropped to one knee near the turn, as if I was looking at something on a bottom shelf. I was there only a couple of seconds, before Damien came charging around the corner and fell over me.
As he sprawled on the ground, I rose to my feet. “Watch it!’ I said loudly in an annoyed tone.
He glared up at me. “Real funny,” he snarled.
“Is there a problem?” Mister Wihite called out.
“Is there a problem, Damien?” I asked.
He got onto his feet and glared at me. “You win this one, asshole, but I will make you pay for it, and soon!”
“I’ve been threaten by experts,” I said. “you’re not even close.”
“You will pay!”
“I know a man whose killed more people with his bare hands then the combined number of murders by the people on Florida’s death row. He did it in service to his country as a soldier. He runs a martial arts school, and guess what? He’s my teacher. You want my head? Bring friends, and enough body bags for them.” He glared at me for a few more seconds, then turned and walked away, giving Donella a venomous glance as he brushed past her.
Dionella looked at me as I walked up to her. “Did you tell him the truth?”
“About Master Cho?” I replied. “Yes. Master Cho was a ROK solider for twenty-five years before he came to the US. I learned under him for the last five years. The man’s pushing seventy, but he’s still faster than an enraged cobra.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said in an annoyed tone.
“I have a low threshold for bullies,” I replied. “Plus I have a mom and an older sister who would have slipped Damien there so hard, he’d be spitting out his teeth.”
“A knight in shining armor,” she said in the same tone as before.
Mister Wihite came into view. “Is there a problem?”
“No, someone fell over me while I was looking at the plumbing supplies. He apologized and walked off.”
“Damien Brackett?”
“I believe that was his name.”
Mister Wihite looked at Donella, who nodded to confirm my story. After seeing there was nothing out of place, he nodded and left the aisle.
“I think I’ve found everything I needed from here,” I said. “Let’s check out.”
We started up toward the front, when A woman’s voice bellowed, “You’re wrong!”
“But the—”
“The total is wrong!”
We came in sight of the front counter. A woman was glaring down at a girl who was behind the counter. The female customer could have been an NFL defensive linesman, with a face that looked like she’d played the game without a helmet. She towered over the clerk, who was maybe in senior high school, a foot shorter, and maybe a third of the customer’s weight. She was holding her ground, but only just. “But the computer—”
“The computer is wrong!”
Wihite appeared, trying to look calm, but I could see the tightness around his eyes. “Myra,” he said, walking around the counter and placing himself between his clerk and the mad maid mountain. “What is the problem?”
“This air head rang up my order wrong!” the woman snarled
“All right,” Wihite said. He turned to the register and touched a few buttons. “Why don’t we ring this up again and see?”
The items, a couple of jars of spackling, some lumber, a box of nails, and some chicken wire, were rung up again. “Same total,” Wihite said, after comparing the receipts.
“You’re trying to cheat me!” the woman roared.
“Fine,” Wihite said, turning the register’s screen toward the woman. “Tell me what rung up wrong.”
The woman scanned the items with hard eyes, then with a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl, she pulled out a bunch of bills. “Fine,” she growled. She threw several of the bills on the counter, then turned to look at me. “What are you looking at?”
I didn’t flinch. “A bully,” I replied cooly.
That didn’t make her happy. She turned to face me. “Who the hell are you?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I said. “To answer your question first, I’m Roger Merlin. And you are?”
The woman’s expression changed from anger to shock. “M-Merlin?” she stammered.
“Yes.”
The woman turned back to the counter grabbed her bagged items and left in a hurry. Both Mister Wihite and his clerk looked at me. I returned their look. “Who was she?”
“Myra Goldleaf,” Wihite replied. “She and her husband own Goldleaf’s Bookstore, across the square.”
“Is she always that obnoxious?”
“She is a hard person to satisfy,” Wihite said.
I pushed my cart up to the counter. “Let’s see if I can improve on her performance.”

