Doctor Kwambe came out of one the rooms down the hall and stopped to take a drink at the water fountain. The sweat on his high forehead made his dark skin look oil-slick. He stopped to speak with one of the nurses. She was a flighty-looking blonde holding a clipboard with a stack of forms.
Then the two turned and walked towards me. I took a breath.
Looks like it’s showtime, my mind said, in a sardonic tone. Break a leg!
“Your friend gave us quite a scare,” Kwambe said, without ceremony. “But his condition is stable now.”
I let out a breath. “Thank God.”
“Yes, if there is a higher power, it looked out for your friend, that much is sure.” Kwambe sighed, and then took a seat across from me. The nurse followed suit. “But now we have a lot of questions for you. I suggest you answer them.”
“Of course,” I agreed. “I’ll fill out any form you ask. No one brought me anything while I was waiting out here.”
A shrug. “We are short staffed right now. Again, your friend was very lucky that he did not have to wait for a room. So, let’s start with the basics. Who are you?”
I dutifully gave them my name and contact information. The nurse pulled out a pen and started filling in the forms on her sheet. She handed several over for me to sign, which I then handed back.
Now things were about to get interesting.
“What’s your friend’s name?” she asked.
“Fritz,” I replied, and the nurse raised an eyebrow.
“Would that be German?” she asked. “He does look rather…well, European.”
“German? Doubtful. His last name is ‘William’. I’m afraid I can’t remember his contact information. We’ve only been working together for a short time.”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about his health insurance?” This time I was the one who shrugged. Doctor Kwambe shook his head ruefully. “I suppose that figures. Well, ‘Fritz’ will probably be with us for a while. I’ve never seen a poison with both anticoagulant and neurotropic qualities.”
I braced myself as I asked the next question. Now I had to find out what lay in the future.
“I need to know. That neurotoxin worked incredibly fast. Was the damage to his nervous system permanent?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Doctor Kwambe let out a sigh. “There’s probably been some permanent damage.”
“How much?” I asked.
“It’s unclear. Again, this toxin is something I’ve never encountered. But it’s a stubborn thing, whatever got into him. It might take a couple of days, or it could be a few weeks before his body flushes it out of his system. After that…we might be able to discharge him if we can arrange for physical therapy.”
I let out a thankful breath. It wasn’t a sunshine-and-rainbows kind of answer, but at least King Fitzwilliam was out of immediate danger. That was more than I could say for myself.
“Now, I want to know exactly what is going on here,” the doctor said sternly. “For starters, why are you two dressed like something right out of the local Renaissance Faire?”
At least I was ready for this one. The fact that we were in Los Angeles helped. Come to think of it, being in Hollywood’s back yard was even better luck.
“Fritz and I are working on a movie,” I said offhandedly. “It’s the fourth film in this fantasy series. The last one was called ‘Griffins Galore III’.”
Kwambe frowned, but the nurse brightened in recognition.
“Oh, wow!” she exclaimed. “My kids were begging me to see that film when it came out for rent. Somehow they missed it when it was in the theater. And now I really, really want to see the sequel!”
The doctor gave her a wry look. “Are you serious, Margaret?”
“You bet!” Margaret’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “Didn’t you get a good look at him? I knew that he had to be someone in the movies.”
“I was too busy trying to keep his heart beating,” Kwambe grumped. He looked back to me as he added, “If you two were working on a movie set, then where is the rest of your production crew?”
I spread my hands. “Production hasn’t even started yet! I was just working one-on-one with him at one of the filming locations. We were running lines, trying to get a feel for the script.”
“What part is he playing?” the nurse asked.
“Well, you saw his costume. He’s actually the King of the fantasy world in Griffin’s Galore.”
“King? I just knew it! He so looks the part! Where have I seen him before?”
Now that I was warmed up, I cranked my bluffing all the way up to maximum.
“You ever watch soap operas?” I inquired.
“Several, actually.”
“Okay, you know the one which has this blond guy that’s always hanging out in the background? He normally just gets a line or two in an episode, that’s all.”
She frowned. “I think so…”
“He’s the one who died tragically,” I urged. “Right at the end of last season, if you’ve been following the plot.”
Margaret’s eyes went wide. “That one where the pirates attacked the cruise ship?”
“That’s the one.”
“I cried my eyes out for week!”
“Okay, but here’s the thing,” I said, in a conspiratorial tone. She leaned in so she could hear me clearly. “Sure, he looks the part, but he’s not a gifted actor. In fact, his agent told me that he can’t act his way out of a paper bag!”
She laughed. “It’s true, so many of the good-looking ones are that way.”
“The director read him the riot act just yesterday. Told him that if he doesn’t nail his character, that he’s off the production. That’s why we were on location while in costume. And there’s one more thing you need to know. My friend is under orders. Orders from the kind of director who’ll make sure you never work in this town again unless you do exactly what he says.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s supposed to stay in character, no matter what. So, if he says anything, you know, funny? That’s him staying in character as the King of a medieval fantasy world.”
