Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur

by John P. Logsdon

  “Hmmm?” said Allison, and then, “Oh, yes, that too, of course.”

  Lance sighed. “I suppose it’s true what all of those soap operas say about romance being dead in this day and age.”

  Mrs. Smith did a quick shake of her head as if surprised. “You watch soap operas?”

  “Not much else to do around here during the day.”

  “Which is your favorite?”

  “I’m not good with names,” admitted Lance, “but I think it’s ‘As the Globe Spins’ maybe?”

  “Close enough. We should compare notes.”

  “I would like that,” said Lance emphatically.

  “A lot of my friends have a weekly get-together where we discuss the shows and what we think will happen.” She looked him over again. “Maybe you could join?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Sure, why not?” she said with a shrug. “It would be nice to have a man’s point of view.” She frowned. “Never thought I’d hear myself say that. Anyway, we go right after doing a bout of mall walking. Good for exercise.” She must have noticed Lance was giving her an imploring look, because she rolled her eyes and said, “...yes, you can go with us on that, too.”

  Lance clapped his hands. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Smith. That would be lovely.”

  “If you ladies are done planning,” said Allison as she walked to the door, “we should really get going.”

  “Huh?” said Lance, looking up. “Oh... Right.”

  § § §

  The trip over to the office was quick since they lived only a few blocks away. Lance had gotten used to the sound of cars and the garb of other pedestrians, but he kept to his standard wear of the Camelot Age, which wasn’t too far off considering how close they lived to the medieval dinner theater. Allison had mentioned a few times that she would like to take him out for clothes shopping, but she was always caught up in her work.

  The portal room was the same as he remembered. Desks everywhere, lighting in the ceiling behind mostly opaque coverings, and a large platform where they had arrived from the past originally.

  “I’ve already uploaded everything to the computer here and it should be all set,” said Allison as she studied the screen and pressed a few buttons. “Hop up on the platform and I’ll join you in a second.”

  A few moments later, they were both on the transporter, waiting for the system to go through its standard processes.

  First were the lights glowing on the floor like one of those TV shows Lance had watched from the seventies. It was called Soul Truck or something like that. It played music that was definitely not what Lance would have thought he’d enjoy, but he had to admit his foot tapped to the rhythm more than once while viewing. Next, the hairs on the back of his neck began to flutter, and then the hair on his head started lifting up. He looked at Allison and her hair was flying all over the place.

  Finally, there was a rush of sound, a massive tingling sensation, and everything disappeared.

  An instant later, the sights and sounds came rushing back in and they found themselves standing in Merlin’s transporter room with Sir Bedivere and a man Lance did not know. He was a red-haired fellow who was wearing a skirt. Well, it was a kilt, but it looked to Lance like a skirt.

  “What happened?” said Allison, looking more irritated than confused.

  “Bedivere?” said Lance, feeling a little groggy. “That’s you, right?”

  “Lance?” replied Bedivere. “I… uh…”

  The red-haired man was in a fight-or-flight stance. “What kind of devilry is this?”

  “We should be in Rome,” Allison said frantically as she hopped off the platform and began reviewing the screen at Merlin’s desk.

  “Rome?” said Bedivere.

  “Get ye back or face me blade,” said the kilt-wearing man as he pulled an axe out and held it menacingly.

  “Who is this?” Lance asked Bedivere.

  “One of King Arthur’s guys. From Scotland. His name is Doonan.”

  “Oh,” said Lance, the fog finally clearing from his thoughts. “Nice to meet you, Doonan.”

  Doonan’s eyes blazed. “My steel will meet your demonic loins.”

  “What?” said Lance, grimacing.

  “I don’t understand what happened,” said Allison, throwing up her hands. She then squinted at Bedivere and pointed. “Did you touch that screen?”

  Bedivere pointed, also. “That screen?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Allison moved past Bedivere, coming close to Doonan.

  “Get ye back, witch! I’m not fond of strikin’ the lasses, but I shan’t be vexed by your curses!”

