by John Moore
“Nonsense. Boys aren’t like that. They want nice girls.”
“Ah. Missed your chance with him, eh?”
“Certainly not!”
Esmerelda glanced at an hourglass that was set into the wall. A thin trickle of sand was forming a neat pyramid in its bottom half. “A little time, a little time,” she murmured. She flipped open a wooden box and removed a gleaming knife with a short, bone handle and a narrow, wickedly curved blade. “Silver is such a soft metal,” she observed. “So difficult to put a proper edge on it. You don’t mind being carved up with a slightly dull knife, do you?”
Ann closed her eyes.
CYNTHIA CLOSED THE DOOR behind them and turned the key in the lock. The heavy bolt slid through the wood and set itself into the stone with a quiet “snick.” She casually fluffed her hair, then turned toward the Prince. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, running one hand over the smooth rock wall.
“What are you doing?”
“Dry as a bone,” murmured Charming. “But this cavern is below the water table. I expected at least some seepage.”
“It’s the grail. The power of the grail holds the water back. Remove it and this place would fill right up.”
“Oh, really?”
Cynthia studied him. Had he said that just a little too casually? He was a very cool customer and hard to read. She sat down next to him, the two of them sinking into the down-filled mattress. It was draped with satin sheets; they rustled as she slid next to him and put her arm around her waist. “Is this really your first time?”
“The very first.” Charming put his arm around her waist. She snuggled closer.
“Esmerelda says boys are a little nervous the first time.”
“Are you nervous?”
“What’s there to be nervous about? You know what to do, don’t you?”
“Of course.” She kissed him and after only a second, he kissed back. The kiss was long and lingering, and her lips were warm, soft, moist, and slightly parted. He felt the soft angel’s breath of her hair against his face and the briefest sensation of her tongue, probing for an instant against his mouth. Then she pulled away and leaned her head on his shoulder, sighing with satisfaction. “Oh, Prince Charming, I’ve waited so long for this moment.”
“Me, too.”
“I guess I just didn’t think you’d be so easy to seduce. I thought you’d have all sorts of idealistic notions of honor and virtue that I’d have to overcome.”
“Oh, those. Actually, I did. But, um, from the first moment I saw you, Cynthia, all other thoughts were swept from my mind and I could think of nothing else but being with you.”
“Really?”
“Really,” said Charming, grabbing a lush handful of thigh. Cynthia responded by wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him down on top of her. They locked lips for another, oh, three or four minutes. Charming came up gasping.
“Uh, listen,” he said between pants. “What do you say we go topside and, uh, take a walk under the stars and make love in the moonlight? Wouldn’t that be romantic and stuff?”
Cynthia’s nipples were straining against the red silk of her dress, protruding through the fabric like cherries. She pulled herself up and pressed them into Charming’s chest. Her arms snaked around his neck and she took the lobe of his ear between her teeth.
“Silly boy,” she whispered, nibbling gently. “You don’t have to stall. If you need more time, just relax. We’ve got all night.”
Charming held the squirming girl close to him and instinctively caressed her back and bottom. He glanced toward the door, noted the key in the lock and forced himself to look away. “I think you’d be surprised at how much time we have,” he muttered.
“Hmmm?”
“Nothing.”
Cynthia drew back and faced him. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes were hot and shining in the darkness. She looked at him searchingly a moment, then ripped open his shirt with a single motion. She began licking his chest, her tongue tracing wet circles on his skin.
Charming’s vision blurred. He got her dress down off her shoulders and her breasts, high, round, and firm, sprang free. He closed his eyes and cupped a hand around each one. It was like nothing he ever felt before. A long, drawn-out breath escaped him. “Oh, wow.”
Cynthia moaned softly. “Mmmmm.” She had kissed her way down his chest and her manicured fingers had found the buttons on his pants. Her breath was hot on his thighs. “I’ll treat you so much better than she would,” the girl murmured.
“Mmmm?”
“For three nights, I’ve watched you in Esmerelda’s magic mirror. Day after day you grew closer, while my heart beat faster at the sight of you. Eagerly I’ve awaited your… you… wait a minute!” She sat bolt upright. “Where’s your page?”
“Page?” said the Prince innocently. “What page?”
WENDELL SLIPPED INTO THE DARKNESS of the grail passage using his most catlike movements to avoid making any noise. He stood still for a minute and listened as hard as he could, expecting to hear the sound of blows or scuffling, or the clash of swordplay, or some other diversion that would indicate Charming’s presence. But the rock walls of the cavern and the heavy oak doors effectively masked all sound. The page gave himself a mental shrug. Charming was clearly doing his job of diverting attention from the grail, now all Wendell had to do was snag it.
In his right hand he carried a single-edged sword of Nordic steel, slightly curved in the style of the far east. It was one of Charming’s favorite swords and he had coated the blade lightly with oil and dusted it with soot before giving it to Wendell. “So it won’t reflect the lamplight. Makes it harder to see in the dark.” In his left hand he held a dark lantern. He was strongly tempted to slide back the cover and shine it down the passageway, but he decided against that. The light from the lantern would give away his presence and there was still enough torchlight shining through the open door to find his way.
