After waiting for nearly an hour, we boarded the train. The trip itself was relatively easy, and I was able to relax for most of it. Over the course of our ride, I explained the entire situation to Mordred, starting with myself getting captured and ending with our big fight with the masked Elder One. She was very interested in the whole scenario, but after finishing the story we had some idle chatter. After our conversations, she fell asleep. I guess running an organization would make anyone tired. That said, I hope Merlin does okay by himself. He seemed rather exhausted already. When the train finally arrived in London, I woke up Mordred. I learned very quickly that she wasn’t the type of person who was in a good mood directly after waking up, so I did as I had promised earlier, and bought her a meal. She happily gorged herself on enough food—rather, nearly enough—to wipe out my savings.

After eating, we continued to the apartment by a cheaply hired wagon, since neither of us felt like walking the distance. She seemed used to the bustling streets of London, despite being out of her comfort zone. Though, nothing could prepare her for the surprise that was the old shoddy apartment we stayed in. She seemed particularly concerned by the state of our building, as it, in fact, looked like a crack den. The inside wasn’t looking much better either, as the stairs were still rotting and the floorboards had some more rotted holes in them from what I first remember. Guess time did pass, huh. However, the living spaces were still nice and hospitable, so I couldn’t complain. This building would never be sanctioned as livable in the modern day, but it still worked.

Opening the door of our apartment, I saw Scott, asleep on the couch. His left arm was still in a sling with a primitive cast, and his right hand was wrapped in bandages. All around him were empty bottles from before I had left, and various books strewn all over from when we had been doing research. Sauntering over to him, I slapped his good shoulder. In a state of panic, he opened his eyes before looking at me with a disbelieving and confused look.

“I didn’t expect you to be back until tomorrow, you bastard. What are you doing back so early? Or… did I sleep for two days?” he asked as he rubbed the shoulder I just slapped against the couch. His expression was that of a confused sick puppy.

“Nope, it’s the same day. Someone wanted to talk to you and insisted on coming urgently,” I said, gesturing over my shoulder at Mordred and stepping to the side. She was standing in the doorway waiting to be welcomed in, despite me already showing her in. It was as if she was doing it just to be dramatic and make Scott uncomfortable.

Sitting up frantically, Scott began tidying up whilst continually locking eyes with Mordred. “Forgive my inhospitality… come in. I was unaware that you would be visiting, Mordred.” His attempts to clean left an awkward wake in the air, as there was no way he could clean this up in a few seconds. Though I don't know why he bothers when Mordred’s desk has an unkempt pile of random, possibly forgotten items stacked atop and beside it.

“You don’t have to be so formal. I am simply here to inquire about Sir Micheal,” Mordred said with a calm expression matching her voice. The last sentence echoed in Scott’s ears for a moment, before he slowly turned his head towards me with a stupefied look. If I could read his mind, then I was sure it was something similar to, “What was the one thing I told you not to tell her, you dumbass cunt!” so awkwardly, I ambled into my room. Both Mordred and Scott eyed me with different disoriented expressions, as my door squeaked closed behind me.

Changing his expression to that of a businessman ready to strike a deal, Scott turned to face her. “I see, and what questions may I answer for you?” he asked with a casual smile that anyone who knew him well would know was fake.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?” Mordred asked as a superior should. She seemed to actually act like a leader when it came down to it.

Sitting back against the soft back cushions of the couch, Scott let out a concerned sigh masked by his relaxed nature. “We weren’t given enough time for backup to arrive after we learned an Elder One was behind the attacks. The Elder One also threatened to kill innocent civilians if we contacted the Table, so we had to make do,” Scott answered honestly. Not only was it the reason, or at least one of them, for why we hadn’t called for backup, but it was also a great excuse.

“I understand. However, I am still displeased. Now, do you know where Sir Micheal is or where he came from? Was there any information that could be gleaned from him?” Mordred asked with a disappointed look that only a mother could give. Her proud-toned figure guarded the doorway like a Sphinx.