***

In addition to the hardware store, we stopped by a supermarket on the way back, and I picked up a twelve-pack of sodas and a few snacks. Donella watched me, frowning, but not saying anything. As we got back in the car, I noticed a black car idling in the far corner of the parking lot. As Donella started the car and headed for the exit, I watched the car to see what it would do.
Donella pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Camelot. I glanced back and saw the black car had also pulled out and was following us. ‘Something wrong?’ Donella asked.
“I think I’m being paranoid,” I replied.
“Why?”
I told her about the car. She snorted and said, “You’re right, you’re being paranoid.”
It took us seven minutes to go from the supermarket to the front entrance of Camelot, and the black car stayed behind us the entire time, never closing the distance, but never allowing the distance to increase. As we turned into the estate, I said, “Do those gates close and lock?”
“Yes, from about nine at night to six in the morning,” Donella replied, driving through the said gates. “During those times, access is only by access code or you have to be let in by someone in one of the three houses, and I can’t recall that ever happening.”
I glanced back as the black car slowed as if it was going to follow us, then accelerated and drive past the driveway. I turned around and slumped in my seat. Something was going on here in Pilgrim’s Cove, and it had to do with Lucian’s death. I had the feeling I was walking into something I wasn’t going to like, and I hate those feelings.

***

Back to Work!

Craig

Merlin's Legacy, Chapter 6 part 1

Not much to report on the last couple of days. Been working through the Valiant RPG stuff, discussing a few things with other writers involved, and finally coming to a decision about how to complete this task. Nothing new on African Firestorm, beyond how I'm going to write the next chapter. Still researching though.

Now, for the next part of Merlin's Legacy:
(Edit: Sorry, the formatting was a bit off and I needed to fix it after I posted this entry)

***

        Donella took me into town for my shopping trip.
We’d driven back to the Nesbille house, where Charlie dropped us off. He said he had a couple of legal matters to finish up, but he’d be back in time for dinner. I was going to go into town on my own until Donella said, “I’ll go with you. If you’re going to be living here, you might as well get to know the locals. Besides, I know where everything is.”
I agreed, and after going inside to tell Abby where we were going, we got in her car and drove into town.
We parked in the town square, near the hardware shop. We got out and looked around. There were a few more people around, all the businesses were open, and all the charm of small-town life were on display.
Despite it being August, the air was chilly. I looked over at Donella. “Is it always this nippy this time of the year?”
“Its’s been below average for several weeks,” Donella replied. “Where to first?”
“Hardware store,” I replied, looking at the business in question. WIHITE HARDWARE, it read over the door. Danella gave me a puzzled look, but shrugged and followed me.
We walked across the road and into the hardware store. The smell of wood and oil tickled my nose as we walked in. There were four parallel aisles of hardware and equipment, stocked with the sort of items you would expect to find in a hardware store. 1950's era music was playing over the store’s sound system.
A counter was to out right as we came in. An older man was behind the counter. He was taller than me by several inches, and thin. His graying hair was nearly combed, but his eyebrows were in major need of a trimming. Dark brown eyes gazed out from behind a pair of thick glasses two decades out of date. “Donella!” he said cheerfully. “It’s been awhile. How’s Abby?”
“She’s fine,” Donella replied agreeable. “Mister Wihite, I need to introduce you to someone. Roger, this is Mister Wihite, who owns this store. Mister Wihite, this is Roger Merlin, Lucian’s great-nephew.”
I saw Wihite’s eyes light up with interest. He held out a boney hand. “Welcome to Pilgrim’s Cove, Mister Merlin,” he said. “When did you get into town?”
“Last night,” I replied.
Wihite nodded. “Lucian was a good man. He left this world far too soon, and he’ll be missed. Staying in town long?”
“It looks like I’m going to be around for a while.”
       He nodded. “Good. Hope to see more of you. If you’ll excuse me.” Another customer, Another thin fellow with little hair and a beak for a nose, came to the counter while we were talking. I stepped back and let Wihite handle the customer. I grabbed a cart and chose the aisle farthest away from the counter. Donella followed. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly. I leaned in. “I’m competing with Lucian’s ghost,” I whispered. “Everyone loved him, now he’s gone and they’re expecting me to pick up where he left off.”
She placed a hand on my arm. “You,” she said firmly, “worry too much.”
“But I’m not Lucian Merlin!”
“Then be Roger Merlin,” she said, his eyes locking with mine. “I don’t think you were raised too differently than he was.” I found myself staring into those eyes, losing any objections I had. We blinked at the same time, and Donella said, “Let’s get what you want and get out of here.”