Margaret nodded solemnly. “I’ll make sure that the rest of the staff know.”
“Thank you, this really means a lot. For both of us.”
She finished scribbling her notes and then got up to leave. “You’re welcome. Imagine, we have an actual movie star here at First Samaritan!”
The doctor stayed silent as I watched her go. She immediately spoke to the other nurses at the station down the hall. One of them peeked excitedly into the window of the room marked 14-D. That was useful. At least I knew where they were keeping the King.
Kwambe appeared to be coping with a case of severe heartburn. Abruptly, he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. His eyes bored into mine.
“In Nigeria, where I grew up, there are over five hundred languages,” he remarked. “And all of them have a word for the line you just fed my colleague.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, you’re sorry, all right. This is the sorriest excuse for a story I’ve ever heard!” Kwambe fumed. “First off, that bite your friend has on his leg? That’s not from anything that lives here in California. Second, you know a hell of lot more medicine than you’re letting on, Miss Chrissie. And third, which production company are you from? You answer all those questions to my satisfaction right now, or I’m calling hospital security.”
I didn’t flinch from the doctor’s questioning. I stayed calm and centered. As a matter of fact, I had three things working in my favor right now. Ignorance, truth, and an even better half-truth.
“Okay. Let’s take that one at a time, in order. To begin with, I honestly don’t know exactly what injured my friend. He was being attacked, that’s all. I thought I heard him say ‘snake’. I’m no wildlife biologist, okay? If I knew what bit him, why wouldn’t I tell you? You saw how desperate I was to save my friend’s life, didn’t you?”
Kwam
be’s stare softened a bit. Only a little bit, but that was something.
“Go on,” he said.
“As for my medical knowledge, that comes from job experience. I work one-third time with the Office of the Medical Examiner as a crime scene investigator.”
His eyes narrowed again. “Do you have any proof of that?”
“I don’t have a purse or wallet handy. But if you want, I’ll put you through to the Director of the OME to confirm my employment status.”
The doctor was starting to look uncomfortable. Apparently, I wasn’t backing down the way he had expected.
“Um…if I call the OME, will your boss vouch for you?” he asked. “I mean, vouch for your doing acting work on the side?”
Luckily, I was ready for this one too. I shook my head slowly before I answered.
“No, I’ve kept my moonlighting quiet. And can you blame me?” I indicated my getup with a sweep of one hand. “Look at this! Do you think I want my co-workers to see me running around in a miniskirt and cone-shaped pink hat?”
Kwambe rubbed his chin as he considered that. “No, I can’t blame you. But about that production company…”
“I’m not allowed to tell you that,” I said, and before he could object, I quickly added, “That’s because we signed a deal with a rival studio to keep our work off the market for at least one full year. And if you don’t believe me, then I can give you a number to call.”
The doctor pulled a pen from the vest pocket of his clean white coat. He handed it to me as I tore off a section of newspaper and jotted down a name and ten-digit number. I handed it over to him as I played my last and final card.
“That’s the name and number for the head of the rival studio,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll get in trouble for giving it to you. When you call, tell her that you’re asking about ‘Griffins Galore’. She’ll confirm that we have a deal to keep everything under wraps for now.”
That was my final bluff. And the beauty of it was that half-true part.
Back when I’d been tracking down the Good King Benedict’s murderer, Galen and Shaw had gotten their first public exposure at Grauman’s Chinese Theater. That exposure, plus the fake movie banner I’d attached to Shaw’s tail while he flew around Los Angeles, had convinced at least one studio head that we were the real deal.
That studio head somehow tracked me down and called me at work, demanding to know who’d financed the most realistic looking SFX stunt she’d ever seen. When I wouldn’t tell her, she sent me a nice fat check to convince my backers to hold off on releasing our film for a while.
I’d kept that name and number in the back of my head, on the off chance that I’d have to explain the presence of a centaur and griffin strolling around Hollywood Boulevard. How the information finally got used surprised me, but at least it worked in my favor.
“All right,” Kwambe finally said, sounding resigned. “I owe you an apology. It’s just…you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen around here.”
“I sympathize. Really, I do.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Give me your number again, please. I want a way to contact you as soon as your friend wakes up.”
I gave my work number to him, waited until he entered it into his device’s memory, and then said, “You know, in all the confusion out getting Fritz here, I misplaced my own phone. May I use yours for just one moment?”
“Certainly.” The doctor handed his phone to me and stepped away as a medical assistant arrived with some charts to look over. I tapped in Esteban’s number as quickly as I could.
He picked up on the third ring. The background rumble of an idling motor told me that he was in his car. “This is Esteban.”
“Alanzo, it’s me,” I said quickly. “I need your help ASAP.”
“Dayna?” he said, startled. “I didn’t recognize this number.”
“I’m borrowing someone’s phone, just for this one call. I’m down at First Samaritan. The emergency room at the hospital, not the sanitarium side.”
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, someone else was hurt, not me.” I looked around, where Kwambe was finishing up his impromptu paperwork. “Just…I could really use a ride to Shelly’s, okay? I can explain more when you get here.”
