milliways_bar | (no subject)

There's a rather determined-looking young woman (seven months pregnant and royally dressed) making her way over to him, leading a slightly confused looking man behind her.

"Good evening, Professor Lyon. I'm so terribly sorry to intrude, but I wonder if we might have a moment of your time. Or possibly several moments.

"You remember Tom, I hope."

She also hope Merriman remembers Merriman.

"Tom . . . Tom doesn't have any idea who he is."

The unspoken addendum to all this is HELP.

Merriman opens his mouth, then closes it again.

'...I see,' he says, slowly. 'Good evening, Amy, and....'

He eyes Tom.

(With or without amnesia, it can be extremely unsettling to be eyed by Merriman.)

'You have no idea who you are, Mr Riddle?'

He's still snickering. Then he notices the elderly man's bearing and stops, clearing his throat.

He also stands a little straighter.

"No, sir, I'm afraid I do not. Miss Amy here claims I'm a wizard."

He lowers his voice and leans into speak into the Professor's ear.

"Have you ever heard such poppycock?"

"He thinks he's a barrister," Amy tells Professor Lyon. "And a conductor."

Tom gets eyed for a moment longer -- and this time, it is a far more searching look -- before Merriman looks back over at Amy.

'It is not the Dark,' he says to her, straightaway. 'I would certainly know, on today of all days. Nor does it appear to be of a malevolent nature. But if that is the case, then...well, there are any number of alternatives.'

"I beg your pardon?"

He must be hearing things.

"I say, is the village around here? There must be a festival on. I'd like to see more of the Morris dancers."

That's really the only explanation for some of the outlandish get ups he's seen inside.

"Well, that's some comfort," Amy says.

"But it is magical? Not, say, a bump on the head?"

'A blow to the head would not likely produce this kind of effect,' he says, shaking his head. 'Disorientation, yes, and severe headache as well. But the memory loss would be rather more selective than this, if it were the result of physical trauma. This has all the hallmarks of magical effect.'

He looks back over at Tom, and this time his expression is a little less intimidating than before.

'Mr Riddle. Do you have your wand with you?'

"My what? Oh, you mean my baton?"

Wand? He brings it out of his pocket.

It did seem to throw off sparks earlier.

"Wand? No, it can't be."

'A conductor would have a slightly thinner baton,' Merriman points out, 'and would not be likely to carry it around on his person.'

He hesitates, and then stoops to pick up a pebble from the ground.

'I am going to toss this pebble into the air, Mr Riddle. I want to you point the stick at the pebble as it falls, and as you do so, move the hand holding the wand like so.' He demonstrates a careful motion with his right hand. It certainly looks like an orchestra conductor's attempt to beat time...a sort of swish and flick. 'And as you move the stick, say two words aloud: Wingardium Leviosa. Can you do that?'

As he speaks, he moves to stand closer to Amy, essentially shielding her from Tom. The wand is pointing away from her, but if Tom's magic has been affected by the amnesia, he is not going to take any chances.

Amy's not entirely sure about this, though she's more sure about it than she would be if there were anyone but Professor Lyon here.

Still, she's perfectly happy to be out of the way.

He's holding the wand now, and it feels like it fits somehow. But this is rubbish.

Isn't it?

"I- can, if it will prove to you that this is all- not- It's rubbish. Simply ridiculous."

'Please do,' Merriman says, quite seriously. 'Think of it as an experiment, as it were.'

Which it is.

"Very well, then."

He gives Amy and Merriman one last look of skepticism, and then stares at the wand. Then he nods at the Professor.

The pebble is thrown into the air.

"Wingardium Leviosa," says Tom in a commanding voice that doesn't sound like himself at all.

The pebbles floats higher into the air on its own volition.

"Oh, I say..."

Since the pebble seems to be mostly behaving, Amy relaxes a little.

She's really not the sort to say I told you so, but it has been a very stressful sort of interlude, so perhaps she can be forgiven, just this once.

"See, Tom, I told you that you were a wizard. Barrister, indeed."

"No. I'm a- I'm- Good Lord, what am I?"

'A number of things, Mr Riddle,' Merriman says. '"Wizard" is the one we happen to be focusing on at the moment.'

He looks over at Amy. 'It might be advisable to take him back to the House. Door will certainly need to know about this -- and I do not think it is something that I can remedy. I will look into it, but I am not fond of tampering with magic without knowing if others are affected by it.'

Especially if, as his senses are telling him, it is something like the Wild Magic.

"And someone will need to check on Ingress," Amy says. "Yes.

