Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur

by John P. Logsdon

  Arthur merely whimpered.

  TALKING TO THE ANGELS

  How long have ye been an angel?” Arty asked a particularly pretty red-haired lass who was standing at the counter.

  “We’re called nurses, sir.”

  “Nurses?” Arty fished around in his mind for a second. “Ye mean like the people who help the seck?”

  “You are in a hospital, sir.” She then looked him over. “Actually, maybe you’re on the wrong floor?”

  “I dinnae think so.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Arthur, King of Scotland,” he said proudly, “but ye can call me Arty.”

  “Ah, yes,” she replied with a nod. “I think you’re on the wrong floor. And is that a gown you’re wearing under that coat?”

  “Ye can see that?” He looked down at himself. “I thought I had it tucked into Sir Lance-A-Lot’s trousers.”

  “Definitely on the wrong floor,” she said gently. “Let me find someone to take you back up to floor number seven, sir.”

  Arty swallowed hard. “What’s up there?”

  “People just like you.”

  “Ye’ve got people from me homeland on floor seven?” He brightened a bit at the possibility.

  “I’m sure there are a few, and there are also others there who you’d certainly be happy to meet. I think there’s even one lady who swears she’s from another planet.”

  “She sounds a bit batty, I’d say.”

  “Exactly. I’ll just have an orderly come down to bring you back upstairs.”

  “I’ve never been upstairs,” he said. “I came from the metal box, ye know?”

  “The elevator, you mean?”

  “Aye, that’s what they were after callin’ it,” he said with a wink. “Before that we was walking around the city. Before that we was in a building where we had come from the past. I’d like to get back, if I could. Dinnae like it in the future, as they say.”

  “Riiiight,” said the nurse nervously. “Let me get that orderly for you, sir.” As if on cue, an orderly walked by. “Ah, you there. Would you please take, uh, the king of Scotland back to floor seven?”

  The orderly smiled and checked out Arty. “King of Scotland, eh?”

  “Got somethin’ to say about it, lad?” replied Arty, pushing his chest out.

  “Oh, no, not at all. Just never met anyone from royalty before.”

  Arty softened. “I like the blue outfit ye’ve got on. Kind of nursely, but just enough of a difference to make it not questionable.”

  “Right, thanks. Want to follow me?”

  He waved at the pretty nurse before walking over to the elevator. He was not fond of another trip in the thing, but seeing that everyone else was using it as if it were commonplace, he forced his resolve.

  “Not fond of this metal box thing.”

  “It’s called an elevator.”

  “Aye, that’s what everyone keeps sayin’.”

  The door shut again. This time he kept his composure. If his people were up on this level 7, as the nurse had claimed, he didn’t want them to see his fear.

  The bell chimed and the doors opened again.

  “Here we are,” said the orderly, leading Arty out and into the main area.

  “Looks the same as floor three,” noted Arty.

  “True, but the people here are, well… let’s just say that they’re different.”

  “Obviously,” Arty grunted. “What do ye think I am, daft?”

  Arty glanced around and took in the scene. There were people wearing all sorts of outfits.

  One woman had on a greenish costume with a sun-shaped hat. She was carrying a flameless torch, too. And the sash that ran from shoulder to hip had the word “Liberty” written on it.

  Another fellow wore an all-white outfit that was similar to the ones that the nurses were wearing, except that this one came with a glass bubble that was affixed to his head. He also wore heavy white boots with matching gloves, and there was a patch on his chest that had the letters “NASA” embroidered on it.

  A number of people were dressed normally enough, but most were sitting by the windows drooling. Others were having conversations with the wall, and one lady was dancing to a symphony that was obvious only she could hear.

  The future was becoming more odd with each passing moment.

  “The nurse on level three said some of me subjects were after being up here.”

  “She did?” said the orderly as they approached the main desk.

