set in stone, page 1
part #15 of Twisted Tales (Disney) Series
AUTUMN
PUBLISHING
Published in 2023 First published in the UK by Autumn Publishing An imprint of Igloo Books Ltd Cottage Farm, NN6 OBJ, UK Owned by Bonnier Books Sveavflgen 56, Stockholm, Sweden www.igloobooks.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted In any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any Information storage and retrieval system, without permission In writing from the publisher.
0323 001 2468 109753 1 ISBN 978-1-80368-543-4
Cover illustrated by Giuseppe Di Maio
Printed and manufactured in the EU
SET IN STONE
A TWISTED TALE NOVEL
To all my once and future readers - you make this all worthwhile.
—
PROLOGUE
Bermuda - Present Day
"Higgidis... piggidisI Alakazoom! No, that's not right. That's not right at all!" -
The waiter frowned as he approached the elderly man with the long white beard who had been collapsed on a deckchair in front of the resort's main pool for the past four hours, mumbling to himself. He was dressed like an overenthusiastic tourist, wearing a baseball cap, loud striped shirt and yellow shorts with little palm trees printed down the sides. On his feet were red Converse trainers, and a pair of yellow sunglasses obscured his eyes.
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Ugh. Why do they always end up in my section? the waiter wondered before clearing his throat.
"Urn, sir?" he tried. "Are you... all right?"
The man jerked at the sound of the voice, his baseball cap flying from his head and landing in the pool. He stared up at the waiter, pulling his sunglasses down his hooked nose, revealing a pair of piercing blue eyes that seemed far too sharp for an old man's face.
"Am I all right?" he repeated, as if astounded by the question. "Did you just ask me if I'm all right?"
"Urn, yes?" The waiter took a small step backwards as the man struggled to get out of his chair, somehow managing to get his foot stuck in the straps in the process. When he tried to yank his foot free, the chair flew backwards, bonking him on the nose. The waiter flinched as the man let out a stream of nonsense words that seemed to be meant as curses — though none the waiter had ever heard before. Oh, dear. Maybe he should have left the gentleman well enough alone. Still, he was almost off his shift, and he needed to cash everyone out before he left.
"Can I... get you something?" he ventured. "The bill, perhaps?"
"Bill? Please! I don't need a bill! I need a time machine. I don't suppose you have one of those on the menu, do you,
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my boy?" The man ripped off his sunglasses and stared at the waiter, almost accusingly.
The waiter sighed, reaching lor his mobile phone. It appeared he was going to need some backup on this one. 'Tin so sorry, sir," he said as he frantically texu-d hotel security. "But I'm afraid we're fresh out of time machines here a! the Bermuda Dunes Hotel." Was this man even a guest at the resort? Or had he wandered in from somewhere off the beach?
The man groaned loudly and stroked his rather impressive white beard. The waiter found himself wondering just how many years it would take to grow a beard of that magnitude. "I'm sorry," the man said. "It's jusl... Tin a bit out of sorts today, you understand. After all, time travel does quite a number on one's noggin, especially if you do it twenty-three times in a row."
"Of course it does," the waiter agreed politely. The guests are never wrong. "I'm, uh, always saying that to my wile."
The man nodded as if this made perfect sense. "It wasn't intentional, of course. All I wanted to do was spend a few days in 1960s Bermuda - get a little warmed up after spending all those weeks in a cold leaky tower." He peered at the waiter. "I mean, is that so wrong?"
The waiter agreed this sounded more than reasonable.
"But after a short R and R, I was ready to go home — back to medieval England. Which should have been a mere
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hop in the park for an accomplished wizard like myself. But instead, after casting my spell, I found myself still here in Bermuda - this time in the year 2634." He glanced around the resort. "A terrible decade, by the way. I don't recommend it at all."
He reached into a small suitcase by his feet, pulling out a tall pointed blue hat. It reminded the waiter of the sorcerer cap a character had worn in an old cartoon, and he wondered, for a second, if the man was going to claim it came from the future.
