“What the hell are you talking about?”
The nurse came to his aid. “He’s just joking,” she said before turning her face toward him. Her eyes were like cinders. “I hope.”
Galahad knew that his methodology was wrong, but it was all he had to work with. He crouched down and, keeping his hands to himself, began studying the woman’s leg.
“No blade or knife wounds that I can see,” he continued. “No oil burns either. Those are rather painful.”
“Please get to it, Doctor,” the nurse pleaded.
Galahad stood up. Her leg was possibly broken, unless people in this era were capable of bending their legs in odd directions. He’d not seen anything in the journals about this, though.
“Have you tried bloodletting?”
“What?” the nurse said with a look that spelled doom.
“Right. Well, we can check her humours.”
“Her what?”
“Yeah, my what?”
“Her fluids,” clarified Galahad. While he wasn’t a doctor, everyone knew that checking fluids was the base of all medicine. “There’s black bile, phlegm, blood, and yellow bile. It was all written up in last month’s Medieval Doctor magazine.”
The nurse put her hand on her hip. This could not be good. It was the same stance that he’d seen Lady Guinevere take when she was irritated with King Arthur. “Enough is enough. I’m sorry, ma’am, but this one has obviously lost it. Let me find another doctor.”
“Shall I come with you?” Galahad called out as the nurse shoved past him.
She stopped and pointed. “Just go back to the room that I found you in.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, relieved, “that would probably be best. Good luck to you, my lady,” he added to the fallen woman before leaving with haste.
Just as he was about to return the coat, another hand snagged his arm and stopped him. He didn’t want to look because he thought certain it would be another nurse. Wearing this jacket obviously came with a lot of responsibility. Wearing a knight’s outfit did, too, but at least in that one you didn’t have to diagnose people. Well, you kind of did, but it was of the easier dead-or-not-dead sort of judgment.
“Where the devil have you been?” said the familiar voice of Merlin. “And why are you wearing that white coat?”
Galahad felt a sense of relief that it wasn’t another nurse.
“Uh, I was doctoring in the other room.”
“What? You’re not a doctor.”
“I tried to explain that,” Galahad said in a distraught voice, “but they wouldn’t listen to me.”
“It’s because of that silly coat, you imbecile. Take it off and put it back before you get us in trouble.”
Galahad wanted to retaliate at being called an imbecile, but he sort of felt like one at the moment.
THE DONE DEAL
It had been nearly an hour since Lance-A-Lot disappeared into the back room. Arthur was about to ask what was taking so long when his lead knight pushed through the velvet curtains with a young lady on each arm. They were both glowing.
“I am honored to have serviced you both,” Lance-A-Lot said in his charming way.
“How was he?” asked the clerk.
The two young lasses didn’t say a word, but they didn’t have to. The looks on their faces spoke volumes about Lance-A-Lot’s, well, volume.
“Excellent,” the clerk said with a nod. “Well, that scene will be a hit for sure! Honestly, I’m not sure how you managed him, but I wouldn’t mind finding out.”
“Are we almost done here?” asked Arthur irritably.
“Aye,” Arty agreed. “I’m with him. I’d like to be gettin’ outta this place. Makes my willy feel dainty when compared to the floppers on the walls.”
“Exactly.”
The clerk rolled her eyes at the two kings before turning back to Lance-A-Lot. “Your pay is five hundred,” she said. “Now, if we take out the money for the items that your friends here have set aside, that leaves you with twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five? That’s it?”
“Sorry, sweetie,” answered the clerk, “but they’re buying a lot.”
Lance-A-Lot frowned at them. “Anything made of metal?”
“Most everything.”
“Remember that you can’t take metal through when we return,” Lance-A-Lot stated as he looked them over.
“Those things aren’t weapons,” Guinevere pointed out.
Lance-A-Lot picked up one of the larger devices and gave her a funny look. “Are you sure of that, my lady?”
Guinevere slumped.
“Damn,” said Arthur.
“Shet,” agreed Arty.
Lance-A-Lot shook his head at them. Arthur would have to have a discussion with the man about this at some point. Who was he to condemn them? Especially after he’d just spent the last hour getting paid to pleasure women!
“Okay,” the clerk said as she separated out the items containing metal, “that leaves you with three hundred.”
“Is that good?” asked Lance-A-Lot.
“It’s not chump change,” replied the clerk.
“What kind of change is it?” asked Arthur.
“I think we’ll be okay from here,” Guinevere said while stepping up and pulling Arthur aside. “Thank you for your assistance today. It was very eye-opening.”
“Sure thing,” the clerk replied with a slow nod. Then she shrugged and added to Lance-A-Lot, “Come back and see us again, big fella. We’ll keep you busy and paid, I guarantee it.”
“I shall remember that.” Lance-A-Lot appeared to be in his element. “Thank you.”
They stepped back outside and onto the sidewalk. A car sped by, causing them all to jump slightly. It would obviously take some time to get used to things, but Arthur had no intention of staying long enough for that. He wanted to get things wrapped up and get back to his castle.
