Entry tags:
Merlin - The Adventure of the Tainted Cask
Title: The Adventure of the Tainted Cask
Genre: Gen, Gwen and Merlin Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~ 10,300 words
Spoilers: Nothing specific. Slight AU as Gwen knows about Merlin.
Synopsis: When people fall ill in the lower town with only one thing in common, it is up to Gwen and Merlin to find the cure and save the day.
Author’s Notes: For the wonderful
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Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin had just finished setting out Arthur’s breakfast when there was a knock on the door. “Enter,” Arthur called, a piece of ham already on its way to his mouth. Merlin did not blame him; the last time someone came calling this early, Arthur missed breakfast, lunch, and was in a right mood when dinner came around and not just from the knife wound in his side.
The rush to shove as much food in as possible slowed when Gwen appeared in the doorway, offering a curtsey and a cautious, “Sire?”
“Guinevere!” Arthur greeted her and gestured for her to enter. He took a quick gulp of his morning tea to clear his throat and asked, “To what do I owe this pleasure? Please say Merlin has not talked you into helping with his morning chores again.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. That had happened once, and he had two splinted fingers and room trashed by a sulking prince who did not believe he was truly injured to deal with at the time. True, said sulking prince had known nothing about the assassination attempt, or the rather epic battle that ensued, or the vanquishing of the assassins to a place to a place far less pleasant than the castle proper, only to end up smashing the fingers under an ewer when he mistook the prince for a possible third assassin and had to stop himself from doing something drastic, which resulted in the unfortunate accident and fumbling of the heavy pottery, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.
“Actually, I was hoping I could talk him into helping me, sire,” Gwen confessed. She folded her hands before her, lowered her head, and looked every bit the image of the dutiful and respectful lady, something they both knew Arthur was never able to resist. She knew the full story of the attempt and had been the one to both sort out just who was who and help Merlin cover for, well, nearly blowing his cover at the time.
“I don’t think Merlin can lace Morgana up in her frock of the day, and I know for a fact that he is abysmal at embroidery, so what could he possibly help you with? Unless of course you wish to use him as a live model for Morgana’s latest creation, in which case I will talk my way out of these boring negotiations to see that,” Arthur smiled. He was attempting to be charming, and it seemed be working, at least a little.
Merlin glowered, but noticed the slightest twitch of Gwen’s lips and had to admit, yeah, it was a little amusing. That and Gwen gave him biscuits for even carrying the fabric for her, so he really was not one to complain.
He listened as Gwen explained, “The husband of a friend of mine has taken ill, as have two of his friends. Merlin is trained as the physician’s assistant, so I was hoping he could come along and see if there was anything he could do for the poor dear.” As if knowing what Arthur’s next question would be, she continued, “And I know Gaius is busy with the visiting nobles, Lady Georgette in particular who keeps having the vapours and insists no one but Gaius himself will do to treat her.”
“Lady Georgette is with child and needs to loosen her corset a bit to let the thing breathe,” Merlin muttered.
He earned a flash of teeth from Arthur for the effort, and an equally muttered, “A bit unfortunate her husband only just returned from a three month campaign, isn’t it?”
Merlin snorted but Gwen pointedly cleared her throat and asked, “May Merlin accompany me to the lower town to visit Adele and Johan, sire?”
Arthur nodded, once again the picture of decorum. “I can do without an incompetent manservant for a day and it would be best to head off any illness before it catches and becomes an epidemic,” he agreed. “Do make certain to keep Gaius updated on any findings, and notify the steward should you need additional time to ensure no duties are overlooked. Tell him I have approved this if he asks. I am assuming you have already cleared this with the Lady Morgana?”
“Of course, sire,” Gwen nodded. She gave him a little curtsey and added a heartfelt, “Thank you, sire.”
“You are quite welcome,” Arthur smiled, hand drifting to his forgotten breakfast. With his free hand, he waved them both towards the door. “Best be off before the crowds and all that. Oh, and Merlin? Do try not to catch whatever it is you are trying to cure, hmm? You may be incompetent, but your replacements are even worse.”
“Thank you, sire,” Merlin said, once again rolling his eyes. He headed for the door and, at Gwen’s expression, explained, “That’s about as close as he’s going to get to a compliment, so I take what I can get.”
Her snuffle of laughter filled the hallway as he pulled the door shut behind them. “He’s not as bad as all that and you know it,” she reminded him.
“True,” he agreed. Arthur was actually quite fair and, to be honest, a bit more of a friend than what one would expect between a prince and a servant. He teased ruthlessly, but so did Merlin, and he never forbade Merlin his little dalliances, be it an unscheduled visit to the lower town, or a trip to “pick herbs” in the woods when visiting nobles got to be too much. He once even admitted that he wished he had such freedoms, right before smacking Merlin in the chest with a muddy boot and claiming he was in no state to be seen by royalty and he was to have the night off to launder that single shirt and did he mention the guards at the South gate were having their weekly dice game?
They checked in with Gaius, who personally packed a sling of possible remedies and a well-thumbed book of herb lore for Merlin, as well as an apple and hunk of bread and made Merlin promise to send someone for him if it was out of Merlin’s own repertoire of knowledge. They then checked in with the steward, who took in the sling and Gwen’s travelling cloak and advised that he would send the appropriate replacements to check in on Arthur and Morgana as needed. Finally, they checked in with the kitchen, where Maude handed them two bundles of still steaming sweetbreads and told Merlin to feed Gaius’ breakfast to a horse if need be, but to come to her to be filled up right and proper for a man of his station.
As they left, Merlin asked Gwen, “I have a station?” It came out mumbled and garbled around the food, but Gwen did not seem to take offence.
She picked a treat out of her bundle and popped it into her mouth. “You’re the prince’s personal servant,” she reminded him after she swallowed. “You might not get the finest meats and cheeses like he does, but you rank far above a stablehand in the hierarchy of things. Maude will save you a breakfast if you ask, dinner too if she thinks you’re not eating the prince’s leftovers.”
