In the seventh room he checked, he did find Mordy, though.
The man was tied to a bed, trying to shout for help through the gag in his mouth. Rotund and bearded, he resembled Santa Claus more closely than a strip club owner. He was also a monopod, a race born with one leg, which was centered in the middle of their body. Usually, they were content to lazy away their days in warmer climates, lying on their backs in the heat of the afternoons, using their one huge foot as shade from the sun. Trystan had no idea what one of their kind was doing in the cold of St. Ives.
Still, Trystan had little doubt that this man was Mordy Mordred. He was wearing a t-shirt that read “My Ideal Weight is Galahad on Top of Me.” His eyes widened when he saw Trystan in the doorway and desperately thrashed around to indicate he was in trouble.
As if that wasn’t already fucking obvious.
Trystan stalked over to the bed and yanked the gag from his mouth. The room was wallpapered in pictures of the knight’s perfectly-shaped lips and lush mouth, which did nothing to soothe his temper. “Where is Galahad?” He bellowed.
“Closet.” Mordy gave a cough. “Please.”
Trystan leapt over the mattress and yanked open the room’s only other door. Inside were six blond men, all huddled together. His eyes desperately scanned over their terrified faces. Holy shit… All of the half-naked guys were made-up and/or enspelled to look like the knight. They resembled Galahad in the way a counterfeit painting resembled a genuine masterpiece.
Close, but… wrong.
None of them were his knight, but Trystan was beginning to understand why Konrad had believed that Galahad was a dancer. And why the entire club was decorated with artifacts from the knights’ life and career. And why Mordy’s name engendered such respect among the horny assholes of this town. And why that dickhead satyr on the street had propositioned the knight for just walking past.
The Seven Husbands was a Galahad-themed brothel.
Muttering curses under his breath Trystan quickly untied the bootleg versions of Galahad. “Where is the real Galahad of Camelot?” He demanded to the room at large.
“Who are you?” One of the Galahad-copies cried, refusing to answer the very simple goddamn question. “Are you one of them?”
“I am Galahad’s mate.”
“Oh!” Mordy exclaimed from the bed. “Galahad told those guys that a gryphon would be coming after him. He didn’t mention you were his mate, but he warned them that you’d be pissed.”
Trystan glanced at him sharply. “What guys?”
“The ones who came in here and took him, of course.” Mordy jerked his chin towards the window. “They dosed him with some kind of compliance powder and took him out the fire escape.”
Trystan automatically looked towards the large opening, his stomach sinking. Oh gods… This was way beyond the scope of Galahad’s usual catastrophes. Compliance powder was rare and powerful. It temporarily confused the mind and left people easy to manipulate. At its worst, it was used by rapists to force victims into sexual situations they’d never agree to willingly. Konrad had been right. The magic for sale in St. Ives was strange and incredibly destructive.
And now Galahad was right in the middle of it.
Trystan’s insides churned, imagining what might happen to the knight.
“The villains didn’t believe you’d be a problem. My husband downstairs is incredible at impersonating Galahad. They thought you’d fall for his act and go away.” Mordy paused with a worried frown. “Is he okay, by the way? You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
“Your husband is fine.” Trystan muttered distractedly. “And he looks nothing like the real knight.”
Mordy took offense at that. “What do you mean? Benny is a perfect duplicate. All my husbands are enspelled to look like Galahad. The black market glamour potions available in this town are incredible. But Benny had his spell cast by a professional witch.”
“It must have been the worst fucking witch in the world, then.” Trystan didn’t have time for this shit. “Tell me exactly what happened here.”
“A group of men just barged in and took us prisoner, early this morning. Then they waited. When Galahad arrived, they dumped the powder on him and told him he had to go with them. He was drugged, so he listened.”
“P’don!” Trystan raged. While he was wasting time with goddamn Marcus, someone had stolen his mate. …And that “someone” was going to die screaming.
