Chapter 6. The King of Thieves

Late April

I shouldn't have sent them back. Arthur watched the guards lead his and Merlin's horses towards Camelot. Now I actually have to talk to him.

Merlin complicated everything.

Camelot had settled into stability. The knights were a great force, and growing. They'd had good harvests and were economically sound. His alliances grew stronger, and he had time to make others. The Druids were accepted, Morgana and the magic users would have a place to be, separate from the main citizens.

Then, Merlin: smashing everything up as if rules didn't apply to him.

Arthur preferred to be decisive, but this was a monumental choice that would alter the trajectory of Camelot's future. This trip, the physical distraction of it, would give him mental space from it. But he'd invited Merlin along for a purpose. In the back of his mind, he believed that by the end of this trip he'd make his decision.

Merlin glared back at him, and Arthur shook his own glare away and pinched his nose. "Let's just get a move on," he said, eyeing the shadowed peaks of the coastal town of Saltmaw up ahead. To their right ran the river that divided the city and spilled into the sea.

"Is the plan to meet with Nain?"

Merlin referred to the citylord, who they'd only ever met via letter. The man was tough to the point that Arthur questioned his own masculinity. Worse still, he'd heard Nain was at least a foot taller than him, too.

"If the plan were to meet him, why would I be dressed as a peasant and sending our horses away?"

"I never said you were brilliant."

Arthur adjusted the mundane sword and scabbard at his hip– Excalibur back in Camelot and leaving an itch in his side– but altogether ignored Merlin's jab. "Where are we?"

"You don't know?"

"Do you?"

Merlin huffed and pulled out the map. "We're by the river, and right there is Back Bridge, so if we keep going straight, we'll be between docks seven and eight."

"We're on the road my salt wagons take from Saltmaw to Camelot. The plan is to find one of my wagons or the storehouse and watch for what's happening to the salt shipments."

"Sounds as exciting as traveling on horseback in silence."

"And here I was thinking you'd finally learned to keep your mouth shut."

Living huts packed tighter together, and soon bled into shops, inns, warehouses, and the general stench of a city. They used the map to cross over Button Bridge and track down a suite of warehouses that would hold shipments specifically for Camelot. In place of a monetary tax, traders provided bags or barrels of salt, and so sold the rest throughout the country for whatever price they wished. Those traders had complained of impossibly gifted thieves and not enough guards.

Arthur held his index finger up and turned it in a tight circle, the sign for 'surround the warehouse'.

"You could really just say, Let's walk around and inspect it," Merlin said.

True. It was a wooden structure with a tar roof, made up of eight separate, lockable chambers. Each chamber was about the size of the royal stables, and each of the eight doors were made of sturdy wood with iron bracing. Arthur tried shaking one, but it held strong.

"Well I don't see how the thieves are getting in," Arthur said.

"I could teleport us in," Merlin said.

Right, he'd seen that skill from Merlin a few times now.

"Do you think that's what's happening? A sorcerer thief?" He puzzled at the door longer, and when Merlin didn't answer, turned to see Merlin looking at him shrewdly. "I'm not going to break out a pyre, just tell me the truth."

Merlin sighed. "It's possible. But it's a difficult and draining spell, especially for far distances or large packages. If we have a 'sorcerer thief', they have another warehouse right around here that they're teleporting everything into." He shrugged, "Or there is another very powerful sorcerer in Albion, and he's decided to steal your salt for fun."

Geoffrey had looked at the records. The tradesman due to arrive in the next week had been requisitioned... Arthur pointed at the door marked with a bronze Two. "We'll hide out inside overnight."

And with sunset approaching, that gave them just enough time for a quick bite and to inspect the nearby dwellings for secret sorcerer salt storehouses.

The waterproof tar of the roof made for a room too dark for Merlin to see his own nose. His mind played tricks on him, imagining that it could see Arthur sitting primely on a box near the sealed door. The sounds of him shifting, or shuffling, was the only way to draw that conclusion.

