One Dark and Stormy Knight

by Hermione Moon

  Her face creases with concern. “No, sorry.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. I have a feeling it came out in the interactive museum area. I don’t suppose I could quickly go through and check? They belonged to Mum, and they’re quite precious to me.” I try not to feel guilty about lying.

  “Of course,” she says. “I’m going shortly, but you can let yourself out of the south entrance. The cleaners have just started in the Uther room—they’ll lock up after you.”

  “Thanks, Helen. You don’t mind if I take Merlin with me?”

  “No of course. He’s a good boy.”

  I smile and go through the doors marked Staff Entrance into the corridor. The automatic lighting pops on, guiding me along the quiet passageway. Now the Adventure is closed, there’s no rumbling of the carriages along the tracks, no excited squeals of children or conversation amongst the adults. A vacuum cleaner hums on the other side. It’s eerily quiet, and my pulse, which was already speeding up with my excitement, is now racing.

  I exit the corridor at the end and enter the interactive museum. The room is semi-dark, and I can just about make out the suits of armour on the other side. I could turn on the lights, but I leave them off, conscious of the security camera in the corner. I can’t do much about that; I can only hope that nobody thinks to checks the tapes and sees what happens here tonight.

  Sir Boss stands between the other two knights, silent and stern. Merlin sits beside him, watching me expectantly. I extract the ruby ring from my jeans pocket, take a deep breath, and lift the helm’s visor.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Good evening,” Arthur says.

  I squeal at the sight of his blue eyes in the helm, then burst out laughing. “Wow, you made me jump!”

  “Sorry.” He smiles. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to see you, too.” Thankfulness floods my heart. I hadn’t realized until this moment how much I’d feared I wouldn’t be able to get him back. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” he says. He looks down at the ring in my hand. “You managed it, then.”

  “Yes. Where have you… you know… been?” I ask. “Did you stay with the ring, or were you in the suit of armour?”

  “I stayed with the ruby,” he says. Then he glances around the room. “Where am I?”

  “Matthew Hopkins got the Council to move you. I’m not happy about it.”

  He chuckles. “I bet you’re not.”

  “Sir Boss has stood in the café as long as I can remember.”

  “Are you still going to call me Sir Boss when I’m free?”

  I laugh. “Sir Boss is the name of the suit of armour.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says. “I quite like the title.”

  “Stop teasing me. I’m busy.” I study the metal plates of the suit. I’m not quite sure how this is going to work. The plates are joined by leather straps. Do I need to take off all the plates one by one?

  “Maybe start with the gauntlet,” he says.

  He wants me to put the ring on him. I can understand that. In the semi-darkness of the room, I bend and look at the left gauntlet. It’s surprisingly intricate. Steel plates are attached to a thick leather glove that looks a bit like a gardening glove, each plate overlapping with the next so the knight can bend his fingers to hold his sword or a horse’s reins. Two leather straps with buckles ensure the glove doesn’t slide off the owner’s hand.

  I begin by sliding the straps through the buckles. Once they’re undone, I take the gauntlet in my hands and gently pull. It slides off easily. And there beneath it is a strong hand with clean square nails and a light dusting of brown hair.

  “Oh,” I say, shocked to finally see him. He flexes his fingers, tightening them into a fist, then splaying them wide, but he doesn’t say anything.

  My own hand is shaking now, as I take the ruby ring and try it on his hand. It’s too small for his third and fourth digits, but it fits snugly onto his little finger, and once it’s there, it looks as if it couldn’t have gone anywhere else.

  Behind me, Merlin barks.

  I smile, thinking he’s barking at the fact that Arthur’s finally wearing the ruby ring, but within a few seconds I turn with concern, conscious that his rapid barks are a warning. I inhale sharply as I see that someone has exited the passageway behind me and is standing on the other side of the room.

  It’s Mary Paxton.

  I straighten, my heart pounding.