***

We spent the next ten minutes going around the store. A radio, two bundles of firewood, matches, and a lantern (with extra batteries) went into the cart. Donella began frowning when I added a hatchet, a baseball bat, a six-foot tall, one-inch diameter dowel rod, and a few wooden stakes to the cart. “It’s just a night in the house,” she said.
“I’m not taking any chances,” I replied.
“You realize how childish that sounds?”
       “Yep.”
“Do you care?”
“Nope.”
“Are you planning to sleep?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Tell that to my bruises.” I tossed in a couple of large packages of beef jerky and a large bag of trail mix into the cart. “I’m going to be in a large house, all by myself, and there’s people who have twice tried to kill me, or at the very least, tried putting me into the hospital. I would prefer to over prepare and not need everything then to be under-prepared.”
“Donella!”
We both turned and saw Margaret Teague walking toward us. She was still wearing her business suit from this morning, though she had a basket on one arm. She gave me a brief, disapproving look, then beamed at Donella.
“Margaret!” Donella said brightly. “Oh, I don’t know if you’ve met—”
“We’ve met,” Margaret and I said at the same time.
“Oh.”
Margaret looked at the items in my cart. “Going camping?” she asked.
“Sort of,” I replied.
Margaret looked at Donella. “I’ve a new selection of collage brochures you you to look at.”
“I don’t know,” Donella said. “I really don’t want to leave Aunt—”
“Nonsense!” Margaret said. “Abby is able to take care of herself. It’s time you started living your own life, and the first step in that path is college.”
Donella sighed. “I don’t know if college is right for me,” she said.
“College is important!” Margaret said. “You are a bright and hardworking woman who will go far in the world. Or do you want to stay here and marry someone like him?” she waved a hand at me.
“I don’t want to discuss—”
“Is the estate wired for the Internet?” I asked.
Both women looked at me. “Yes,” Donella replied.
“Why not take some on-line courses?” I said. “Pick a couple of classes that’ll transfer to any college and take them. If you feel comfortable, then you can transfer to a college in person.”
“I don’t think—” Margaret began.
“I’ll think about it,” Donella said quickly. “If you’ll excuse me a minute, I just remembered that I need to pick up some hooks for Aunt Abby.” She hurried off.
I watched Donella until she disappeared, then turn back to find myself staring into a pair of green eyes. Only they were not playful, but hard and unyielding. “I will tell you only once, Merlin,” Margaret growled. “If you ever harm Donella in any way, I will make sure they never find your body, is that clear?”
My temper flared up, and instead of backing away, I leaned in, so we were nose to nose. “You listen to me,” I growled. “I do not hurt women, in any way. I would cut off my right arm before I would willing hurt her. Do I make myself clear?”
There was a brief flash of surprise in Margaret’s eyes, and she pulled back. “Maybe Lucian didn’t make a mistake,” she murmured, then smiled. “It may come down to doing that, Merlin. Enjoy your ‘camping trip.’” She turned and walked away, though the walk was more of a strut. I merely shook my head and continued shopping.

***

Craig

Sorry about yesterday......

For the first time in two and a half months, I missed a blog post....

Simply put, I forgot about it. I've been working on the Valiant RPG, trying to find any scraps of information I can use for the characters I'm responsible for. That means lurking around Valiant message boards, podcasts about the comic lines, and any wiki I can find. The 90s versions of these characters are vastly different (Including one that doesn't exist in the previous era!), and can supply little more than a quote or two and some minor details that I can use. Still, I've got most of the characters stats laid out, and I hope my approach to the background that has to combine three versions of the same character into one will meet with Valiant's approval.

I've also been googling stuff for African Firestorm. Locations, vehicles, weapons, and even language. Every detail I need to I need to write what I hope will be a great action thriller. The outline is complete through Chapter 35, and I'm still on course for my estimate. It's a bit of a challenge, as this is the first time I've done an outline in such detail before.

And so to make this a post worth reading, (Laugh now if you need to), here's another scene from Merlin's Legacy, Chapter 5!