"Shh," Arthur whispered.

"It's not me," he whispered back.

The shuffling came from above, and a moon beam soon struck from the roof to create a dim halo on the wooden floor. He and Arthur shrunk away from the light, and a pair of cloth-wrapped feet swung through the hole.

A youth squeezed through, hanging from his fingertips before falling the rest of the way with a soft thunk. He held out his arms, and someone dropped a bundle of sticks into them.

Arthur stayed silent, so Merlin stayed hidden as well.

The youth drug a bag of salt into the light, and ripped at the burlap with his hands. Then he pulled one of the sticks from the bundle, pulled something from the top– a cork? These were hollow sticks then– he stuck that canister between his knees and poured salt into the top.

When he'd finished the stack of rods, only the one salt bag had been emptied. He tied the bundle back together and waited in the moonbeam.

"Psst!" He hissed. "Where'd you go, you loons?"

"Sorry," a boyish face poked over the hole. He was young, that one, just a child. "We've seen guards, close."

The youth stood quietly, thinking. Then he divided the bundle into two, using the burlap sack to tie the second. "Each of you take one. Then you two scoot, opposite ways. Find a safe space to hide out till morning, we'll meet up home then."

He launched a bundle up through the hole, and the boy caught it. "What about Sir?"

"I'll wait for him alone," the youth said, tossing up the second bundle.

The boy nodded and stole away, and the youth padded softly to the front door. He put his hand over the lock, took a deep breath, then in the Old Tongue whispered "Open."

Magic!

Arthur had taken a position near the door, and had to crouch as the youth approached. It gave him a very clear look at the gold turn of the youth's eyes as he unlocked the door.

So Saltmaw did have a sorcerer thief, but the scrawniness of the boy belied that he was likely a novice in both professions.

The youth jerked and swiveled his head. "Where are you, how'd you do that?"

He held his head, paused, eyes going wide. Then he swiveled, panicking. Great, what had Merlin done now?

Arthur stepped out of the dark corner, hand outstretched, "Hey kid, it's alright."

The youth jumped, took one look at Arthur, then yelped. To the roof he called "Run, run! The guards are already inside!"

"Shh!" Arthur said, "We're not guards, not really."

Merlin came out of his spot, looking guilty. "It's okay, you're not in trouble. We just had a few questions–"

The door yanked open, silhouetting a group of guards in the street. The lead guard whipped out a sword and grinned. "Caught at last!"

Arthur paced in their cage. The youth had his back to a corner, and Merlin lounged on the bars, watching them.

"How's your plan going, Arthur?"

"Telling the guards the truth was better, they don't get hurt doing their job, and we don't lose him during a scuffle." He jerked a finger over his shoulder at the kid. "So by that logic, I'd say it's going as planned."

Merlin shook his head. "This plan of yours gets more brilliant by the hour."

Whatever, let Merlin think what he wanted, it was Merlin's fault it went bottoms-up. When Nain got here and heard the truth this would all go away.

He heard voices, and boots clomping on stone. Two guards carrying torches flanked a giant of a man, and Arthur positioned himself in parade rest at the bars. Nain was more impressive in person, broad-shouldered and over six feet tall.

Nain… wait a minute. They stopped before the gate and Arthur fumbled his words. "C-Citylord Nain?"

Nain grinned, and she– and it was a she– leaned forward and inspected Arthur. "You have vexed me many months, man. You are less than what I imagined."

"I don't think the Citylord believes you're King Arthur," Merlin said dryly.

"Citylord Nain, this is a misunderstanding. I am the King of Camelot. Myself and my manservant were hiding in the warehouse with the intention of catching the thieves."

"Ah, yes," Nain said. "Do you have proof of who you say you are? I inspected your sword before arrival, and it certainly is no Excalibur."

"I was undercover," he said, frowning. He hadn't carried any sigils in the pouch they'd apprehended. He'd only brought coins. "Oh, my face would be on recent coinage!"

