The year: 2023

Dragon's Den
Oadley,
Albion

[Marty's POV]

I hated mending things. Yet, things kept breaking. For instance, at this particular moment, I was staring at the glass panel of my bedroom window, which- for all intents and purposes- lay on my bedroom floor broken. 

Crouching down to examine the ground the shards of glass had covered, I contemplated how much it would cost me to fix it, for I couldn't just let it be, could I? I needed to keep the draft out. 

I was about to finish my observation when a flattish, round object caught my attention. Bending down as much as my now slightly-deflated tires would allow, I reached for it.  

I shouldn't have done that. 

As expected of my clumsy self, my fingers grazed over a small, unnoticeable, nonetheless dangerous piece of glass. As blood gushed out of my pinky finger, I winced, cursed my rotten luck, sucked on the injury as a temporary fix and dismissed the tiny tragedy. Not one to give up, I contorted into a position I hadn't for almost a decade. My fingers danced over the smooth cold rope-like object: the amulet, before successfully reaching what I was aiming for. 

Without giving the act much thought, I threw the amulet around my neck, and sucking on my bleeding finger, I examined the item that had caused the devastation. 

It was a crumpled sheet of paper wrapped around a pebble. 

It dawned on me that someone had purposely broken my window. The evidence was right there. Anger bubbled inside me. What perplexed me was: why would anyone bother doing so? I was a nobody, as inconspicuous as an extra marker in a school's staff room. 

Realizing that I was still holding on to the sheet of paper, I opened it hastily and read:

'Hi. 

Come down.

I am waiting. 

DP.'

DP? Display pictures!? Was this a joke? If it was, it was a very poor one, I concluded and peeked outside the now broken window. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, but not wanting this asshole to get away, I rushed downstairs. Then, remembering that Henkley must have locked the café door, I went back upstairs and yelled from the broken window: 

"Whoever you are, DP, if you have any morals, don't go anywhere. I am sort of locked up here. So it's gonna take me a few minutes to get myself down there!"

It was Sunday night. Monday was procurement day. It was Henkley's day to open the cafe. Due to my nonexistent social life, I didn't mind being locked inside my home once in seven days. However, if I needed to get out of my apartment in case of an emergency, there was a staircase connecting my apartment to the alley that ran behind the café 

In the initial days after moving to this place almost eight years ago, I had often wondered, 'Why is the emergency exit built inside the walk-in closet?' But no sooner did I decide to explore the secret passage, some incident at the cafe or my apartment always stopped me from following through. After a while, I had forgotten about it. My mission had stayed that way: forgotten, till this very moment. 

I was almost out the bedroom door when a familiar voice stopped me, "Hey, Marty! It's me, Dwight. Dwight Peyton."

Dwight? My Dwight?

A perfect mix of pleased and bewildered, I returned to the window and leaned over. My eyes zeroed in on the man I had stood up just hours ago, smiling at me like he had found a treasure. 

"Hey!" The man in red (or was it deep maroon?)- I couldn't be sure of the shirt's color- yelled again. 

"Who the hell is that!?" A window, the one next to my mother's place, flew open. "Patty, I swear to God, if it's that damned son of yours-" Mr. Ferguson barked, "I will break your doors and kick his assistant!"

"Rayan," the window belonging to Patty was thrown open next, "Ferguson, stop spreading lies about my son. He hasn't been home in ages. Get your eyes tested, will you?"

"What the bloody hell is going on?" I heard Mrs. Cuper croak. It was followed by Mr. Lex yelling at the top of his lungs, "Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

Dwight and I had managed to wake the entire neighborhood in seconds. As a result, we spent next fifteen minutes apologizing to those we had inconvenienced. 

Obviously, Dwight had it much easier than I did. It seemed like no one wanted to see the smile drop from his charming face, and thus, his apologies seemed more sincere and got accepted faster.

Whoever said: life is not fair deserved an award, for there was no greater truth.

In the end, however, we were still in the same predicament as we had been in before the fiasco had started. I wrote a note and threw it at Dwight; he read it and gave me a thumbs up. 

Then came the part I dreaded the most: going into the closet, where I was sure I would find the two voices gossiping like hormonal teens chatting about their latest crush. It was unavoidable, for the door that led to the back alley started there. However, when I entered the closet, all was quiet. 

Leaving a relieved breath, I reached for the dustiest corner of the tiny space. From what I remembered, the key was kept (for some reason beyond my comprehension) in an old-fashioned metal container the size of a shoe box. I squinted in the semi-darkness and found the box. It was sitting pretty under an old penny jar that once held dreams of new candies and tiny treats but now only served as a reminder of moments that seemed important then but not so much now. 

Standing on tiptoes, I moved the penny jar to the side. I must have overestimated the size of the platform, for the next moment, the poor, innocent jar slipped off the edge and came crashing down. 