Merlin smiled thoughtfully, all the times that he’d stop by for Arthur’s breakfast and Maude or her daughter had shoved a muffin or roll of bread and cheese into his mouth as he walked made far more sense now. Just as he wondered what else he might be able to talk them into, Gwen’s voice cut in, “But I have it on good authority that both Gaius and Arthur have put out the word that you are not to be allowed any ale without supervision.”
The smile turned to a pout, but it earned another burst of laughter so he considered it worth it after seeing the worried expression in his friend’s face that morning. They passed the guards at the gate and made their way into the town proper. Everything seemed normal as far as Merlin could tell: people rushed too and fro, merchants hawked their wares, and more than a single mother chased after a little one. They were greeted by familiar faces, and a few unfamiliar ones tried to flirt with them both, only to have their hands slapped away when they tried to pick Gwen’s pocket or attempted to get a hand on the medicinal sling Merlin carried.
Just outside of the marketplace, Gwen turned left down an unassuming alleyway. She knocked on a door carved with flowers and hung with a wreath of ivy. It swung open near instantly to reveal an exhausted looking older woman, long blonde hair escaping the bun knotted at the back of her neck and heavy creases about her eyes and mouth. “You came!” she exclaimed, looking quite pleased as she gave Gwen a quick hug. She looked behind the two of them and asked, “But where is the healer?”
Before Merlin could comment, Gwen smoothly extricated herself and offered, “This is Merlin, and he is both the physician’s assistant and a dear friend. He has agreed to look in on Johan.”
“He’s so young!” the woman exclaimed, but quickly waved it off. “My apologies for my manners. You are kind enough to visit and for that you have my thanks. I am Adele and my husband Johan is right through here.”
It was not the first time Merlin had received such a greeting with his duties, so he was neither that concerned nor offended. Adele stepped to the side to let him through and he quickly found her husband lying on a low cot placed up against the wall. He was pale, even in the dim light that filtered in through the window, and had a fine sheen of sweat about his brow. What concerned Merlin most was how slack his face was despite his obvious discomfort. Usually people tensed up when they hurt or were sick, but he looked as though such a feat was beyond him.
On a whim, Merlin traced his fingers down the side of the man’s throat to where Gaius had taught him it was possible to feel the beat of a heart through the skin. He placed his ear to the man’s chest to verify, but did not like his findings: far too slow and far too weak. The smell of vomit hit his nostrils and he noted the bucket at the bedside, wrinkling his nose as he made a quick inventory of its contents.
“I thought he was just drunk,” Adele told Gwen. She smiled ruefully and added, “You know how it can be. He got a bit of coin and his friends asked him out to the tavern. Sometimes one drink becomes two becomes three and the next thing you know, you are stumbling home smelling of wine and sick.”
Merlin raised his head at that. “He was a bit out of it when he came home, yeah? Tripping over his own feet, slurring his words and all that?”
Adele nodded. “He doesn’t normally drink to excess, it happens so rarely, so I was a bit surprised. I thought he would sleep it off, but this morning he was still slurring his words and seemed so panicked about it. He kept dropping things and was still sick to his stomach. I made him the usual tea, but nothing has helped.”
Merlin turned back to his patient and ran through all the possibilities in his head. One seemed more likely than most, but it most definitely was not something happened across by accident. Still there were a few things he needed to verify before he could make his diagnosis, so he asked, “Your fingers, do they tingle? Feel like you hit a wall or table real hard and the feeling is just coming back?”
Johan tried to nod, but ended up mainly just lolling his head slightly to the side. “Arms too,” he slurred.
Merlin placed a gentle hand on the man’s stomach and watched as he winced for even that slight contact. “Hurts?” he guessed. He received another head loll for his troubles.
“Did you have an idea as to what is happening?” Gwen asked. Adele stood frantic at her side.
Merlin stood and brushed his hands off on his trousers. “I need to see the other men first to confirm my suspicions, but I think I know what might be happening,” he told her.
Gwen raised an eyebrow at the not coming right out and telling her, but calmly obtained the names of the other two men and promised they would return. They found Jessen only three houses down in a near identical state, his wife about to leave for the herbalist to see if there was anything she could recommend. Marcus lived alone one street over and they found him in the centre of his room, chairs and crockery askew, face down near his own less than successful attempt to find a bucket. Merlin checked him over but knew before he even began what he would find.
“He’s dead,” Gwen guessed, not even bothering to wait for his nod of confirmation. She began to pace, hand to her lips. She picked up and discarded several items lying about the room before she finally paused and demanded, “Tell me what you suspect.”
“I think it might be poison, and that it was given to them intentionally,” he replied honestly. There was no point hiding the facts from her or sugar-coating the diagnosis.
“So not a sickness?” she clarified. She did not wait for him to reply, but sounded it out for herself. “Three men from three houses with three different professions all go to the same tavern and all return with the same apparent symptoms.” She looked over to him with a frown. “It would have had to been in whatever they drank, but who would poison three random people? What good would it do?”
“It might test the effectiveness of the poison, especially if it’s something the person had not used before,” Merlin suggested. He did not want to think why they would want to test it, nor did he wish to think about the whole thing being a possible precursor to something larger.
“We have to find out what they drank and if anyone else fell ill last night,” Gwen told him.
Which is how they found themselves standing outside The Rising Sun at midday in the middle of the working week. A few people passing by looked interested to see what the royal servants could be doing at such a place, especially during the day, and a few others gave them dirty looks as if to say they obviously did not work for a living if they could afford a jaunt to the pub any time they pleased.