Nain chortled, "Unfortunately that is too vague an image to go off of. Well, King Arthur the Salt Thief, you will be spending at least two days in this cell. I will write to Camelot."

She walked away, leaving him too embarrassed to turn and face Merlin. But it was the youth who called him out:

"You're a conner, and you don't know the Citylord's a fem?"

Arthur winced. "Do you think she noticed I was surprised?"

"Everyone noticed, Arthur," Merlin laughed.

"Who are you really?" The youth said. "Why you conning me? Is your name really Arthur?"

"He really is the king," Merlin said. "You think he could fake being that much of a prat?"

Alright, enough of that. "Who are you, kid? What were you doing in my salt stores? Who was that 'sir' you were waiting for?"

The youth looked distrustfully at both he and Merlin. "Doesn't matter. I'm out of here." He pushed away from the corner, put his hand over the door and whispered a garbled magic word. The spell worked for the second time, sliding the lock out of place. Maybe that was the only spell he knew.

Merlin, still leaning against the bars and watching the youth crack the door open said, "Where'd you learn that word?"

"Not telling," he muttered. "I suppose you want it for yourself?" He eyed Merlin. "You did that trick with the talking in my mind. How'd you do that?"

"How about you come back inside the cell, and we can trade a few secrets and think of the safest way out of this building?"

The youth looked towards the empty corridor, eager for freedom, but he didn't make for it. That thirst for knowledge, Arthur guessed, kept him there. Arthur could relate.

"My name is Merlin. I'm a farmboy. But I've been using magic since I was a kid."

The youth muttered, "I'm Bluestreak."

"I've got a spell for sleeping. It's good for sneaking past a group of guards. Let's try it out on Arthur?"

"I don't want to be asleep while you teach him," Arthur burst. He'd never seen Merlin explain magic calmly. He wanted to hear this.

"Oh," Merlin said, bolting to attention. "Yeah, of course. I still need you for him to practice on, but I'll wake you straight up, I promise it."

Arthur folded his arms and sat cross-legged on the ground, wiggling so his back was to the stone. If he was knocked out, hopefully he'd not look too silly.

Merlin crouched down next to Bluestreak and explained the word that put people to sleep. Merlin looked comfortable talking about magic, almost happy– it was novel. Hesitant, Bluestreak repeated the spell. The first times came out garbled, then….

Static shocked him awake, and Arthur rubbed his arm. Merlin grinned at Bluestreak, "Good job, now let's see if you can do the same without saying the spell aloud."

He was so open, Arthur thought, watching Merlin with such an honest grin. It bothered him on a deep level that Merlin had trusted so many other people with information like this, but couldn't share it with him. It hurt to feel less than, to be thought of as too undeveloped, too unable to handle the truth.

Bluestreak scowled at Arthur, hand outstretched. Arthur felt his eyelids drooping, exhaustion taking him, but shook himself awake.

Arthur looked to Merlin, unwilling to say anything and break the flow of information. Merlin's eyes shifted back to blue, and he blinked and turned to Bluestreak. "That was good, that blanket you're imagining? Imagine each thread, imagine them pulled tight… uh oh."

Bluestreak snored.

"Well, I didn't know that was possible," Merlin said with raised eyebrows, which he turned to Arthur, who snorted. "That could come in useful."

"Do you have many sleepless nights, Merlin?"

"I have enough." Merlin tilted his head, in that way he did when you'd confused him; doltish ears up and out, listening like a hound's.

"What are you thinking? I want to know, seriously, Merlin."

Merlin smiled, "I was wondering if it was possible to come up with some sort of alert system, where I could wake up if something happened. Maybe a trip line type thing, that pulls or unravels the blanket?"

"Is the spell really a blanket? You can see it?"

"Yeah, it's," he looked sheepish, "It's one of the weird things only I can do, so far." He perked up, "I wonder if I could show you."

