by Garon Whited
“Professor?”
“Yes?”
“Mary is on the line.”
“Hello, Mary.”
“Hello, sweetie! I’m about ready to close up shop, here.”
“Already?”
“There are a few more things to do, and there will be a bit of a delay while I wait for mail to stack up. Then some final signatures, a couple of checks, a briefcase full of rare earth metals, and we’re done.”
“Have I mentioned you’re awesome?”
“On occasion.”
“This is an occasion. Where do you want to go while you’re waiting for mail to pile up?”
“I get to pick?”
“You did the work.”
“I’ll have to think about it. Anything you want to finish up in Flintridge?”
“No, I’m… I take that back. Yes, there is one thing.”
“What is it?”
“I have to take a road trip to Kansas.”
“What’s in Kansas?”
“A used car lot. At least, I kind of hope it’s there.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t try. I’m being geeky again.”
“Oh. All right. Road trip?”
“Yes. I’ll clean out the trunk of the Impala and vacuum the interior.”
“There’s not a lot to see between Los Angeles and Kansas.”
“Are you kidding? There are the Rockies, the Painted Desert—”
“Before you itemize, let me remind you of the big, flat, empty desert, too.”
“Bronze won’t mind. She loves to run.”
“Fine, but bring some extra cans of gas.”
Flintridge, Tuesday, October 21st, 1969
Bronze, Mary, and I hit the highway.
It was a good trip. I travel by horseback, shift-booth, and gate spell a lot. It’s not often I get in a car and go on a real journey. Maybe it’s a nostalgia thing, harking back to childhood days and family trips.
True, things were a trifle different back then. Now, Bronze did the driving, I did the spells to keep her off the radar, and both Mary and I had to make pit stops for body-bagging. All these were minor things, not something to spoil a road trip. We rumbled along at a little over the limit during the days, sprinted like hell at night, played loud music, ate deliciously bad food, and only once had to eat somebody.
I was inside the gas station, paying for the snacks and the gas. When I came out, Mary was in the back seat instead of the front. She was also holding a man down in the floorboards with a particularly unpleasant arm lock. The toe of one shoe was in his mouth to keep him quiet. I raised my eyebrows and she smiled at me. The engine started and rumbled eagerly, so I climbed in and pretended to drive.
“Okay, now that we’re on the road, what gives?”
“He asked me if I had any change.”
“Not normally a kidnapping offense,” I observed.
“When I handed him a quarter, he got all grabby. I suspect he planned to hit me, stuff me in the back seat, and steal the car.”
“Wow. Some people have the worst luck. Does he have a wedding ring?”
There was a muffled grunt, groan, and yelp.
“I don’t see one.”
“Probably not a full-time father, then. He might not be missed.”
“When we get into the middle of nowhere, can we put him in the trunk?”
“Sure.”
And there was our evening snack.
Aside from that, it was an uneventful drive. Even though it was uneventful, it was fun.
Sometimes, it’s the simple pleasures I miss. Why did I bury myself in quiet obscurity for so long?
I don’t know if the rumble of an engine counts as an answer, but I took it as one.
Flintridge, Wednesday, October 22nd, 1969
Lawrence, Kansas, at the time, was a nice little place. It boasted about forty thousand people, but it felt smaller. It had that small-town, almost Mayberry feel to it. I liked it. I consulted the Yellow Pages in a phone booth, found destiny intended to amuse me today, and climbed back into the car.
“What’s the grin for?” Mary asked.
“I’ve been thinking about this, off and on, ever since Bronze occupied the Impala. It deeply appeals to my geeky nature.”
“Dare I ask? Or is it a secret?”
“I’m selling the car.”
“O-kay. Did you clear this with Bronze?”
The exhaust rattled like laughter. I grinned.
“Yes. She likes the Impala, but it’s just another suit of clothes to her. I do have to get her out of the car so I can sell it, though. We’ll have to find a rental place.”
“What’s all this about?”
I took the wheel and Bronze let me. I knew where I was going.
“I’m not sure I can explain in the next ten minutes. I promise I will, though.”
“Fair enough.”
We rented a car, Bronze jumped into it, and I drove the Impala onto the lot of Rainbow Motors. I sold it to them for a song—possibly Carry On My Wayward Son, by Kansas. I could have driven a harder bargain, but even a used-car salesman deserves a chance to make a living. Besides, if there was any chance at all… well, maybe the guy who would someday buy it could haggle him down to something reasonable. We went inside to do paperwork and I signed the name “Sal Moriarty” before I rode away with Mary. All we left in the car were some food wrappers and the same two boxes of bibles we found in it.
Karvalen, Friday, March 2nd, Year 9
Before I headed to Karvalen, I was in The Manor. Mary was minding our business arrangements in Flintridge and other worlds.
It was a nice day in The Manor. I enjoyed some quiet time and listened to Trixie sing. She doesn’t sing like a human. She trills, maybe warbles—I’m not sure of the difference. Vibrato? Something like that. It’s a fluctuating sort of sound, very high-pitched. It makes me think of birdsongs, only with a melody.
