Lost Creek Hollow Luck is my middle name

Had Daighre asked any of those questions out loud, Merlin would have found a plausible answer for them all. But he did not, he looked even angrier than before and the young Cheeky McCheekerson finally figured that, perhaps, the whistling steam engine that was about to explode before him had something wrong with him and had nothing to do with outward influence. Save for him annoying the man to no end. 

"Does your head hurt?" he asked, somewhat sympathetically, somewhat curiously. Because if that was the case, boy, did he pity Mr.Grumpy there. Migraines did not plague Merlin as often as they had in the months after his accident, but he remembered the pain vividly. It was no fun.