Arthur nearly flinched away, but swallowed his bias. Merlin grabbed his arm and furrowed his brows, eyes fading into gold. Arthur felt a tingle, and he had a moment of hope… but no, of course he wouldn't be able to see anything.

Merlin pulled away, disappointed as well. "It was worth a shot."

"It was," Arthur agreed, "but it's time to wake him up, and finish his lesson. I want to find this Sir fellow before the night is out."

Over the next hour Bluestreak never quite got the non-verbal spell under control, but Arthur figured if the kid was sneaky enough, he could still use that onset of drowsiness to his advantage in a pinch. Wait a minute– was he helping this kid steal more from Camelot?

Regardless, it was quite obvious to him now that the prison in Camelot was pitifully guarded. Even this largely self-taught kid could likely escape it.

Together, Bluestreak used his newfound skills under Merlin's guidance, and the three of them escaped into the night without trouble. After some convincing, Bluestreak led them on to the docks where a well-lit ship rocked in port.

"So, 'Sir' is a pirate," Arthur said. The three of them crouched behind a hitched wagon while Bluestreak kept on a lookout.

"What's your plan now, Salt King?" Bluestreak said.

"A few hours, and he's already spent too much time with you," Arthur said to Merlin.

Merlin had a faraway look on his eyes, and he swiveled to put his back to the wagon, then frowned. "Something wrong happened in that boat." He hesitated for a moment, glanced at Arthur, and surged with confidence. "There's corrupted magic surrounding one of the cabins. Some might call it dark magic, but it happens when someone turns magic in on itself, destroying it."

"You want a closer look?"

Merlin nodded.

"Alright, I guess I'm the distraction."

Merlin closed his eyes, imagined the tight tunnel that would take him to the center of that cabin, then surrendered.

Half a breath later he crouched in the dark of the cabin, empty of sailors and guests. With a quick thought he stuck the door shut; it would be enough of a warning if someone tried to enter. Then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, peeking through the veil into the whirlwind of magic.

The buzzing hit him first. Had it changed, slightly? It seemed to undulate in a rhythm.

Shaking that off knowing he had limited time, he tried to see through the storm for the spell remnants that remained.

There were chains of true magic, tendrils still gripping things here and there. Enough to think it had been at least weeks, perhaps a month or two, since the event. He breathed in, channeling the wild magic. The fragment spells passed through him, churned and escaped as he breathed out– he didn't try to keep them.

Silence, he felt, one spell had called for quiet. Sharp smell of oil, tracking spell. Twisting, like his heart bent into knots within him. Merlin flinched away.

His eyes opened and he frowned. Dark magic, magic inverted on itself. He could read nothing from it despite being closer to its source. It just felt wrong. Terrible and sickening. He hated that he'd even touched it.

He pulled back from the Veil, and that rhythmic buzz faded to near silence. Wait– what was that near the door? A spell on the door, who had cast that?

A spell for holding the door shut, making it stick. Wait, he'd done that. When he'd first arrived, he'd sent a quick thought for the door. Trying to remember that felt like holding leeches, the thought slipped away faster the harder he tried to hold it.

He shook himself, brushing hands down his arms as if trying to wash off an insect. The dark magic had taken that memory from him. Is that what the spell did? A spellcaster had wiped someone's memories here– likely the crew's. Someone didn't want to be remembered. Worse still, they'd done something truly evil.

It was enough to know the pirates were no threat, beyond Arthur's salt, but also enough to know there was another dangerous spellcaster loose in Albion. What had they been doing here?

This was all magic could tell him, and he doubted the spellcaster had left anything behind in this cabin. But Arthur was buying him time, and he should take advantage of it.

Bluestreak's Sir had a beard so wiry it could have been mistaken for a steel brush. He stood on the gangplank, scowling at the youth.

From behind a nearby vantage, Arthur planned his attack. Three men flanked the pirate captain.

"Got captured, Sir," he said. "But I escaped."