Diogenes also reported on the skyguard laser. Six German planes in various directions mysteriously blew to pieces while I was away. None of them were closer than twelve miles. I considered the skyguard system a resounding success and complimented Diogenes on his workmanship.
I also did some inspecting of the campus buildings. The apartments—grr. The flats were in good shape and given high marks by the people living in them. The rest of the buildings at least deserved the name—buildings—and were perfectly adequate as long as you didn’t demand much from the interior. They were finishing the plumbing, but the heat, electricity, and lights were in working order. Classes were in session despite the work still going on.
All things considered, I was pleased.
Then Diogenes delivered a message to me, informing me of a request from the Queen.
“How the hell did she get your number? Wait. Which queen?”
“Lissette.”
“Oh. Right. Elizabeth is post-war… sorry. What does she want?”
“She requests an audience with the King.”
“Did she say ‘King’ or ‘Demon King’?”
“She used only the title, not the qualifier.”
“That’s a good sign. I’ll head right over.”
Of course, that meant driving to Maryport, since I didn’t know how long I’d be gone. Still, it wasn’t an unreasonable delay. It can take longer to find someone in the Palace and tell them they’re wanted. Even with a dash through Wardrobe, Bronze and I were stepping through a gate within the hour. Then we had to step through another gate, this time from the mountain to the capitol, and then gallop from the arrival point to the Palace.
I should make a secure target gate for the Palace.
It was daytime, so I was wearing the full armor. It’s not that I—oh, hell. Yes, I am scared of being assassinated. There. I said it. And I’m going to go on being overcautious and paranoid and scared, all right?
We frightened a few people by emerging from the doorway of the Carrillon Temple of Shadow. It’s not every day god comes out to
take a walk. I felt the appreciation and amusement from my altar ego. The gods of Karvalen do love attention. They eat that stuff up.
We didn’t have any trouble at the Palace gates, either. There was much bowing and saluting and some kneeling, but nobody gave us any hassle. I was shown through the maze to the royal chambers and offered refreshment. I declined on principle and settled into a nice, heavy-duty chair. Lissette would get to me when she was ready.
By the way, Firebrand...
Yo.
Anybody planning to inform their masters of the presence of the King?
Just the usual, boss. Check the dungeons for a list of people waiting on the King’s Justice, in case you’re here this evening. Make sure there’s an extra roast cooking in case you’re hungry now. Air out the dungeon chambers and change the bedding. All the things people do when you show up. Nobody planning on killing you, as far as I can tell.
I am comforted. Thank you.
And I am disappointed, but I’m glad to help.
I put my feet up on the footstool, the helmet on a spiky projection at the top of the chair back, and laid Firebrand, scabbard and all, across the chair arms. I waited.
They put me in a nice room, at least. It had a good view south, over the harbor, and I wondered at the number of ships. Was it more than usual? An army doesn’t march across an ocean, after all. A gate spell might work for tactical operations—a few dozen, maybe a hundred men—but not for ten thousand men and all their gear. Fighting men alone are not enough. There’s also the baggage. Camping gear, food, water, spare weapons and armor, tools for upkeep and repair of other gear… the list goes on and on.
The harbor did look a trifle busier than usual, I decided.
One of the doors creaked open, so I rose and turned, ready to greet either Lissette or the flunky sent to fetch me. Instead, I was met by wide brown eyes half-hidden behind a mop of brown curls. She was probably eight years old and, I suspected, taking advantage of the “secure” royal chambers to dodge a nanny, tutor, or other authority figure.
“Good afternoon,” I said, by reflex. She curtseyed at me.
“Well met,” she replied. She was well-trained in polite manners, at least.
“Don’t stand in the doorway,” I suggested. She stepped inside, swishing a long skirt away as she closed the door. It was a nice dress. The sky-blue suited her skin and the gold-wire belt was a good highlight. Give her another ten years and she would look perfectly at home at a court function. I saw some of Lissette in her face, which was much better than the traces of Thomen.
“My name is Halar,” I continued. “What’s yours?”
“Selais. Are you really Halar?”
“Yes. Are you really Selais?”
“Silly. Of course I am.”
“Good. Did you come to see me or to avoid someone?”
“I don’t want to do more needlework,” she stated.
“Ah. I presume you’re avoiding whoever is supposed to be teaching you needlework.”
“Velait. She’s mean.”
“Adults can be like that, sometimes. What would you rather do?”
“I want to use a sword, like Mom!” she exclaimed, face lighting up. “Trael and Traen sometimes let me practice with them, but they’re lots better than I am.”
“Who are Trael and Traen?”
“Malena’s daughters.” Selais cocked her head at me. “Didn’t you know?”
“I’ve been gone for a while.”
“I know.” She found herself a seat on a low couch. “Mom says you’re my father, and that makes me a princess, and I have to marry a prince, or maybe a duke, or somebody noble.”
“You’re certainly a princess,” I agreed, holding my tongue about Thomen. Selais must be the youngest of the bunch. She was the right age. “I’m surprised your mother won’t let you learn swords.”
“She says I have to wait until I’m bigger.”
