Short Story: False Heir To The Throne Of Camelot

Merlin nodded, fighting back a yawn, hoping to get to bed; however, the Innkeeper preferred to waste the early morning hours reliving every moment he had spent in the company of one Morgana Pendragon, False Heir to the Throne of Camelot. At first, Merlin had sympathised with his shock, but now the Innkeeper’s exclamations of dismay, disbelief and faith lost in human honesty altogether were becoming irritating. In truth, he could no longer tell whether the Innkeeper was still as shocked as he claimed, or simply relishing the opportunity to spread the word about town.

“It 's imperative that you keep this information to yourself, Sir,” he said, cutting through a second speech. “We don 't want the ordinary people to panic.”

“Yes, yes... But

Instead, he nodded again.

“Never seen such calm deceit in my life! Can I ever trust anyone again? Can I even trust you?”

“Sir, let 's not fall into wild paranoia.”

“Ah, you 're right. I can tell an honourable man when I see one, indeed...”

This rather conflicted with the Innkeeper 's previous claim that no one was trustworthy.

Tired of these contradictions, Merlin glanced around, wondering where the merchants had gone. They had been with him when he arrived at the Inn, but when he had enquired after Lord Edwin, they had disappeared altogether. Then again, he hadn 't spoken to them much on the way to here either; after discovering that he knew nothing about the current price of cloth, none of the merchants had anything more to say to him. Still, if one of them could conveniently interrupt this conversation, he would be grateful.

This silent request went unanswered.

“Sir, if you don 't mind, I 'd like to lie down. It 's been a long trip.”

“Of course, of course. There 's a room upstairs with a fantastic view of the town-- by the Gods, that 's my best room and I offered it to that