They walked in to find a handful of people eating what looked to be a simple yet hearty lunch, a matron behind the bar and someone less than matronly lounging on a stool near the counter, chopping vegetables and mouth going with what appeared to be a combination of gossip and stories, earning much laughter from the few others gathered around. The matron called out to them, “Can I help you? Soup’s good but stew is better if you’re looking for a bite to eat.”
Gwen shook her head and politely declined for them both. “We were hoping to talk to someone about something that may have happened here last night,” she explained.
The matron looked apologetic as she said, “I only work the day shift, and my brother Marcan works the nights. He’s sleeping now, the lazy oaf, but I could wake him if you need? Be expecting some attitude though – he’s never one for pleasantries, even without being fresh awoke.”
The less than matronly woman put down her knife and vegetables and offered, “I was here last night; perhaps I have the knowledge you be needin’?”
The matron chuckled and blew a long stand of dark hair out of her eyes. “You’re always here Maggie, but I don’t know if you would have what they are looking for.”
The aforementioned Maggie seemed to take no offence as a wide smile spread across her features. She stood and adjusted her slightly overflowing corset with no shame at all, tossed a red curl over her shoulder and said, “Oh, I don’t know. Quite a few have found what they’ve been lookin’ for with me.” She took a step closer to Merlin and tugged on his scarf a little as if to straighten it, fingers lingering just a bit too long to be casual. “How ‘bout you, handsome? Want to see what you can find?”
The fingers left his scarf and traced a line down his tunic while Merlin stood there a little shocked at just what was going on. He felt his face heat and opened his mouth to try to stammer out something, but no words were forthcoming. Gwen, thankfully, was there for him as always. She took hold of his elbow and yanked him back a few paces while she stepped forward and said, more than a bit coolly, “We need only information, but can recommend your other services to a guard or three should you see fit to provide us with what we request.”
Merlin swore he heard the matron mumble something about nary a guard not knowing Maggie already, but the woman herself just made a face, lower lip protruding almost comically as she pouted, “Shame, really.” She leaned in close to Merlin once more and whispered, “If your wife here ever gives you a night off, come see me and we can share more than information, yeah?”
This time Merlin was able to form a word or two, managing, “Oh, she’s not my... wait, what?” before Gwen stepped in again and Maggie winked wickedly in his direction.
Maggie stepped back against the bar, resting her elbows on the edge and pushing out her fair amount of cleavage to its best vantage point as she asked, “So, how can I be of service to the royal household on this fine day?”
“Three men were in here last night, Johan, Jessen, and Marcus. They shared a table and a flagon or two of ale,” Gwen began. “Did you happen to notice anything unusual about their behaviour? Or if they ate something unusual, or even complained about the taste of what they drank?”
“Our ale is some of the best you could have,” the matron boasted defensively. “The king himself has been known to order a cask for those fancy parties of his up at the castle!”
“Hush, Sarah,” Maggie waved at her. “They not be insulting the ale, just wonderin’ if someone else did.” She turned her attention back to Gwen and Merlin and guessed, “They get ill off of it? Drank some myself straight from the cask and I’m fine, but then again I’m a bit heartier than most.” She grinned at her own joke.
“The three men, all have, er, had the same symptoms this morning,” Merlin confirmed. “They would have appeared drunk, but in an odd way. A bit less control, a bit more stumbling, that sort of thing, and likely not proportionate to what they drank.” He figured she frequented the bar and would know how much liquor a man should be able to hold, hopefully she would know the difference between a drunken stupor and something more.
Maggie’s jovial features turned serious as she thought about that for a moment, finger to her painted lips. She nodded, though whether it was to herself or to him, he could not tell. “There was not just three of ‘em, but four of ‘em; Lucan shared a table last night. They had two flagons of ale, two refused my services, one looked intrigued, and one said his ma would kill him if he said yes – that would be Lucan, the healer’s son. A traveller sat with ‘em for a bit, asked about the market and such, and bought a pitcher of the wine Sarah’s been dabblin’ in to pass ‘round in thanks. Don’t think they finished it though, said it was too rich for their tastes.”
“Wine would cover the taste of any herbs,” Merlin whispered to Gwen, who nodded.
“Did anyone else finish off that pitcher of wine, or do you happen to still have it?” Gwen asked politely.
“It smelled off this morning, so I was going to dump it,” Sarah replied. “Cook said it could probably be used for a sauce or something though, or maybe to figure out what went wrong with the batch, so it might still be in back.”
Gwen turned to Merlin and shrugged, “Maybe it was just bad wine after all?”
He was not so convinced and, from the look upon her face, he was pretty certain either was she. “Could we see the pitcher, please, just to check?” At the doubting look he received, he flashed the smile that usually got him his way and offered, “It would be most appreciated.”
Gwen rolled her eyes and explained, “Merlin is the physician’s assistant and has been kind enough to visit a friend of mine who has taken ill. If it could be explained by a simple mug of sour wine, then we have our answer. If the wine appears fine, then perhaps something else is to blame.” She made a face as if that would be most perplexing and the matron looked sympathetic to the cause.
“It’s back here. Let me see if I can find it,” she said, gesturing to the back where the sound of pots and pans banging against each other echoed off the wood.
She opened the door and Merlin peered through just in time to see a boy no more than ten quickly put down a tankard next to the sink, mixing it in with the other dirty dishes and cups, and swipe his sleeve over his lips as if to wipe away the traces of what he had been sneaking. A whispered word had the old wood propped open instead of swinging shut, and he watched as Sarah searched around. The boy stood on his tip toes and seemed to do some searching of his own. After a glance to make sure the matron’s back was still turned, he picked up a decorative pitcher and raised it to his lips. Merlin had a bad feeling based on the luck of their past experiences alone and, with Gwen coughing loudly to cover for him, uttered another incantation that had the pitcher slip from the boy’s hands to collide with the stone floor below.
“Ewon!” Sarah chided. She hustled over to his side and checked his fingers for cuts before crouching low to the mess on the floor.