Unfazed by her tactics, as he was too drunk to care, Scott shook his head in respectful irritation. “I knew you would probably want to know something like that, and the answer is I don’t know. I was laying on the ground with several broken bones and severe internal damage. He appeared, defeated the Elder One's puppet, and disappeared over the bridge,” Scott answered. Purposely leaving out the part about Iscariot speaking with Sir Micheal as a way to protect him from Mordred. Otherwise, he spoke the truth.

“I understand. If he said or did nothing else then there is little that can be done. As for the Elder One, I wish to inspect the body of the Elder One’s puppet,” Mordred said, relaxing her body enough to sit on the couch alongside Scott.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, he gave an embarrassed chuckle. “That may be a bit difficult,” he said, before reaching down to the floor for one of the many half-drunk brown glass rum bottles.

“How so?” Mordred’s brow furrowed, as she considered why that may be.

“We may have… thrown his body into the canal,” Scott answered honestly. He didn’t seem to care much about his actions, but it was far easier for him to forgo lying about it than going through the hassle of coming up with a believable excuse.

“What? Why?” Mordred asked in confused hysteria, as her jaw dropped. Blinking her eyes repeatedly, she was completely baffled by such an action.

“I didn’t want to have to deal with all the paperwork the police were going to require me to fill out, and it’s not something they need to know about,” Scott replied, as he began to become more comfortable with this conversation due to the rum.

Shocked but not surprised, Mordred took in his response and collected herself. “I see… Well, I already received the report from Lou about the case. Including how he has learned how to use his ability to travel through time. Even so, I would like to hear it from your mouth as well. It just isn’t something I am entirely convinced of.”

“Of course,” Scott said with a nod to Mordred, before turning towards the back of the apartment and yelling, “Lou, would you take Elysif to Monty’s pub? I promised her I would treat her to dinner as thanks for her work, but it seems like I am going to be talking with Mordred for a while. There should be enough for you both in the envelope on the desk.”

Leaving the room, I figured he just didn’t want me here while they spoke, which I didn’t mind at all. “Of course. You want us to bring something back for the two of you?” I asked as I sauntered towards the desk.

“No, we’ll meet you there in a wee bit.” Hearing this, I grabbed the envelope with a thank you, and headed downstairs.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, Scott calmly turned back to Mordred. “Where do you want me to begin?”

“Let’s start with something simple. Is it possible for Lou to prevent my father or Silva from dying with his ability?” Mordred asked. Desperation accentuated her cheeks. Though Scott could tell that her desperation was similar to his own. He would do anything if it meant bringing back his wife, and Mordred would undoubtedly do the same for both her father and Silva.

“You sound like that masked Elder One,” Scott said with a decisive look. Mordred gawked in offense from such a comparison. Though she recognized that his response was not made out of disrespect, but out of concern.

Reevaluating her question and what it may entail, she recognized that she was not incorrect in her line of questioning. Rather, Scott was being cautious, just as Silva had taught him. “I have no intention of forcing him, I simply wish to know if it can be done.”

“I don’t believe so. He had said that he can’t use his ability if it affects his current or past self. Since your father dying was the driving force behind making the Table what it is today, and Lou is now an agent of the Table, I would say no, but you can ask him yourself,” Scott answered honestly.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Her face grew somber. The exhaustion and weariness began to show in both her face and body. The thin but strong facade of control that Mordred continually held faded off for but a fleeting moment. “That was all I needed to hear. I was hoping that you would have said yes, but I will ask him personally and see whether I can have some hope once again.”

Reaching out, Scott took her hand in comfort. He was one of the few people who would have loved to say it was possible, yet he also considered himself unworthy of such a blessing. “I am sorry.” His words stung, causing his eyes to water. Turning with a sigh, he stood up from the couch. “Would you like some tea?”

“That sounds wonderful. Would you like any help?” Mordred asked. She wasn’t entirely accustomed to being served. Usually, she was the one doing the serving due to how short the Table was on staff, so helping out was common practice. She could also tell that Scott was too injured to be able to do anything easily.

Taking the kettle from the counter with his free hand, Scott pulled off the lid before turning back to Mordred. “It would be much appreciated, and we can continue this chat. Would you grab the pitcher of water and fill up the kettle?” he asked, pointing toward a large pitcher on the far side of the counter. As she stood up to do so, Scott reached into the cabinet for some black tea.

