The Vagary Tales

by Robert Michael

a scroll, a quill, and a scowl that was meant to be inviting.

  "We are honored by your presence, Lord Ranor. The Queen is expecting you. Please leave your rapier here," he pointed to a weapons rack near the entry. "Our Queen will be with you in a moment. She has been apprised of your arrival and is preparing to see you now."

  "Thank you, Xavier. I wish I could have visited under better circumstances," Asher commented, folding his gloves and tucking them into the sash at his waist.

  Xavier blinked, but did not comment.

  "If Lord Ranor prefers, refreshments have been prepared in the next room. The Queen wishes to join you there." Xavier smiled wanly.

  Asher set his rapier aside, bowed low to Xavier and walked solemnly into the inner chamber. Candles were set upon a table that would seat twenty. It was made of an oak and varnished to within a shade of black. Platters of food adorned the table, a carafe of wine, and a pitcher of mead.

  Without thinking, Asher took a seat near the head of the table. Only two place settings were prepared. It was a good assumption that the Queen's place was reserved at the head of the table. Three gilded boxes were set aside of the golden trays of food.

  Curious, Asher pulled up the chair and sat down. He grabbed some grapes and cheese from the platter directly in front of him. He poured some wine and drank deeply, feeling the wine dribble down his cheeks into his neatly trimmed beard. As he ate and drank, he couldn't take his eyes from the three boxes.

  They were laced with filigree, delicate artwork and decorated with precious stones. The lid of each box was molded and covered in solid gold. The boxes were larger than his head and perfectly square. He wondered what they could be and why they were here.

  He smelled the Queen before he heard her or saw her. Her presence was announced by a heavy floral scent, cloying and deep in top notes. Asher blinked to clear his eyes. The perfume was doing strange things to his vision. He stood before she entered and composed himself, smoothing his coat.

  "Lord Asher Ranor," she said simply. She allowed herself a smile, secretive and wieldy. She approached him, extending her gloved hand. He took it gently and brought it to his lips. It was supposed to be a touching and royal moment. But it felt stale and false.

  He closed his eyes and kept the hand pressed to his lips and then his cheek. It felt cold even through the satin of the glove.

  "Please sit, Asher," the Queen beckoned quietly. She retrieved her hand and kept it close to her chest. She watched him closely as he retrieved his seat.

  She made her way around the table, her dress rustling slightly. As she sat, he followed. Her eyes were dull and her features weary. He had never seen her like this. The scent of her perfume filled his head, making his eyes water and his throat ache.

  "I believe you know why I summoned you, Asher," she said simply. Queen Vizara was always courteous but blunt. She wasted no time in broaching subjects, administering praise or criticism.

  "You have me at odds, my Queen. I know of nothing about my realm that concerns your kingdom. However, I came at your beckon because of my great respect for you and your late husband."

  The Queen looked away and removed her hand from her chest. She laid it on the table. It was shaking. Maybe he had blundered. Her eyes wandered to the boxes.

  "Well. Then we will get to that matter soon. First, I suppose you were curious about these boxes, were you not?" She glanced at him, a mischievous smile playing at her lips.

  "Indeed. I was hoping to sneak a peek before you entered."

  She looked at him seriously, disapproval written on her pursed lips, her squinted eyes.

  "It is good that you resisted, Lord Ranor. I would not have been pleased."

  "My only wish is to please you, my Queen." Her smile returned.

  "Samuel always liked you, you know?"

  "His judgment is not as sound as I once thought," he joked.

  "Well, there is no accounting for taste, I suppose. But, Couervan believes you are a phony. He thinks you have never commanded an army, ruled a kingdom or learned an art," she challenged him.

  "It seems he has a better assessment of me than his brother."

  "Your humility is not becoming, Asher." She arose abruptly and moved closer to him. He noticed she was barefoot. She reached for the carafe of wine and began pouring it into his cup.

  "You need not serve me, Queen."

  She frowned. "I thought you wanted to please me, Lord Ranor? Allow me this. It pleases me to wait upon you." She finished pouring the wine. She brought it to his lips, her eyes boring into his.

  "You see, Asher, I require a favor from you." She put the glass down and came around behind him, her hands falling upon his shoulders lightly. They felt dead.