“Galahad was so brave, though.” Mordy gushed. “Really. Even though he was compelled by the compliance powder, he fought it and said he’d only leave with the villains, if they didn’t hurt me or my husbands.” Mordy sighed dreamily. “He was exactly as heroic as I always pictured him.”
It would serve no greater purpose to kill Mordy, but Trystan was sorely tempted, anyway. Only the fact that he’d then have to deal with the useless man’s even more useless husbands stayed his hand.
Once Trystan had them free, the six phony-Galahads ran for the mattress to see Mordy. They clambered all over him, checking him for injuries, pulling him free of the ropes, sobbing against his chest. The knight needn’t worry that the gaggle of husbands were being oppressed by Mordy. They clearly loved the asshole and he clearly loved them. He was blotting their tears, petting their heads, and assuring them he was safe.
Trystan wasn’t particularly touched by the reunion. “Who were the men who stole Galahad?” He snapped, ready to take his wrath out on any handy target. Especially one who was selling facsimiles of his mate to any scumbag looking for a blowjob. “Friends of yours?”
“Of course not.”
“Then how did they know Galahad would be here?”
“Well, I mean, I told a few people, but…”
“Give me their names or I will kill you and then find them myself.”
“I don’t know who they are! I swear it. They wore masks, but I didn’t recognize their voices.” Mordy massaged his single thick ankle, which had been bruised from the ropes. “Whoever they are, I don’t think you need to worry. Galahad is the best knight ever! He’ll escape those criminals in no time.”
All six of his husbands loyally nodded.
“This is not some damn puppet show, where the happy ending is assured!” Trystan jabbed a finger at Mordy. “My mate has been kidnapped. You will help me find him or I’ll toss you out the window!”
Mordy frowned. “Well there’s no need to be testy.” He looked around at his husbands. “Why is he being so testy? Galahad should have a sweet-tempered mate, don’t you think?”
Trystan made a frustrated sound and started for the bed, ready to carry out his threat.
“The men were working for knights.” One of the Galahad-doubles piped up quickly, wanting to stop the brewing violence. “The ones who took him, I mean. They talked a lot, while they were waiting for you and Galahad to show up. I listened.”
Trystan’s head tilted. “Knights are behind this? From Camelot?”
“I guess. I just overheard that some group of knights had hired these Bad guys to come into town and snatch your Galahad. They’ve been following you since you got to St. Ives, they said. They must’ve known you’d come here.”
Trystan processed all that, his mind whirling. “Did they say why these knights wanted Galahad?”
“Something about a treasure map, I think?”
Trystan expelled a hissing breath of frustration. Those goddamn ex-knights, who had tried to kill Galahad before he met Trystan, must’ve finally caught up with him. Trystan had told the man this would happen. Why did he never listen?
“Galahad is always looking for treasure on his TV show.” Mordy interjected, pleased with this new detail he could add to the story. “I knew he would be the same in real life. You can see his authenticity right through the screen. That’s why his fans love him so much.” He made a cutesy kissing sound at his closest husband. “Isn’t it, my brave little knight?”
“It’s not the only reason.” The man cooed back, cuddling closer.
> Trystan ignored them and scraped a hand through his hair, trying to think. “Does anyone know where these men were going next?”
All seven of them shook their heads.
“Fine.” It didn’t matter. Trystan would catch up with them, no matter where they went. They didn’t have that much of a head start. He just needed to find their trail. He marched for the door, only to stop and turn back to Mordy. “Be glad I do not have time to discuss this establishment with you. … Because I have much to fucking say about this establishment.”
“Oh, Galahad already said it.” Mordy assured him, blithely. “Before they dragged him away, he told me that he doesn’t approve of selling sex, even if both parties are willing. He’s going to invest in my reality show, instead.”
“…A reality show?” Trystan echoed. Yes. That was precisely what this god-awful situation needed to reach the pinnacle of lunacy.
