“No.”
“Well, I don’t either, but I’m sure it can’t be good.” Pegeen dumps four packets of sugar into her iced tea, which shows me that she’s only a little wary of taking on this assignment. If she were really so scared of the Horde as to be completely opposed to spying on them, she’d have dumped in at least six sugar packets.
I shake my head and sigh. I know now that although persuading her is not an impossible task, I will still have to appeal to Pegeen’s all-too-sensitive, busybody ego in order to get what I want. “You’ve never let me down when it comes to gossip before, Pegeen. Is it possible that you’re losing your touch when it comes to getting the juiciest bits of scandal and hearsay?”
Pegeen’s jaw tenses, which means my little jab is having the desired effect. She mumbles something unintelligible into her iced tea just as our loaded potato skin appetizer arrives.
“I’ve never seen you walk away from a top assignment in rumor-gathering before, Pegeen. And I know you well enough to think that you wouldn’t be walking away from one now unless you were losing your touch.”
“I’m not losing my touch!” Pegeen wads up her paper napkin into a ball. “I’m just a little scared of the Horde, that’s all.”
With as little as I know about the inner workings of the Great Dark Horde, I know I’m flying by the seat of my pants. But I shrug off my ignorance and just say, “I’m sure the Great Dark Horde is made up of perfectly nice people, even if they are a little weird.”
“A little weird?” Pegeen tries in vain to smooth out her crumpled napkin, then gives up and flags the waitress for another one. “You and I are a little weird, Lees. Hell, almost everybody is a little weird. The Dark Horde people are a lot weird.”
“Like how?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. "Other than that jerk Master Melphus being a member, of course.”
Pegeen’s goes blank. “Uhh—well, I know they uhhhhhh—they all camp together at Pennsic. Instead of camping with their local SCA groups like most people do, all the Dark Horde members from all over the world camp together in their own special campground. Or so I hear, anyway.”
A slow smirk tugs at one corner of my mouth. The fact that Pegeen knows even this seemingly inconsequential fact about the Horde shows she is more than up to the job of helping me spy on them. “Camping together in a special Horde campground isn’t very weird in and of itself, Pegeen. Certainly not weird enough to keep you from your gossip duties. You’ll have to do better than that.”
Now Pegeen almost chokes on a mouthful of potato skin. I’m definitely treading upon more than a few of her mother-hen nerves. She finally manages to clear her throat and says, “Well—well, the thing about the Horde is, not every member actually publicly admits to being a member. Some of them do by wearing the little red-and-black Horde badges, but others are Horde members in secret. That’s the tricky part. Hordesmen are everywhere and nowhere. At least that’s what Arundel says, and he has some Horde friends. You just never know who might be one!”
“But I bet you could find out, Pegeen. If anyone could find out who is and is not a Horde member, it’s you.”
Pegeen fingers the stack of fresh napkins the waitress just dropped off at our table. She purses her lips and makes a low growling sound in her throat as she grabs and swallows the last bit of potato skin. I know that I’ve won.
“All right, all right,” Pegeen sighs, throwing up her hands in defeat. “I’ll do it. But I will have to lay out some ground rules.”
“Fine. Shoot.”
Pegeen pulls a ballpoint pen out of her purse and starts jotting some things down on a napkin. “Okay, here goes. Ground Rule Number One: Lisa must accompany Pegeen on all Horde spying tasks. There’s safety in numbers, you know.”
“Okay, fine.”
Pegeen licks the tip of her pen and writes the next rule. “Ground Rule Number Two: If Lisa and Pegeen are caught spying, each of us will pretend that we don’t know the other.”
I stifle a laugh. “Well, I’m not sure how well that will go over, since pretty much everybody who was at the Blood and Roses Tournament knows we’re best friends mundanely, but—“
Pegeen gives me a surly look. “Do you agree to Rule Number Two or not?”
“Yeah yeah, sure, whatever.” Our entrees arrive and we both dig in—me into a medium-rare Buffalo Burger and Pegeen into a side salad.
Pegeen drizzles low-fat Italian dressing onto her salad with her left hand and jots something onto a napkin with her right. “One more rule,” she says, and sets down her pen. “I’ll go find out whatever you or Syr Phillip feel you each need to know about Master Melphus and the Horde, on one final condition. At some point during all this investigation, one of us has to join the Horde.”
