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“This mysterious invitation was from you, I presume,” Merlin said, waving the item around in front of Jenkins’s nose. “Brunch indeed. You’ve been in America for far too long.”
Jenkins took back the card. It was preferable to risking being hit on the nose by it. “It’s nice to see you, too – Doctor. Which incarnation are you on now?” He eyed Merlin’s outfit with severity. “And what happened to your last vestiges of taste and discretion?”
“I’ll have you know I have impeccable taste! As for discretion, it’s my middle name.”
Even given the nature of Merlin, Jenkins suspected that last fact was extremely unlikely.
Once, centuries ago, when Jenkins had only been a young squire, Merlin – or the Doctor, as he generally preferred to be called – had taken him aside and instructed him that he must always ask that question of him if he recognised him, and if the answer was less than seven, he should try not to call him Merlin. Merlin had then been young-seeming and gangling and wore a bow-tie, but as was the way with Merlin, he had apparently been much older than the one who was now standing in front of him objecting to combining meal names.
Merlin didn’t actually live his life in reverse, despite what the stories said. That would have been much too linear. As far as Jenkins could understand, Merlin was merely eternally out of order. Personally, he tried not to think about it too much.
“Sir,” he prompted. “I did ask – which regeneration are we on now?”
Merlin gave him a look. “We,” he said, “are not on anything. I, however, am now in my Sixth regeneration. A considerable improvement so far.” He studied the menu and then relaxed. He smiled across the table at Jenkins. “Well, this seems to offer passable fare. What is it that you want, Mr Jenkins? I’m sure you didn’t drag me here just to offer me some eggs and muffins. And I do trust it won’t be as much trouble as the last time!”
It had been a good few years since Jenkins had seen Merlin, and the last time he had that version of them had known exactly who Jenkins was and who they were, and Jenkins would have said that it was Merlin who had unleashed trouble onto him, not the other way around.
“Ah,” Jenkins said. “I don’t think I’ve done that one yet, sir. But if it’s any consolation, you will get some measure of revenge in time.”
Merlin laughed. “Oh, dear, will I? Well,” he said, and scanned down the menu. “What do you say to pancakes? I was busy, but one can always make time for – ah – brunch, was it?”
“Whatever you choose,” said Jenkins. He was only going to have a coffee.
Once they had ordered, a process that took Merlin far too long, despite having already decided on pancakes, Jenkins leant forwards. “The problem is this.” He placed a locked box on the table, pushing it towards Merlin. “Miss Cillian picked it up last week along with several other artefacts that had collected themselves together in the kind of so-called magic shop that can’t actually spell the word magic correctly. Or shop, come to that.”
“I know the sort. Cousin to the painfully prolific family of Ye Olde Tea Shoppes.”
“Whatever the case, that, I think, should not be left in Arizona, or even in the Library.”
Merlin held the box to his ear and frowned. “If I open it now, will it put me off my pancakes?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Hmm,” said Merlin, and opened it anyway.
Inside the box was one semi-circular piece of blue-grey metal. It was not of any metal known on Earth, which was one of the things that had concerned Jenkins. Even magic had to start from some known element.
“Yes, I see exactly what you mean,” Merlin said, with a grim twist to his mouth. “This shouldn’t be any real trouble in itself, but it does beg the question of where exactly it came from – and was there any more of it lying around? No stray odd-looking sink plungers, by any chance?”
Jenkins coughed. “No. Only that as far as I know. What, precisely, is it?”
“If you can ask that, you are a lucky man, Mr Jenkins. That is part of a Dalek. One of the most evil and deadly creatures in the universe. Nothing to do with them is safe.” Merlin shut the box with a decided snap. “You brought it to the right person. I shall see if I can find out where it came from in the TARDIS. There really shouldn’t be any Daleks anywhere near Arizona in this decade.”
“It could have been there for a while.”
“Hmm. Yes. I shall have to see.” Merlin pocketed the box and then looked up as the waitress brought his pancakes and syrup. “Thank you, my dear! That looks splendid. I always have enjoyed a spot of brunch when the occasion calls for it.” He threw a gauntlet of a glance at Jenkins.
Jenkins knew Merlin of old, even if Merlin didn’t know him quite as well as he should yet. “Yes, sir. I distinctly recall you saying so only a few minutes ago.” He accepted his coffee with a nod.
“You know,” said Merlin, narrowing his gaze, “I really will be relieved when I finally meet you properly. This is a very unfair arrangement!”
Jenkins shrugged. He raised the coffee cup to hide his smile. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m acting under your strict instructions. No spoilers, you said. I remember it well.”
“No spoilers?” said Merlin. “Spoilers? Dear, oh, dear. Evidently my faculties are going to deteriorate sharply with age. Sad, but it will happen. I must appreciate being in my magnificent prime while I can.”
“Indeed, sir.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow. He speared a forkful of pancake dripping with what Jenkins thought was a highly excessive amount of syrup, and gave Jenkins another sharp look. “Soon, do you think? Must be, surely!”
“I couldn’t possibly say, sir,” said Jenkins, who had to admit that it was rather enjoyable to baffle Merlin on the rare occasions he had the opportunity. He tapped his nose.
The Doctor put down his fork with a sudden sigh. Then he glared at the pancakes as if they had suddenly turned on him and joined forces with those Dalek creatures of his, and pushed the plate away.
Jenkins merely continued drinking his coffee. In his experience, if Merlin wanted to talk, he didn’t need any encouragement.
“Even such is time, which takes in trust, Our youth, our joys, and all we have, And pays us but with age and dust,” Merlin intoned with another sigh. “Brunch,” he muttered. “Last time I was in one of these places, it was with a friend of mine who said I owed it to her for half a dozen ruined meals. Never did appreciate my cooking, that young lady.” He leant his head on his hand. “And now – well,” he said. “I don’t believe I want this after all. A little too sugary for me.”
Last time they’d met, Jenkins would have had things to say about the folly of immortal beings investing too much in the wellbeing of mortals. Now, though, his face cleared, and he said more softly, “I always thought you believed it was worth it.”
Merlin lifted his head. “What?” he said. “Oh, yes. Yes. It has to be, doesn’t it?”
Jenkins thought of a dangerous piece of a particularly evil creature from some other realm known to Merlin, passing through the careless hands of Miss Cillian and Mr Jones, and didn’t argue.
“But of course,” said Merlin, who, despite not knowing Jenkins’s past properly, still knew his future, in the same twisty way as ever, “I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
Jenkins puts his coffee cup firmly away. “Absurd, sir,” he said, and drew himself up. “As you of all people should know.”
“I do,” said Merlin. “Believe me, I do.”