"I suppose I can do that."

She turns back to Tom. "Door is your wife. And Ingress is her sister. Much younger. Almost like your daughter."

"Door? Ingress?"

He starts to throw the wand down on the ground, but changes his mind at the last minute.

"Look, I don't know who you two are or what you're going on about, but I'm- I'm not standing for it."

Unbeknownst to any of them at the moment, Door is busy in Hong Kong Below, and Ingress thinks they're both gone for a few days and is happily enjoying her childminder.

Tom turns on heel and walks back inside. This is madness.

Merriman considers stopping him, but decides against it. He merely lets out a breath, like a quiet sigh.

'It is most definitely magical,' he murmurs to Amy. 'It is far too complete to be anything but. And yet it is not a harmful kind of magic -- or at least, is not meant to be.'

There is a difference between the two. He knows it well.

"I don't know," says Amy, looking after the retreating figure of Tom. "It seems to have done a bit of harm anyway.

"I'll look in on Ingress, before I go back. And see if I can catch Door to explain.

"I suppose it could be worse."

Merriman nods. 'If he was not in control of his magic, it very well could be. That was why I wished to see if it had affected him in that way.'

Another sigh.

'And I had hoped for a peaceful Midsummer, for once,' he mutters, mostly to himself.

"Much worse, then," she agreed.

She gives him a slight smile.

"It's not quite midsummer at home, if you need a break from . . . whatever this latest absurdity is. You're always welcome. The sixteenth best bedroom is empty, at present."

Merriman returns the smile. 'That's most kind of you, Amy. I may very well accept it, once I determine that this is yet another absurdity that will run its course in time.'

He glances back at the bar for a moment, with a wry expression.

'How are you otherwise, this evening? All is well at home, I trust?'

Amy's instinct is that this is more "absurdity of the week" than "end of the end of the universe." Not that doesn't mean it can't (and won't) cause a host of problems, but it probably means they don't have to hope a house drops out of the sky before it's all over.

"You are always welcome," she says.

"And I'm quite well, aside from all this. Perry and Susan are well, and Meg Giry is visiting, and it's lovely to have company. My life is fairly quiet these days. Which is not necessarily bad, of course, but it can get a bit dull."

'If you are ever in need of company before things become busy once more,' he says, 'I would of course welcome a game or two of chess.'

He glances back at the bar again, and arches one eyebrow a fraction of an inch as he looks back at her.

'Shall we risk returning indoors? Or would you prefer to remain out here? There is still a while before sunset, after all, so we have time enough for a brief stroll if you feel comfortable doing so.'

Amy looks over at the door leading back into the bar.

"I know we should go back in and see if we can sort out what's going on, but I think I'd rather stay out here a bit longer.

"But I will promise you a game of chess at a later date."

Mary is also walking slowly around the edge of the lake, in the general direction of the bar.

(It's possible that she's mostly there to make sure her uncle is not still conked out unconscious on the grass, but that's neither here nor there.)

When she sees Mr. Lyon, she speeds up, changing direction a little.

"Mr. Lyon?" she calls, stiffly.

Merriman turns round in time to see Mary hastening towards him.

'Miss Lennox,' he says, with a nod. 'I received your note -- what has happened?'

His expression is serious, but not stern.

"I told Bran already - I did not know if he had told you."

Mary stands awkwardly still for a moment. Telling Merriman is difficult for an entirely different reason than telling Bran is - namely, he's more intimidating. (Not that Mary will ever admit this.)

Also, he gave her a book to study, and she doesn't deserve it.

"It was me told Galadan about Bran being Arthur's son."

Merriman's silence can indeed be intimidating, even when he doesn't mean it to be.

'I see,' is all he says, gravely.

There is a pause.

'Will you walk with me for a while, Miss Lennox, and tell me more about it?'

Mary nods, shifting her weight to the other foot so she can follow Mr. Lyon when he starts to walk.

"There is not a great deal to tell. He pretended to be my friend," she says - flat, but not as loud as usual - "and was not. He got me to say lots of things by pretending like that. It is why he spoke to me."

Merriman keeps his stride short and his pace slow, to ensure that Mary does not have to hurry to keep up with him.

'Because he knew that you knew Bran?' he asks.

"No. He did not know that I did."

Mary's steps are normal, but she somehow gives the impression of marching, regardless.

Toneless: "Only because I talk a lot, he said. And was likely to give things away."

Merriman's jaw tightens, and he takes a controlled breath.