***

We took Charlie’s Lincoln up to the house, some three hundred years in the opposite direction from the Nesbille house. The house was hidden by trees until we were almost on top of it, but when the last trees were past, it showed an unusual and somewhat foreboding, house.
My first thought when I saw it was “Castle.” Two large round towers were connected to each other by a square middle section, all made from the same stone I’d seen in the other buildings on the estate. The windows were narrow and each one barred with a single iron bar running lengthwise and one width-wise set into the stone.
Charlie parked the car in front of the middle section. We got out and I craned my neck to look up. “Wow,” I said.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Charlie said.
“Yes, in a highly mediaeval way.”
“The view from the tower top is breathtaking,” Donella said.
Without warning, a pack of dogs appeared from every direction and surrounded us. All were large, well muscled animals, Pit Bulls, Mastiffs and a couple of other breeds I didn’t recognize. Then as one, they sat and stared at us.
A large man came around the side of the house. And I do mean large. He was pushing seven feet and broadly built. His face was broad with shaggy dark hair and half-closed eyes. His scowl was fearsome, and he held a stick that would be a baseball bat in anyone else’s hands. His clothing consisted of a shirt, army jacket, cargo pants tucked into hard-worn work boots. He stopped behind the dogs and glared at us.
Donella stepped forward. “Leal,” she said softly.
“Miss Donella,” Leal said gruffly. He looked at the Lawyer. “Mister Charlie.
he looked at me. “I don’t know you.”
“That’s Roger Merlin,” Donella said. “He’s the new owner of the estate. Lucian left the estate to him.”
“I want to see the ring,” Leal said, his voice sounding like it was coming out of a cave. “Mister Lucian said that the owner of the estate would be wearing the ring.”
I held up my right hand. “This ring?”
Leal stared at it for a few seconds, than dropped his head. “Yes,” he said.
Donella stepped between two of the dogs, who sat and watched her, and stood before the giant. “I know you don’t want things to change,” she said softly. But Lucian’s gone, and we can’t change that.”
“I know,” Leal said, his voice higher and more child-like. “But I miss him.”
Donella reached out and placed her hand on Leal’s chest. “I miss him too. We all do.”
Leal raised his head and looked at me. Gone was the firce glare. Instead, a lost child looked back at me. “I want to stay,” he said. “I can take care of this estate all by myself. Mister Lucian knew I could do it.”
I looked at Donella, who nodded. I looked up at Leal. “Leal, if you want to stay, you are welcomed to do so. If you keep this estate in the shape I’ve seen so far, than I’d been a fool to let anyone else do it.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Mister Roger. I promise to keep doing good work.” He looked at the dogs. “Come!” he barked. He turned and strode away. As one, the dogs leapt to their feet and followed Leal. We watched him walk away until he disappeared into the trees, surrounded by the dogs.
“That’s Leal, huh?” I said.
Donella turned and walked back toward me. “Yes, and he does good work, as you can see.”
“Then I see no reason to change anything,” I said.
“Let’s get this over with,” Charlie said.
We followed Charlie up to the front door, which were actually a pair of large, iron-reinforced wooden doors. He took a large, old fashion key from his pocket, unlocked the door with a heavy “thunk” and opened both doors. The doors opened silently, instead of the creaking I half-expected. Charlie stepped to one side and with a flourish, motioned us forward. “Your castle, Mister Merlin.”
We entered a hall large enough to play a full court game of basketball in, including a two story high ceiling. A set of stairs were on the left side of the hall, leading up to a balcony that ran along the back of the hall. Three sets of mediaeval-style wooden doors lead deeper into the home. One set was to our left, near the base of the stairs, another set was to out right, and the last set straight ahead of us, under the balcony. The walls, floor, staircase, and ceiling were all stone. There was plenty of light, coming from several skylights, but there were a pair of chandeliers handing from the ceiling for other times.
Furnishings consisted of a large blue and white carpet in the center of the hall, and a large coat rack to our left with enough hooks for a couple of dozen coats. A pair of full-sized suits of armor stood sentry next to the doors on out right and left. and several paintings hung on the wall.
Charlie walked into the hall and faced us. “Lucian made it clear in his will that the south tower,” He motioned to the doors on out right, “is yours to furnish as you see fit. It’s empty, but it’s move-in ready.”
“How many bedrooms?” I asked.
“A total of six,” Donella replied. “Four in the south tower, and two in the center hall here. The kitchen is through there.” She pointed at the doors under the balcony.
“What’s in the north tower?’ I asked.
Windicott walked over to the doors and opened them. “Come see,” he said, and stepped inside. “Lucian requested that you leave the tower as is, for the entire time you live here.”
We followed him and in the doorway, Charlie turning on the lights as he walked into the room. I stopped short and stared at amazement.
I love books. I love puttering around bookstores and libraries, seeing what they have to offer. I have nearly fifteen hundred books in my personal collection and have been teased by a few friends for having so many of them.
But this —