'Shit!' I cursed softly, regretting not switching on the light. 

'Merlin! Wake up. I think the boy is getting robbed!' Morgana's words were clipped and urgent. 

'Whaaaa?' Merlin demanded in a sleep-laden tone. 

'You idiot! I said the boy is getting robbed! Wake up!' The woman loved calling her companion names, for sure. 

Also, what the hell was wrong with her? Couldn't she see that it was just me? It was not like it was pitch black in the closet. Had the witch lost her eyesight? Did she have night blindness? 

A moment after the jar met its end, I found the metal box, which I lowered to my eye level and opened the tiny, rusting latch holding the box secured shut.

That's when the witch suggested, 'Quick, hit him with a stunning curse and alert the neighbors!'  

I couldn't let that happen. I had to do something. Even if the duo was imaginary, I couldn't risk getting cursed, stunned, or whatever else the two came up with. And in a moment of temporary insanity, I turned around and spat out. "Go back to sleep. It's just me!" 

I regretted my action immediately. 

Shit! 

Silence. 

Pretending to have said nothing, I switched on the light and started fumbling with the knick-knacks that looked older than my grandma. 

'You heard me just now, did you not, lad?' The woman spoke directly to me for the first time.

Damn it to hell! 

Ignoring Morgana, I redoubled my efforts to find the stupid key. 

'What's he looking for?' Merlin wondered aloud. 

'Merlin, did you not see that? He heard me.'

'Unless he chooses to admit it, we can't do much.' Merlin's voice was a stark contrast to Morgana's. Where she had sounded surprised and excited, he dripped with boredom. 

'I can't believe you said that, Merlin. He is purposely ignoring me and-'

'Ignoring us, Morgana, both of us. I am tired. Why should I care about the fate of Albion, huh?'

'Merlin! I can't-' I heard the woman leave a breath. 'Fine. If you won't, I will! How dare he ignore me?'

Fear settled in the pit of my stomach. If they could make items disappear, what else were they capable of? 

'Remember, whenever you use your reserve to hurt a human, you lose a part of yourself. Morgana.' Merlin warmed. He sounded scary as hell. 

'Fine, have it your way. You do know that if he doesn't cooperate-'

Hearing what Merlin had said about the consequences of hurting a human, the fear making me sweat and tremble vanished. 

Barely seconds later, I found what I was looking for. "Got you!" I chirped, closing my fingers over the tiny, almost rusty key. I couldn't help smiling to myself. It felt like I had won a battle of sorts. 

My belief that if I could just keep pretending not to hear them, they would give up eventually cemented itself in my mind. 

'It's a key. Merlin.' Morgan whispered. 'Is it the key?'

What did the woman mean by that? It sounded like the key was magical. It couldn't be, could it? I shook my head, shooing the thought away. 

'Of course not. The lad can't open the gateway with it.' Merlin paused, then, 'Unless he puts the table back together, he won't even be able to see it, let alone open it. Morgana quit worrying so much. I am going back to sleep.' 

Merlin's disinterested voice had started to grate on my nerves. I concluded that he must have been an awfully uninteresting guy when- or if he- ever possessed a body. 

Also, what did he mean by 'he won't be able to see the door'? I am pretty sure I saw it when I first moved in. Yes, it was true that I had not tried to open it or checked if the key fit, but I am sure Mum must have used it plenty of times, right? 

If I was being honest, I didn't feel as confident about the door as I had done minutes ago, but now it was a matter of pride; this was my home. Mine, not theirs, and if I couldn't even see the door, what good would it do to have the key? 

I casually strode over to my wardrobe and pulled it open. Sliding the winter wear to the left, I pretended to look for something while checking where I was sure I had seen the trapdoor when I had moved in. 

As I checked every nook and cranny of the wardrobe wall, I wondered why it had taken me until now to inspect it. 

Not wanting to seem too obvious, I decided to leave for a moment, only to return with a book. I switched on the light and made myself comfortable on the closet floor. 

'What is he doing?' Morgana's tone suggested that not me but Merlin had upset her somehow. 'Merlin, come on, wake up.' She growled. 

Not a second later, loud snores filled the tiny space. 

For a while, ignoring them seemed to work. Merlin's expectations from me had certainly dwindled, or so I thought. 

'Alright. Alright. If we die, see if I care!' 

Why did she always have to be so extreme? I wondered and pulled out the contents of the larger package from where I had tucked it into a corner and placed it in the oddly shaped hole in the coffee table. 

Nothing happened except turning the table into a more useful piece of furniture. Glad it didn't look hideous anymore, I stood up, pulling the winter wear aside again. A trapdoor, big enough to fit a grown man, revealed itself. And without wasting a moment, I thrust the key inside the lock at the bottom left corner of it, and twisted it.