“Excuse me?”
Now it’s Pegeen’s turn to smirk. “Do you agree to my terms or not?”
“I’ll agree to it as long as it’s you who agrees to join the Horde. I don’t want to get mixed up with those weirdos.”
Pegeen laughs. “Just a few minutes ago you were saying you didn’t think there was anything wrong with the Horde people— other than Master Melphus being a bit of an ass—and now you don’t want to join them? You’re not scared, are you?”
“Of course not! But how are we going to decide which one of us has to join? And why would one of us have to join at all?”
“I have a feeling that we may not get all the information we need unless one of us is a full Horde member,” Pegeen explains. “In any case, those are the terms I require to help you with your dirty work. Plus, there is the little matter of payment—“
“Payment?” I sputter. “I thought you were my friend, Pegeen. I shouldn’t have to pay you to gossip, which I know from experience you are always more than happy to do for free.”
“This isn’t just any bit of gossip, Lees. This is the Great Dark Horde, after all. Now, what are you going to pay me for helping you with Syr Phillip’s dirty work? I speak barter as well as cash.”
I ponder this while I take my first bite of Buffalo Burger. Juice dribbles down my chin and onto my T-shirt. As I mop up the mess, I get an idea.
“How about this? I agree to clean your apartment from top to bottom once a month for three months. I’ll mop the floors, do the bathroom and kitchen, vacuum, even laundry. But I don’t do windows.”
After a moment, Pegeen nods. “Agreed.”
“Good,” I say. “So it’s settled then.”
“Yep. I’ll just have to make sure to be a lot messier over the next three months so I’ll get my money’s worth.”
Damn. Even after almost twenty years of friendship, Pegeen always manages get in the last word.
****
Pegeen and I are driving in her Tercel to the Wright State campus for my first Shire of Winged Hills meeting. Pegeen’s already attended a couple meetings on her own, but she still doesn’t seem to think we’ll find out the kind of information Syr Phillip is looking for.
“I dunno, Lees. Pretty much the only things that get talked about at these meetings are whether the site for the next Winged Hills SCA event allows alcohol or not. And there’s always the little show-off contests some of the women have with their latest embroidery projects. On a good day, you might hear a little bit about who is sleeping with whom as of the most recent post-revel, but that’s about it. I don’t see why Syr Phillip thinks you’re going to find out anything important by going.”
“Are you sure?”
Pegeen switches on her turn signal to merge onto the I-675 ramp. “I’m pretty sure. But I suppose there’s always a first time. Watch out for Mistress Naomi, by the way.”
“Who’s Mistress Naomi?” I ask. I practically have to shout to be heard over Pegeen’s barely functioning excuse for a muffler.
“She’s the Winged Hills calligraphy and illumination Laurel. The Midrealm has a huge backlog of award scrolls to be produced, and Mistress Naomi is always trying to recruit new calligraphy apprentices to help her with the backlog. She’
s pushy and manipulative, and rumor has it she even makes her apprentices pay for all of her paint, vellum, and calligraphy pens—which do not come cheap, by the way. So stay away from her.”
“Well, I’m dyslexic, I can’t draw, and my handwriting is illegible, so I don’t think she’d want to recruit me to make any of those fancy scrolls,” I say.
“Don’t count on it. You could be blind and missing both hands, and Mistress Naomi would still try to convince you that you could help her make the best award scroll this side of the British Museum.”
“I’ll consider myself forewarned,” I mumble just as the Tercel arrives at the Wright State campus. Since Pegeen and I are both Wright State alumni, we have no problem weaving through the twisting dead-end streets and driveways of the campus until we find a parking space in front of Rike Hall.
“This looks vaguely familiar,” I say. “Didn’t we have Dr. Phaeton’s Psychology 101 class from hell in this building?”
“The same,” Pegeen replies, pulling an embroidery bag from the backseat, which holds knitting needles, yarn, and what appears to be an embroidery favor she’s making for Arundel to carry. “Only the SCA meeting’s down in the basement lounge, not the lecture hall. Follow me.”
Pegeen and I descend a dark staircase down about three flights until we wind up in a low-ceilinged room filled with beanbag chairs, low coffee tables, and vending machines. “I never knew this was here,” I say.
