“I can’t imagine why. It tastes awful,” Britt complained.
“It also had some Valerian extract in it, which would account for the taste,” Merlin said as he watched Britt shakily stand. “That is it?” he asked as Britt made a small circuit around him. “No more panicking? You aren’t going to shed a thousand tears?”
“Nope,” Britt said, watching her feet as she walked. “No sense but to keep dreaming,” she muttered under her breath as she adjusted the straps on her backpack.
Merlin hummed in approval. “Excellent. I think you will make a great king, Britt Arthurs. You handle unexpected situations quite well. I don’t think you will face such a mind boggling situation as King as you did right now. Well done.”
Britt snorted but finally lifted her gaze and rolled her shoulders back. “Alright, what next?” If this was a dream it was best to play along.
“We prepare you for pulling the sword from the stone. Officially like, that is to say. Come. New clothes are in order—you must be positively chilled in that garb—and I must introduce you to your family,” Merlin said, weaving his way to the back of the cemetery before ducking into the church.
Twenty minutes later Britt uncomfortably shifted her weight as she stood for inspection under Merlin’s critical gaze.
She was wearing a tunic. A blue tunic that matched the shade of her eyes and hit her knees. Beneath the tunic she wore an inner tunic made of linen that stuck to her like a second skin. She also had on hose, or chausses as Merlin called them. Britt almost laughed in his face when the man explained that instead of wearing pants, men wore drawers, the tunic, and the fitted socks/chausses. The final piece of her ensemble was a stuffed doublet, which was worn under her outer tunic in an attempt to flatten her chest. It worked. She was as flat as a board and more than a little grateful for the extra layer in the cold weather.
“When you are king your curves will be easier to hide as it will be acceptable for you to wear armor. But for now you are nothing but a squire, so this will have to do,” Merlin said, selecting a belt.
Britt cinched it around her waist. “You’re going to hide my gender then?”
“Yes,” Merlin said, picking up a comb and leather cord. “I understand that the sword found you a worthy candidate in spite of your sex. All of my cohorts will understand as well, so they will be informed of the situation. The people I want to hide you from are your enemies—the greedy, tyrant kings we seek to overthrow—and the general population. Peasants are a rather super suspicious sort of folk.”
“I don’t see how this will work, then. My hair is long and I’ve got a girly face.”
“Your hair may be long for your time period, but here it is common practice for women to have hair to their lower back, or occasionally even their knees. Your hair is actually rather manly—if a bit better kept,” Merlin said, handing Britt the comb and cord. “Tie the upper half of your hair back, yes like that.”
“Gee, thanks,” Britt said as she tied off her hair.
“As for your features, they are unfortunately delicate. But that can be easily explained. We will say you have some faerie blood in your family. Everyone knows faeries are fine and beautiful, and no one will think twice about the matter. Perfect, you look just like a strapping young boy of 15. You are tall for your age, but that will be advantageous. Arthur couldn’t quite manage a beard yet, so I dare say no one will question your lack of facial hair between your age and the faerie blood.”
“Fairies? Those aren’t real.”
Merlin flicked Britt in the forehead with his pointer finger. “Of course they are. Don’t insult them or they’ll ruin your life. Now for your family. Sir Ector, Sir Kay, enter as you will,” Merlin said, turning to shout the words into the hallway.
Merlin’s graveyard minions trooped into the room, standing at attention.
“Sirs, this is our new King: Britt Arthurs. From henceforth you are to refer to her as Arthur. And a him. The sword has judged her to be worthy candidate, and she pulled the sword from the stone unaided,” Merlin said, planting his hands on his hips.
“My King,” the two men murmured, kneeling before Britt—who was unconvinced of the show of devotion.
“Britt Arthurs, I present to you Sir Ector and his son Sir Kay. Sir Ector took you in when you were but a babe and lovingly raised you as if you were his own son,” Merlin said, gesturing to the shorter, portly figure.
Sir Ector had a fierce beard and large ears. His eyes were kind and his stout belly jingled as he smiled, but Britt found herself prejudice against the man.
Britt’s father had left her mother when she was ten. As far as she was concerned fathers were unnecessary cranks in the mechanics of life. It was unlikely this man would be of any help to her at all.