All four pirates had scabbarded swords, and they'd see him before he could use the surprise of his hiding spot. Though, that was in normal circumstances. Arthur wasn't used to having a sorcerer on his side. Or, rather, knowing he had a sorcerer on his side.

"Who captured you? You working for the citylord now? You forgetting who pays you?"

"I ain't forget."

From what Bluestreak had told him in their brief battle plan, this pirate wasn't a guy you crossed wrong. Fortunately, the kid had decided the offer to join Arthur's thieving crew was worth a little mutiny.

The pirate narrowed his eyes. "Night's nuts, boy, what's got you so ballsy?"

"Better offer," Bluestreak said then hissed the spell for sleep.

The captain stumbled, and Arthur burst forward. He barreled into one of the crewmen, stealing his sword in the process, then turned and sliced that sword into another crewman's head.

The man he'd bodychecked recovered, trying for a grapple. Arthur dodged and caught the third man's sword with the hilt of his own. He kicked, toppling that man and swinging back for the other, who had to duck and scramble.

Bluestreak hissed another spell, and the remaining swordsman's belt unlooped, pants sliding down. Useful.

The captain was shaking the drowsiness off but Arthur was there first, slapping him with the flat of the blade, knocking the man prone.

"You got it?" Arthur asked.

Bluestreak nodded, tossing a bag of the pirate's coins in the air. Not like Arthur needed the money, but it made for a good excuse.

Other pirates were running across the deck of the ship, some carrying swords or knives. A dagger flew past Arthur's face. "Go!" Arthur yelled, tossing his stolen sword into the water, then chased Bluestreak back into the city. They got a bit of a lead before he heard boots after them.

The kid ran like the wind, and Arthur felt like his legs were pinwheeling. He hadn't run this fast since… he didn't know. He was always in armor. But together they blew through the streets, leaping refuse, blind except for the moon and occasional torch. His head steamed and his legs burned.

Then, blessedly, they approached an area he recognized. The warehouses, his warehouses– and Nain's guards were still here, as he'd hoped.

"Pirates!" Bluestreak yelled, running for them.

"They're after us!" Arthur continued, "Arrest them!"

The kid dodged through, but Arthur tripped up. Another of Bluestreak's spells saved him– the guard nodded off for a split second, which was enough for Arthur to pull away and escape. The guards split, some following he and Bluestreak, the others going after the pirates.

Bluestreak dodged down an alley and Arthur followed, but Bluestreak was already scrambling up onto a roof.

"I can't do that!"

The guard that had nearly grabbed him turned into the alley, sword out. "Come quietly," he said. "If you're innocent there's no reason to run."

Arthur put up his hands, and Merlin popped into existence to his right. He was facing the wrong direction.

"The man with the sword is this way, Merlin."

"Oh," he turned. "Have we been captured again?"

"Well you could un-capture us."

"For once, Arthur, a good plan." Merlin grinned. His eyes flashed gold, and the guard crumpled.

Arthur and the children– Bluestreak and his two friends– snored softly while Merlin returned from his trips to Camelot and Citylord Nain's household. He'd snuck in some proof of Arthur's kingship.

Bluestreak's current hideout was a small, previously locked boathouse. Water from the river flowed through opposing grates, lapping against two rowboats which rocked in the waves.

Merlin launched a few motes of soft blue light, setting the room aglow. The three children slept in the boats while Arthur, snoring too loud to be on watch, sat on the wall by Merlin's feet, arms crossed, head tilted back, throat exposed for potential assassins.

Merlin shook his head and poked Arthur on the shoulder. Arthur blinked awake.

"I delivered the letter, though I think Nain is more likely to think we stole the King's seal on top of his salt."

Arthur licked at his teeth, likely scummy from sleep. "My salt." He rubbed his face into better wakefulness. "She'll send a messenger to Camelot to confirm, and by then we'll already be back."

"Does that mean you're ready to let me teleport you?"