  Lance reached over and snatched the axe away from Doonan as if it were nothing.

  “Calm yourself, man.”

  “He has the strength of an army,” Doonan said with a look of awe, his open hands shaking.

  “No,” Bedivere said, laughing, “he’s just a knight, and you were looking the other way.”

  “Oh. Well, I still have me knife—”

  Allison stood up and put a hand on her hip. This was the universal sign that told a man he was in trouble.

  “I’m not a witch and this isn’t devilry. It’s just technology. Honestly, you’re like a caveman.”

  “I am not,” Doonan said, looking hurt.

  “Then why all the talk of devilry and witches and demons?” countered Allison.

  “Because ye just went after poppin’ out of thin air, is why! How are ye after explainin’ it without the use of magic?”

  “Via a time dilation chamber that drops our bodies to a molecular structure, places them into a convecting oscillator with…” She paused. Doonan’s face had gone completely white. “What’s the matter?”

  “Are ye even speakin’ English anymore?” Then he gulped. “Or is that witch-speak?”

  Lance, who was now mildly used to the idea of time travel and technology, couldn’t help but feel bad for the Scotsman. Bedivere seemed slightly uneasy too, but he was known to hang around with Merlin from time to time, so even he appeared desensitized.

  “Right,” said Lance. “Any idea what happened?”

  “Yes,” replied Allison. “Bedivere tapped on the screen here and interrupted our transport.”

  Bedivere looked affronted.

  “I did not.”

  Allison went to put her hand back on her hip, which caused Bedivere to point at Doonan.

  “He did it.”

  “What?” said Doonan. “I dinnae no such thing!”

  “Do you two have a habit of going around and touching other people’s things?”

  Doonan got a serious look on his face. “Not since I had me therapy.”

  “I don’t believe that’s what she meant,” said Lance, taking a step away from the Scotsman.

  “Oh.”

  “Why are you here, anyway?” asked Lance.

  “That’s after bein’ a deep question,” answered Doonan at length while rubbing his chin and looking up thoughtfully. “The Great Lulach said it’s all about findin’ yer soul mate. ‘Course he spent his days in prison after bein’ arrested for pinchin’ ladies on the bottom. The Not-So-Great Mac Bethad claimed that we’re here to worship the way—”

  “I’m asking why you have broken into Merlin’s chambers?” Lance interrupted.

  “We didn’t break in, Sir Lance-A-Lot,” stated Bedivere. “The door was open.”

  “Fine. Why are you in this room?”

  “I was lookin’ for me king,” explained Doonan. “He came here a bit back and he’s not returned.” He paused and glanced around. “Dinnae wanna come here at all, truth be told, but that damnable Calle commanded it, so here I am.”

  “I see.”

  “Are ye after knowin’ where me king is?” asked the Scotsman.

  “He’s in Rome,” answered Allison as she began working the keyboard.

  “Rome?” Doonan flinched. “Did
he go on a horse or somethin’?”

  “Ancient Rome,” amended Allison.

  “What?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” said Lance, “but let’s just say that we’re on our way to retrieve both him and our King Arthur as well.”

  With what appeared to be a lot of effort, Doonan announced, “I’m going with ye.”

  “Sorry, no,” said Allison. “You’ve already seen too much as it is.”

  “He’s me king!”

  Allison nodded. “So you’ve said. We’ll bring him back to you soon enough.”

  “Ye can’t force me to sit by as me king is off in some faraway land!”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Allison said with a dismissive wave. “Just relax.”

  Doonan stood tall and crossed his arms. “I’m going and that’s after bein’ final.”

  “Don’t make me put a curse on you,” Allison replied nonchalantly as she continued typing.

  The Scotsman blanched and gulped. “So we’re waitin’ here, ye say?”

  “Both of you,” Lance replied. “Bedivere, stay here and touch nothing. Just go sit on the couch and wait. Keep him there, too.”

  “Understood.”