  "Whatever you need, Queen. I will not withhold anything from you."

  "That is what I was hoping," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper, sad and haunting.

  "Please, if you will, open the first box, Asher."

  He looked up at her, standing behind him. She grabbed his shoulders and lifted. "Now. It is fine now."

  He numbly rose and made his way around the table. He grabbed the first box and pulled the lid from it. It was lined inside with red satin. Another box was within, long and thin. He looked at her, his eyes questioning.

  "Open it."

  Asher reached inside, a clarion of alarms sounded in his head. He lifted the box. It was heavier than he expected. A narrow ribbon held the lid in place. He removed it and opened the box to find an ornate dagger. It was beautiful and awful at the same time. It radiated hate and fear. He could feel its pull against his heart, its call to his soul to release it. He could feel the Queen's eyes upon him.

  "I want you to have this gift, Asher. It means so much to me. I came to possess it upon the death of my husband, the king." She sounded composed, but her eyes were watering, her makeup welling up in dark splotches. "Please open the next one, Asher. It contains not a gift, but another beckon, as does the third. One gift for two favors. I have not always been known for my fairness, I am afraid." She managed a weak grin.

  He didn't answer. Instead, he placed the dagger back into the box, trying to tear his eyes away from it. Could she not feel the evil that radiated from the thing? He dreaded this now more than he had anticipated. He knew the Queen had changed, but had no idea she was touched so.

  He grasped the lid of the second box and removed it. Again, another box was inside. It was smaller, covered in gold and precious stones. He didn't bother looking at the Queen again. He couldn't bear to see those eyes that he couldn't read. He opened the second box and inside was a ring. It was large, with an emerald the size of a chestnut in the center surrounded by diamonds. It had been the King's.

  "I wish to marry you, Asher."

  "But--"

  "No. Do not suppose to deny me, Lord Ranor. Before you either agree or leave me angry, I want you to open the final box. You will do this before you say another word. I can read you. I always could. That is why I called you here to me. That is why I am giving you the chance to save this kingdom. Now, open the final box, Asher."

  Now his hands shook. He struggled to not speak. He wanted to argue his points. He was not worthy, he was not capable and she was above him in so many ways. His station was granted him through his family. He had never done anything to deserve what he had.

  Instead, he steadied himself and reached for the final box. He opened it and found inside the preserved head of King Vizara. It stared up at him, the stump of the neck gory with dried blood and pieces of ragged skin where the troll had beheaded him almost half a year ago. The smell from the box overpowered his wife's flowery perfume.

  "Before you marry me and become King yourself, I need you to kill the monster that took my husband from me. Take the dagger. The dagger will lead you to it. Go, before I change my mind and know that I look forward to your success."

  Trembling and nauseous, Asher bowed low. He wanted to avert his eyes from the madness he saw before him. He also wanted to take his eyes from th
e former king's. He was haunted by the visage, so grotesque and tormented in death.

  Cross Word

  Shirley hadn't worked a crossword puzzle in over five years. It wasn't because she didn't want to. Her mother, Lizbeth, had instilled in her a love for the New York Times crosswords from the time she was twelve. Solving the puzzle together over coffee and scones was one of her favorite memories of her mother.

  The Times sat on the table, lonely. Shirley sipped her coffee. It was getting cold, as cold as the winter outside. From thirty stories up, the snowflakes looked like the ones in the globe her aunt had given her for Christmas one year. It had broken when she threw it at Jack. Jerk, she thought.  He just didn't understand the changes that had occurred. Didn't understand and didn't care. The divorce was over four years ago, now. She pushed thoughts of him from her mind.

  Shirley stared at the newspaper. She didn't want to open it up. She didn't want the disappointment, another horrific responsibility. But she couldn't run from it. She had discovered this truth the hard way. At first, she had cancelled her subscription. It still came. Then, she tried bundling them up and dumping them in the recycling over thirty blocks away. They showed up on her doorstep, the twine still in place.

  Frustrated, she then tried to burn them, thinking that the worst case scenario would be that it would help heat her six hundred square foot apartment. Within hours, a new one would be at her doorstep. Her last attempt was to use them to line