“Oh. Well, that’s fair. Some swords are quite big and heavy.”
“Malena’s sword isn’t. It’s a girl’s sword.”
“So it is. But Malena is also a lot bigger than you, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“So, girl’s sword or not, it’s still a grown-up sword.”
“Liam got a sword before he was a grown-up. Terrel, too.”
“Interesting. No doubt your mother has a good reason.”
“I don’t think it’s fair,” she complained.
“Maybe she’s waiting until you finish learning other lessons—like needlework—before starting with sword lessons.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you done learning needlework?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Huh.” She thought about it. “I hate needlework.”
“Why?”
“It hurts my fingers,” she replied, holding up one hand. Her fingertips were red.
“Have you told your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you.”
“How heavy is your sword?” she asked, switching back to her favorite topic.
“Pretty heavy. Here.” I drew Firebrand and held it out to her. She hopped up and grabbed the hilt with both hands.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I told her, still holding Firebrand by the flat of the blade. “Don’t just go swinging it around. You have to be gentle with it. Lift it, don’t throw it. Move it slowly, carefully, so you cut only what you want to cut. Place it where you want it, don’t just wave it around.”
She tried again, more carefully, and I let her take the blade out of my hands. She grunted as she hefted it, but she was careful. She had to use both hands, one up near the guard, the other on the pommel. Firebrand suffered it with good grace, I think.
She finally laid the blade on my hands again and let go. She wiped her hands on her skirt.
“It’s too heavy,” she observed.
“That’s because it’s not only a grown-up sword, but a grown-up sword for strong grown-ups. You’ve seen knights with big swords, haven’t you?”
“Yes. There are also knights with little swords.”
“Oh?”
“Torvil and Kammen and Seldar all have little swords.”
“So they do,” I agreed. “Other knights have big swords. It’s not always the size that matters.”
I was profoundly glad Mary wasn’t with me. I could easily imagine her reply. “Every man is going to tell her that. No need to start so early.” Or something like it, anyway.
Further conversation was curtailed by the opening of the door. Malena entered first, followed by Lissette and a gentleman I didn’t recognize. He was obviously Malena’s partner in guarding the well-being of the Queen. Lissette sighed when she saw Selais, but seemed too tired to scold her.
Lissette shooed her off the couch and flopped in a rather undignified fashion on it. A servant entered a moment later, bearing a tray with refreshments—tea, little sandwiches, cookies. The bodyguards took up station at either end of the couch. Selais climbed up my lap, much to my surprise. It surprised Lissette, too.
“Selais.”
“Yes, Momma?”
“Don’t pester him,” she ordered, and sat up. She started eating, slowly.
“He doesn’t mind,” Selais pointed out. Lissette sighed and focused on her food.
I kept my mouth shut. It was true, I didn’t mind, as such. You’d think I’d be used to the weird way children seem to like me. I didn’t want to be involved in a mother-daughter argument, however, when the mother was the Queen and had already summoned me to her presence.
Yes, I know I’m the King. What does that say about our relationship?
So I bounced Selais on my armored knee and tickled her a little. She repaid me by climbing up on my shoulders and putting my helmet on her head. Lissette chomped, grimly determined not to say anything. I thought I detected Malena resisting the urge to smile. The other guy just stood there, not sure what to make of i
t all.
“How do you see in this?” Selais asked, muffled.
“It fits me better,” I told her. “The faceplate is too low for you.”
“Can I have one?”
I glanced at Lissette. She obviously noticed. It was hard not to. She also didn’t have the energy to argue. Kids and kingdoms can be exhausting.
“Maybe when you’re older. You have to grow a lot before it’ll fit.” I handed her a cookie. She couldn’t figure out how to raise the faceplate, so she put her hand up under the helmet and munched, sending crumbs into my hair.
When Lissette finished her afternoon tea, she sent Selais to find her tutor. Selais didn’t want to go, with predictable results. Lissette swatted Selais’ backside personally. I approved. There’s something about the idea of having one’s bodyguards do the spanking that seems wrong to me.
With calories and kid disposed of, Lissette resumed her seat. I sat up, hung my helmet on the back of the chair again, shook crumbs from my hair, and smiled at her.
In my head, I was thinking, How can she look so much older? The grey strands were more obvious than I recalled. Lines crept around her eyes like hoarfrost on a window. How did she get older so quickly? Kids? Kingdom? War?
“You called. I came.”
“Yes.” She sipped some tea. She didn’t seem disposed to continue. I leaned back in the chair, extended my legs, and waited. I did try to smile encouragingly. I don’t know if I succeeded.
“What are your plans?” she asked, finally.
“I’m not sure I have any plans. What do you mean by ‘my plans’?”
“I’m going to war with three kingdoms and a religion. Your holy knights kept trying to volunteer until recently. All at once, they stopped. Now your temple is keeping its warriors close at hand and has forbidden them to damage themselves in practice. Don’t try to tell me you’re not going to be involved.”
“Oh, those plans. Yes. Well. I was thinking of maybe keeping an eye on the straits of the Fang Rocks, maybe destroying the strong points where ships get attacked, things like that.”