Authors: Janette Rallison
“No. That was another matter of misinterpretation.” I stood up and held out my hand for the contract. “You know, maybe it’s not such a good idea to have you read that after all . . .”
He ignored my request. The contract went back up, then in another moment it came back down. “You wanted to be Snow White too?” He shook his head. “I take back everything I said about you being smart.” I grabbed for the paper but he held me away with one arm. He was strong. I looked down at his arm and noticed not only his muscles, but some bruises and pale scars crisscrossing over his arm. Those hadn’t been there before, had they?
Still reading he said, “And I suppose this is where I come in. You wanted a princely guy from your own day.”
“I’m sorry.” My words came out sounding more defi-ant than apologetic, but he wasn’t listening to me anyway.
“I have to take you to prom too? Oh, this just keeps getting better all the time.”
I tried to grab the paper away from him again, but he held me away effortlessly. “You couldn’t have wished for 176/431
something normal like money or fame. You wanted,” and here his voice took on a particularly disdainful tone,
“a
prince
?”
“Well, if you have a prince then money and fame naturally follow, don’t they?” I said, just because I didn’t like the way he was speaking to me. “It’s killing two birds with one stone.”
Tristan slapped the contract down on the bed and looked at me scornfully. “Women.”
“Well, hey, when your girlfriend dumps you for your brother you can tell me what you’d wish for.” His eyes softened and the room fell silent for a moment. “Oh yeah, Hunter and Jane. I’d completely forgotten about them.” His attention returned to me. “I guess it wasn’t that long ago for you though, was it?” I didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to expect me to.
Instead he handed the contract back to me. “I don’t see any way out of this except the way I was already working on.” He stood up, hefted my backpack onto the bed like it weighed nothing, and unzipped the largest pocket. “I don’t suppose you brought anything suitable for captur-ing cyclopses or killing dragons?” Probably not. “Why do you need to do that?” He told his story while he took everything out of the backpack for inspection. His voice was casual, with just enough cynicism to let me know he didn’t think any of it 177/431
was casual at all. “Your fairy godmother showed up in my bedroom one night, dropped me into this lovely village, and told me I had to become a prince in order to come back home. There’s not a lot of chance of that happening, by the way, if you don’t have an army at your command.
“I told people I’d come from a distant land to earn my fortune. Which, coincidentally, there was also not a lot of chance of happening. Even if I’d had a specialized skill—which I didn’t—everything here is controlled by guilds. You can’t just set up shop somewhere. I only kept from starving by working as a jongleur.” He must have seen the blank expression on my face because he added,
“That’s a storyteller. I had plenty of stories.” Here he gave me a crooked smile. “And Mom always told me that watching TV was a waste of my time. I tell you what, the people here are big
Battlestar Galactica
fans.” He picked up the first-aid kit from the backpack and smiled. I was glad that at least I’d brought something that made him happy. But he didn’t comment on it, just set it aside from the other things. “I even told stories for the royal court— for King Roderick up on the hill. He liked me enough to let me become a page. Mostly because I’m a fast runner. When the king sends a message to someone in the palace or out in the courtyard he wants it done quickly. That was the only reason I even 178/431
heard about the quest.” He found my package of chocolate chips and held it in front of him reverently. A nearly silent “ohhh” escaped his lips.
“You can have some,” I said.
He ripped open the package, popped a few in his mouth, and shut his eyes.
“Have as many as you want,” I said.
He closed the bag and shook his head. “I’ve been living on pottage and bread for so long that if I eat too many it will make me sick.”
“So what is this quest thing all about?” He let out a sigh. “Maybe just a few more.” Then he opened the bag and put another small handful in his mouth.
“The quest?” I prompted.
“Right. His highness, King Roderick, has been troubled with three things: a dragon that comes around on a monthly basis to fly off with cattle or unfortunate village folk; a cave cyclops that goes marauding at night, stealing goods and killing anyone who gets in his way; and the Black Knight.” Tristan put the chocolate chips down and surveyed my supplies again. He picked up a knife I’d taken from my kitchen and gingerly felt the blade. I couldn’t tell whether he was happy with it or not. He simply set it down and unzipped the backpack’s side pockets.