He moved stealthily along the tunnel with the sword in front of him, arm held high and blade angled slightly downward. This, too, was Charming’s advice. He had told it to Wendell when they made their plans that afternoon. “Go for technique, Wendell. It will be some sort of ghost. A disembodied arm with a sword, the legend goes. Possibly the sword will be flaming or the arm will be flaming or both. The point is, it’s already dead. Don’t try to batter it down. You’ll have to disarm it.”
Wendell nodded after replaying the conversation in his mind, and continued to explore the cave. The walls were about four feet apart and the ceiling six feet high, plenty of room to move around, although it could get cramped fast if he had to fight in here. The rock walls were pretty smooth, although he could feel the marks left by chisels and hammers. It must have taken centuries to make this place; it was clearly very old. The floor was smooth also and, although it was coated with a thick layer of dust, at least it presented no obstacles for him to trip over. He went around a corner and into complete darkness, so he opened up the lantern. The light played on the walls and ceiling, revealing both carved and painted runic symbols. He knelt down and studied the floor, looking for booby traps. His search found nothing but smooth, bare stone.
As he moved forward, the floor took a sudden slope downward and the passage narrowed until there were only a few inches of clearance on either side of his shoulders. A few feet later, it opened up again and Wendell entered the grail chapel.
It must have been a large cavern, for when Wendell aimed his lantern around, the light dissipated without reaching the walls or ceiling. He took another step and his foot brushed something. He knelt down and held the lantern to it.
It was a human skull.
He swung the lantern slowly in a small circle. There were, he estimated, a dozen skeletons scattered about. Some wore armor. Most had carried weapons, which now lay tarnished among their bones. The skeletons were very old. No trace of flesh remained. For some reason he found that a relief.
In the center o
f the room was the alter. A small, nondescript object sat on top of it.
The altar, at first, confused him. It was the focal point of the chapel and the object of his quest; why had he not noticed it immediately? Then he realized it was too far off for his lantern to reach. He could only see it now because it was back-lit. The altar was outlined by an eerie green light. It hadn’t been there when he entered, he was sure, but now it grew steadily brighter. As he watched, a ball of green flame, like ball lightning on the masts of sailing ship, rose from behind the altar and hovered above it. The flames began to swirl and shimmer and take on shape. A few seconds later they suddenly solidified into the definite image of an arm. A glowing, green arm.
An arm with a sword.
“YOU JERK! LET ME GO!” Cynthia’s sultry voice took on a most unpleasant screech when she was angry.
“What?” said the Prince. “I thought we had a date.”
“It doesn’t count.” Cynthia was squirming and struggling in Charming’s arms, but the Prince held her firmly around the waist and leaned back on the bed. “You liar! You made a deal with Esmerelda. You only get to have me if you leave the grail alone.”
“I’m not touching the grail.”
“Your page is. It’s the same thing!”
“It is not.”
“Is too!”
“Is no… OWWWWWW.” Cynthia had scraped down his chest with the fingernails of both hands. Charming’s grip involuntarily loosened and, in a second, she had wiggled free and leaped clear of the bed. She was still wearing her high heels, though, and a momentary loss of balance had her tumbling to the hard stone floor. Immediately, Charming grabbed her shoulders and held her down. She slipped out from under him and once again made a dash for the door. Charming managed to get a handful of her dress as she fled and it tore away leaving her naked but for her stockings. She hit the door and bounced off it, pounding on the wood with one hand while the other twisted the key in the lock.
“Esmerelda,” she yelled at the top of her voice. “They’re taking the grail!”
“Give it up,” said Charming. He came up behind her and clamped his hand over hers. Effortlessly he turned her wrist until the key locked again, then pulled her hand away and pried the key from her fingers. “That door is four inches thick and the walls here are solid stone. She can’t hear you.” He put the key in his pocket.
“You rat. You cheated. You weren’t supposed to bring a back-up virgin.”
“That’s life.”
“Esmerelda was going to make us both great. Now you’re taking away her source of power.”
“I guess this means you won’t go to bed with me?”
Cynthia glared at him.
The Prince shrugged philosophically. “I’m getting used to it. Well, in that case, I think I’ll give Wendell a little more time and then we’ll bug out of here. Send me a bill for the dress.”
Cynthia stopped glaring and looked at him thoughtfully. He had outsmarted them, but he still didn’t know the whole story. If she could delay Charming long enough, Esmerelda could still recapture the grail. And Cynthia still had one trick left.
She started to cry.
“OKAY,” SAID ANN, “I’m willing to bargain with you.”
Esmerelda looked surprised. “Well, that’s a new twist. The usual reaction of young girls in your position is to cry a lot or scream their bloody little heads off. Either that or beg for mercy. I hate it when they beg. Well, actually I rather enjoy it, but I still think they shouldn’t do it. It’s so degrading. They should have more dignity.”
“Oh, yes,” said Ann. “Take Cynthia for instance. I can tell dignity is real important to her.”
“However, I’m afraid you are hardly in a position to bargain. Your life is in my hands and you have nothing to bargain with.”
“I’m very rich. I can offer you treasure beyond your wildest dreams of avarice. The wealth of a nation is at your disposal.”