  She looks up at the corner of the room, where the security camera is watching us. Out of her pocket, she takes a handful of powder, holds it in the palm of her hand, and blows on it. It dissipates through the room in seconds and forms a mist above our head, obscuring us from the sight of anyone watching the scene. Oh… that’s serious magic.

  “Hello, Gwen,” she says, walking into the room. She starts circling the round table, coming toward me. Her salt-and-pepper hair is limp from the rain. Her raincoat is hanging open, and her clothing is wet. Her eyes look a little crazy, and she’s breathing heavily.

  “Mary.” My head is spinning. Has she come to do me harm?

  She glances around. “What are you doing in here?”

  So she didn’t see me talking to Arthur. Not wanting her to see his bare hand or his eyes, I move away from the suit of armour toward the exit, and she turns to follow me.

  “Stop,” she demands, and I stop moving.

  “I came to find an earring I dropped,” I tell her, pleased that my voice sounds calm. I take out the one I showed Helen and hold it up. “I visited the museum earlier, and I’m sure I left it in here.”

  She nods slowly, already losing interest. “Well I’m glad I got you on your own,” she says. “I figured it’s time we had a little talk.”

  I lift my chin, determined not to show her how scared I am. “What about?”

  “I think you know what about,” she says softly. “Mum rang to tell me that Imogen Hobbs and the rest of her oafish officers are currently traipsing through my shop with their filthy boots.”

  So Imogen must have got her search warrant. Hurry up, Immi, I think in my mind. I need help!

  “Why are they doing that?” I ask.

  “Stop playing dumb,” she snaps, “it doesn’t suit you. You know perfectly well what they’re doing. You sent them there. It’s all your fault. Mum heard Imogen talking to her sergeant, and she said the idea of looking in the shed was yours.”

  I don’t say anything, mainly because I know there’s nothing I can say that will make Mary believe I’m not involved in this.

  “They won’t find it,” she says. “I’ve hidden it well.”

  “Hidden what well, Mary?” I hold her gaze, as the final piece of the puzzle comes to my mind. “Do you mean Liza’s Tudor rose pendant? I don’t think you’ve hidden it as well as you thought.”

  She stares at me. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s at the bottom of a pot of roses, isn’t it?”

  Her cheeks pale. “How did you know that?” she whispers.

  “Magic,” I tell her. “Obviously. As one witch to another, you should have realized that.”

  Her hands tighten into fists by her side. I glance down at them, and a cold sliver of ice runs down my spine as I see a coil of fishing line in her right hand.

  “You don’t need to do this,” I tell her, my heart banging against my ribs.

  “Oh, I think I do. If they can’t find the pendant, they won’t be able to pin Liza’s death on me.”

  “They will,” I tell her. “I’ve already told Immi to look under the roses. She’s found drops of blood from your hands at the scene of Liza’s murder. And you made the mistake of placing the roses in the vase that Christian knocked over at the entrance to the library before you killed her. I saw them, and it places you at the scene of the crime.”

  Her face is now a strange purple colour. “You think you’re so smart,” she says, her voice hoarse with emotion. “Meddling like an old woman.”

  “That�
��s me,” I tell her, edging toward the exit. “Old and crotchety.”

  “Trying to make Christian love you with your cookies and muffins,” she says.

  “Christian?” I stop walking, surprised. “What do you mean? I don’t like Christian in that way.”

  “Of course you do.” She spits out the words as if they’re bitter pills. “You’re all over him with your red hair and your innocent smile. You’re just the same as Liza, batting her eyelashes at him like a trollop.”

  “Liza?” Now I’m confused. “Liza was married to Luke.”

  “She wanted Christian,” Mary snaps.

  “Mary, you’re wrong…”

  “Don’t tell me what I am!” She’s clearly losing the plot.

  I’m sure Liza wasn’t interested in Christian. She might have been many things, but as far as I know she never cheated on Luke, and they were happy together.