“Is everything okay in there?” Merlin asked with forced innocence, ignoring the way Maggie was looking at his speculatively.
The matron shook her head and eyed him through the open doorway. “Found your pitcher but ain’t nothing left in it now,” she sighed.
Merlin and Gwen came to her side and took in the broken pieces of crockery. A portion of the base was still intact, and Gwen held it up to Merlin, fingers carefully away from both the sharp edges and the liquid residue at the bottom. There were tiny solid pieces of something floating in the dark liquid, stained so Merlin could no longer tell their original colour nor identify them.
“Well?” Gwen prompted.
Merlin picked up one of the pieces and held it before him. It was still too hard to tell. There was another, thicker piece near the bottom and he pulled that out instead. He squeezed it slightly and the barest hint of juice flowed from it proving it was not the standard dried herbs often added to wines. He ignored Gwen’s protest and held the tiny thing up to his lips, placing just the tip to the flesh and feeling the slight tingling numbness almost immediately. The sensation ceased when Gwen slapped his hand, and the root it held away and demanded, “What are you doing? You weren’t going to eat that, were you?”
“Of course not,” he defended himself, surprised to find a tiny bit of the numbness lingered. “I was just testing it,” he promised. He turned to Sarah who looked at him like he had grown two heads and asked, “Can I see the cask this came from?”
She nodded and stood, pushing the boy towards the cook with a terse, “Make him go tell his father why he stinks of ale.” She led him to a storeroom and gestured to the cask in question. “Do you want me to open it, or just pour a bit?” she asked.
“I just need a bit,” he promised.
She handed him a cup with an elaborate “M” painted on it and muttered something about Maggie leaving her belongings around and wondering how much she had partaken the night before. He sniffed it and found it to be clean, then turned the spigot to release just a tiny portion of the liquid into the cup. It too smelled like nothing more than a rich wine, and Sarah herself confirmed it smelled nothing like the pitcher from the night before.
“It must have been added after,” Merlin supposed.
Gwen took the cup from him and smelled it herself before pointedly placing it out of his reach. “That rather confirms the possibility of poison, but not why it was done or why these men in particular.”
“Poison?” Sarah asked, aghast.
“On the positive side, your wine is fine?” Merlin tried with a wince. He would have liked to know just how fine, but doubted Gwen would let him anywhere near the cup now.
“No one here would have done something like that!” Sarah insisted. “Why would we try to make sick the very people who are our livelihood? It’d put us out of business and mean our deaths, either through retribution or slow starvation.”
“I don’t think it was anyone here,” Gwen quickly said, holding up her hand to forestall further protests. “Maggie said there was a traveller; did you happen to see him or know what he looked like? It is possible he added it by accident, or thought it would increase the potency to make them sleepy and make it easier to pick their pockets,” she suggested.
“So now it is thieves instead of murderers,” the matron huffed. She thought about it for a moment, but shook her head. “Like I said before, I don’t work nights and no one mentioned this man until now. Maggie saw him and has a memory like a steel trap; maybe she can help you.”
Maggie did indeed provide a description of the man, in possibly more detail than needed. Even Gwen was blushing at the minutiae of some of his attributes and what he might be compensating for. She also suggested they check with Lara, who was what passed for the local healer during the times Gaius could not make it from the castle. Her son had shared a table with the others and if anything was even slightly off with him, Lara would not only be the first to know, but likely the first to offer a possible cure.
They left after the appropriate thanks and possibly an inappropriate amount of innuendo on Maggie’s part and the observation on Merlin’s part that it was quite possible the boisterous woman was not the cook’s assistant but perhaps of another profession all together. Gwen simply sighed and shoved a sweetbread into his mouth and made a few muttered comments about needing to get out of the shelter of the castle from time to time. He was not certain what she meant, but appreciated the treat nonetheless.
“So, what do you think it is?” she asked once he had finished chewing.
Merlin fished out the book Gaius had given him and said, “I think it might be aconite. The symptoms are there, but...”
“But no one would intentionally poison themselves with such a thing,” she finished for him. She took the book from his and paged through it quickly to find the correct entry. “Monkshood?” she verified.
“It’s called that as well,” Merlin verified. He could already see her thoughts swimming around her head and knew she was likely sorting something out he had not. He knew the symptoms and had a fair idea of how to treat them; he did not know why such a thing would even be present in the first place.
“Could it be anything else?” she asked.
Merlin made a face. “There are a few other things that have similar effects but, given what we found in the wine, I think we found our culprit.” Everything else involved steeping and boiling and multiple ingredients that would have to be stored just right and, while they might possibly leave a residue behind, it most definitely would not involve simple herb pieces.
“Is that what you were testing when you tried to eat it?” Gwen asked, paging through for other entries.
“I did not try to eat it,” Merlin protested. She gave him a look of disbelief and he gave her one right back. “It’s a quick and easy way to test for it. My lip went numb, which is one of the symptoms.”
“I still think it was foolish to test it on yourself,” Gwen told him. She handed him the book back and asked, “So where would one find monkshood around here anyway?”
“Gaius’ garden,” Merlin answered automatically. It was, after all, the place where he first encountered the herb. It is where he found many other herbs of dubious, and occasionally hallucinogenic effects. “That’s in the castle though, under guard technically. It grows wild as well, but closer to the mountains than to here and very few people would know to keep the roots instead of the flower to make the poison; they’d just think it was another pretty flower to pick, that’s all.”
Gwen bit her lip, a sure sign she was thinking about something, and that it would likely be something she was not fully comfortable about. When she looked back up at him, she asked, “Would a part-time healer know enough to keep the roots?”
“Possibly,” Merlin was forced to admit. “But why risk poisoning her own son? He was drinking just as much as all the others if Maggie is to be believed.”
Gwen looked like she wished to say something about the credibility of the woman, but instead offered, “I think we need to meet this Lara before we can jump to any conclusions.”