  “Aye, maybe ye’ve got Feargus the Fearful?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Doonan the Doolittle?”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Ninean the Noisome?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Couldn’t miss him, unless ye were after wearin’ a nose clip.” He chewed his lip as a thought hit him. “Well, ye better not have Calle here. I told the man to stay put outside of Camelot until I got back.”

  The orderly glanced over at him. “Have you had your medications today, sir?”

  “Had a bit of cumin and anise for me gas,” Arty answered. “Do that every mornin’. If I don’t, I get the wind somethin’ fierce.”

  “Okay.” They reached the main desk and the orderly picked up the sign-in sheet and looked it over. “Excuse me, nurse, but I believe one of your patients escaped.”

  The nurse studied Arty for a second. “Don’t recognize him.”

  “Claims to be the king of Scotland,” the orderly said, setting the sheet back down.

  “Claims?” said Arty.

  “You do realize that the dinner theater is right down the street, yes?” said the nurse. “We get method actors in here all the time.”

  The orderly looked up at her and then back over at Arty. He then began to laugh while shaking his head.

  “So that’s what this is all about?”

  “What what is all about?” asked Arty.

  “I have to hand it to you, sir, you’re quite an impressive actor.” The orderly slapped Arty on the shoulder. “Feargus the Fearful, indeed!”

  “So he is here?”

  “They do this for marketing,” the nurse said to the orderly.

  “Ahh, yes. That makes sense.”

  “You new around here or something?”

  “First week,” said the fellow. “Sorry, didn’t know. One of the nurses down on three said to bring him up.”

  “He must be new, too.”

  “It was a she,” the orderly corrected.

  “Ah.”

  “Anyway, sorry about that.” The orderly turned to Arty and made his voice sound as regal as he could. “Okay, King of Scotland, it appears that you have earned yourself a patron come the weekend.”

  “I have? And what’s happened to your voice?”

  “Incredible how they stay in character,” he said, laughing again.

  “Annoying if you ask me,” replied the nurse.

  “What?”

  “Just take the elevator back down, if you would, sir,” said the orderly as he walked away, still laughing.

  Arty took one more look around the room. There were definitely none of his men here, that was for certain.

  “That damned metal box again,” he said, knowing that he had to go back down to level three.

  With nobody to help him this time, he truly had to stand steadfastly against his fear. He pressed the down button and waited for the doors to open. Once inside, he pressed on the number three and held his breath as the doors shut. Once they opened again, he released the air and jumped out into the hallway.

  “You’re back?” said the nurse who had set him up with the orderly.

  “Aye. None of me men were up there.”

  “Let me get another orderly,” she said sweetly.

  “They said I was just here marketing for the dinner theater,” Arty said, not paying much attention to her.

  She stopped. “Ahhh... So that’s what this is all about? Only my second week on
the job. I suppose I should have known, though. Where would a loony bird get an outfit like that?”

  “What?”

  An instant later, a light above the room where Allison was staying went off, accompanied by a buzzing sound.

  “Uh oh,” said the nurse. She ran into the room as Arty stood there, trying to piece together what had been going on. The nurse dashed back out and called to a fellow behind the desk, “Steve, you’d better get Dr. Carry on the horn. Looks like Allison Smith is going into labor.”

  Arty grabbed the woman by the arm and pointed. “Is that Steve fellow after being a male nurse?”

  “Of course he is,” she said with a frown.

  “What’s the world comin’ to?” Then he remembered he was wearing lace undies.

  Lance-A-Lot bolted from the room and slapped his hands on Arty’s shoulder. “She’s going into labor, sire. I’m going to be a father.”

  “My goodness, lad,” Arty said, shocked. “I know yer after havin’ a massive tallyhoosit, but I dinnae think even ye can get a lass knocked up that quick and then off to labor.”