“Your country is impoverished.”
“Magical secrets, then. My stepmother is a powerful sorceress who can weave powerful incantations that even you, with all your knowledge, would yearn to master.”
“Queen Ruby has the skill level of a good apprentice, nothing more.”
“How about a couple of season tickets to the jousting matches?”
“Forget it,” said Esmerelda. “I never bargain with my victims.”
“You bargained with Prince Charming.”
“That was different. Charming is a vicious son-of-a-bitch. I had to have him on my side. He took out Magellan, one of the most powerful wizards in the twenty kingdoms, without suffering a scratch. And two of his bodyguards besides. Have you heard that story?”
“Yes,” said Ann. “I mean, no. No, I haven’t heard that story. Why don’t you tell it to me now, withholding no detail, no matter how trivial or unimportant? Take your time.”
“There you are, trying to stall again. Why don’t you just quietly accept the inevitability of your fate with calm resignation and good graces? Then you can start crying and screaming, too.”
“I’m not going to scream,” said Ann, without much conviction.
“Spoken like a true princess.” Esmerelda took a leather strap, wrapped it around her hand, and began stropping the silver blade against it.
STRANGELY ENOUGH, Wendell did not feel the least bit frightened. Charming had been utterly confident that Wendell would be up to the task he was set and the page shared that confidence. What he felt now was excitement, a strange elation that came not from the prospect of a dangerous fight, but from the vague realization that he was undergoing a rite of passage, an entry exam into the exclusive world of heroes and adventurers. After tonight he would not merely listen at the fireside to tales of great battles fought and great beasts slain, he would have a tale of his own to tell of a mystical foe vanquished. Wendell gripped his sword and stepped forward cautiously but with assurance.
The arm had risen a little higher and now hung in the air over the altar. It burned with a cold green light that provided little illumination. It was normally sized, as big as a large man’s arm and muscular, although Wendell couldn’t really make out much detail. It ran from a broad shoulder to a thick wrist and the sword it held was short, broad-bladed, and flat. It was of bright metal but otherwise seemed to be a perfectly ordinary sword. Wendell moved in closer, holding up his lantern to throw more light on the altar. In the dimness he could see a flat brown object on its top. Nothing that looked like a grail.
He kept his attention on the arm. It was still hanging motionless and he wondered if he was going to have to make the first move. Perhaps it was expecting him to fall into a trap. He swept the lantern around, looking for a pit or deadfall, but all he found was smooth flat stone. At least there was plenty of room to fight.
He was less than two sword’s lengths away when the arm made its move.
It moved suddenly and without finesse, the point of the sword simply taking aim at Wendell’s heart and bearing down at him very fast. Despite the speed and the suddenness, the blow was easy enough to parry. What did surprise Wendell was the power of it — it deflected from his sword with a force that made him stagger.
The arm tore past him in a blaze of green light. The sword itself disappeared into the darkness, but the arm circled around in a wide arc, glowing like a green comet. It came back at top speed and he caught the blow with his sword. This time the impact drove him to his knees. The arm sped off, made another circle and came back faster than ever. Wendell make a quick strategic decision.
He picked up his lantern and ran.
“Remember this,” Charming had said. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be old. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years old. Sword fighting was pretty crude in those days. They didn’t have the kind of tricky moves we know. Keep your head and you should be able to chop anything you meet into mincemeat.”
Wendell ran back to where the tunnel opened into the cavern, stopped about four feet from the cavern wall and turned
around. With the wall at his back he felt a lot better. The sword came at him and this time he simply sidestepped the blow. Driven by momentum, it carried on straight into the wall and the crash of steel on stone rang through the cavern. It bounced off the wall and hung motionless for a second. Wendell stepped up and swung at the ghost arm. His sword passed clean through it without the slightest effect and the arm drew away again. Wendell was not too surprised. He decided to ignore the arm and concentrate on the sword.
The arm followed a simple pattern. It simply drew the sword back and then drove it straight in. Time after time it attacked and each time Wendell deflected the blow, but letting it work him deeper into the tunnel, so he had only to defend a narrow front. It became a fairly repetitive game, but the arm was indefatigable and there was a limit to how long an eleven-year-old boy could keep warding off its blows. Wendell was tiring and had to make his move.
In the end it was simple. Wendell had once seen Charming use the same trick against an ogre.
When the arm made its thrust; he didn’t ward the blow completely off. Instead, he let his own blade slide up the sword until the hilts locked, then threw all his weight to the side, pushing the sword up against the tunnel wall with his shoulder. With his left hand he dropped the lantern and reached for the sword’s hilt. He had to put his own fingers right through the green fist. When he did they burned like fire, but he ignored this, grabbed the handle, and pulled with all his might. All this happened in less then a second. The ancient blade snapped cleanly at the hilt.
The arm dissipated in a green mist. Wendell stood up straight and let the broken blade clatter to the stone floor. The hilt he tossed aside. “Well,” he said out loud, breathing hard. “That wasn’t such a big deal.” He looked around, half wishing that someone could have seen him in his moment of triumph. A girl, maybe. But there was no one else in the cavern. Being a hero is a lonely business.