“Maybe the healer did not like the company her son was keeping? Or maybe the son tried his hand at some of his mother’s trade, hoping to pickpocket like what we originally thought and misjudged the amount?” Merlin guessed as they walked.
Gwen pursed her lips. “I still find it very convenient that a traveller no one has previously met just happened to buy a pitcher of wine and that pitcher just happened to be the one tainted and that everyone who drank from it has fallen ill,” she replied.
“Wouldn’t the traveller himself get sick?” Merlin asked.
“Not necessarily,” Gwen shook her head. “Think of how many feasts where it seems Arthur or Morgana are matching cups with the visiting Lords, but you barely pour a drop.”
Merlin had to admit she had a point. Arthur rarely let himself drink enough to feel anything other than observant, at least when there were others around, and especially when those others were visitors that he was either trying to impress or trying not to kill. Back in his rooms under lock and key when all the excitement passed was another matter all together, but he had the feeling that was not the part Gwen was focused on right now.
He agreed with her assessment though: they would know more after their visit to this supposed healer. If she was shifty or tried anything with them, they would have at least part of the answer. If she could not tell rosemary from mugwort, they would have another. Gaius had told him about a fair number of charlatans running around, offering cures for a price, and then giving out a bottle of what amounted to nothing more than honey and water, so it was possible this Lara was nothing more than an opportunist looking to make some coin. He almost hoped she was, just so he would not have to think about a mother poisoning her own child.
Unfortunately, the trip to the healer’s did not go quite as expected. The knock on the door was met with a terse, “Busy!” The use of the little bell to the side received a huffed, “What are you, deaf?”
The door was open just the slightest bit and Merlin pressed it in a littler more to peek inside as he tried, “We are looking for Lara?” He saw dried bits of herbs hanging in bunches from the ceiling, and there were pots of various sizes set about the room, some with interesting colours dripping down their sides.
A face appeared before him, lined with layers of wrinkles and framed by wisps of long white hair. Rheumy blue eyes peered at him as the woman declared, “Well, you found her. What do you need?”
“We were hoping to ask you some questions,” Gwen replied.
“Hope all you want, I’m busy,” she told them gruffly. “You’re both standing on your own two feet. Try up at the castle. Their healer there is usually willing to take on comers.” She started to slam the door, hand already on the lock to close them out, but Merlin whispered a word and a nearby stone slid between the heavy wood and the jamb.
Her eyes darted between the rock and him, narrowing slightly as if working out the logistics of it. “There are some very sick people,” he tried. She responded by kicking the rock into his shin and starting on the door again so he blurted out, “They were last seen with your son!”
That made her pause, at least enough for Gwen to cut in, “May we at least verify that he is in sound health? We are attempting to narrow down the possibilities as to the cause.”
Lara breathed deeply at that, letting it out slowly through her nose as if trying to calm herself. “It’s my son I’m busy with,” she admitted. “A sickness has taken him and I fear it is more than from his weekly spot of ale.”
Merlin quickly rattled off the symptoms and saw the recognition pass over her face even before she gave a reluctant nod. “I think I know what it is, but I am going to need your help to cure it,” he tried.
“Why should I trust a scrap like you? What if you are the one who did this to him in the first place and are here to finish him off?” she asked. There was doubt in the tone though, mixed with a thread of hope.
“Merlin is the physician’s assistant at the castle,” Gwen rushed to explain. Merlin knew it was to give him credentials, but also knew it would backfire. The castle meant the king and the king meant death to anyone who would dare do anything remotely resembling magic, something judicious use of herbs and common sense was confused with often enough as it was.
The door started to close again, sorrow across the aged features as Lara swore, “I will be giving that king no reason to see me dead. I help people, plain and simple, nothing more.”
Merlin glanced around furtively, knowing his one chance to get her to trust them, to get her to believe them, was slipping through their fingers. The street was too busy though, people coming and going and already sparing more than a single glance in their direction.
He saw a small carved dragon on the shelf to the side of the door. It was wooden and once painted in bright colours, now brittle and flaking with age. He intoned the words to raise it up, to have it fly to just within her view and release a tiny cloud of golden smoke from its once again shiny red lips. It felt odd to be so obvious, to know she could see the light in his eyes, to see not just the magic but that it was him in control of it.
From the street, no one could see a thing, it looked like nothing more than an old lady glancing behind her while she dealt with some visitors at her door. Inside though, the thing continued to dance, swaying to and fro until it finally settled back in its place on the wooden shelf, a simple carving once more.
She looked to it, and the crystal Merlin knew was far more than decorative next to it, and then back to Merlin. He felt the power dwindle and seep back to the recesses where he kept it, and knew he appeared as nothing more than a normal man once more. “I help people,” he told her. With a smile and a tiny shrug, he added, “Plain, and not so simple, and possibly a little more.”
Lara opened the door and gestured them in, quickly shutting and latching it behind them, rheumy eyes still wide in surprise. Gwen elbowed Merlin in the side and whispered, “Show off.”
“Risky is what that was, my dear,” Lara corrected her. “He gave me something on him when he had nothing absolute on me. I could have called the guards, seen him dead by sunset for the little trick he just pulled.”
“But you didn’t,” Merlin pointed out.
She reached up and cuffed him behind the ear in a way far too similar to what his own mother often did. “You were foolish, boy. Be more careful in the future.” She waited for him to meet her gaze and offer a slow nod of acceptance, and then the hand moved to his shoulder as she ordered, “Now, help me save my son and we’ll see what we can do about the others.”
Merlin told her his suspicions, and confirmed that Lucan was suffering from the same symptoms as Johan and Jessen. He told her what the book said to use to counteract the effects and she told him several alternatives that were hopefully easier to come by as it was not likely the surviving trio would last the night it would take to gather the other ingredients. While they discussed less than purely herbal cures as well, Gwen took a moist cloth to the young man’s head and tried to soothe his panic and make him more comfortable.
