Merlin & The Mad #2

Part 2

MERLIN & THE MAD #2

By

Michael A. Wolf

 

            “Stop it!”  Merlin demanded as they drove through the city on a warm and sunny day that neither of them liked.  “Stop saying Herkus Circus.”

            “Sounds like a magic spell, eh old conjurer?”  The Mad responded.  He appeared to be in a good humor; but with The Hatter anything was possible.  “Why are we going to see Mr. Circus?”

            “Herkus.”  Merlin corrected.  “He wants us to check out a possible haunting at his home in Greenstone.”  The wizard piloted the car deftly, adroitly and in many other similar terms, out of the city and to the suburbs that buffered gleaming, man-made towers and the beautiful, tree-lined countryside.  Had either of them truly believed in the majesty of Nature, the drive would have appealed to their hearts and souls.  Luckily, neither had to worry about such things, and thus efficiency was not hindered by appreciation.  Harsh, yes?  Indeed.

            Merlin pulled the car up to a large wrought iron gate that held an over-sized ‘H.’ Of course, who’s to really say what is over-sized?  It was only two meters or so square.  Perhaps to Mr. Herkus that was perfectly reasonable…or even small.  Yes, it was far too tiny.  He would have to be spoken to about increasing the immensity of his H. 

            The intercom-talky-box-thingy crackled on (no, it was wonderfully clear) as soon as the car stopped.

            “Yes?” came the voice.

            “Merlin Emerys here to see Mr. Herkus.” The wizard responded.  The gate opened and they entered the grounds of the Herkus Estate.

            The front door was answered by the owner of the intercom voice.  He was tall, and butlery, with thick black hair and a crisp, expensive-looking suit.  He smiled just a bit when he spoke.

            “Gentlemen, welcome to what was clearly stated earlier as The Herkus Estate.  I am Stebbings, and at your service.  If you’ll please step this way, Mr. Herkus is in the…”

            “There’s a rider.” The Hatter interrupted. 

            “A what?” Merlin asked, glaring at his partner.

            “Somewhere, there is a rider, upon a fine horse.”  Then The Mad made a tongue clicking kind of sound which is too difficult to write.  “I used to know a poem about a horse.  It was beautiful.”

            “All poetry is beautiful, sir.”  Stebbings said.

            “No.” The Mad countered.  “The horse.”  Then he turned from the open door and made his way toward whatever he sought.  As that was the way he usually worked, Merlin did nothing to stop him.

            “So,” the wizard addressed Stebbings, “Shall we proceed to Mr. Herkus?”

 

                                                                        *

 

            Yes, the point of view of The Mad Hatter.  He sauntered around the structure of the main house and looked out over a large area of green that made up a vast portion of the Herkus Estate grounds.  There was a certainty to his stride; and he was as focused as a madman can be.  The Hatter took deep breaths and walked with his eyes closed for a good long time.  It wasn’t his visual center that urged him on, but the knowledge that what he was doing was right and true and needed to be done.  Where was he again?  Oh, the questions that pop up in the mind of one filled with riddles.  He answered three (silently) and continued moving.  Soon, he was alongside a well-constructed fence.  Perhaps it was part of a corral.  He hardly cared.  A rider.  The rider came up to the spot where The Mad stood, but stayed on her side of the fence.

            “She’s a beauty, eh?”  The young woman asked, indicating the horse.

            “Like a poem.” The Mad said.

            “You dress strangely.” She said.  “Are you a performer of some kind?”

            “I will lie and say I have no idea to what you are referring.”

            “You’re in a top hat, black and white clothes and a frock coat.” She explained for the benefit of the reader.  “Don’t see that a lot.”

            “Then I offer you this.” He said, handing her a business card.  She reached down, kept her eyes on him and took it.

            “M. Hatter,” she said, reading.  “One Half of a Team.”  She looked back at The Mad.  “I don’t understand.”

            “But of course you do.  Otherwise you would have ridden on.”  He stepped two paces from the fence.  “I offer you the chance to see this kind of clothing again…and more often.  Since that appears to be a concern of yours.”

            She giggled and said, “You make me laugh.”  Which was, by this time, obvious.  “My name is Kaye.”

            “Herkus?” He asked, in a not-at-all-mad fashion.  Strange.

            “Finnabair.  Mr. Herkus is my Uncle.  He lets me board my horse here.”

            “So, you live in the city.” The Mad concluded.  He stepped forward and placed a hand on the top fence rail.  Kaye turned her mount so that she was fully in right profile to The Hatter.  He waited for her answer and watched closely as she looked in almost every direction but his.

            “Why are you here?”  She finally asked.

            “Something is haunting.” The Mad said.

            “Ah, I see.” Kaye replied, still looking away.  The horse stayed remarkably still during their exchange.  “Jefferson Park.”

            “No, right here.”  He said, using the same joke twice. 

            “It’s my neighborhood.”  And she made the exact tongue clicking sound as The Hatter had; as had The Mad, and rode off on the horse she had neglected to introduce.

            “What rhymes with brief?” The Hatter asked himself.

 

                                                            *