‘Stay here Wyzen,’ Harold called to the Wyzen. ‘Looks like it’s up to me to sort all this out,’ and with that he followed Meg and the Don into Trollcastle, the Wyzen trotting after him. As they went in, the bell tolled three times, sounding the all clear.
45: THE PROPOSAL
As the all clear sounded, Zachary was quietly fingering the tune of Blue Suede Shoes on the minstrel’s guitar. If Elvis Presley classics were all the go here, he, Zachary Owens, was willing to oblige, having always been partial to the King’s early work himself. Zachary was feeling particularly smug, always a danger sign with him. He had survived Testing, and seemed to be getting on well with the Don. Perhaps there was a future here in the future after all, once they had solved the little problem of Guinevere’s self-destruct. He turned to Father John. ‘Now I’m through the Testing, I’m free to go?’
‘Free to stay,’ the priest said. ‘Free to join the Don’s service.’
Zachary remembered then that the Don had said something about this, but it had gone out of his head because at the time he had been in a state of abject snivelling terror, and being in a state of abject snivelling terror always made him forget things, particularly things he was agreeing to in order to get out of trouble.
At the time, the idea of being in the Don’s service had seemed an enviable alternative to the death penalty or being sold into slavery up the river into Vic, which was what they now seemed to call the State of Victoria. The point was, he thought to himself as he appeared to be to concentrating on picking out the tune of Blue Suede Shoes on the guitar, now that the death penalty no longer loomed, and he had passed Testing so that he would not be sent up the river to Vic, the idea of serving the Don had lost much of its earlier appeal.
The Don was a noble man in all senses, Zachary was sure, but the fact was that serving other people was simply not Zachary’s best thing, unless those people went by the name of Zachary Owens.
‘You know, I’m not really sure about that, Father,’ Zachary said. ‘I mean, ah … I mean it’s a great honor to serve the Don but I’m not sure that I’m really worthy of it?’
‘Abandoned hussy!’ said Father John.
After a moment’s surprise. Zachary worked out that the priest was probably not speaking to him, so he looked up, and saw that Meg was walking into the hall on the Don’s arm, followed by Harold and the Wyzen. They in turn were followed by Ulf wearing a big foolish grin, and then came the remainder of the Troll men-at-arms.
‘I’m sure you’re right, Father,’ Zachary said, ‘she probably is an abandoned hussy, but she usually comes through very uptight, you know? School teacher type.’
‘You know this woman who comes unveiled with the Don?’
‘Uh huh.’ He looked at Meg and Harold, not feeling at all pleased with them. Here he had everything under control and back to what passed for normal in the 22nd century, and they were walking in, complicating matters. ‘What are you two doing here?’ he asked them.
‘Rescuing you and Zoe,’ Harold said.
Zachary noticed that Meg did not answer. She was just looking at the Don as if she had been sandbagged. Zachary hated men who had that effect on women. He did not know how they did it, but he suspected it was a form of cheating and he could not abide cheats. ‘I had everything under control,’ he told Harold. Then he realized what Harold had just said. ‘Rescuing me and Zoe? Zoe’s not here.’
‘Zoe’s here,’ said Harold, ‘she came in half an hour after you did, and hasn’t come out.’
As they were talking, the Don was ordering more chairs for the high table, and male servants were fetching them, clearing the dishes, and generally making things right for the guests. It appeared to Zachary that the Don was not so much getting things right for the guests, plural, as the guest Meg Henderson singular, but he did not feel on solid enough ground yet with the Don to call attention to the fact. It might be yet another hanging offence, and he did not want to give Ulf his chance at a return bout quite so soon.
‘You’re sure?’ he said to Harold.
‘She climbed in the window. Into this room,’ Harold replied, waving a hand at the hall they were in. They were now being seated at the high table, and a small bell tinkled behind the curtain which ran along one side wall of the stage.
Zachary turned to Father John. ‘Harold says another of our party’s in the castle. The girl Zoe. You met her? You’d notice her, she’s got a bare face too.’
‘I’ve not heard she’s here.’
‘She wouldn’t be in a dungeon by any chance?’
‘Not that I’ve heard.’
Zachary and Harold were getting worried, but then the curtain was drawn back by a man servant, who then opened a door behind it. Through the doorway came the Trollwives, and among the first of them was a dark-haired one having trouble with her long dress, beneath which a pair of joggers was clearly visible. .
‘Is that you under there Zoe?’ Harold asked, with the beginnings of a broad grin.
‘Laugh and I’ll smash you one,’ said the veiled lady. ‘Snigger and you’re dead.’
Harold turned to Zachary. ‘It’s Zoe,’ he said. ‘I recognize the threats.’
Zachary was laughing.
‘Zachary?’ said Zoe’s voice from behind the Trollwife’s veil. ‘I promise you!’
Zachary got it under control for a moment, but his laughter broke out again as Zoe was seated by the other women opposite the Don. It was clear to Zoe that their matchmaking plans were gathering momentum. The Don looked at Zoe intently, and then frowned. ‘Whose wife is this?’ he asked.