“I can’t believe they pay me to do that here,” Lance-A-Lot said. He was beaming. “The future is brilliant.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Arthur commanded. “We’ve got to return at some point and getting paid in our time to do that is against the law.”
“It’s not against the law for the women to charge for it,” Guinevere said.
“I don’t understand your point,” Arthur replied, confused.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Guinevere said darkly. “For now, we should find Merlin and let him know that we’ve secured some coins.”
“My tummy’s also after grumblin’,” Arty pouted.
“I’ve worked up quite an appetite myself,” Lance-A-Lot agreed.
Guinevere swooned.
“All right, all right,” warned Arthur, seeing that his beloved was again making googly eyes at his lead knight. “Keep your sock in your pants, my queen.”
“Excuse me?” she said, snapping her head up.
“The gown again,” Arthur said apologetically.
“I’m beginning to wonder, Arthur.”
“Shall I question your pantaloons excuse?”
“Are they always after bickerin’ like this?” Arty asked Lance-A-Lot.
“Only when I’m around.”
“Aye, I can understand that.”
And that gave Arthur an idea. Keeping everyone together at this point made little sense, especially since he wanted to have a word with Guinevere alone. Enough was enough and he was about to lay down the law… Assuming she let him, of course. But he wasn’t about to make an attempt like that unless he was alone with her.
“Why don’t you two go and find Merlin and then meet us at the dinner theater?” he said.
“Yes, sire,” Lance-A-Lot replied without a fuss.
“Wait a second,” Arty said, nodding at Lance-A-Lot. “Ye want me to go with him?”
“Yes, why not?”
“Just that he’s still got on the tights—”
“Would you rather he took them off?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I would,” Guinev
ere said in a knee-jerk fashion.
“Honestly,” Arthur yelped, giving her a what-the-hell kind of look.
“Sorry, it’s the pantaloo—”
“It is not, either,” Arthur said strongly. “Reel it in, woman!” Then he pointed at her firmly and added, “And no wisecracks about that statement either.”
“Forget it,” Arty said, waving at Arthur and Guinevere dismissively. “I’ll go with the Lance-A-Log.”
“That’s Lance-A-Lot, sire.”
“Eh? Oh, right, sorry. Anyhoo, goin’ with him is better than hearin’ you two bickerin’.”
LEARNING LINES
The time was closing in on the show and the knights were practicing their lines.
Gaheris didn’t understand why all of this preparation was needed. To him it was simple. You pick up the sword and shove the pointy end into the enemy soldier. It wasn’t what Merlin would call “Rocker Science,” which Gaheris assumed had something to do with rocking chairs, but he wasn’t sure and he had never felt compelled to ask for clarification.
“Now, Sir Gaheris—” Bors began.
“I thought we were calling him ‘Gary’ now?” Kay interrupted.
Gaheris looked around. “Who is Gary?”
“Well, sure, in public,” Bors explained without answering Gaheris.
“It may be well that we do it always,” said Kay, “so we do not lose sight of the name by accident.”
“If we slip up and neglect to call him Gary,” Bors noted while pointing at Gaheris, “we can just state that we are staying in character.”
“Why do you point at me when you say Gary?”
Kay nodded. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“What does?” asked Gaheris.
“Good,” Bors said. “Now that we have that settled, we need you to work on your lines, Gary.”
“Am I supposed to be Gary?”
“I would say that’s rather obvious, wouldn’t you?” Kay asked.
“But my name is Gaheris.”
Bors sighed and placed his hand on Gaheris’s shoulder. “Remember that we are acting here, Sir... Erm, Gary.”
“So you say,” Gaheris replied sullenly. He was honestly trying, but things were still a bit fuzzy to him. He decided to ask questions like Galahad would. “What’s the play about?”
“Our era,” answered Bors.
“Yes,” chimed in Kay, “it’s about the Knights of the Round Table.”
“Then why are you calling me Gary?”
“Because, man...” Bors started, almost in a rage. Then he stopped himself and glanced at Kay. “Actually, he has a point there.”
“That he does, but I have the solution.”
“Do tell, Kay.”
“We are acting on two fronts here, Gary,” Kay said slowly. “One of them is the act that we belong in this future that Merlin has brought us to, yes?”
“I’m listening.”
“That means that in this future your name is Gary. Understand?”
“No.”
“Excellent,” Kay said. “While we’re in this play, you’re going to be playing the part of yourself, and that is why we’re calling you Gary, Gary.”
Gaheris felt his head throb. “Uh—”
“Well explained, Sir Kay.”
“Thank you, Borsy.”
“Let me try to understand,” Gaheris said with the feeling that he was not going to get things straight. “I am to pretend to be someone named Gary because we are in the future?”
“Well done,” said Kay.
“And this Gary,” Gaheris continued, “is truly pretend, yes? I am not actually attempting to change who I actually am, right?”
“So far so good.”
“Now, the Gary from the future—who is actually me pretending—has to pretend to be the real me from the past?”
“Top job, lad,” Bors said with a firm smack on Gaheris’s back.
“When, pray tell, do I get to be who I really am again?”
“When we return to our time,” answered Kay.