Grabbing the pitcher, Mordred poured some of the contents into the kettle. Putting the pitcher back, she set the lid back on the kettle and rested it to the woodstove. “Now, what is your official report?” she asked, as she watched Scott measure out enough tea for the teapot.

Continuing to measure the tea, Scott began giving his report in simple bullet-point fashion, something Mordred had grown functionally accustomed to over the past few years. “Some women were murdered. Lou was captured and tortured for several weeks. Nothing interesting happened during that time otherwise. Then Lou showed up here nude and showed us how he could reform his limbs. He had gone to the future, came back, and we attempted to stop the Changeling or, Jack the Ripper. We failed. Two people were murdered. We were challenged by someone claiming to be Sir Micheal, who happened to also be Lou’s kidnapper, an Elder One, and Jack the Ripper’s boss. Fought him. Got our asses handed to us, and Sir Micheal defeated him. I was severely injured and everyone else left with barely a scratch.”

It was a simplified version of Lou’s report, so she nodded her head. However, it lacked some things that she believed were important. “That is rather vague.”

“It is my official report,” he said with a smug grin. Seeing as how she had the rest of the information from my reports, she let it go.

Having both made and served the tea, Mordred, and Scott sat in silence. Neither spoke, as neither had anything to say. They were simply enjoying the relaxing quiet, and thought to themselves. Mordred, having nothing better to do, looked over the room littered with rum bottles. Books on magic theory and mythology were scattered over every shelf, desk, and sill. The only spaces free of them were where people could sit and the counter.

“There is one thing that’s been bothering me...” Scott finally said to break the silence.

“Yes?” Mordred replied curiously before sipping her tea. Trying not to point out his current living state, since she neither wanted to be a hypocrite, nor wanted him asking for a raise in order to better take care of the building.

“The Elder One controlling the puppet is still at large and will eventually reappear. However, the puppet had an item on him that I had assumed only the Table was in possession of,” Scott said, insinuating she knew something about it.

Setting her tea down, Mordred furrowed her brow, confused. “And what might that be?” She asked, her stern demeanor returning ever so slightly, as if a defense mechanism.

“His robe. It was covered in runes that allowed him to absorb the energy of any physical attack and release it at will,” Scott described with a vengeful sideways glance. Mordred’s confused expression grew, so Scott began speaking again. “That kind of reminds me of Ragnar’s enchanted shirt. The one in the Table’s treasury. A dangerous tool that would be a great threat in the wrong hands,” Scott finished. Concern was ripe behind his words, but he thinly veiled it with passive aggressiveness.

Picking her tea back up with a raised eyebrow, Mordred took a sip, and smiled in a polite manner. “Are you insinuating that this Elder One stole Ragnar’s enchanted shirt from the Table itself? Or are you insinuating that this Elder One has already infiltrated the Table? Both of which are very unlikely,” Mordred asked, wanting to make sure that Scott wasn’t trying to create a scandal.

Placing his hand on his chest, Scott’s mouth was agape in shock. Although he knew she meant nothing by it, he didn’t like it when anyone doubted his loyalty. Acting offended would probably make her feel bad. “Nothing of the sort. I simply wish to know if it is replicable. You know that I am devoted to the Table.” She didn’t feel bad in the slightest.

Mordred gave him a thoughtful and sympathetic look. “It is not. Ragnar’s shirt was created by a master of magic before the Round Table was founded. However, I will indulge you with a little bit of information to satisfy your curiosity.”

“And what might that be?”

She let out an opposing and dissatisfied sigh. Although Mordred had just said she would tell him, she was having second thoughts. Mordred’s shoulders slumped, her lips pursed. “As you know, the Table is rather low on funds at the moment. Even your own home has suffered because of this. If we had the funds, then we would have allotted some funds to have this place repaired. Because of our insufficient funds… we had to sell some of the items in the treasury,” she said before turning away. Despite it being someone below her in rank within the Table, she hated having people point out her mistakes. She already knew that selling the items was going to be a mistake, but they needed the funds, and she was tired of only eating once or twice a week. All telling Scott did was make her more embarrassed about the decision.