‘No one’s wife, my lord,’ said one of the women.
‘Unmarried, 15, plump as a pigeon…’
‘I am not plump!’ said Zoe.
‘One of the iron castle people,’ Marlowe said.
‘We veiled her for you my lord,’ Ulf’s wife said. ‘To appear at her best. We can veil the other if you wish?’
‘No,’ said the Don, ‘we’ll not impose our customs on our guest.’ He smiled at Meg.
‘He thinks you’re really hot, Meg,’ Zoe said, relieved that the Don was not showing any interest in her direction.
Meg looked at Zoe and smiled glacially. ‘Love you in the veil, Zoe. If I were you I’d wear it always.’
Zoe’s answer to that was immediate and savage. She ripped her veil off and said, with a controlled sweetness which almost masked her anger: ‘I’m a guest too.’
The Don seemed not to notice. He had turned his attention to Meg. ‘Are you married?’ he asked.
‘No I’m not, I wish I hadn’t said that,’ said Meg.
‘And where is your father?’ said the Don. This line of questioning seemed to be producing a state of controlled hysteria among the veiled Trollwives, who had their heads together and were whispering.
Meg gazed at the Don bleakly. ‘My father, my mother and brothers were taken by the Slarn.’
‘Sad,’ said the Don. He thought for a moment and then looked at Zachary, and then back at Meg. ‘Then legally you’re under Zachary’s protection?’
‘I’m under nobody’s protection!’ Meg said angrily then rapidly changed her mind about that, and ‘yes I am,’ she said. ‘In fact. Legally. Under Zachary’s protection.’
The Don’s gaze turned to Zachary, who felt uncomfortable about the direction the conversation was taking. He sincerely wished never to end up in single combat with the Don whom he (as it happened correctly) suspected was a much tougher customer than good old Sir Ulf. ‘Well, we, ah … we’re just good friends. Nothing, ahm … I mean I wouldn’t even say constant companions, just … just friends?’
Meg’s voice was developing the sort of edge that Harold and Zoe associated with Wednesday detentions. ‘Zachary?’
‘A woman without a legal protector is of course in a difficult position under our law,’ said the Don. ‘She’s in somewhat the same position legally as an unclaimed piece of territory, that is, first permanent occupancy will grant ownership.’
‘Zachary?’
Meg’s voice, it seemed to Zachary, was taking on a somewhat hysterical tone. ‘I hate this kind of stuff, Meg, you know that, but sure, yeah, I guess you could say I was her legal protector.’ He looked around the table and grinned. ‘Women need a man around to look after them, right?’
‘That’s right!’ said Harold, earning himself a combined glare from Meg and Zoe.
‘You’re more intelligent than I thought,’ said Ulf to Zachary.
Zachary wondered whether this was a compliment coming from Ulf, who, to all appearances, had the intelligence of a bacterium, but he felt that now was not the time to argue the question. These people almost certainly practiced duelling, and he did not want Ulf to feel that he had been insulted in any way. It occurred to him in passing that people in societies which practised duelling must have very good manners indeed. Even the idea of it had induced in him a degree of politeness and sensitivity of which he had never previously thought himself capable.
‘You’re perfectly correct of course,’ the Don was saying to Zachary. ‘Women do need a man around to protect them. Having been Tested, you are in my service, and your first duty will be to protect the Lady…’
‘Henderson,’ said Meg. ‘My name’s Meg Henderson.’
‘A name that sings like music,’ said the Don.
Zachary wondered why he never got to say things like that. He guessed it probably came with looking like a prince and wearing swords.
‘You will look after the Lady Henderson,’ said the Don.
‘Fantastic,’ said Zachary. ‘Night and day.’ And then, realizing that this could be misinterpreted, he added, ‘In a perfectly respectable way of course.’
‘And tomorrow,’ said the Don, ‘I shall call upon you to discuss the marriage contract.’
‘Marriage contract?’ said Zachary.
‘Marriage contract?’ said Harold and Zoe in unison.
‘Marriage contract?’ gasped Meg as if she were suddenly out of breath.
‘I intend to marry the Lady Henderson,’ said the Don. ‘I’ve been widowed a year. I owe it to my realm to remarry and have sons. The Lady Henderson will be my new wife.’
The Trollwives’ whispering picked up tempo. If the increase in sound level and the animation of their gestures were any indications, they were delighted by the announcement. Marlowe’s eyes were flickering around the table in an agitated fashion as if trying to gauge reactions. Zachary thought the village warlock seemed less than happy with the news.
Zachary was meanwhile picking himself up off the mental canvas. ‘Isn’t this a little sudden, my lord? I mean she’s a very nice lady but you only just met her, and you might like to think about…?
‘What’s there to think about?’ said the Don. ‘You either want to marry someone or you don’t. What’s thinking got to do with it? She’s healthy, she’s beautiful, she clearly has excellent bloodlines, I love her, what else do I want?’
‘My agreement?’ said Meg. ‘My consent maybe? Little three-letter word like “yes” perhaps?’