  Mary’s obviously developed an unhealthy obsession for him, and it’s clouding any common sense she might once have possessed.

  “Christian’s only interested in one person,” I tell her gently. “Imogen. They both like one another, and it won’t be long before they start dating properly.”

  “You’re wrong!” She screams the words.

  “I’m not, Mary, and—”

  “Stop it! Shut up, shut up!” And she lunges for me, her hands raised to bring the fishing line around my neck.

  The next ten seconds pass in a blur of action as several things happen at once. Merlin leaps for her, and his jaws close around her arm. She screams and hits out at the dog, sending him flying across the tiles. Fury fills me at the thought that she might have hurt him, and I step forward to do something—I don’t know what, hit her, maybe, although I’ve never punched anyone in my life.

  But before I can reach her, my knight in shining armour comes to the rescue again. Arthur tears himself from the stand, wrenching the chain out of the wall where it held up his sword arm, and he walks forward, lowering his arm so his sword is pointing at Mary.

  Her jaw drops at the sight of the knight coming to life. She lifts a hand to press against her mouth as she screams, backing away until she meets the round table, and for a moment I think she’s going to have a heart attack, because her face is filled with horror.

  Then behind me there’s a crash as the south door flies open, and Imogen comes bursting in, half a dozen officers hot on her heels.

  She glances at the knight and her eyes widen, but she doesn’t stop, instead going straight up to Mary, and she quickly pulls Mary’s arms behind her back and fastens a pair of handcuffs on her as one of the officers switches on the lights.

  “Immi!” I’m so relieved I nearly pass out.

  “Mary Paxton, I’m arresting you for the murder of Liza Banks in the library on the night of the seventeenth of March,” she declares. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  She finally looks at me. “You were right,” she says. “We found the Tudor rose locket at the bottom of a pot of roses. And the DNA test has come back from the blood spots at the library, and it matches the DNA from the coffee cup.”

  “It was only partly about Henry being Liza’s father,” I tell Immi. “Mary was in love with Christian, and she thought Liza also wanted to date him.”

  “Christian?” Imogen stares at her. “My Christian?”

  I wait for Mary to do something awful—to spit at her, or to give her a mouthful of foul language, but instead she looks forlorn, and tears start rolling down her face. I can’t help but feel a stab of pity. I know what it’s like to be lonely. Mary’s love turned into an unhealthy obsession, but she’s not necessarily to blame for that. We can’t always help our feelings.

  Imogen looks around, and I finally remember that we’re not alone. One of the officers is bending talking to Merlin.

  “Is he okay?” I ask.

  “He’s fine, aren’t you, fella?” The officer ruffles the dog’s hair, and Merlin licks his face.

  Imogen’s gaze slides to the suit of armour beside me. “And what’s going on here?” she asks softly.

  I look at the knight. Arthur lifts his left arm and raises his visor. The ruby glints in the light. “Hello,” he says.

  I clear my throat. “This is Arthur.” Conscious of the other officers looking at him curiously, I add, “He’s a friend of mine. He helps out with the museum, and he was trying on the suit of armour to see if it fit when Mary came in.”

  Mary stares up at him as if she knows that’s not what happened, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “I see,” Imogen says. She extends her right hand to him. “Hello, Arthur.”

  He leans his sword against the round table. Then, with his left hand, he unbuckles the straps on his right gauntlet and slides it off. Finally, he shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you at last,” he says.

  He releases her hand, and we both watch as he undoes the catch holding on his helm and lifts it off. I stare up at him, knowing I’m blushing as his warm blue eyes smile down at me.

  “Well, I’d better get Mary off to the station,” Imogen says. “Maybe the two of you would be kind enough to come in first thing tomorrow, and I’ll take a statement.”

  “Of course,” I say, and Arthur nods.

  “Okay.” She gives me a final, amused look, then steers Mary out of the building. The officers follow, leaving Arthur with Merlin and me.

  I let out a long, relieved sigh, then turn back to Arthur. He’s watching me, and he smiles.

