Wizard's Woes
19th of November 2006 A.D.
To say that Arthur Langtry was unhappy with his lot in life at the moment would be as great an understatement as to call
English White wine as opposed to faintly alcoholic gutter water, praise be to phylloxera outbreaks as the marks of divine providence they had surely been. Swirling the glass of Chardonnay in one hand he sighed and motioned to the animate violin with the other, the soothing notes of Primavera cutting off mid-note in a way that was almost satisfying in how utterly jarring it was. This was in truth a quiet time, perhaps as the Bard had put in the mouth of Richard the Second' of graves, of worms, and epitaphs'. After all there were plenty who would imagine me a scheming tyrant and now they get to add incompetent to the list.
"Harald what do you imagine would happen if I were to just say 'sod all of you and sod Ebeneezer's hooligan of a grandson the hardest I resign'," the Merlin of the White Council asked his lifelong man servant aloud.
"I would imagine the gentleman in question would strenuously o the description of his family m'lord and the council would fall apart into bickering and thence become a vampyr's midnight wine." came the somewhat brass-y response.
Harold after all had been dead for more than a hundred and fifty years, he still called the lar, the house spirit of his sprawling Midlands manse after him and to its credit the Harold the Second was quite good at imitating the speech patterns of his human predecessor, though it could not quite match the earthy wisdom of the old yeoman, no more than Richard the Second Could match the heroism of the First.
Sometimes Arthur wondered if the Council had made a mistake in keeping the name Merlin as an honorific, not so much for the expectations it set up, he thrived on unreasonable expectations, a past master at being just vague enough to seem wise while he investigated something or delegated someone to investigate so that the actual wisdom would arrive. No what annoyed him were all the
children who thought of him as the embodiment of the Council, as though he were some kind of wizard king for them to rebel against because they had not quite gotten that out of their system with their parents as one did in the old days. Now it was in fashion to let school raise one's children and they would get a lifelong notion that the best way to deal with any institution was to rebel against it the way they did with the headmaster who would not let them smoke behind the music hall.
Normally he would send someone like young Ramirez to ask Dresden what in heaven and hell had happened in Chicago yesterday that that set the
Finger of St. Roch one of the most potent and least used oracular instruments in Edinburgh pointing right at Chicago. As three people had reminded him over the last six hours alone the last time the bones so much as twitched they had been pointing at Sarajevo there heralding the outbreak of the Great War and the secret war against Kemler. As Arthur had to remind
them repeatedly there was a dearth of confirming signs. Oh certainly a handful of seers, mostly in North America, had reported troubling dreams of calving ice and crackling lighting of five towers that scratched the starless heavens, but apart from Ancient Mai clamming up more than her 'charming' norm the most the council had to work with was cryptic in the way the marks an ape makes in the walls of its enclosure in its own shit is 'cryptic'
Someone had opened a gate to a place far more remote than Faerie there, that much was clear from what Listens to the Wind had gotten out of the far-traveling wind spirits, but they had closed it almost as quickly and nothing significant had passed though, Arthur would stake his reputation on that, he was staking his reputation on that. It had most likely been Mab doing something, some follow up to Halloween. Snowstorms out of the blue on that of all days means she had something very important to hide, maybe not all traces had been removed.
Rashid's assurances that it was good news, for all he could not share them even with with the Senior Council yet had only given Arthur cause to suspect that this was the other shoe dropping, but he could not even worry in peace since he had to calm down the cretins who thought the
Gates of Hell had opened. Normally panicking about the end of the world was the province of the aged and most invested in it, but this time Ramirez and his lot had seized on the notion that he was letting the grass grow between his toes so now if he send one of the younger wardens to Chicago it would practically be admitting defeat... to children.
If the Warden in situ was more reliable he would have summoned him for a talk. Empty Night, if Dresden has even a modicum of discretion Arthur would have summoned him away and offered some kind of quid pro quo, but frankly he did not trust Dresden to even know enough Latin to understand what that was much less follow through.
This could all be a distraction, take advantage of whatever Mab was doing to throw shadows at the proverbial wall. That would imply a subtly of magical weaving beyond what the Red Court had ever shown before, but not beyond the realm of possibility. God knows the local environs are probably opaque enough to hide in Chicago after Kemler's leavings were in town... twice in the last two years
That thought was almost enough to make Arthur feel briefly sorry for Dresden's atrocious luck, but the flicker of compassion did not last long against the wind of utter frustration. Were he a century younger he would have thrown his glass at the wall. As is he set it gently down and began carefully weaving light sound and purest magic into a form familiar as his own reflection... mostly because it was. The second Arthur Langtry combed his beard with his fingers and set off towards the garden, where hidden in an old hickory tree was a scrying focus left by one of the Red King's more subtle sorcerers. He had not been so subtle that Arthur did not
know it was there, but a spy you knew about was as good as a spy on your side... especially when the fidelity of the farsight would make it impossible for them to see though the false Arthur on his rounds of the gardens. If this was a blood-sucker's trap than they would see him doing nothing he had not done many other nights.
In the meantime the real Arthur Langtry, the real Merlin was heading to Chicago.
OOC: Harry is about to get a hell of a visitor, but hey at least it's not Morgan. To be clear the Merlin does not actually think Harry does not know what quid pro quo is he just does not think very much of his dedication to stuff like learning Latin.