Merlin expected another well-concealed flinch, but instead Arthur looked to the children. Merlin grinned, "To quote Leon: another stray, Arthur?"

"I told them they could join our crew."

"Crew?"

"In Camelot, I said we had a well-established ruse. There, many people believe I'm the king."

"Well you do have the nose for it."

"I said I could hustle them some jobs as messengers. And that Bluestreak could get more training… from you."

Arthur gazed sidelong at Merlin, who tried to keep it more together, he really did. His heart thundered and his hands trembled. He tried to cover it by getting on to the ground next to Arthur, leaning back on the wall with him.

"You okay?"

So he didn't cover it as well as he'd hoped. "Gaius asked for healing magic to be temporarily legalized, what you're saying isn't that."

"No," Arthur said, "but I'd like to get a handle on the aftershocks– politically, economically, socially…" he flapped his hand. "There are a lot of details we need to work out with the Council. Ultimately I see the law treating magic like a knife, you can have one and use it for yourself, but if you use it against others… something like that." Arthur frowned. "We have to keep this in Camelot's walls until we have magical knights or guards we can send to command posts throughout the kingdom."

It wasn't decrees across the land or golden speeches, but it was a proper plan to accept and free magic users in Camelot, and Merlin wanted to cry. Or scream for Kilgharrah, or dance with the Druids, or find Gaius and hug him, where he'd probably end up crying again.

"Also, you're fired."

"Excuse me?"

"I think," Arthur rubbed at his head. "Like I said, details."

"I'm not good at details, but Gaius and the Round Table–"

"Right, that's why you're fired."

"What?"

"You have to be at the table Merlin. This is too important."

The Round Table, surrounded by his closest friends, equal from all angles. He'd always hung back, stayed just behind Arthur. It seemed too hallowed a concept to ruin with his then secret illegal abilities. Now though, could he claim that trust and fellowship again? Had he really not lost it all?

Arthur looked at the boats rocking, water churning close to their feet as waves lapped on the sloped dock. The children breathed on, softly, and one of Merlin's blue lights drifted close, lighting Arthur's face like moonlight might.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Arthur asked. "All those years ago when I raced to save your life. You've been working in the shadows all these years to help and protect me." His lips pressed together, troubled.

"Have you really forgiven me, Arthur?"

Arthur was silent for a long while. "I trust you to do your job. I trust you to protect Camelot and all of our friends. I forgive you for lying to me." He paused. "I think I even forgive you for keeping the truth from me while you told others. I can understand your logic."

But he hadn't said it with a grin. But what, Arthur? Just say it please, I need to know where I stand.

"But forgiveness isn't the same as returning to what was there before. You were so willing to share with others what you wouldn't tell me. I considered you a best friend, and you considered me… unworthy."

"Never unworthy, Arthur."

"Whatever word you want to use. I still feel… foolish."

"I'm so sorry." The words didn't seem deep enough to convey how truly he meant them.

Arthur stared into the middle distance for another short span, then focused again on the light bobbing before his face. He passed a finger into the blue mote. "It's warm," he said quietly. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too."

Merlin pulled his knees up, crossed his arms across them to lean against as he studied Arthur's face. Together they listened to the children breathe, the water churn, and the magic dance. "I forgave you a long time ago, for the ways that the ban and your actions against magic hurt me." He paused, then for levity's sake he added, "But there's another thing I need your forgiveness for."

Arthur turned to him, tiredly asking, "And what is that?"

"I cheat at dice."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, but a ghost of a grin worked at his mouth. "You rat. I knew it."

It's OK sung by Nightbirde

It's amazing how much I can miss writing Arthur / Merlin banter, and how I'll never get tired of rereading that banter. And I'm glad these boys realized they needed to apologize to each other. Should be a step in the right direction.

OCs were a bit of fun and fresh air to write. Night's nuts is my new favorite curse, good job there Sir the pirate.

Next time: The Mother. Our femme fatales drive fate a little further forward.