  Lance nodded and then tilted his head at the knight. “You truly do, right?”

  “Said I did.”

  “Right.”

  THE EMPEROR, THE KINGS, AND THE GODS

  Arthur and Arty stood in front of Emperor Flaccidus. Arthur hated to have to do this, as it was his life that was coming to an end, but to save his men, and especially his beloved Guinevere, he would do what he had to do. Having Arty next to him proved that the English and the Scottish could be comrades… at least if it all started due to the fact that both kings happened to share in the desire to wear women’s clothing, anyway.

  “So,” Flaccidus said with a satisfied smile, “you have come to beg for your lives?”

  “We aint’ beggin’ fer nothin’, ye daft—”

  “Arty,” said Arthur, putting out a hand to stay the man. “Sorry, Emperor Flaccidwilly.”

  “It’s Flaccidus!”

  “Ah, yes, that. We are not here to beg for our lives, but rather for the lives of our comrades.”

  Flaccidus resumed his smugness. “Is that so?”

  “It does you no harm to keep them alive,” Arthur explained.

  “True. We could always use a few more slaves.”

  Arthur fought to remain calm. It was better for them to be enslaved and alive than to be hanging from the end of a rope, or worse.

  “As you say.”

  “Either way, you two must perish because—”

  Hemorrhoidoclese burst into the room, causing the two guards on duty to pull their swords and prepare for an attack. Obviously they noted it was one of their own, though, and therefore returned the blades to their respective sheaths.

  “My emperor, I’m sorry to interrupt—”

  Flaccidus turned to the two Arthurs and said, “It really is annoying when they do that, isn’t it?”

  “Happens to me all the time,” Arthur commiserated.

  “Aye. Rangy bastards.”

  “Does he always speak so gruffly?” asked Flaccidus while scrunching up his nose.

  “Ye think he speaks with angst?”

  “Was talking about you.”

  “Oh. Aye.” Arty didn’t shrug or bow or make any move to apologize. He just pushed out his chest proudly and said, “It’s after bein’ a trait of me people.”

  “Right.” Flaccidus glanced at his guard. “What is it, Hemorrhoidoclese?”

  “Appolo and Athena have just arrived, sire.”

  Flaccidus nearly fell over. “Send them in, man!”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Hemorrhoidoclese snapped his fingers and the two guards by the doors opened them.

  A muscular man led the way. He had wavy hair and a swagger in his step that said he knew he was powerful. Even had Arthur not just seen the way Flaccidus responded to the knowledge that these two were waiting outside, it would have been clear this fellow was royalty.

  The woman who followed him was beyond gorgeous, but she too was built like a finely-tuned machine. Her movements were like that of a snake, and, were Arthur being truthful, it was a snake he’d not mind being bitten by.

  Both the new arrivals glanced over Arthur and Arty as if they were subjects, mere peons. Oddly, under their gaze, Arthur felt as though he were.

  “Flaccidus,” said the man by way of greeting.

  His voice was a bit more flamboyant than his body language, which seemed out of place to Arthur. It was a singsong voice that belonged to someone a little less… manly.

  “My god,” said Flaccidus from a kneeling position. “It is always an honor.”

  Apollo removed his hand from the top of Flaccidus’s head. “You may rise.”

  The woman, whom Arthur assumed was also a “god,” was pacing back and forth in front of him and Arty. She appeared to be sizing them up. If she were truly a god, they would be no match for her, but Arthur had learned over his years that some people just had to demonstrate their superiority wherever possible. This was when Arthur recalled that he, too, was royalty.

  He coughed to himself.

  “So King Arthur and King, well... Arthur.” The side of her top lip lifted. “Interesting that you’re here.”

  “Are we after havin’ met before?” asked Arty.

  “We’re gods,” said Apollo. “We know everything.”

  “Gods, eh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I ain’t after rememberin’ hearin’ about no god named Apple Hole.”

  “It’s ‘Apollo,’ you dimwit,” said Apollo tightly. “This is my sister—kind of. Her name is Athena.”