“Sure. About St. Ives! Everyone’s interested in seeing inside this town. Having a TV series has always been my dream.” Mordy looked choked up just thinking about it finally coming true. “All Galahad asked in return was that I closed the club and give his taxidermied horse a respectful burial. Isn’t that amazing? In my whole life no one has ever taken a chance on me, like he is.”
Trystan was completely unsurprised that Galahad had managed to solve Mordy’s problems in the midst of his own abduction. “That is why you can never duplicate the man, no matter how many witches you employ.” He shook his head, resolve filling him. “My mate is one of a kind. …And I will have him back.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
What is the graal? How does it work? What does it look like?
These are questions that all who seek it ask. But no one knows for sure.
Perhaps we are not meant to know. Not until the moment is right and the graal reveals itself to the ya’lah.
How the Wingless War Happened
Skylyn Welkyn- Gryphon Storyteller
Beach of Ultima Thule- Edge of the Moaning Sea
Galahad had a slight immunity to consumer magic.
He wasn’t sure why. He’d just been born that way, the same way he’d been born with eyelashes so thick and admired that his fans had built them their own webpage. (Sir-Gala-Lash.com.) Potions, powders, and hexes from naturally magical beings worked on him, of course. But, any effects that secondhand spells had on him were muted and over with quickly.
On Galahad, bought-and-sold magic was like wearing a cheap cologne. It dissipated quickly and kind of gave him a headache.
His resistance to the compliance powder hadn’t been total, unfortunately. He’d still found himself leaving St. Ives with the men, helpless to resist their orders. But the compulsion faded by sunset, because of the way his system metabolized the spell. By the time his head felt clear, again, he was alone with one of the large goons who’d kidnapped him.
It was not where he wanted to be.
Galahad tried hard to be optimistic, but it was difficult to see the upside in his current situation. The men had made camp on the beach, by the edge of the Moaning Sea, waiting for “Those Damn Knights” to meet up with them and trade Galahad for gold.
It didn’t take a genius to know who “Those Damn Knights” were.
Maybe Trystan was right and it was time to reconsider his not-killing-people rule. The world would be so much easier if Galahad went back to killing people.
“Those Damn Knights say they’re after a map.” The kidnapper muttered at Galahad, pacing around the makeshift campsite. The other two were off gathering dry fire wood, so he’d been left in charge and the responsibility didn’t rest easy on his shoulders. And they were big shoulders. He was a massive guy, with a shaved head and a rod that connected his nose to his pointed ear. “Where’s it lead to?”
“Atlantis.” Galahad said honestly.
The kidnappers had chained him to a wishing tree stump and Galahad was working on freeing himself. He’d actually invented the style of padlock they’d used to secure the heavy links, so he knew how to get around the mechanism. It just took a while when it was fastened behind you and in the dark.
“What’s Atlantis?”
“It used to be the land out there.” He nodded towards the water at his back. It was black in the moonlight and shimmering with frosted magic. “Before it all sank.”
The guy snorted. “Well, I guess you’re shit outta luck then. Can’t exactly go scuba-diving in the Moaning Sea. You’d freeze solid. Pretty much anything that touches the water freezes, except enspelled boats and icen jellyfish. The whole ocean is cursed. Whatever is down there, you ain’t gonna find it.”
“My True Love and I are both pretty creative.” Galahad finally felt the lock click open behind him. “I’m confident we can figure it out.”
“The gryphon guy?” The kidnapper scoffed. “I told you, we took care of him with that Galahad lookalike. Your boyfriend is gonna think that you dumped him and walk away.”
“I’ll betcha five gold pieces he doesn’t.”
In the hotel room, the night before, Trystan had said that he wanted Galahad to trust him. To know that Trystan would always come for him. Well, Galahad was giving him that faith, now. It was so simple to do, that he wasn’t sure why he’d ever hesitated. Of course Trystan would always come for him. He’d never just forget Galahad existed and move on with his plans. He needed Galahad as much as Galahad needed him.
Galahad believed that completely.