Instead, he planted it on his head. "So I tried again. And again. At this point I've bounced around half of human history. But I can't seem to leave this blasted island." He shook his head, nearly losing his cap in the process. "I just don't know what's wrong with me."
To be fair, the waiter had been wondering the same thing since he'd started the conversation. He tried to surreptitiously glance behind himself. What was taking security so long?
The man rose from his chair, shaking crisp crumbs from his beard. "You know what? I'll bet it's her doing." He nodded his head vigorously, as if agreeing with himself. "She's still mad that I won that duel fair and square - even though she completely cheated! Purple dragon." He rolled his eyes. "Of all the ridiculous..."
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The waiter bit his lower lip. "You know, sometimes if you spend too long in the sun—"
"And now I'm stuck here and she's back there, and who knows what she'll try to pull in my absence? What if she goes after the boy again? He'll be completely helpless on his own!" His face crumpled. "We got in a fight, you see. Right before I left. I got mad and just abandoned him all by himself. Well, with Archimedes, I suppose. He's a very intelligent owl. But still..." He sighed. "Oh, Wart. I never meant to let you down."
He looked so despondent the waiter almost felt bad. "Look, I'm sure whoever this Wart is, he'll forgive you," he assured the man, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly. "In the meantime, maybe you should go take a little nap? I'm sure you'll feel much better if you just get out of the sun for a few hours and—"
The man looked up. "Nap?" he sputtered, shaking his fists as his long white beard swung from side to side. "Haven't you listened to anything I've been saying? I can't take a blasted nap! I need to get back to England pronto!" "Now, now, sir, take it easy."
The waiter whirled around to see that two burly security guards dressed in matching khaki pants and dark glasses had stepped up behind him. He dropped his shoulders in relief. Backup. Finally.
"Let's get you back to your room," said the first one, taking a cautious step towards the man.
"You're going to feel much better soon," assured the second, going around to his other side.
"I'll take care of your tab," the waiter added, starting to feel a little bad for the old geezer. After all, he was probably someone's grandfather. Maybe this Wart person's, even? "Uh, what did you say your name was again?"
"My name?" the man huffed, suddenly dodging the security guards with a move that seemed far too nimble for an old guy. "My name is Merlin, of course. I'm the world's most powerful wizard." He stared up at the sky, moaning mournfully. "And if I don't get back to Camelot soon, the world as we know it will surely be doomed!"
CHAPTER ONE
ARTHUR
Over one thousand years earlier, in medieval England...
"Oh, Archimedes, surely I'm doomed!"
The young boy, Wart, recently crowned King Arthur, paced the cavernous throne room of Camelot Castle, shoving the altogether too-heavy velvet and metal crown out of his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day. He glanced over at the small brown owl, who perched on the armrest of his new throne.
"What am I to do?" Arthur asked mournfully. "I can't be king. I'm fourteen years old! Just a boy!"
"A boy who somehow managed to pull the legendary
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sword from the stone," Archimedes, Merlin's highly educated owl, hooted back in reminder. "Which evidently makes you the rightful ruler of all England."
Arthur gave him a beseeching look, and the owl ruffled his feathers. "Sorry, I don't make the rules."
Arthur groaned, dropping down onto the throne. Which, by the way, had turned out to be the most uncomfortable chair he'd ever sat on in his entire life. Evidently kings didn't believe in cushions.
"I still don't understand how it happened," he mused, his mind going back to the day a week before when the so-called miracle had taken place. He'd been so excited to stand in as a real squire for the day after Kay's other squire, Hobbs, had mysteriously come down with the mumps. It was a great honour, after all, for a lowborn orphan like himself to serve a true knight of the realm — even if, in this case, the knight in question was his oafish foster brother, Kay. Arthur had been sure it would be die best day of his life.