  “You saved me again,” I tell him.

  “Getting to be a habit,” he replies. He tips his head to the side and studies me with gentle concern. “How are you?”

  I inhale deeply, then let out a long, shaky sigh. “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I bend and put my arms around Merlin. “I am now I know you’re both okay.” I kiss Merlin’s ears. “I was so worried about you,” I whisper. “Thank you for trying to save me.”

  Merlin whines and kisses me back. I smile and ruffle his ears, then straighten to look at the man standing beside me.

  We look at each other for a long, long time.

  “You’re really here,” I say eventually.

  “Looks like it.” He lifts the hand with the ruby ring and looks at it, then flexes his hand again. “So… are you ready to help me out of this suit?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I study Arthur suspiciously. “Are you wearing anything under the armour?”

  His eyes twinkle. “You’ll have to find out.”

  “Arthur…”

  “Yes, Gwen. I’m wearing what a medieval knight would wear. I’m very authentic.”

  Grumbling under my breath, I begin to undress him.

  Over the years, I’ve read a lot about medieval armour, so I know the names of the various plates, and I have an idea of how they go on him.

  His gauntlets are already off, so I decide to continue with his arms. I undo the straps holding on the couters or elbow plates, then the vambraces or lower arm guards. He seems to be wearing a long-sleeved gambeson beneath the armour—it’s a quilted cloth jacket, probably stuffed with animal hair. No wonder he complained he was hot.

  Next, I undo the tassets, which are plates that protect the upper thighs, then I remove the faulds, which cover a knight’s waist and hips. After this I take off the plackart, which is the plate that covers the lower half of his torso at the front, the pauldrons on his shoulders, and the large breastplate, from which the modern bullet-proof vest is descended. After removing the back plate, I take off the spaulders that protect his shoulders and the gorget that covers his throat.

  Determined not to be distracted by his broad shoulders and the fact that he’s a man and definitely real, I remove the cuisses or thigh plates, the poleyns that protect his knees, the greaves that cover his shins, and finally the sabatons that cov
er his feet.

  I work quietly, concentrating on the items, the buckles and straps, and Arthur doesn’t speak either. Once, when I remove the sabatons, he leans on my shoulder for balance as I kneel by his feet, and I have to fight not to giggle. I think I’m a little hysterical from all the drama tonight. I feel a bit lightheaded too. I need something to eat.

  When I’ve removed all the plates, I unlace the padded gambeson, and he bends forward so I can pull it over his head. I have to tug it hard, but eventually it comes off, bringing his linen top halfway off with it.

  I stare as he straightens, the top taking a moment or two before it falls back down. Oh Goddess. His torso is amazing. Even his muscles have muscles.

  I step back and take in the full picture. He’s tall, maybe six two, and broad shouldered, with muscular arms that demonstrate the years he must have spent wielding a sword and fighting in battle. The woollen trousers he’s wearing also cling to muscular thighs. He’s barefoot, and his jaw and cheeks show a few days’ worth of stubble.

  It’s King Arthur. Here, in the flesh.

  What do I do now?

  His blue eyes turned my insides to caramel, but I need to stay practical. “We should get you home,” I tell him. “You can have a shower and I’ll ask a friend to bring you round some clean clothes.” Uncle Max won’t mind parting with a few items. “And then you should have something to eat.”

  “I have to admit, I’m ravenous,” he says, rubbing his stomach in a circle. “It’s an unusual feeling. I haven’t been hungry for fifteen hundred years.” He drops his hand. “But there are two things we have to do first.”

  “Okay.”

  “We should put Sir Boss back together,” he says.

  I look at the pieces of armour strewn about the floor. “Oh, yes, I suppose so.”

  “It won’t take long. I’ll help.”

  We start reassembling the knight on the stand. Arthur’s right: it’s easy now I know what bit is attached to what, and within ten minutes the knight looks as good as new.