“Your luck is in, I’m already over in Echo Park. Be there in just a few minutes.”
I hung up and gave the phone back to Doctor Kwambe, who said his ‘goodbyes’ and went off to resume his rounds. I looked around and noticed that the nurse station down the hall was now deserted. I considered for a moment.
Maybe my luck really was ‘in’.
I walked down to room 14-D and looked in the little square window. The glare from the hallway lights prevented me from seeing anything. I cracked the door open a few inches to peek inside.
King Fitzwilliam reclined peacefully on the bed, an IV hooked into one arm, and an oxygen saturation monitor cupped over his index finger like a purple-hued clothespin. In truth, his prominent nose, jaw, and shoulder-length gold hair did give him a regal air. It was only slightly diminished by the less-than-regal hospital gown and nasal cannula they’d stuck up his nose to get him oxygen from a pressurized tank.
I listened to the beep of his heart monitor. Everything sounded slow and steady. Inwardly, I started to relax as I realized Fitzwilliam wasn’t going to die anytime soon.
“Dayna!” a voice called.
I jumped, shedding that precious moment of relaxation. Feeling strangely guilty, I turned and spotted Esteban as he jogged down the hallway to join me. He had his arms out, and I hugged him as tightly as I could.
“I’ve had one hell of a morning,” I said, as I practically sagged against him. He smelled of after-shave, perspiration, and warm leather. It was a tonic for my senses. “You have no idea.”
“Yeah, I can only imagine,” he said, and then he blinked and moved to hold me at arm’s length. “What are you wearing?”
“It’s a…a costume of sorts,” I said, as I wrung my hands. “It was for this Andeluvian tournament. I know it looks stupid–”
“Stupid?” His eyes roamed from my bare legs up to my half-askew hennin. “I don’t know about that. Actually, I think you look really beautiful.”
“Oh, come on, Alanzo.”
“No, really,” he went on. “You look like a princess. One right out of a fairy tale. Only…you know, sizzling hot.”
I almost let out a groan. I swear, I would never understand men.
“Well, I really had no choice in the matter. When I became a Dame, the King made me swear an oath to follow the customs laid down by the court.” I explained. “That included being the ‘Primrose Lady’ at the kingdom’s Spring Tournament.”
“And how did that lead us here?” he asked, puzzled. “To where we’re standing in an ER ward?”
“Wyverns attacked the tournament. One of them bit King Fitzwilliam on the thigh and poisoned him. He’d have died unless I brought him here to our world.”
“Unless you brought…” With a dawning realization, Alanzo jerked the door to 14-D open a little more and peered inside. He stared at the patient in the bed for a moment. “That’s…the King of Andeluvia?”
“In the flesh.”
“Hmph,” he said, his voice sulky. “I thought he’d be taller.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because of the way you light up when you talk about him. I mean, you did dress up like this for him.” Esteban’s voice was teasing, but his eyes told a slightly different story. “Would you have done it for me?”
“That’s different! This was one of their dumb medieval customs.”
“That skirt of yours is awfully revealing for a costume from the so-called ‘Middle Ages’, Dayna. Any man would appreciate it, I think.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said, irritated. “This costume got altered during the attack. And as far as any man appreciating me…look, he’s my boss, that’s all.”
&n
bsp; The King stirred. His monitors ticked up a notch in tempo, but no alarms went off. His head tossed weakly back and forth against the pillow. Eyes closed, he spoke in a slurred voice.
“Dayna,” Fitzwilliam moaned. “I need you, Dayna. Need you…at my side. Need your…gave you power…over my…my…”
The tossing subsided.
Esteban gave me a look which withered any protest I could possibly make.
“Come on,” he said. “We need to get going.”
It was a quiet trip over to Shelly’s place.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
My rotten luck held just long enough for one good thing to happen on this truly awful day.
When Esteban finally dropped me off at Shelly’s, I found a note on the kitchen table. Shelly had been called in at the last minute to cover some extra shifts. So I had the run of the place until late in the evening.
Thank God.
My nerves had been stretched close to snapping for most of the day. I didn’t realize just how much until I went to the bathroom. As soon as I walked in, my hands started to shake. I gripped the sides of the sink as I dry-heaved a couple of times. Then I focused on my breathing until the tremors went away.
I finally felt steady enough on the inside to look up at the mirror.
The hair at the top of my head had been tousled into a fright wig. That was mostly my fault. It turned out that couldn’t get into Esteban’s car while wearing my hennin. I’d blindly ripped out a couple handfuls of hair pins to get the cone-shaped headgear off and sit it in my lap on the ride home.
That awfully quiet ride. Ugh. I didn’t know how I was going to get past this little relationship hurdle with Esteban. I had to admit that he was right about one thing. I had talked about King Fitzwilliam a fair amount, usually in a glowing light.
And when Esteban had asked about visiting this fantasy world himself? I’d brushed the request off, telling him that I’d have to get Fitzwilliam’s permission. Worse, I had never gotten around to speaking to the King about the issue in the first place.
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