Instead, it had turned out to be the worst. The jousting tournament had been held to determine who would become England's next king, with the winner taking the throne. England had been too long without a king after Uther Pendragon had died with no heir, and it had thrown the kingdom into a dark age full of war and
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famine. They badly needed someone to don the crown and start making some rules around the place. And Sir Ector, Arthur's foster father, had decided his son Kay would be perfect for the job.
So when Arthur accidentally forgot Kay's sword back at the inn, he'd been forced t o find another at the last moment - lest Kay be disqualified. And it was Archimedes who had first spotted the lone sword in the nearby churchyard, stuck in an anvil on top of a stone. How was Arthur supposed to know this was the sword in the stone - the one that would truly determine who would be king? It looked like any other sword.
Until he pulled it out of the anvil...
Not long after that, people were bowing to him. Knights and lords and ladies who had never given him the time of day, now calling him sire and Your Majesty and king. Claiming it was a miracle, ordained by Heaven itself. That Arthur was now the land's chosen monarch.
That Arthur, single-handedly, would somehow save them all.
"Why me?" he asked, staring up at the high ceiling of the throne room, which was decorated in rich tapestries of royal blues and purples and greens. "I'm no one. I wash dishes for a living. I shouldn't be king."
"Don't think I don't agree with you," Archimedes assured
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him with a dismissive snort. "I told Merlin from the start he was wasting his time with you. But he saw something in you." The owl spun his head. "Maybe this was it."
"I wish he had warned me," Arthur grumped, thinking back to his kind but somewhat bumbling tutor. The wizard Merlin had seen fit to take Arthur under his wing the year before after Arthur had accidentally crashed through his roof, searching for Kay's lost arrow. At the time, Arthur had just been grateful for the attention, even if Merlin's unique brand of tutelage did frequently get him into a bit of trouble. After all, who wouldn't enjoy lessons that entailed becoming a fish or a squirrel or even a bird?
But those transformations hadn't exactly prepared him for being a king.
"If only Merlin would come back," he moaned. "He'd know what to do."
Archimedes flew from the throne up to a wooden beam near the ceiling. "Believe me, I want Merlin back as much as you do," he agreed. "I never realised how fond 1 was of the old fool until he bopped himself off to Bermuda."
"Blow me to Bermuda," Arthur sadly echoed Merlin's last words. "I know he was angry with me, but I never thought he'd stay away for good." He slumped his shoulders. "I should have turned down the squire job like he wanted
MAS. H' A N C U Si
me to. I could have stayed behind at Ector's castle arid continued my lessons with him. Then I wouldn't be in such a mess."
If only there were a way to reach him. To apologise. Merlin had been right about everything all along. But Arthur hadn't listened...
"Well, there's no use crying over wandering wizards," Archimedes chirped. "The point is, he's gone. You're king. And there's nothing you can do about it. So 1 suggest you stop moping about and start doing your duty." He flew across the throne room to the double doors at the end. "There are at least two dozen people outside, waiting to talk to you. You can't keep them out forever."
Arthur nodded miserably. He knew the owl was right. "Very well," he said. "Let them in." He tried to straighten his crown, which was far too big for his head, and sat up taller in his throne. Archimedes waited for him to be settled, then yanked the front doors open with his talons.
Suddenly the vast empty chamber exploded in sound and colour as the people of England poured inside to meet their new king. Arthur tried not to squirm as they dropped to their knees before him and practically kissed the ground at his feet. How embarrassing.
"All rise," he called out, trying to make his voice sound authoritative - like a king's. Instead, it sounded as squeaky
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as a mouse's. "Make an orderly line. I'm ready to hear your grievances."
Arthur had never known any actual kings prior to becoming one himself, mind you. But he had always just assumed being king meant being able to do whatever you wanted - whenever you wanted to do it. Unfortunately, the opposite was true according to Sir Pellinore, who had instated himself as head knight and official advisor once Arthur took the throne. A king had to attend to his subjects constantly, listening to their problems and trying to help solve them. Even if their problems were difficult.
Or just plain ridiculous.