'You are a very honest and forthright person, Miss Lennox,' he says, quietly. 'Quite possibly one of the most honest I have ever encountered, and if you consider how long I have been living that is saying quite a lot. It is a quality that I appreciate and value most highly. In this instance, however, it seems that your honesty was exploited -- and though I cannot say that you are entirely free from blame, the greater part of it most certainly does not lie with you.'

It will not do to be anything less than honest with Mary, even now.

'How long had you known Galadan, before you spoke to him about Bran Davies?'

Mary's head straightens, a little, at the comments on her honesty, though she doesn't flush or look pleased; as far as she is concerned, honest is the only wan a person should be.

She is not entirely free from blame, and she knows it - and because Merriman said it, she believes it a little more when he says it's not mostly her fault.

"I had spoken to him a few times, I think - I do not remember exactly. I did not know it was secret. And I liked him."

He accepts this explanation with a nod.

'Before Bran was born, his mother asked me to do whatever was in my power to keep him safe. She feared that my lord Arthur would not believe that Bran was truly his son -- for reasons which I believe you may know, having read the stories yourself.' Merriman sincerely hopes that will be enough to forestall any further talk of Guinevere's infidelity. 'But that was not the only reason why I helped her to bring him to a place where he would be safe. It was a harsh and brutal time, and there were any number of people who would have wanted to kill Bran before he could grow old enough to inherit the throne. So his very birth was kept secret...even from his father.'

He shakes his head a little, pushing aside the weariness that threatens to settle over him.

'From what I can tell, you would have had no reason to know that it was a secret. But you do know that Bran has faced enemies in Milliways before. You have seen them, and you have been harmed by them as well. And they are his enemies because of who he is -- the son of Arthur, born of the Pendragon bloodline.'

Mary looks, briefly, confused.

The witch, of course, he's talking about - but Mary has always considered Blodwen her personal enemy, to a certain degree. She's Bran's enemy too, of course. Because she's evil, and Bran is good. That she might be Bran's enemy because of his heritage is never a connection she'd quite made all the way.

It makes sense when Merriman puts it like that, of course.

"I suppose - I do know that," she says, a little slowly. "Or I do know now. But I had not thought of it that way before.

"And last time I was bespelled. It was different. I was not bespelled this time."

'This is true,' Merriman agrees. 'But you know now, and I know that you will certainly take care in future when speaking to others.'

It is a hard lesson to learn, the first time -- and the fact that Mary's indiscretion had put Bran's life in danger makes the lesson harder than most. Merriman is determined, however, that something good will come out of this.

'Who in Milliways do you trust, Miss Lennox? Can you name five individuals whom you would trust to be truthful to you or to keep you from harm -- and who are not from your own world?'

"Duo," Mary says, without hesitation.

"Wellard. Mr. Tam. Lucy. And Bran and Ingress - that is already six. And there are other people too. But those are the ones I think that I trust really."

'That is a good list to start with,' he replies, nodding. 'Now, if I had never met you before, and wished to know if you were trustworthy, then I would ask other people I trusted if they knew of you and what they thought of you. Grown-ups do this quite often -- when it comes in the form of a letter, it is known as "giving references". Like a servant's letter of good character, in a way.'

He stops walking, and turns to look at Mary. Still solemn, still serious, but only insofar as it emphasises the importance of what he is saying.

'It would be a bad thing if you started to wonder if every new person you met here was only pretending to be friendly with you,' he says. 'It is the sort of thing that someone like Galadan -- or Blodwen Rowlands -- would want you to think. But you can be careful without being suspicious...and checking with people you trust may help with that.'

Mary nods, rather thoughtfully.

"That is sensible - although they may be fooled as well. Wellard has been fooled lots and lots of times. But likely not all of them will be. It is a good idea."

It's possible she's already planning out her notebook.

"Do you> know of anybody else evil that I ought to be wary of? That might be pretending?"

Merriman opens his mouth, then closes it again to refrain from saying his first reply: How much time do you have?

'...we can certainly discuss this further, if you like,' he says, slowly. 'But I will need tea for it, before we begin.'

Possibly something stronger, depending on how the conversation goes.

Mary glances back towards the bar, and says, helpfully, "It is easy to get. I may get my notebook as well while we are inside."

She doesn't want to forget, after all.

If she is taking the suggestion this seriously...well, he will certainly not want to disappoint her.

The bar may be touched with madness and memory loss on this Midsummer's evening, but a quiet corner may always be found somewhere. And in the midst of any discussion of those who cannot be trusted, he will give her the names of a few people who can be trusted, and are not already on her list.