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“Who is the Black Knight?”
“No one knows. That’s part of the problem. The only thing we know about him is that he wears black armor, carries no colors on his shield, and he’s immensely good. He keeps challenging Prince Edmond, the heir to the throne, to send his best knight or come out and fight the Black Knight himself—”
The name caught me by surprise and I interrupted Tristan. “Prince Edmond? The Prince Edmond who has a younger brother Hugh and a younger sister Margaret?”
Tristan looked at me in surprise. “You’ve heard of him?”
I nodded. “I met his family when I was Cinderella.” Tristan’s voice took on a mocking tone. “Ahh. A prom date rival. Did you go to a ball with him?”
“No, he stopped by our manor and I decided he was not so charming.”
“Well, that’s true enough. Anyway, our mutual friend Prince Edmond is running out of champions. Even the most accomplished knights in court have lost their purses to the Black Knight. No one else in the country will joust or sword fight with him, not when the Black Knight has obviously got some sort of magic working for him. He’s disgraced the entire court, and so King Roderick has issued the quest to all able-bodied men.” Tristan 180/431
let a handful of silverware jangle onto the bed. “Anyone who can kill the dragon or the cyclops—they refer to him as the ogre—will be granted knighthood, and anyone who can kill them both will get a sizable purse to use to challenge the Black Knight. Whoever can defeat the Black Knight will be made a prince.”
“Which is why you’re trying to kill the cyclops.” He pulled out my makeup kit and held it up between one finger and a thumb as though it might be conta-gious. “Makeup? Out of all the things you could have packed, you wasted space bringing makeup with you?” I grabbed it out of his hand and held it to my chest de-fensively. “I like to look my best.” He wrinkled his nose at me. “Have you actually seen the women here? All you need to do to look better than the rest of them is occasionally wash your hair.”
“Which is why I also brought shampoo. It’s no use trying to use that stuff they call soap.” He pulled out my flashlight and flipped it on with such evident happiness that I knew the whole makeup issue had been forgotten. “It works. How new are the batteries?”
“New, plus I brought extra batteries.”
“Perfect.” He turned it off, examined the handle, then held the flashlight to his hip. “I’ll have to figure out some way to strap it to my body.” 181/431
“Why?”
“The cyclops only has one eye, but he can see in the dark. That’s why he lives deep inside caves and only comes out at night. He’s got an advantage then. Anyone who fights him— and there haven’t been a lot who’ve tried—had to fight while holding a torch. Unfortunately the cyclops is fast, has claws as sharp as swords, and is at least seven feet tall.
“I tried setting a trap for him using a fishing net, but he cut right through it. Next I dug a pit. He used his claws to crawl up the sides. Both times I barely escaped with my life.”
I stared at Tristan, once again noticing the pale scars on his forearms. I hadn’t realized just how dangerous this wish was for him. Without thinking about it, I reached over and touched one of the scars on his arms.
“Is that how you got these?”
His gaze landed on my fingers and suddenly I felt awkward for touching him. I let my hand drop away.
“I got those scars from sword practice. Once I joined the quest, I practiced with the other knights. As you can tell, they’re much better than I am.”
“You use real swords to practice?”
“No, I wouldn’t have any arms left if we used real swords. Knights practice from childhood, for hours a day.”
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None of this was comforting news. “Then how are you going to defeat a cyclops, a dragon, and the Black Knight?”
Tristan picked up my supplies and one by one put them back in the backpack. “I’m pretty good with a javelin—the modern-day equivalent of the spear. Now that I’ll actually be able to see the cyclops, I think I should be able to hit him before he reaches me.” He took a couple of my spice bottles and slipped them into the bag he wore around his hips. “I’ll go up to the castle armory and buy some spears tomorrow.”
“All right. What do you want me to do to help?” He stopped repacking long enough to glance at me.
“You want to help?”
“That’s why I came.” A thought came to my mind and an automatic “oh” popped out of my mouth. “I could talk to the Black Knight. He doesn’t know who I am, and I could try and find out the secret of his magic.” Tristan’s face stayed free of emotion but his eyes glinted. “You mean use your beauty and wiles to cause his downfall?”