  THE PLAY BEGINS

  Gaheris looked out beyond the curtains and saw that people were filling the stands. They were still being ushered in, but the attack from the Evil Knight was clearly imminent. Whether under the guise of a play or not, it was happening soon. He only hoped that the innocents would be saved. Gaheris was known as a man with a cold heart, but he held a soft place in it for civilians. It was never their role to pit sword against sword.

  “Now remember, Gary,” Bors warned, “you’re in a play.”

  “I don’t think it’s as you say,” Gaheris replied, keeping his eye on the incoming crowd. “I’ve checked the swords again just now. They’re still not sharp.”

  “That’s because, again, it’s a play.”

  “Yet there is the Evil Knight—”

  “He’s an actor.”

  “You do understand that, right?” Kay said, spinning Gaheris around. “Just when I think you get it, you say things that make me believe that you don’t.”

  “I understand that the king is in danger,” Gaheris replied evenly.

  “Who is also an actor,” Bors pointed out.

  “And even if he weren’t, he’s not our king.”

  “A king is a king,” Gaheris replied, taking a small detour from his normal saying. “Even that damn Scottish fellow.”

  “That makes zero sense, Gaheris,” Bors said. “You wouldn’t just defend any king, right?”

  Gaheris held his fellow knight’s gaze. “I defend as I defend.”

  “So you’re saying that if we were at war with France, you’d defend their king?” asked Kay.

  “Well, no.”

  “Then?”

  “We were instructed to do this thing,” Gaheris said.

  “It’s a play, you buffoon,” yelled Bors just as Wilhelm rushed into the room.

  “Are you all ready?” he said, looking anxiously from face to face.

  “Gaheris?” said Kay.

  “Who?” asked Wilhelm.

  “He’s just trying to stay in character,” Bors quickly replied.

  “Oh, right.”

  “Gary?” Kay attempted again, “are you ready?”

  Gaheris felt his heart rate increase. “I am always ready.”

  “Excellent,” Wilhelm said. “I’ll check on the others.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Bors said to Kay.

  “Indeed.”

  SELLING EXCALIBUR

  Where did you get this?” said Mrs. Levstall, an elderly woman who wore an outstanding ensemble of clothing that was accompanied with jewelry and a fashionably pink hat. Arthur was smitten with her immediately. Not because he found her attractive, of course, but rather because he loved her choice of garb.

  “I pulled it from a rock,” Arthur declared.

  “Ha ha,” said Mrs. Levstall. “Funny. Seriously, though. Where?”

  “Uh, well—”

  “We are collectors as well, madam,” Merlin interjected. “This was pulled from an archaeological dig a long time ago.”

  “Where?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “May I suggest that it doesn’t matter where?” Galahad said, coming to Merlin’s aid. “The point is that it’s here now.”

  “Yes, yes,” Merlin said. “He’s correct.”

  “What’s an archaeological dig?” asked Arthur.

  Galahad leaned over. “You truly need to pick up some periodicals, sire.”

  “Did you just call him sire?”

  “No, ma’am,” Galahad lied, “I called him ‘sir.’”

  “Ah, yes,” she said, resuming her study of the sword. “Well, I have to say that this is an incredible specimen. I’m willing to pay a great deal of money for this, assuming it’s not hot, of course.”

  “Hot?” Guinevere said, reaching out to touch the blade.

  “She means stolen, Gwen,” Merlin said and then looked again at Mrs. Levstall. “I assure you that it is not, madam.”

  “How can I know that for certain?”

  “Have you seen this item in any of your journals as of late?” asked Galahad.

  “Well, no.”

  Galahad nodded. “Have you heard rumblings of its existence in recent years?”

  “I have not.”

  “Then the only deduction one could make, madam,” stated Galahad, “would be that it has not been availed to the public eye.”

  Mrs. Levstall leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She appeared to be weighing Galahad’s words. Arthur couldn’t blame her. He’d always known that Galahad was one of his more clever knights, but his looks betrayed his intellect and that often meant that he got questioned when he spoke smartly.

  “Or it’s been kept in quiet circles,” the older lady countered.