She had just come in from dumping the water and fetching a new bowlful when she tugged at Merlin’s sleeve insistently. “We have a problem,” she whispered once she had gotten him several steps away from the healer.
“What?” Merlin asked. They had finally found something that they not only had all the ingredients to, but only took a simple recitation to empower. It looked simple enough and, if what they found in Lara’s own hidden scrolls was to be believed, would cure the worst of it by morning.
Gwen took his arm and pulled him towards the back door to the little cottage where they worked, and out into a small but carefully groomed garden. “Look familiar?” she asked, pointing to a section decorated by a small sprig of bluish purple flowers.
“Aconite,” he confirmed. He crouched down and saw several stalks were freshly cut and remembered the tiny pot near the dragon near the door. He shook his head. “The flowers aren’t poisonous, the roots are, and they seem intact.”
“And well they should be,” a now familiar voice sounded from beside him. Lara shuffled out and leaned upon an intricately carved walking stick. “I know better than to mess with such things without reason.”
“Then why have such a plant in your garden?” Gwen questioned. She was respectful, but let her doubt colour her words.
Lara did not seem offended, and in fact smiled. “The plant has its uses in extreme cases and, quite frankly, I am too old to wander off on the trek it would take to obtain it otherwise.” The smile turned wry as she added, “The alternative would be to get some from your physician’s garden at the castle and I doubt a crazy old woman’s request for a known toxin would go over well.”
Merlin grinned up at her honesty and self-depreciation. “You never know, you might catch Gaius on a good day,” he offered, earning a flash of teeth this time.
“You’re just all sorts of trouble, aren’t you, boy?” Lara asked with a shake of her head.
They returned inside and brewed what was needed for their cure. Lara helped Merlin with the pronunciation of some of the words, and marvelled at what she called his natural talent for such work. That was, of course, until he accidentally exploded two of the five little clay pots they were using for experimentation, at which point she said she took it all back and guessed he was secretly a toddler in a man’s body for the amount of control he exhibited when he got excited. A few calming and focusing techniques by Lara, and a fair deal of sniggering by Gwen later, and they had their antidote.
Lara tested it on a root of the plant itself first, nodding at the way it crumbled to white ash in her hands, before she poured a few fateful drops down her son’s throat. He coughed and sputtered, but his breathing seemed easier nearly immediately, and the beat of his heart quickly grew stronger and faster beneath Merlin’s fingertips.
Lara packaged up the remaining cure to be distributed between Johan and Jessen, with a spare in case in case anyone else was affected, and another for Gaius to examine at his whims. She thanked them for their aid, and they for hers, and she bid them luck, but not before chiding, “And boy, do try not to be so foolish.”
Gwen made several good-natured jabs at him for that, but promised the healer that she would do her best to keep him in line, earning a kiss on the cheek for her troubles. Merlin rolled his eyes at their antics and asked, “What am I, a dog?”
“Well, at times you are as unruly as one,” Gwen replied. This time, she was invited for supper should she ever be free of her duties at the castle. She gracefully accepted.
Adele was beside herself with relief when they brought the cure to Johan. As with Lucan, the majority of his symptoms faded quickly until he was breathing easily on the cot where he lay. “Thank you so very much!” she enthused, hugging them both before returning to her husband’s side. “If there is ever anything we can do for you to repay you...”
Merlin’s stomach chose that moment to rumble and remind him he had eaten nothing but sweetbreads throughout the day and the sun was now hanging low in the sky. He was embarrassed, but not enough to turn down a bowlful of the excellent stew Adele had simmering over the fire. As he tucked in, with Gwen doing the same far more elegantly at his side, he reminded both Adele and Johan that it would take time for him to heal completely and that he was to rest for several days to regain his strength.
The trip to Jessen’s was similar, though his wife offered fresh bread and some of the creamiest butter Merlin had ever had the pleasure of sharing. Both Jessen and Johan were saddened at the loss of Marcus, but promised he would receive the rites and memorial he deserved.
Merlin was feeling quite pleased with himself, and quite pleasantly full as well, as they walked back towards the main street that led back to the castle. He was a bit confused though when Gwen pulled him to the side and towards the tavern. “You’re going to let me have a pint of ale?” he asked in pleasant surprise. He so rarely got to celebrate a job well done, and it was even more extraordinary to be allowed to do so with anything alcoholic in nature.
“Oh, no,” Gwen shook her head. “I’m not nearly that foolish. We need to tell Sarah about our findings, at the very least.”
Merlin nodded along in agreement, but suspected there was something more that she was keeping from him, and said as much.
Gwen sighed and chewed on her lower lip. When she released it, she admitted, “I would rather like to find this mysterious traveller, to be honest. I’d like to know if it really was him who poisoned these men, and why he did it. It just seems so random, that’s all.” She brushed an errant curl away from her face and continued, “I am very pleased that we were able to determine what made Johan and the others ill, and even more so that we were able to determine a cure, and so quickly, it’s just...”
“You want more,” Merlin smiled knowingly.
“Maybe?” she admitted, and looked almost ashamed.
“Morgana not keeping you busy enough?” he teased.
Gwen blew out a breath. “Please, with the upcoming feast? We’ve gone through at least a half a dozen dresses trying to find the right one, and then the proper jewellery, and not to mention just what we are going to do with her hair. It’s a good thing that is still two days off because you know she will have something new in store when I return.” She paused and her eyes lit up. “The feast! Oh, that’s perfect!”
Merlin was not quite following her line of thought, but it was not the first time this had happened and he knew that if he waited long enough she would explain. She still seemed to be working things out on her own though, pacing slightly before him, so he gently prompted, “What about the feast, Gwen?”
