Kingsman: The Golden Circle

by Tim Waggoner

  “Agent Tequila, this is a formal occasion. Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Tequila said sheepishly.

  Champ shook his head in good-natured disapproval before turning to the British agents and raising his glass.

  “To our union,” he said.

  Eggsy and Harry raised their glasses in return, and everyone drank. The AR display on Eggsy’s eyeglasses showed holographic figures sitting in the “empty” seats around the table. Statesman agents, attending the ceremony in virtual form. They raised glasses and drank as well.

  Tequila frowned as he considered the taste, but then he too nodded in approval.

  “Final order of business.” Champ looked at Eggsy and Harry. “We’d be honored if one of you would be our new Agent Whiskey.”

  “Awesome!” Tequila said. “That would totally fix the whole messy ‘two Galahads’ thing.”

  Eggsy was stunned by the offer. His rebellious take-no-shit attitude did fit in well with the American agents, and participating in a kind of foreign exchange program would be a good way to cement the agencies’ new relationship. And Harry was the best there’d ever been. He’d be a fantastic addition to Statesman. Eggsy exchanged glances with Harry, and he could tell by the look in his mentor’s eyes that they were thinking the same thing. The offer was flattering, but they were Kingsmen to the core. They would have to politely decline Champ’s offer. But before either of them could say anything, Ginger spoke up.

  “Champ, I’d like to throw my hat into the ring.”

  Champ nodded his approval. “Let’s put it to a vote. I say yes.”

  “Me too,” Tequila said with a grin, and the other Statesman agents all agreed. It was unanimous.

  Champ smiled at Ginger. “Looks like you’re in. Have a seat.”

  Eggsy pulled an empty chair away from the table and gestured for Ginger to sit. Smiling, she did so, and everyone applauded.

  “Well, I think this calls for another toast, don’t you, Agent Whiskey?” Champ said, reaching for the single malt.

  Ginger grinned. “Yes, I do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Stockholm, Sweden

  Eggsy and Harry stood before a large ornate mirror in a small dressing room. Eggsy wore an elaborate military uniform, complete with a scabbarded sword, and Harry wore a morning suit. On a table next to them was a bottle of Kingsman single malt and two glasses. Harry poured them each a shot, and they downed it.

  Eggsy handed his empty glass to Harry and gazed down at his outfit.

  “Are you sure I don’t look like a dick?” he said.

  Harry put both glasses on the table and turned back to Eggsy. “Look in the mirror, Eggsy. What do you see?”

  “A dickhead. With a fucking sword.”

  “I see a man who is honorable. Brave. Loyal. Who’s fulfilled his huge potential. I see a man who has done something good with his life.”

  Eggsy was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. “I owe you everything, Harry.”

  He held out his hand for Harry to shake. Harry did so, and then pulled Eggsy in for a hug.

  When they broke apart, Harry said, “Ready?”

  Eggsy grinned. “Not a doubt in my mind.” Together they stepped out of the dressing room and into the Royal Chapel.

  It was like something out of a fairy tale: everything white and gold, with a high arched ceiling, columns lining the walls alongside statues of saints, and chandeliers hanging above wooden box pews. There was a sense of deep history in the chapel, a profound stillness, as if in this place even Time got down on one knee to show respect for the royal family.

  Eggsy and Harry walked down the aisle toward the altar, where a priest waited. On one side of the chapel sat Tilde’s family and the king and queen’s honored guests, all of them dressed in expensive finery, composed and dignified. On the other side of the chapel—Eggsy’s side—sat his mum, along with Champ, Tequila, Ginger, and Eggsy’s friends and relatives, all of whom wore more budget-conscious wedding attire. Jamal and Liam were there. Also in attendance—all grown now—was JB2. And sitting next to him was another guest of the canine persuasion: a grown Yorkie who Harry had named Hamish, in honor of their departed comrade.

  Eggsy thought of the friends that were gone. Brandon, Roxy, Merlin… He missed them terribly, and he wished they could be here to share this day with him.

  He noticed Champ look disapprovingly at Tequila, who once again was dressed casually. Champ leaned close to the agent and whispered, but he spoke loudly enough for Eggsy to catch his words.

  “Agent, what did I teach you about dressing right for the occasion?”

