Arthurian Bureaucracy

It was not a nice lake. The water stewed murkily. It was hemmed in by concrete. Domesticated and canalised into an ugly circle in a dingy park. The trees and sprawling roots which once covered its banks were long gone, the thick green grass now weeds and mud. Empty cans and sat where shining pebbles had. It was a sunken lake in a sunken park. The only ways to it were through dingy subways, with dirty beige tiles and a thousand unwelcome scents. One tree raised itself into the fading light, only to be hit with overpass fumes. Traffic and sirens banished the peace. Shadows lurked in dank corners.

One of the shadows groaned. He shook himself awake and shivered. Night was falling. He stroked his mangy dog and pulled his woollen hat down over his ears. His face was mapped with wrinkles, spreading out from each other like the tributaries of some vast delta. His hair and beard were silver and stained. He had been by the lake a long time. He could feel something coming. Nobody came here without a reason.

The old man stood up from his bench. He wrapped his holed blanket over his shoulders. His dog followed him in a slow limping walk towards one of the four underpasses. A distant church bell tolled over the traffic. Seven sombre echoes.

There were two figures in the underpass. The orange lights flickered burning shadows of sodium around them as they walked. It was a man and a woman. The old man had known it would be. Two pairs of shined black shoes walked towards the lake. Her heels clicked on the concrete. His shoes squeaked slightly, almost imperceptibly. Two black pinstriped suits. His was double breasted. Hers had a skirt. She didn’t wear a tie. His was dark green, held in place with a silver pin.

They stopped when they left the tunnel. His umbrella tapped into the concrete. The metallic noise seemed to echo. He adjusted his bowler hat minutely. She folded her arms.

The old man looked at them for a moment. Then he smiled. The wrinkles all moved and wove into a different tapestry of lines. Browned and missing teeth gaped at the two new arrivals. He had been expecting them for a very long time. “At your service.” He performed an exaggerated bow.

The man cleared his throat. The woman spoke. “We are lead to believe that you are in possession of something which Her Majesty’s Government requires.” It was not a question. She fixed a disdainful look at the park. She hadn’t been lead to believe anything.

“Ah.” The old man shuffled closer. His dog sniffed the civil servants’ shoes doubtfully. “I do not possess anything.” He chuckled. “But I know who does.” His voice took on a sing song quality. “The Lady of the Lake, from her you’ll have to take…”

“Who are you?” The man suddenly snapped. He grabbed the other’s lapel.

“You tell me first, you tell old Sir. Bedivere who you are.” He wheezed and giggled some more.

“Well at least someone believes in this.” The woman glanced at the others. “If you must know, this is Mr. Chapel, I am Miss. Selkirk. We’re with the Government.” She smiled. A particularly English smile reserved entirely for people who should not be smiled at. “Let him go, Harry.”

Mr. Chapel relaxed his grip on the old man’s jacket. “Sir. Bedivere.” He said.

“Yes, yes.” He replied. “Yes.” He stroked his beard knowledgeably. “How did you know?”

“He’s quite mad.” Selkirk said quietly. “I don’t think the old fool knows anything useful.”

“I was just coming to that.” Chapel looked at her. “I suppose we’re on our own.”

“When was the last time an immortal was any use?” Selkirk shook her head. “They all go screwy after a hundred.”

“Mr. Bedivere.” Chapel tried again. The old man’s head snapped up alarmingly fast to look at him. “Mr. Bedivere, we’d just like to ask if you know how to talk to the Lady of the Lake.”

“The Lady of the Lake, from her you’ll have to take…” Bedivere sang again. Then he grabbed Chapel’s tie and pulled them close. “Only she doesn’t like being stolen from. What thieves these mortals be!” He let Harry’s tie go and cackled again.

“Give up, Chapel.” Selkirk looked at him.

He looked back and shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

When they looked at the lake again, the old man had vanished.

They picked their way around the litter and mud on the path. The lake ahead seemed very still. Darkness was swiftly falling and the only light came from the overpass above them. The waters didn’t seem to even lap at the concrete shore. The two civil servants reached a path. It circumnavigated the water. They stopped again and looked ahead.

Then the swan appeared.

It wasn’t that it hadn’t been there before. It was possible it had been. Neither of them noticed it actually appear. There was no flapping and disturbed water of a landing. And swans couldn’t come from nowhere. It was big and clean and white. Feathers preened and gleaming. The muddy water did not bother it. It lazily floated towards the shore.

The civil servants instinctively stepped back. Swans were dangerous when angered.

There were some greasy steps into the lake. The swan reached these and started to climb them. Somewhere between first setting foot on a slimy submerged step, and standing, glistening, on dry land, the swan became a woman.

Water carried on pouring off her body, shrouding it. This water was clean and bright. It caught the light, as the swan’s feathers had. Her hair was long and dark and drenched, plastered over a gaunt pale face.

“Good evening.” Harry flashed an ID card with a gold crest on it. “We’re from the government.”

“I know.” When she spoke, water fell from her mouth. Her words were muffled by it.

“Ah.” Harry adjusted his tie slightly. “Excellent. I take it you are known as the Lady of the Lake?”

“I am known by many names.”

“Wow, original.” Selkirk said quietly. “Never heard that one before.”

“Evelynn.”

“Sorry.” She tapped her foot on the cracked pavement. “You know why we’re here.”

“I do.” The Lady made a shimmering step towards them. The water gleamed. “You know what you must do.”

The civil servants shared a glance. “No, we don’t.” Evelynn said.

“That is,” the Lady searched for a word. “Unfortunate.”

“I say.” Harry adjusted his hold on his umbrella with menacing intent. “I say. This isn’t really on, you know. We have come from Her Majesty’s Government, with Her Majesty’s authority and right, and we hereby demand that you, as is your duty, hand over the sword known as Excalibur, which has been entrusted to you since King Arthur’s death. I hope that’s quite alright with you. We have the necessary paperwork and you shall be fully reimbursed for your time.”

“Harry,” Evelynn whispered. “I don’t think she cares about paperwork.”

“No, no.” The Lady of the Lake said, less powerfully. “He has a point. Look I was joking with the trials thing, just as long as you come with the correct authority that’s just fine by me.” The water stopped pouring from her mouth and she spoke with a slight French accent. “What do you need the sword for? Has he risen?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified information.” Harry said.

“I suppose it would be.” The Lady shrugged. “What do I have to sign?”

“A MW2.” Harry produced some folded papers from his pocket and opened them carefully. He faced them towards the Lady. “There at the bottom.” He pointed, “and then two on the other side. We’ll do the rest.”

“Have you got a pen?” The ghostly apparition took the paperwork. It didn’t get wet, which was just as well. Harry found a pen and handed it to her. “Thanks.”

“Where’s the sword then?” Evelynn asked.

“Coming up.” The Lady handed the MW2 back.

Harry looked at it. “All looks in order.”

“Well it’s been nice meeting you.” The Lady of the Lake fell apart into water and splashed onto the concrete. The civil servants took a step back again.

“There it is.” Evelynn said quietly.

There was a sword in the pooling water on the cracked paving slabs. It was old, very old. Made of a single piece of a strange, dully shining metal. There were worn patterns folded into the blade which spiralled round and round and seemed to shift if you looked too hard at them.

“There it is.” Harry pulled on some gloves and carefully squatted to pick it up. Evelynn took his umbrella.

The two civil servants walked slowly from the empty park.