She stopped and spun on her heel to face him. “There is a feast in two days’ time. Sarah mentioned the castle has been known to purchase the ale she sells, which would lead me to believe she is on good terms with the steward, which would lead me to believe he would be willing to try some of the wine she’s been dabbling with as well. Follow me so far?”
Merlin nodded. “And it was her wine that was tainted. Do you think she has competition?” he reasoned.
Gwen shook her head. “No, I think it was an experiment to see how much of the aconite root was needed to get the response they wanted,” she corrected. He could tell that she could tell he was not quite following, and was grateful when she clarified, “A mysterious traveller appears three days before a feast, taints the wine likely to be given at the feast, and offers it to the unwitting? Tell me you see where this is going.”
Now Merlin got it. “An assassination attempt?” he guessed. “That would mean either the traveller had access to the castle, or was working for someone who did. When the root made everyone ill, they could slide in and finish the job,” he finished with a slightly graphic jabbing motion.
Gwen looked less than pleased with his theatrics. “Or,” she amended calmly and with what appeared to be a great deal of patience. “The aconite itself is to do the job. The pitcher may have been his first try. It is possible he got the dosing wrong and will try again until he gets it right.”
“Which means he could be at the tavern again tonight!” Merlin finished for her.
“Exactly!” she agreed. “We need to find Sarah and warn her.”
They entered the tavern to find it far livelier than it had been during their first visit. There were fewer families and more men and a far greater amount of ale flowing about, and the sun had not yet fully set. Sarah was nowhere to be found, but Merlin remembered her mentioning her brother Marcan ran the show in the evenings. A man very similar in features and stature stood behind the bar, pouring tankards and shouting orders to the kitchen behind him.
Marcan unfortunately did not remember much about the traveller from the night before. Sarah had told him about Gwen and Merlin and their suspicions but, as he pointed out, a lot of people came and went in the course of the night, and he could not always remember every face that graced his counter.
Maggie, on the other hand, sauntered right up and proved she remembered the two castle servants. “Back for more of my hospitality already?” she grinned as she rested a hip against the bar. “I take it your mission was a success?”
“We were able to find a cure and distribute it in time,” Gwen confirmed with a smile that was just shy of truly friendly. It looked like the one she used with Lord Vernon and his ilk, though Merlin could not fathom why she would use it on a woman who had already helped them once before.
He started to figure out a possible reason when Maggie reached for his scarf once again and asked, “So, are you here to celebrate your success?”
Gwen was in front of him and Marcan was tsking, “Leave the boy alone, Marguerite,” and Merlin was remembering the time Gwen had been so protective of little Lorraine the seamstress’ daughter when Vernon had been intent on showing her a shirt that needed to be darned and could she do it in his chambers while he waited?
“Aye, aye, take all my fun away,” Maggie pouted playfully. “If you not be celebratin’, you looking for a meal? I thought the castle fed you with your wages.”
“Actually, we wanted to warn Marcan and Sarah that whoever tainted the wine may try again tonight,” Merlin told her.
Gwen nodded and added, “It’s possible their first attempt was not as successful as hoped and so they may make another attempt.”
Maggie looked thoughtful before jerking a thumb in the direction of the cask room. “Sarah locked down the wine until everything is sorted out – she won’t even let me have a cup. Said she’s not takin’ the risk so close to some fancy feast thing.” It also explained why the ale casks were stacked behind the bar for the night, if the room was locked up tight.
That seemed to confirm Gwen’s earlier theory, and Merlin was about to say as much, but was cut off when Gwen asked, “Then why did that man just leave?”
Three heads turned in that direction to see a man in a well worn cloak try to duck away from the back and blend back in with the crowd. Merlin took in the dark stringy hair, the angular face, and the scraggly hint of a beard and matched him to Maggie’s earlier description even before the woman beside him exclaimed, “That be him! The one who bought Lucan and the others the wine!”
Gwen was already working her way through the small crowd, and Merlin was cursing the propriety of the men of Camelot for easily stepping out of the way and clearing a path for her before he could catch up to her. He was still three bodies behind when he heard her clear her throat and ask, “Excuse me, could I have a moment? What were you doing in the cask room?”
He was close enough to catch her when the man pushed her to the side and took off towards the door. He righted her and both gave chase, the gathered men parting for a new reason all together, and more than one shouting that that was no way to treat a lady. Merlin heard the footsteps of several of the men behind them, but concentrated instead on following the cloaked figure through the alleyways in the growing darkness.
The man leapt over a small wooden fence and Merlin did the same, not at all surprised to hear Gwen mumble something about the unfairness of women’s skirts as she followed him. It was only a short distance to the woods and he knew they could easily lose the traveller there if they were not careful, so he dodged roots and branches and continued the pursuit.
There was a small clearing ahead, but no sign of the man and it was now far too dark to follow any footprints he might have left behind. Merlin stilled and tried to call upon the techniques Arthur had been trying to teach him for the hunt, steadying his breath and listening to the world around him. He heard the rustling of the wind in the leaves, Gwen’s soft steps on the already crushed foliage, and the swish of the long fabric she wore. Then he heard something more.
It was barely a whisper, a snap of a clasp being released somewhere in the shadows to his right. He turned to try to peer into the darkness there and debated conjuring up a ball of light to see better just as Gwen bade him to do the same. He felt the magic flow through him, focus in his fingertips, and was ready to release it when he heard something surely not a bit of luminescence released instead.
“Get down!” he shouted, and threw himself atop Gwen. They hit the dirt with thud just as a small arrow whisked by and embedded itself in a nearby tree. “Are you hurt?” he asked even as she tried to push him off of her, only to hear another whoosh through the air.
Pain ripped through his leg and he looked down to find a small shaft embedded there, skin and muscle on fire around it. He didn’t think, didn’t plan or plot or even hesitate as the words poured from his lips.
