Alex Bledsoe - Dark Jenny

I awoke to a fanfare of horns and cheering. My first thought was, That’s more like it. It was the least I deserved after what I’d been through.

Then I winced. Way too much sun blasted into the room, and judging from its angle, I’d slept until noon. I rolled out of bed and nearly howled as my injured hand came back to aching life. I stumbled to the window, blinking against the glare, to see what caused the commotion.

People filled the central courtyard below. Many were the irate guests from the previous night, but now they cheered as if this parade had been the whole reason for their trip. The rest were castle staff and, of course, the entire complement of the Knights of the Double Tarn.

Another blast of music announced the arrival of, I assumed, King Marcus Drake. Certainly the number of men in armor standing in neat, shiny rows along the parade route implied the visitor was important. Then Bob Kay rode slowly through the gate, followed by a tall man with long brown hair, a beard, and a flowing purple cloak.

I dressed as quickly as I could. As I wrangled my boots with my good hand, Kay unlocked the door. He looked exhausted beneath a coating of road dust. “You made good time,” I said.

“I knew Marc would insist on coming immediately.” Then Kay exclaimed, “Shit! Didn’t you see the doctor?”

I shrugged. The knuckles on my right hand were black, with yellow circles outlining them, and the rest of my hand was bright red and swollen. “Yeah, I saw her.”

“Dr. Gladstone usually does a better job.”

“She did a great job. Agravaine and his pals ambushed me again after you left.”

Kay scowled darkly. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, but with less than his normal certainty. He indicated my hand. “And I’ll make sure that gets taken care of as well.”

“That’s not the only strange thing. Can I talk to you privately somewhere?”

“Not now. I’m glad you’re already dressed, because the king wants to see you immediately.” Before I could react, Kay locked the manacles around my wrists again. I started to protest, but by then I’d resigned myself to it. In his place, I’d have done the same thing.

I followed him downstairs into the hall where the fatal banquet had been held the evening before. The food was gone, but it was again filled with people. The clatter of armor echoed from the high ceiling as pages helped their knights out of their parade battle dress. Sun streamed in through windows and the open main doors; in daylight the room was far less glamorous, and the tapestries looked faded and threadbare.

It appeared Marcus Drake had brought the rest of the Knights of the Double Tarn with him. They were a varied crew, similar only in their cool, unimpressed demeanor. I saw no sign of Agravaine and his cronies, although Gillian nodded a greeting. It was moderately friendlier than before.

“Marc!” Kay called. Then suddenly, with no real time to prepare for the moment, I stood face-to-face with the most famous king in the known world.

Actually, face-to-chest is more like it. If I thought the Knights of the Double Tarn made me feel small, then next to King Marcus Drake I was a dwarf. He stood six and a half feet tall, and his shoulders were as broad as one of the serving tables. His tunic, undoubtedly custom-tailored to him, nonetheless drew tight across his muscular arms. In contrast, his brown hair fell boyishly into his face, and he tossed it aside to reveal his clear, surprisingly kind eyes. I’d met my share of important people, and usually something about them immediately disappointed me. But everything about Marcus Drake measured up to his larger-than-life reputation.

He’d already removed his armor and was restrapping his sword belt as we approached. I wondered if the scabbard held the legendary Belacrux. Like everyone, I imagined this weapon as always gleaming, freshly polished, and razor-edged. Up close, though, the sword at his waist looked just like any other well-used battle weapon, the worn leather hilt grip stained with sweat and blood. If this was Belacrux, then it was the only letdown.

Drake saw me looking. “Yes, this is Belacrux.” I expected a huge, booming voice to make the rafters quiver, but instead he spoke with casual, conversational ease. “And, no, I’m afraid you can’t hold it.”

I said nothing. He grinned when he saw Kay. Despite his size, his smile was easy and genuine.

“Your Majesty,” Kay said formally, and knelt to Drake. I belatedly did the same.

“Rise, Sir Robert,” Drake responded in kind.

Kay gestured to me. “Marc, this is the man I told you about. Edward LaCrosse.”

I bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“Bob thinks quite highly of you,” Drake said. “Bob, loosen those cuffs. So give me the quick version of what’s happened here.”

“Didn’t he tell you?” I said as Kay unlocked the disk and let out the chain’s slack.

“Of course,” Drake said. “But I want to hear you tell it.”

Comparing stories was the oldest trick in the scroll; besides, I had nothing to hide. “Your man Patrice took a bite from a poisoned apple that was pretty clearly meant for someone else. No one else here had the sense or gumption enough to try and help him, so I did. I guess that made me look guilty to some people. Kay understood I had nothing to do with it and asked me to help find the real culprit.”

Drake looked at Kay, who nodded. The king said, “And you believe Thomas Gillian was the true intended victim?”

“Right now I do. I’ll change my mind if the evidence changes.”

Drake looked around. “And where is Jennifer?”

“In your quarters,” Kay said.

Drake regarded me seriously. “Do you believe the rumors that the queen is involved?” He did not lower his voice or whisper, and I couldn’t politely look away to see if the other knights within earshot reacted to the question.

“I don’t believe anything, I just follow the evidence. And right now there’s no evidence of that, except that she brought the apples.”

“That’s enough for some people.”

“I think some people wanted her to be guilty before there was even a crime.”

Drake’s eyes widened. I could’ve been more tactful, but my hand hurt and I was tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Well,” he said after a moment, with a tiny smile, “nice to see I don’t intimidate you.”

“I’m quivering on the inside.”

His grin grew. It was one of those grins that made you want to be his pal just so he’d grin at you again. Some men cultivated that; with Drake it seemed both inadvertent and sincere. “Then I suspect we’ll get along.” He noticed my hand. “That looks recent.”

I nodded. “Yesterday. I punched something thick a couple of times.”

“Dave Agravaine’s head,” Kay added.

Drake scowled. “Ah.”

“Your Majesty!” a new voice cried, and there was a commotion at the main doors. A mob of the nobles pushed against the guards trying to restrain them. “King Marcus, we demand an audience with you at once!”

“Hell,” Kay muttered, then yelled, “Get that door shut! Get those people out of here!”

“No, wait,” Drake called to the guards. “Let them in.” They obeyed, and the mass of pampered flesh surged toward us. I resisted the urge to step behind Kay.

At the head of the mob was Chauncey DeGrandis, his gaudy yellow color scheme replaced with sky blue. He wiped sweat from his face with a handkerchief. “Your Majesty, I apologize for my rudeness, but this confinement is intolerable. Here is the man responsible for the murder.” He pointed at me. The others murmured their assent. In back, I saw Lord Astamore vigorously nodding.

Drake put a large, gentle hand on the puffy man’s shoulder. “Calm down, Lord Chauncey, or you’ll blow up and bust. Now take a deep breath-that’s it, all the way down, let it out slowly-and tell me in simple words what you’re so upset about.”