Speaking of, an apple-cheeked woman with pale skin and freckles, dressed in a dusty white apron and powder-blue dress, pushed her way through the crowd, cradling a small brown chicken in her arms.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing so low to Arthur that she almost dropped her chicken in the process. "I am in desperate need of your help."
Arthur nodded, beckoning for her to stand upright again. He wondered, not for the first time, if it was within his powers to outlaw bowing entirely - at least to a king. He'd have to ask Sir Pellinore later. "What seems to be the trouble?" he asked.
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The woman thrust the bird forwards. "I am Mistress Mabel. And this is my chicken. I call her Helen of Troy. She's a remarkable bird. Always has an egg for me, every morning, rain or shine."
"That's... great." Arthur waited for the complaint.
"Well, this morning, I went out to her henhouse, and there was no egg! And no Helen of Troy, either! I searched the yard thoroughly, concerned that a fox might have come in and stolen her away in the night."||l
"But... you found her," Arthur suggested gently, gesturing to the chicken, which was clearly no longer lost nor eaten by a fox. "She's all right." He wondered if it'd be unkingly to ask her to get to the point.
"I found her... in my neighbour's chicken coop!" Mistress Mabel sputtered, her red cheeks ripe with indignation.
Before Arthur could speak, another woman shoved her way through the crowd. She grabbed the chicken from Mabel and yanked it in her own direction. Helen of Troy squawked in dismay, and a spray of feathers burst into the air, causing several people - including Arthur — to sneeze.
"Bless you," Archimedes whispered. "And good luck with this one."
Arthur sighed and turned back to die new woman in front of him. "I'm sorry. You are...?"
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"I'm Ayn, the rightful owner of this here chicken," the new woman declared.
"I see." Oh, dear. Arthur's eyes strayed to the long line of people behind the two women, who were starting to look impatient.
Mistress Ayn puffed out her chest. "You see, sire, I woke up this morning, ready to get started preparing our family's daily meal. We were all well looking forward to a nice supper of roasted bird this eve."'She licked her lips. Helen of Troy squirmed in her arms, looking a tad alarmed.
Hi "So I go out to the chicken coop. And what do I find there but this thief' She gestured angrily to Mistress Mabel at her left. "She was trying to steal my chicken! •Steal food out of my poor, sweet kids' very mouths!"
~ "Helen ofTroyis mine!" Mistress Mabel protested. "I hatched her from an egg!"
"A disgusting lie. I picked her up at the market on Monday," countered Mistress Ayn, crossing her arms over her chest. "And you can't prove that I didn't."
The two women turned to look at Arthur expectandy. Meanwhile, the chicken had managed to wriggle its way out of Ayn's hands and drop to the floor, which it pecked at. Arthur raked a hand through his hair, feeling nervous. He knew they wanted him to rule on whom the chicken
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truly belonged to. But how could he tell for sure? They both seemed utterly convinced the bird was theirs.
If only Merlin were there. He'd know what to do. Arthur turned to Archimedes— who was the next best thing. "What should I do?" he whispered.
The owl ruffled his feathers. "I'm sure I don't know. Though chicken for dinner does sound quite lovely." He eyed the bird hungrily. "Maybe we should-just take it for ourselves arid settle-it that way."
"But that wouldn't be fair," Arthur protested. "You want fair? Then just have them split it in two," Archimedes replied. "One half for each of them. That would be fair, right?" He huffed. "And then we can move on from all this nonsense and get to the important matters of the day"
Arthur frowned. The owl wasn't wrong. But still... Something about it didn't sit right with him. His eyes travelled to the two women. Mistress Ayn was glaring at Mistress Mabel with a smug look on her face. Mistress Mabel looked close to tears. And suddenly he had an idea. "Very well," he declared grandly, addressing the women and the court; "Since I suppose we can't know for sure who the bird belongs to, how about this? What if we cut the chicken in half and;you can-each have half of it? That ought to solve your problem, right?" ^