The shadows lifted and the man lit up clear as day, only to find himself tossed into the tree behind him. He lay on the ground, dazed and confused and bleeding quite steadily from a gash on his forehead. A gash that grew far greater when Gwen clawed her way out from beneath Merlin, picked up a fair sized stone, and belted him in the head.
The man’s eyes fell closed and his fingers’ grip on yet another arrow grew lax as he fell well and truly unconscious. Gwen kicked the arrow away for good measure and ran back to where Merlin still lay on the forest floor, hand gripping his thigh near where the arrow still protruded.
She reached for it, but Merlin stopped her with a gasped, “No! Poison, remember? He dealt in poisons; this could be tainted as well.” There was no doubt about it in his mind, his blood on fire, coursing up and through him, the worst of it centred on the entry wound.
Gwen tore a strip from her shift and wrapped it around the shaft and pulled, tearing it out of his leg in one go. Merlin was not ashamed to admit he may have screamed at that, though he understood her reasoning of removing the source before any more of the poison infected his blood.
The men from the tavern chose that moment to come crashing through into the clearing, taking in the sight with wide eyes. “He needs a healer,” Gwen told them. She saw the largest of them men look over to the injured assassin and added, “And that one needs the guard.”
Merlin soon found himself at Lara’s doorstep for the second time that day, only this time he was being carried and being told repeatedly that she was far closer than Gaius and they would send for the physician if need be. He was laid out on a pallet next to the still recovering Lucan and Gwen handed over both the arrow she pulled from Merlin and one she had taken from the traveller’s stash.
Lara looked at the wound, and then at the way Gwen had the arrows wrapped so nothing touched her own skin and nodded in understanding. “Good thinking,” she agreed. “I should hopefully be able to determine what was used with what you provided.”
“You don’t think it was aconite again?” Gwen asked as she readied a basin with water and grabbed the pile of bandages from where Lara indicated.
“There are many poisons in the world, child,” the healer told her, not unkindly. “There is no guarantee this man had access to only one.”
Merlin was not certain of much that happened after that. He was given something sour to drink that both dulled the pain and made his mind foggy and more than a bit sleepy. He vaguely remembered the wound being cleaned and both a poultice and bandage being applied, but mostly he remembered drifting off to darkness with a cool hand upon his brow.
He awoke to light pouring in through the back window of the cottage and a dull throb deep within his leg. He found himself still laid out on the palette, with Gwen crouched on the floor beside him, head on his arm and curls tickling his nose. He shifted slightly and the pain blossomed, but was still nowhere near the bone deep burn of the night before.
His movement stirred Gwen, who blinked up at him and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Been better,” he admitted. His mouth felt dry and he could still taste the herbs of whatever Lara had given him on his breath.
“You’ll hurt for a while,” the aged woman said as she hobbled over to him, stick in hand. She handed Gwen a cup of something steaming and told her, “Get him to drink some more of this. I’ll send some with you, but even Gaius should have something similar enough to do the trick.”
“Thank you,” Gwen replied. “For everything.”
Lara waved off the gratitude. “You helped me save my son; it’s the least I could do,” she insisted. She turned to Merlin who dutifully sipped whatever concoction she had brewed, surprised at the sweet taste in comparison to Gaius’ usual curatives, and said, “Some men from the tavern promised to come ‘round in a bit to get you back up to the castle. That man you found should be on his way to a cell by now as well.”
“Thank you,” he told her, repeating Gwen’s sentiment.
She leaned down and brushed some of his hair off his brow in a way eerily similar to that of his own mother and smiled fondly. “Us plain and simple healers need to stick together, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he grinned, happy to find a new ally in what was sure to be a less than simple life ahead of him.
That night found him laid out upon his own bed in his own room, far more tired than a simple journey back to the castle should ever make him. Gaius had tsked at him, Gwen had coddled him, and he had slept far more than he had intended to for a relatively pleasant day if the brief glimpses of light through his window were any indication.
Gwen was at his side again now, enjoying a night off rewarded to her by Morgana when her mistress heard of their little adventure. Also at his side was a mug of what appeared to be mulled wine.
“That’s not...?” he asked, but Gwen shook her head.
“Sarah insisted every cask stored at the tavern be destroyed. She did not wish to be known as responsible for poisoning the royal household,” she explained.
“Then that?” he asked.
“Is a gift from Arthur for a job well done,” Gwen told him with a smile. “He says it is from his personal stash and is guaranteed not to cause horrific sickness or death.”
Merlin beamed up at her and reached for the mug, only to find his hand slapped away. Gwen put upon an expression of false pity and said, “Unfortunately, Gaius has forbidden you to drink anything other than the teas he personally prepares for you until he is certain the poison has left your body.”
“That is so not fair,” Merlin pouted.
Gwen nodded sympathetically as she settled back in the chair at his bedside. She picked up the mug and cradled it between her hands before taking a long drought and licking her lips to chase after any lingering drops. At his surprised expression, she grinned, “We can’t let a gift like this go to waste, can we?”
She took pity on him though and poured a fair share into the empty tea cup that still sat on the small table to the side. “Our secret,” she promised. She raised her mug and tapped it to his cup and toasted, “To a job well done.”
Merlin settled back and sipped at the heady wine and knew he would have no trouble sleeping that night after all. As the pleasant warmth settled over his body and the lingering aches seemed to fade away, he heard Gwen say, “So Elyse claims the peppers Sebastian gave her were enchanted. Could I interest you in another trip to town when you are back on your feet?”
He held his cup up to hers with a wide grin and replied, “Most definitely.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
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I want a whole Nancy Drew-esque series of these now, complete with "The Adventure of..." titles and adorable banter and a cast of OCs and- and- A PONY!!!
(Ok, possibly a bit too excited here, but it's late and I'm happy, so.)
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Would love to play more with this set up as well, complete with "The Adventure of..." titles and everything. Did you want a plastic rocket with your pony? [please get the reference so I don't look like a complete doof... *g*]