“Well, it sounds
bad
when you put it that way.” He shook his head. “No, the Black Knight is dangerous and you’re to stay away from him.”
“Knights are supposed to honor ladies, so if I—”
“No,” Tristan said firmly. “That’s an order.” 183/431
I folded my arms. “Well, I suppose an order would mean something if we were both in the marines, but since we’re not—”
Tristan walked over until he stood right in front of me. He folded his arms, matching my stance, except that he made far more of an imposing figure doing it. “You’re right. We’re not in the marines. We’re in the Middle Ages, where, as you might recall from world history class, men own women. You’re considered property like horses, saddles, and land. Since you sent me here, I can only assume you want me to obey the laws of this soci-ety. So while we’re here, you will listen to me, and I’m telling you to stay far away from the Black Knight.”
“I am not your property,” I said.
He made no acknowledgment that I’d spoken. “If you want to be helpful, you can come with me to the castle and see if you can get an audience with Princess Margaret. I think she knows more about the Black Knight then she lets on.”
“Why?” I asked, too curious to press the issue of property rights further.
“Everyone else in the court is either speculating about his identity or predicting what sort of havoc he’ll raise when he finally forces Edmond into a fight. But not her.
She sits by, content as a cat.”
“Maybe she’s just not a worrier?” 184/431
“It’s her family that’s being challenged. If they’re driv-en from the throne, her life is in peril too.” I noticed the space, or lack of it, between us, but I didn’t step away from Tristan. “Do you think they have a romantic relationship, then?”
Tristan shook his head, but without much conviction.
“If the Black Knight wanted her hand in marriage, he would have gone about things differently. A knight that powerful would have been useful to the kingdom. King Roderick would have gladly given his daughter to him if it would have made the knight an ally.”
“Then why do you think she’s so unconcerned about the knight?” I asked.
Tristan shrugged and smiled at me. “A page could never ask those sorts of questions of a princess. But perhaps a visiting lady could find some answers.”
We didn’t leave that night, which frustrated me since it seemed that once we had a plan, we should get started right away. But things worked slowly in the Middle Ages. We couldn’t jump into a car, drive the eight miles to the castle, and then throw the spears in the trunk. We needed horses.
No self-respecting lady would walk the distance to the castle. And besides, no one ever defeated a dragon on foot. So Tristan went off to buy horses and saddles, which cost me three necklaces and two rings, and also diminished our spice supply quite a bit.
After dinner, everyone sat around the fire and listened to Tristan tell stories from the Chronicles of Narnia. One man requested he tell the story of the enchantress Savannah, who toyed with men’s affections and then banished them to strange lands.
I stared at Tristan and said, “Oh, definitely—I want to hear that story.”
But Tristan just blushed and said it was time to turn in for the night. Before we went to bed—and people in the Middle Ages pretty much went to sleep when the sun went down—the innkeeper filled a tub with hot water for 186/431
baths. The people didn’t change water in between baths, so I was doubly grateful that I got to use the bathwater first. It totally paid to be rich in the Middle Ages. And despite Tristan’s snide remarks about the luxury items I’d brought with me, he didn’t turn me down when I offered to let him use my soap and shampoo.
We woke up the next morning at sunrise—everyone did. Tristan had bought me a tawny brown mare with a pale, flowing mane. He gave me instructions on how to use the reins, instructions that apparently no one had given the horse, because she did whatever she pleased.
She went as fast or as slow as she wanted, sometimes dawdling to sample grass along the path and other times running to catch up with Tristan’s chestnut brown stallion. Tristan kept yelling really useful hints to me like
“show her you mean business” and “she won’t listen to you unless you’re firm with her.” I tried being firm, but apparently the horse had already figured out that she was much bigger than I was, and basically ignored me altogether.
For part of the trip, the path took us through a forest.
Tristan pulled out his sword then, and rode with it grasped in his hand. His gaze swung between the trees, and he told me in a hushed voice that he was watching for thieves who sometimes waylaid travelers on this road. I never saw anything out of the ordinary, though, 187/431