“Correct,” Bors said with a nod. “Now, is everything clear, Gary?”
“No.”
“Good,” said Kay.
“Nicely done.”
“Right.” Gaheris needed a nap. “Whilst I act as this fellow Gary who is pretending to be me, are you two pretending to be yourselves as well?”
“Not exactly,” Bors answered while moving his foot in the sand.
Kay sighed heavily. “Dreadfully, no.”
“Who then?”
“I’m portraying Sir Purcivale,” Bors stated.
“And I am Sir Tristan.”
Gaheris grunted. “But they’re both idiots.”
“Not the way this is written,” Bors said, smacking the script with the back of his hand.
“If anything,” agreed Kay, “they are most worthy in this play.”
“So this really is make believe, then,” Gaheris said.
“Right. Now, Gary, let’s go over the script, shall we?”
There was really no point in arguing. King Arthur had commanded that they do this play and so Gaheris would comply. His was a life of simplicity, even if his current situation was complicated indeed. He would have to get back to his mantra of “I go where I go,” which could have many meanings, depending on the context.
Still, even if the idea of this being a play was becoming more and more actualized in his mind, he couldn’t help but feel that the Evil Knight was a reality. There was just too much evidence supporting it. The dull swords, the man’s outfit, the fact that everyone referred to him as “The Evil Knight” every time the man was near. Add to that the additional evidence that this show was portraying Purcivale and Tristan in a positive light, and it just made Gaheris quite suspicious.
Someone was definitely up to no good.
“It says here that Kay and I will be fighting with the other knights in a tournament of sorts,” announced Bors.
Yet another dagger in the side, thought Gaheris as his head snapped up.
“We don’t fight other knights.”
“It’s acting, Gary, remember?” Bors said.
“We’re allowed to fight other knights when we’re acting?” asked Gaheris.
“Hence the term acting,” said Kay.
“So you’ll come out and grab a blade,” said Bors while studying the script.
“That I can understand.”
“And you’ll start attacking the Evil Knight.”
“Now we are in league with each other.”
“Just before you attack,” Bors said, pointing at the document, “you’ll yell, ‘I am Sir Gaheris, feel the steel of my mighty blade!’ and then you’ll start swinging.”
“What?”
“That’s your line,” Kay pointed out.
“And that’s supposed to be me? I mean, the real me?”
“Yes.”
“Correct.”
“But that’s ridiculous. I would never say such a thing.”
“Hmmm?” said Bors.
“What you just said that I’m supposed to say. I wouldn’t speak those words. They’re silly.”
“Well,” said Kay, “it’s in the script, so you have to say it.”
“But it’s incorrect,” Gaheris replied strongly. “I’d say what I say, not what that says I’d say.”
“It’s not about what’s right, you imbecile!” Bors was clearly at his wit’s end. “It’s—”
“Borsy,” Kay said, again calming his fellow knight, “let me try.”
“Hmmmph!”
“Okay, Gary,” Kay said as if he were speaking to a child, “what would you say in a situation where you were about to attack?”
“As Gary, as Gary pretending to be me, or as the true me?”
“The real you.”
Gaheris had been in battle situations many times over his life, actually. He had a set routine for it. One of the tenets he’d learned in his years of warring was that you needed to follow a pattern. If yo
u didn’t, you’d begin to second-guess yourself. Do that and you died.
“I wouldn’t say anything,” he stated. “I’d soil my britches and then I’d walk up and begin cutting down my enemy.”
“Sorry, did you say you’d soil your britches?” said Kay with a look of disgust.
“Always do before a fight,” Gaheris replied.
Bors held the look of a man who had just eaten a sour peanut. “Why?”
“So I don’t do it when I’m in the fight.”
“That’s gross,” said Kay.
“Pre-fight jitters,” Gaheris said with a shrug. “Can’t help it.”
“Couldn’t you just go into the woods or maybe the outhouse?” asked Bors.
“I go where I go,” Gaheris replied, happy that he was able to further center himself.
“So you say,” Kay replied, “but a little tact never hurts anyone, you know?”
“What am I to do, Sir Kay?” Gaheris felt that he was the one teaching now. “Shall I tell the enemy to hold their position whilst I relieve myself in the nearest bush?”
“I’m sure they’d appreciate it,” Bors commented.
“Anyway, Sir Gah... Gary,” Kay said, waving away the entire conversation, “you’d not say anything before the battle?”
“You’ve both been to battle with me. When have you heard me say anything?”
“Come to think of it, that’s true,” Bors said as he scratched his head. “You always make noises, like guh and gah a number of times before the battle...” He paused and looked up. “Unfortunately, I now understand why.”
“I don’t understand...” said Kay and then he looked at the ground. “Oh, no, wait, I get it now.”
“See?” Gaheris said, feeling vindicated. “So this line you have given me makes no sense. I shall not comply.”
“You must comply. It’s the king’s orders.”
“Damn the eroding beaches.”
“Why would you damn the eroding beaches?”
“I damn what I damn.”
“That’s really annoying, you know?” said Kay.
Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur Page 17