  “Kind of?” ventured Arthur.

  “She came out of my father’s forehead,” explained Apollo as if it were a thing that was commonplace.

  “What the shet?” said Arty with a tilt of his head.

  “It’s a long story,” replied Athena, stepping in closer to Arthur, “and probably just a myth anyway. So why are you here?”

  “They claim they were at a costume party,” answered Flaccidus before either of the Arthurs could respond.

  “Explains the lady’s outfits,” said Apollo in a way that came across as interest.

  Athena turned away and seductively walked over to the table where the grapes were sitting. She plucked one from its stem and began rolling it between her fingers. Arthur swallowed as she looked back and playfully touched the grape to her lips, gently pulling it into her mouth with a smirk.

  Both Arthurs were nearly drooling by now, as were the two guards standing over by the grapes.

  “Is Lance-A-Lot with you?” she said and then bit down.

  “Huh…?” Arthur replied dumbly. He shook himself back to reality. “No, why?”

  Athena frowned. “Damn. Just heard he has quite a... uh... sword.”

  “Me word,” yelped Arty in disbelief. “The damn thing is so impressive that it’s a legend hundreds of years before the man was properly born!”

  “How could you possibly know about this?” said Arthur.

  “As I said,” answered Apollo, “we’re gods.”

  “Right.”

  Apollo then turned and seductively walked over to the same table as Athena. He snapped up a grape and did the same sensuous play that his kind-of sister had done.

  Both Arthurs were wincing at this, as were the two guards standing over by the grapes.

  “Flaccidus,” said Apollo with a sudden frown, “what is your plan with these men?”

  “I’m to have them executed.”

  “On what grounds?” asked Athena, though Arthur couldn’t tell if she actually cared or not.

  Flaccidus pointed at Arthur and said, “He’s the king of Britain and he’s the king of Scotland. Solves our issues regarding conquering them both.”

  “I see,” said Apollo, “but I’m sorry we cannot allow this execution to take pla
ce.”

  “But you must! It’s—”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me, Flaccidus,” said Apollo coldly. “I would hate to strike you down.”

  “Sorry, my god,” Flaccidus said quickly, his voice barely audible.

  Athena had her arms crossed as well and was giving Flaccidus a very stern look. They definitely had the royalty thing down better than most. Honestly, it was as if they’d invented it.

  “Don’t forget that we put you in this palace between the normal emperors because you throw a decent party,” she said sternly. “You shouldn’t be in here at all, and you’re already precluded from having a legacy.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Apollo. “You’re what we call a stop-gap solution.”

  “Yes, I know.” Flaccidus sighed heavily. “I’m... worthless.”

  Apollo nodded. “Correct. Now that we have that cleared up, we expect you’ll do as we say?”

  “Of course, my god.”

  It wasn’t Arthur’s place, but seeing a man berated as such was painful to watch. He had subjects who were sometimes naughty, but he would take them aside quietly and discuss the situation, not publicly flog them. There were many kings and queens who loved to humiliate people, of course, but to Arthur’s way of thinking it was dishonorable. It was equally dishonorable to stand idly by while it happened.

  “Excuse me,” he said, raising his arm, “but while I don’t know this man very well and while I’m quite certain that we would be dead were it not for your intervention, do you not think that treating him thusly is a bit vexing?”

  “No,” said Athena as if it were a stupid question.

  Apollo frowned and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Not at all.”

  “Harsh,” said Arty.

  “Thank you for your concern,” Flaccidus whispered as he moved over to stand with Arthur, “but, to the gods, an emperor or a king is naught but a peasant.”

  “I don’t treat my peasants with such disdain,” declared Arthur.

  “Aye, agreed,” said Arty. “They’ll stick ye with a blade in your nethers during naptime, if’n ye not after bein’ careful.”

  “Enough of this,” said Apollo while stomping his foot with each word. “Where are the others in their party?”

  “They’re in the dungeon, my god,” answered Flaccidus.