“I don’t think this lounge was here when we were in school,” Pegeen says. “I think it was a boiler room back then or something. Anyway, looks like we’re the first ones here. Cop a squat.” Pegeen flops down on the nearest beanbag and pulls out her embroidery, along with a pile of complicated knitting.
I glance at my watch. 7:32. “I thought you said the meeting started at 7:30.”
“Technically, it does. But with SCA time being what it is, nobody will even start showing up until at least 7:45 or so, and the meeting probably won’t start until 8:15, since everybody mills around chatting and comparing their latest embroidery and arts-and-science projects for a while before the seneschal gets down to business. Which gives us plenty of time to gather the latest in Winged Hills gossip and intrigue. Keep your eyes open and your ears perked, because the time before the meeting starts is always the best time for gossip.”
Without taking her left-eye gaze from the student lounge door, Pegeen reaches into her embroidery bag and hands me a sheet of blank muslin stretched in an embroidery hoop. There is a penciled outline on the fabric of something that resembles a cross between a unicorn and a moose. “Here, get busy embroidering, Lees. I’ve found that people are a lot more apt to talk about sensitive topics around you when they think your mind is occupied with something else—like crafting your lord’s favor. And God knows you need to give Syr Phillip something better than that god-awful scrap of pink polyester to carry at Crown Tournament.”
“But I don’t know how to embroider!” I protest.
“Oh, don’t be such a baby, Lees. I’ve even threaded all the needles for you.” Pegeen hands me a Ziploc bag filled with several needles, each threaded with a different color. “Use black for the outline, and then fill in the different sections with whatever colors you like.”
“But—“
“Needle in, needle out. That’s it, Lees. Even an idiot can do it. Just enough to make you look busy. Nobody will be comfortable saying anything juicy in front of us if you don’t look busy.”
I grumble and obey, managing to sew a crooked line on the left side of the moose-unicorn that is only partially marred by knots and tangles. I get so engrossed in my work I don’t notice that other SCA folk are beginning to arrive until Pegeen pokes me in the arm with a knitting needle.
“There’s the seneschal,” Pegeen whispers. “Lady Ceridwen of Havenholde, mundanely known as Angela Walker. There’s her husband, Cip the Capable of the Black Swamp. I don’t know what his real name is—he’s weird about not telling anybody. Cip is a possible Horde candidate, so keep your eyes and ears on him.”
“Okay. What’s a seneschal?” I whisper back.
“Basically, the seneschal’s in charge of all the boring business crap for the shire. Contracts, insurance, setting up events and demos, that kind of stuff. Lady Ceridwen’ll probably be too busy running the meeting to give us any good dish, and Cip probably won’t say much when she’s around, so he might not be worth too much tonight for gossip even if he is a possible Hordesman. Keep sewing and I’ll let you know when somebody good shows up.”
I go back to embroidery, and somehow manage to unravel all the stitches I’ve made so far. As I begin starting over the line of stitching I just ruined, Pegeen pokes me in the arm again. “Confirmed Dark Horde member alert at three o’clock,” she whispers. “Maybe we will get some good dirt tonight after all.”
I look up and recognize Lady Ragamuffylan and Lord Woadsbane, who I remember from the Blood and Roses Tournament. Or at least I think I recognize them. They look a lot different when they’re wearing regular jeans and T-shirts instead of smelly blue paint.
Pegeen pauses her knitting to give them both a wave. “Lady Ragamuffylan! Lord Woadsbane! So nice to see you!” The plainclothes Picts wave back, but don’t approach us.
Pegeen buries herself in her knitting again, but leans over to give me some instructions. “Keep an ear out for whatever those two Pict freaks talk about. They’re both open Horde members, but if you notice them talking to anyone else, whoever they’re talking to is an automatic candidate for a possible secret Hordesman.”
“Right,” I say, a little bewildered. I lose hold of my needle and end up pricking my thumb hard enough to draw blood, which stains the embroidery muslin. “Shit,” I swear a little too loudly.
“Shhh!” Pegeen hisses, and points to the doorway with her knitting needle. I glance over and see that Master Melphus has arrived.
