merrimanlyon | (no subject)

(no subject)

The massive doors open onto the great hall that lies outside Time. A fire burns already in the hearth -- Merriman had not extinguished it when he left -- and in all respects the place is silent, anticipating, and welcoming.

Or welcoming to Old Ones, at any rate.

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Will relaxes slightly, as they step into the hall. It is familiar and welcoming, always -- the great dark walls, the sheepskin-covered floor, the bright tapestries and the fire.

He glances up at Merriman's craggy face, waiting, as together they stride towards the hearth.

Now that they are out of the bar, away from any outside interference, Merriman can relax a bit. (It's nearly imperceptible, but he does.) And so once they reach the fire, and have paused for a moment to savour its warmth, he turns to Will -- and gives him a quiet smile.

'Happy birthday, first of all.'

Will's sober, waiting face shifts into a smile. Small, but there and real, and happy. A little less quietly so, because Will is not Merriman.

"Thanks."

Merriman holds up a hand, and with a gesture reminiscent of a conjuring trick, he produces a long, slim white envelope. The paper it is made of is obviously expensive.

'This may seem a little unorthodox, but a few days before your next birthday, this letter will arrive in the post. I thought it would be best to show it to you now, well in advance.'

Will blinks at him, but takes the envelope. With a glance at Merriman, he opens it.

The letter within is typed on thick, well-made paper, the embossed letterhead at the top giving the name of a long-established firm of solicitors located in the City of London.

It is dated 11 December 1978.

Dear Mr Stanton: [it reads]

This letter is merely to confirm your appointment with our senior partners on Friday, 22 December at 3.30 PM. We do not anticipate that the necessary formalities will require more than forty-five minutes of your time, or an hour at the most. The majority of the paperwork is in order and your signature is only required on a small number of documents. We will then be able to provide you with a full account sheet for earnings and expenditures in 1977, as well as for the Lady Day, Midsummer and Michaelmas Quarters of 1978.

If for any reason you should need to reschedule your appointment, please do not hesitate to contact us by telephone or by post. We look forward to speaking to you in person.

The letter is signed by the man whose name appears at the very top of the letterhead -- the most senior of the senior partners.

Will skims the letter, with a growing frown of bemusement, and then rereads it.

He glances up at Merriman, questioning.

He doesn't say anything like 'earnings?', but he's thinking it.

Will's growing bafflement is nearly audible to Merriman, and so he says simply:

'When you go to keep that appointment, you will be informed that you now have control over a certain trust, a very old and long-established trust...and that the money in the trust is now yours to manage as you see fit.'

This is possibly Merriman's least cryptic answer of the year. So it's probably fitting that it go to one of the few people who understands him even when he's in full Old One mode.

Bafflement changes to comprehension. Will shoves his hair back from his forehead with a blink and a quick, astonished grin at Merriman.

He understands the responsibility, of course; there is next to nothing in this life of his that is meant to be used solely for himself, and certainly not something like this. All the same, Will is a jeweller's son in a family where the Christmas presents are bought with money from selling his mother's hens. Appointments with senior partners of soliciting firms are not exactly a commonplace thing.

Merriman's normal austere, slightly distant expression is nowhere to be seen. Will's grin is enough to make the corners of his own mouth quirk upwards.

'The trust has been around since the early part of the previous century, in its present form. A central pool of funds, to be used as those of the Circle see fit. In the past the money has gone to societies and organisations that serve the Light through their work -- schools, hospitals, charity groups. And those of the Circle who could afford to contribute from their income would give what they could to be invested in the trust.'

And nearly two hundred years of investing, diversifying, adjusting and supervising later, it is finally time to place it into the hands of the one who will keep it safe for the future.

'By the letter of the law, you will not be able to touch the principal from the trust until you reach the age of twenty-one. But you will have control over the interest, and it should be more than sufficient to start with.'

Will nods, sobering as he listens.

It is a trust of Old Ones, which means that all the meanings of the term apply.

And then his lips twitch, again. "I should think." Understatement, that is.

'It is also yours, Will.' More gently now, with a softer light in his eyes. 'Use it as you see fit, for your own needs or for whatever cause you deem worthy. If you would give your own money freely, give this money as well, and without hesitation. It will be there for you, when you need it.'

And then he adds, sounding less like an ageless Old One and more like a crochety old Oxford don, 'That is, provided whichever Government happens to be in power at the moment has not mishandled the economy beyond all hope of repair.'

Will finds himself suddenly having to stifle a snort of laughter.

It shifts, after a moment, to a softer and more touched smile up at Merriman.

"Thanks."

All the problems of Milliways still wait, and the servants of the Dark, and they are not forgotten. But here in the Great Hall of the Light they are for a brief span outside all Time, and there is a pause and a respite -- and, here, there is time for it to be his birthday.

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