“What? Do you have any idea how dangerous some of the items in the treasury are?” Scott asked judgmentally. He knew that she was his superior, but she was also similar to family, so he knew that she needed to be chewed out for something like selling the most dangerous magical items in existence.

“I know quite well how dangerous such items are…” Mordred began speaking complacently. Tensing up momentarily, she thought, before relaxing again. “… but we felt we had no other choice. Merlin and I had wanted to keep this classified, but I know how tight-lipped you can be. We had several of the Directors sell selected items at underground auctions, and it proved more than lucrative for the Table. Since then, we’ve been able to adjust our budget and manage the organization as a whole in a much better fashion. Sadly, I’m still eating a bare minimum. Being immortal has way more disadvantages than one would think,” Mordred finished explaining with a regretfully awkward chuckle.

Neither said anything for nearly a minute. Mordred just sipped her tea, waiting for Scott’s response while he thought about what she had said. With a sympathetic voice, Scott frowned. “I understand why you did it. The Table needs the funds and you need to eat. However, does this mean that you sold something as dangerous as Ragnar’s enchanted shirt, as well as others, to some random people?”

“Yes, but you must understand that there are far more dangerous items within the treasury that we could never part with, for the sake of the world. That shirt, although precious, is not a large threat in comparison.”

“That’s a fair assessment. Though, on another matter, I must apologize for not taking the threat of Sir Micheal more seriously. After fighting an Elder One and witnessing Sir Micheal defeat him, I now understand why you are so afraid of such a being,” Scott said, before drinking the last of his tea. Since he was finished, he reached for a rum bottle that sat on the side of the couch.

“Apology accepted. I had heard from Lou that you witnessed him kill the Elder One in a matter of minutes. It does not surprise me that much, as he has always been powerful. He was even able to take on my father, Arthur, as well as Merlin, both at once, and win,” Mordred said in a way that almost sounded as if she were reminiscing her past with Sir Micheal in a good light. However, her calm nature drifted further into rage the more she thought about it.

The only thing left that he couldn’t figure out about this whole ordeal was Sir Micheal’s objective in all this. Why save them? If he was an enemy of the Table, then why bother stepping in in the first place? Was it out of moral obligation, happenstance, or something else entirely? Not knowing, he held up his rum bottle to the light, examining it for an unknown entity. “Do you know Sir Micheal's goal?” Scott asked.

“No, that has always been a mystery. He has appeared on a few occasions since he killed my father. Merlin has theorized that Sir Micheal is like him or myself, as we cannot age or die, so long as we aren’t killed, due to Merlin’s abilities being shared between us,” she answered, as she had already thought about his goals many times herself. There was no motive that she could find from her knowledge of him. All she could do was continue to speculate.

“Perhaps, his objective is to destroy the Table, but can’t challenge either you or Merlin yet?” Scott wondered aloud.

“I don’t think so. Despite everything he has done, Sir Micheal ultimately produced a peaceful time for the Table nearly every time he has reappeared,” Mordred said in a strange way, almost as if she didn’t want to admit that. They both sat silent for a minute.

“Would you like something to eat? We could go meet Lou and Elysif at the pub,” Scott asked to finally break the silence. Then, he followed it up with a large gulp from the bottle of rum he had.

“That sounds delightful. Though, I would like to avoid having this tea go to waste,” Mordred said, trying to hide her desire for food by being polite. In truth, she had been hoping to eat some more while here.

“As you wish,” Scott replied, before taking a swig from the bottle once more. The two sat and enjoyed the silence. Their worries seemed to fade away with every sip taken from their respective drinks. Moments like this were rare to them, and they wanted to enjoy every moment of it. However, upon finishing her tea, Mordred held out her hand to Scott.

“May I perhaps have some of that? I could use a little,” Mordred said with an embarrassed look. She tended to avoid drinking alcohol, especially at times like this, but she really wanted to sate her old habit. With an amused, somewhat surprised chuckle, Scott shook his head and handed the bottle to her.

TO BE CONTINUED…