  Tequila looked down at his clothes and then back at Champ. He shrugged.

  Champ sighed. “Maybe the Kingsman boys can succeed where I failed.”

  Eggsy smiled and continued onward. When he and Harry reached the altar, they turned and waited.

  The wedding march began to play, and Eggsy looked toward the organist, a man wearing a black suit with a purple tie that matched the color of his rectangular glasses. Elton grinned and gave Eggsy a wink.

  And then she entered the chapel and took Eggsy’s breath away.

  Tilde wore a tiara encrusted with diamonds and emeralds, a gown in not one but three shades of white trimmed with intricate couture lace, and a long hand-cut and hand-stitched train, the end of which was held by a royal footman. The king wore a military uniform similar to Eggsy’s, only with a lot more medals, and Eggsy’s little sister Daisy—looking adorable in her bridesmaid’s dress—followed proudly behind.

  To Eggsy, Tilde was already the most beautiful woman in the world, but in that moment, she was the very definition of beauty, that by which all other lovely things would be judged and found forever wanting.

  As Tilde and her father reached the altar, Eggsy bowed courteously to the king, who smiled and nodded. He then looked at his daughter, happy tears brimming in his eyes, before turning and joining the queen who stood several feet away. The queen wore an embroidered chartreuse gown with a light blue sash—and her crown, of course. She was the queen, after all.

  Eggsy and Tilde gazed into each other’s eyes, bursting with happiness, madly in love.

  The priest stepped forward and the ceremony began.

  Eggsy didn’t hear most of what the priest said. All his attention was focused on the woman he loved. But eventually—much faster than Eggsy had expected—the priest got around to the important part.

  “Do you, Gary ‘Eggsy’ Unwin, take Tilde Ingrid Victoria to be your lawful wedded wife?” he asked.

  “I do,” Eggsy said.

  Harry handed him the ring and Eggsy slipped it onto Tilde’s finger.

  The priest continued. “And do you, Tilde Ingrid Victoria, take Gary ‘Eggsy’ Unwin to be your lawful wedded husband?”

  “I do.”

  With a grin a mile wide, Daisy stepped forward to give Tilde the other ring, and she slid it over Eggsy’s finger.

  The priest pronounced them man and wife, and they kissed.

  Eggsy’s side of the chapel clapped, whooped, and cheered, while Tilde’s side applauded quietly with polite decorum.

  Champ looked over at them.

  “Hey! Lighten up, guys!” he shouted. “This ain’t a goddamn funeral! Champagne’s on me! Hit it, Elton!”

  Elton broke into a rousing rendition of his song “Kiss the Bride,” and before long even Tilde’s side of the chapel were grinning and clapping along.

  Savile Row, London

  The first hint of dawn colored the sky as the interior lights of Kingsman Tailors came on. A moment later, someone flipped the CLOSED sign inside the front door to OPEN. Agent Tequila opened the door and poked his head out. He quickly looked up and down the street, as if checking to see if anyone was watching, before stepping outside. He wore a Kingsman suit—a bespoke suit that not only fit him like a glove but was more comfortable than anything he’d ever worn. He still wore his cowboy boots, though. He didn’t know if he woul
d ever get used to wearing Oxfords. Damn things squeezed his feet.

  In his hand he held his old cowboy hat. He started to put it on, but then he figured, what the hell? The boots were enough. He stepped inside, placed the hat atop the head of one of the window mannequins, and stepped back outside. Time to see what trouble he could get into in this country.

  Grinning, he slipped on a pair of Kingsman glasses and set off down the street.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my editor Ella Chappell for midwifing this book from start to finish and my agent Cherry Weiner, for both her guidance and friendship. Special thanks to Jane Goldman and Matthew Vaughn for writing such a great script in the first place, and to Matt Reilly and Royce Reeves-Darby, who made sure I had top-secret clearance at all times. Special thanks also to Steve Tzirlin and Nicole Spiegel for arranging visual reconnaissance. True Kingsmen/Kingswomen all!

  About the Author

  Shirley Jackson Award finalist Tim Waggoner has published over thirty novels and three short-story collections of dark fiction. He teaches creative writing at Sinclair Community College and in Seton Hill University’s MFA in Writing Popular Fiction program. You can find him on the web at www.timwaggoner.com.