The library took up two entire floors of the tower, floor to ceiling bookcases built into the circular walls of the tower. The second floor of the library was accessible by a staircase built into the wall that rose to a balcony that ran around the tower’s circumference and the bookcases located there. The only breaks in the books were four narrow windows in each floor, the staircase, and a large oil painting of a man leaning and a pedestal. In the center, a massive four sided fireplace sat, a block column rising up through the ceiling holding the chimney. Half a dozen chairs and a trio of couches were scattered around the room, forming small conversation areas. Three large lights hung from the ceiling, and there were a few lamps on side tables near the conversation areas.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Charlie said. “This is the most magnificent room I have even been in.”
“Lucian loved to read,” Donella said.
I turned and went over to the nearest bookcase. One shelf held leather-bound classic, while the shelf below it held modern hardback novels, including several authors I knew and loved. The next shelf held paperbacks and a few graphic novels, and even a few volumes of Manga.
“Fiction is down here,” Donella. “The non-fiction books are on the second floor. Somehow, Lucian knew where every book went, but I don’t know how he kept track of them all.”
“Amazing,” I said. I looked at the painting, which was hanging between a couple of bookcases. “That’s Uncle Lucian,” I said.
“He was very proud of that painting,” Charlie said. “He had that painted right after the war. He said that a concentration camp survivor painted for him as a thank-you for rescuing the artist and several hundred survivors from a concentration camp.”
I walked over to it. The man looking out of the painting was only a little older than me, wearing a bomber jacket, military trousers, and boots. The man was smiling, but there was a sadness in his eyes, and falseness about the smile. On his hand, he wore the same dragon ring that was on my finger right now. “What did he do in the war?”
“I really don’t know,” Charlie replied. “He mentioned very little about his service, but I always got the impression it was still classified.”
“Even after all this time?”
Charlie nodded, then looked at his watch. “I haven’t shown you the most unusual room,” he said. “It’s on the third floor.”
I followed Charlie and Donella up the stairs, past the balcony and up to the third floor. Charlie flipped on the light and I found myself in a museum.
Display cases lined the wall and were scattered around the chamber. The stone column that held the chimney ran up through the center of the room. As with the library below, there were four narrow barred windows paced evenly around the room.
I felt the hairs on the back of neck rise. I could feel there was something in this room, subtle, complex, and just beyond my reach. Something was going on here, but I didn’t know what.
“What is this place?”
“Lucian called it his ‘Museum of Light,”” Charlie said. “He rarely talked about it.”
“I looked at the display case closest to the stairs. It had a beaded head dress wrapped around a mannequin’s head. A small printed card laid in front. “HOPI MEDICINE MAN’S HEADBAND, GIFTED, JUNE 15, 1955," it read.
“Lucian traveled the world,” Charlie said. “Sometimes, he came home with items like that. I can’t tell you where he got some of these things.”
I walked around the room. There were a few weapons, most looking as lethal as they day they had been made. But most were mundane items, ranging from a bible used by a fifteen century saint to hairpins of a eighteen-century French courtesan. Everything was displayed and carefully mounted. After one circuit of the exhibits, I looked at Charlie. “Are these insured?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie replied. “Vikki Spiro handled all of Lucian’s insurance needs. I’ll give you her phone number in the morning.”
“Fine,” I said, looking around the room. “It’s just wow.”
“There’s one more thing you need to see,” Charlie said. “It’ll be a bit windy, but worth the effort.”
We went back to the stairs and went up. At the top of the stairs, the door had two strong springs keeping it close. Charlie unbolted the door and pushed it open.
The wind was strong, a constant strong breeze that smelt of salt spray. The tower roof was flat and surrounded by a waist-high wall and crenels that rose higher than my head. I moved to one of the opens and was struck with a blast of moist wind.
Charlie was right — the view was magnificent. I could see far out into the ocean. I moved to my right and could see some of Pilgrim’s Cove, through I could have seen more of it from the other tower. Another ninety degrees to the right and I could see several miles inland. And the final quarter showed mostly forest, couple of roads, and a few houses.
I turned and looked at Donella and Charlie. “Incredible!” I shouted with joy.
“We’d better get inside!” Charlie shouted.
I nodded and we went downstairs to the library. We spent another half-hour looking at the rest of the house. The kitchen was large, with plenty of places for food and cooking supplies, with an attached dining room large enough for twenty people. The second floor of the center hall had two bedrooms, a study (With an actual window!) and a sitting room. The south tower was an empty, three-story structure with enough room for a family of six. Behind the house, a courtyard lead to a second courtyard that looked out across the cliffs to the ocean. The wind was constant, but on days of calm, this would be a nice place to have a party.
When we returned to the main hall, Charlie glanced at his watch. “It’s about four-thirty,” he said. “Abby won’t be serving dinner until about six. So, what do you want to do until then?”
I thought for a moment. “Shopping trip,” I replied.

***

I'll try and be on time Thursday!

Craig