  “I would assume that one with your collection would belong to such circles, no?”

  “That’s true,” she said to Galahad. “I must say that you seem to be a well-educated man in the realm of business and collectibles.”

  “And finance, I might add.” Galahad puffed out his chest slightly. “Plus, I’ve recently started to study electricity.”

  This didn’t seem to impress Mrs. Levstall.

  “Well,” Merlin said with a cough, “should we assume that you’re interested in making a purchase?”

  “I believe I am. What are you asking for it?”

  At this, Merlin turned back to Galahad, who merely sat staring.

  “Gal?” said Merlin.

  “Merl?” replied Galahad snarkily.

  Merlin sighed. “You said you were well versed in finance.”

  “Ah, yes, sorry. I would think that something of this rarity would fetch at least one thousand horses.”

  “Sorry, did you say one thousand horses?”

  “I’m up for negotiation, of course.”

  Mrs. Levstall smiled and said, “You people are quite humorous.” Though she didn’t actually laugh. “Let’s just say that I’m willing to offer you ten million for it.”

  “Ten million horses?” Galahad replied in shock. “Where would we put them all?”

  “I didn’t even know there were that many horses,” agreed Arthur.

  “You all love keeping a joke running, don’t you?”

  Guinevere held up her hand to silence Galahad, Arthur, and Merlin. She then turned to Mrs. Levstall and gave her what appeared to be a look that said, “Men.” Mrs. Levstall returned a look that Arthur construed to mean, “I know, right?”

  “Could we have a moment, please, Mrs. Levstall?” said Guinevere.

  “Of course, dear.”

  After she walked out, Guinevere said, “While you two were in the hospital, we got a bit of information on money. Mitch was paid in something called dollars.”

  “Ah, yes,” Arthur said, nodding, “forgot about that.”

  “I’ve seen these dollars in magazines that Allison brought back,” Merlin said with a snap of his finger
s.

  “And you didn’t think that information would prove useful to me?” asked Galahad.

  Merlin glanced at him. “You said you were well versed in finance!”

  “Of our era, you twit.”

  “You don’t call your master a twit,” Merlin admonished.

  “I do if he fits the part.”

  “And why would you ask for one thousand horses anyway?” Merlin spat. “How the hell did you expect us to get them back to Camelot?”

  “One at a time, twit.”

  “Okay, okay,” Arthur said. “Calm down, the both of you. We need to keep our heads in the game.” He looked back at Guinevere. “These dollars, do you think ten million of them to be a good amount?”

  “I’d say it would be simply based on how much Mitch got paid for swinging his sword around.”

  “I thought his sword disappeared...” started Galahad. “Oh wait, that’s not what you meant.”

  “She always talks like that when she’s wearing pantaloons.”

  “Strange.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Anyway,” Guinevere said, “I’d say that we should take it.”

  Merlin nodded. “I trust your judgment more than either of these two.”

  “Hey!”

  Guinevere waved Mrs. Levstall back into the room.

  “We shall accept this offer you have given us.”

  “Excellent,” she said while resuming her seat. “I’ll just need your bank information and I’ll make the transfer immediately.”

  “Hmmm,” said Merlin while looking over at Arthur.

  Trumpets sounded, jolting them all but Mrs. Levstall, who had gone back to her study of Excalibur. She merely said, “Oh good, the play is beginning.”

  “Play?” said Arthur, forgetting momentarily where he was. “Ah yes, of course! That’s the one that Bors, Kay, and Gaheris are in.”

  “You mean Gary?” said Mrs. Levstall with a giggle. “Odd bird, that.”

  “Right…Gary. That’s who I meant.”

  “The other two are actors through and through,” the elderly woman added, “but that Gary is so strange.”

  “No arguing that,” agreed Galahad.

  “Most convincing form of method-acting I’ve ever seen, truth be told. High hopes for his performance, I’ll say.”