Trystan would see through the imposter. Their connection was too deep for some jackass in a magical Galahad mask to fool him for long. Trystan would figure out the ruse and find Galahad, even if it killed him…
Which was Galahad’s only real concern, actually. Without his supervision, something might have happened to Trystan. The man averaged about three dead bodies a day. Galahad needed to escape and find the quickest route back to St. Ives, so that he could make sure Trystan was okay. It was his job to protect his True Love.
Speaking of which, it was about time the man noticed that he was Galahad’s True Love.
Galahad had spent the last few hours planning lots of new ways to convince him, actually. He was tired of waiting for Trystan to come around to the idea on his own. It was time for a new strategy. Galahad was pretty pleased with all the graphic sexual details he’d brainstormed for when he finally had Trystan back. Not even the gryphon was going to be able to resist him for much longer. Galahad had a real good feeling that unzipping Trystan’s pants and then sucking the straining length of him into his mouth would work great as a seduction hint.
In the meantime, though, he needed to escape.
Galahad slipped his hands free of the chains, opening and closing his fingers so that the blood flowed back. “So.” He looked up at the kidnapper. “When are those ex-knights coming to pick me up?”
“Couple hours.” The guy stopped pacing in front of Galahad. “Since we’re stuck together ‘til then and you’re still in a compliant mood, maybe we should --uh-- find a way to pass the time, huh?” His hand moved to the front of his pants, pantomiming what he wanted.
Galahad frowned. “Really? That’s where we’re going with this, now?” He shook his head in disgust. “Given the fact that I’m a hostage and you’re a kidnapper, there’s an imbalanced power-dynamic between us. You see that, right? Even if you hadn’t tied me up and drugged me, I could never actually give consent in this situation. There would always be an element of coercion involved.”
The guy hesitated, a strikingly dumb look on his face. “Huh?”
Galahad gave up trying to explain it to him. “The answer is no.” His hand snaked out and grabbed the pouch of compliance powder off the guy’s belt.
“Hey, what the hell…?!”
The guy jumped back in surprise and panic, but Galahad was already dousing him with the stuff. A glaze look entered the man’s eyes as the powder worked it spell on him, opening his mind to any suggestion that Galahad wished to give.
“Sit down.” Galahad told him, ri
sing to his feet.
The guy sat.
“Now, I want you to stay here and think about all the terrible choices you’ve made.” Galahad instructed. “Go over alllll the horrible things you’ve done and really think about your actions. Consider how they made other people feel.”
The guy nodded, his eyes already welling with tears as he recalled his multitude of crimes.
“Good.” Galahad headed back towards St. Ives and his True Love. “And I’m going to take one of your horses. I feel like the least you can do is loan it to me, after all the trouble you caused.”
The kidnapper was crying too hard to answer that. “When I was six…” He swiped a hand under his nose. “I dumped all my little brother’s Christmas gifts into the fire. Just because I was jealous that he got the bicycle I wanted.” He bent over sobbing. “No wonder he never answers my calls.”
Galahad actually felt slightly guilty about the man’s heartbroken wails. Maybe he should tell the kidnapper it was okay to forgive himself at the end of his…
Voices sounded off to Galahad’s right, interrupting his thoughts. Shit. The other two guys were coming back. Shit. He didn’t want to kill them and he couldn’t escape without them noticing, so he was going to need another plan. Galahad thought for a beat and then improvised. He untied all the horses from the wishing trees and then smacked their rumps to get them running. The horses crashed through the trees and brushes that grew at the sea’s edge, stampeding straight at the men.
That should distract them.
“Goddamn it!” One of the abductors bellowed. “The horses is loose! Larry! Come help us catch the damn things.”
The crying kidnapper went lumbering off to help, the compliance powder making it impossible for him to refuse. He went dashing off into the thick undergrowth, not sparing Galahad a second look.
Galahad sighed. Well, now he didn’t have a horse, but at least he was free. That was certainly a positive. If he could just…
A palm slammed down over his mouth, dragging him deeper into the bushes.
Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4) Page 43