It seems that wherever Master Melphus goes, he brings an entourage. And even this college basement meeting is no exception. Surrounding Melphus are several burly, hairy faces I recognize from the table-pounding incident at the Blood and Roses Tournament—including Paladar the Passionate, who shoots me a not-so-subtle wink when he spies me sitting in the corner. The bodies that belong to those faces are almost uniformly clad in black Megadeath and Metallica T-shirts, cutoff shorts, and black high-top sneakers (mostly Reeboks). Master Melphus is clad to match his buddies, save for the fact he’s also wearing the tacky lop-horned steel helmet he sported back at the Tournament.
Melphus and the rest of his entourage greet the meeting attendees with a mixture of monosyllabic grunts and growls and pile into a far corner of the basement room, where they seat themselves in a closed circle on the floor and begin to talk with one another in low voices. I notice a few of them glance over in Pegeen’s and my direction as they do.
“Looks like they’re talking about us,” I whisper to Pegeen a little louder than I probably should.
“Well, duh!” she whispers back. “If you let them know that we know that they’re talking about us, then they won’t talk about us in public anymore, which means I won’t get any of the information you’re looking for. You are really lousy at gossip, Lees, do you know that?”
“Exactly why I need your help,” I mutter. Dejected, I try to concentrate on my embroidery, but the seneschal bangs the table with a ruler and calls the meeting to order.
“Oyez, oyez, folks,” Lady Ceridwen says, her voice so soft and hoarse it’s barely heard above the din of idle pre-meeting conversation. She bangs her ruler again, louder this time, and that lowers the noise level a bit. “I’d like to, ahem, get started tonight a little earlier than usual. Bear with me, I’ve got a cold, and I would have Baron Grizzly read the business for me to raise the volume a bit, but he doesn’t seem to be here yet.”
“Here I am!” Baron Grizzly’s familiar voice bellows from somewhere out in the hallway. “Oyez, oyez and all that jazz,” he says as he piles through the doorway with Baroness Barlonda
just behind him. I’m a little stunned to see that he’s wearing a three-piece suit, and a nice one at that. “Sorry we’re late,” he says. “Had to work today.”
Lady Ceridwen clears her throat and pops a couple of Luden’s cherry coughdrops from a box in her purse. She hands Baron Grizzly a list and points at something on it, and he nods.
“Looks like Lady Ceridwen’s runnin’ the meeting through me today,” Baron Grizzly says. “She’s been doin’ too much talkin’ on the phone lately, what with all the kingdom officers up in arms ‘bout that little fire up at Lady Ramona’s last week.”
This sends a low rumbling through the room. I cheat my eyes over at Master Melphus’ corner to gauge his reaction, and see that he and his entire hairy, grunting entourage have gone as silent as mice.
Baron Grizzly pulls a set of reading glasses out of his jacket pocket and puts them on. After looking up and down the page of notes Lady Ceridwen just handed him, he sighs loudly and says, “Well folks, looks like an update on what the Middle Kingdom’s gonna do ‘bout the whole fire mess is the only thing on today’s meeting agenda. Those of you who came hopin’ to hear what’s goin’ on with Harvest Day this year will have to wait ‘til next week. We only get the room for an hour. Unless y’all wanna take the discussion over to the Noble Roman’s after the meeting.”This sends another low rumble through the group. But Melphus and his heavy-metal buddies are all still stone-quiet.
“Well, I guess if there’s no objections I’ll get started,” Grizzly goes on. “Says somethin’ here about the SCA maybe bein’ held liable for the fire that burned down Lady Ramona of North Fields’ house after the Blood and Roses Tournament on account of—wait a minute, Ceridwen, I can’t make out your handwriting here, forgive my old beat-up eyes.”
Lady Ceridwen whispers something to Baron Grizzly, who nods. “Oh, right,” Grizzly mutters. “Because some idiot decided to put info about the post-revel on some of the official event flyers, which Lady Ramona’s insurance company says somehow made the post-revel an officially sanctioned SCA event. Thank God that event was run outa Middle Marches, ‘cause if it was us here in Winged Hills that done some stupid thing like that, this shire would be bankrupt, letmetellya. Anybody here see one of those flyers? The official flyers didn’t have nothin’ like that on it. Some dumbass must’ve printed up some unofficial ones.”
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 69