The Don smiled at her and patted her hand. ‘My dear, I wouldn’t want a wife who didn’t show that kind of spirit,’ he said and turned to Zachary. ‘I’ll come to the iron castle in the morning to discuss the contract.’
‘I guess that means you’re not intending to cut our throats if we don’t move the castle now?’ Zachary asked, wanting to get things clear for Ulf’s benefit.
‘The situation’s changed,’ said the Don. ‘You stay. That’s an order. Understood?’
‘Now you just listen,’ Meg began but Zachary shook his head at her.
‘Tell me back at the starship,’ he said. ‘Just for once we’re slightly ahead of the game. Don’t blow it by using logic.’
Meg took a deep breath, leant back in her chair, narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. For a moment, Zachary wondered whether he would not rather hear her out now, while he still had Ulf to protect him.
46: THE ANSWER
A little over an hour later, the gate in the wall of Trollcastle opened, and Troll servants carrying lighted torches of resinous wood led the way to the school bus. The Don had Meg’s arm on his, and she was alternately feeling weak at the knees and furious. She found him attractive, but hated his high-handed attitudes, and wanted to get to know him well enough to tell him to get lost so that they could then begin to develop a relationship like normal civilized people.
Harold, Zoe, Zachary and the Wyzen followed Meg and the Don, and with them walked Father John, Ulf, and some other Trolls, with Marlowe hanging close behind.
When they reached the bus, the Don kissed Meg’s hand and she went through one of her weak-at-the-knees moments. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said.
She knew she had to tell him. ‘You don’t understand, Don. Marriages just aren’t arranged like this.’
‘But they are. Every day of the week,’ he said. ‘It’s our custom.’
‘But not ours.’
‘Whose land are you in?’
‘Ours … yours,’ she answered.
‘Over-excited,’ he said. ‘Confused. Perfectly natural. Don’t bother your head about it. I’ll arrange everything with Zachary.’
Meg went through one of her hating him for an arrogant albeit handsome thug phases, let out a furious breath and marched into the bus, followed by the others.
The Don watched, as Zachary sat down behind the wheel. Marlowe had edged up behind the Don. As Zoe passed them in order to board the bus, she heard Marlowe murmur: ‘Don’t do this, my lord, They’ll betray you. Take my advice. Sell them up the river.’
The Don looked at Marlowe. ‘Did I ask your advice?’
‘My lord…’
‘Enough!’ snapped the Don and looked back at Meg in the bus. ‘Woman in a thousand.’
In the bus, Zachary was looking for the ignition keys. ‘I thought I handled all that very well,’ he was saying. ‘Where’s the keys?’
‘You got me into this Zachary, you get me out of it,’ Meg muttered to him.
Zoe, now aboard the bus, was looking out at Marlowe, who was watching them balefully. ‘Zachary, I think we should get out of here.’
‘Sure. When I find the keys.’ He looked at Meg. ‘What’s the matter with you? He’s handsome, has his own castle, he’s titled, probably plays polo … the keys anyone?’
Zoe leaned in close. ‘Zachary, that village wizard guy you did the deal with? Marlowe? The one who was going to intercede with the Don for us?’
‘I don’t have the keys,’ said Meg.
‘Well someone’s got the keys!’ Zachary looked at Zoe. ‘Yeah, I saw him there tonight, didn’t get a chance to have a word. Then who does have the keys?’
‘Well I just heard him telling the Don to sell us up the river wherever that is.’
The Wyzen trotted up from her seat in the back with the keys in her paw. She moved in alongside Zachary and dropped them on the floor and started playing with the light switches.
‘Glad someone round here’s got a sense of responsibility,’ muttered Zachary and then said to Zoe: ‘You’re right. I think we’d better get out of here.’
As he started the bus, Zoe moved toward her usual school day position on the back seat. When she got to it, she found her schoolbag and basketball were still there from the day of the Slarn raid. ‘Hey great!’ she yelled, then looked at Harold. ‘Did you know my basketball was here?’
‘Of course I did, we’ve been sleeping in the bus.’
‘You knew my basketball was here and didn’t bring it to me? Didn’t think to tell me?’
‘Why would you need your basketball?’
‘No brains,’ she said, bouncing the ball on the floor of the bus.
As the bus drove away, the Don and Father John watched it go. Marlowe was still behind them, listening. ‘You think they’re really from the past?’ the Don asked the priest.
‘I wasn’t sure,’ said Father John. ‘I thought for a while that he was lying, but… the clothes,
the … you saw the clocks on their wrists? And the autobile’s new. Yes, I think they’re from the past.’
‘With knowledge from the past, I could unite the region,’ the Don said, his eyes staring off into the night. ‘Bring peace, end the Sullivan menace, stop the westward ambitions of the King of Vic. I could be High King. With the Lady Henderson my queen.’
In the shadows behind them, Marlowe listened. His plans were going badly here, but he must hang on. The Don was determined to marry the woman thief, but somewhere in all this there must be a chance to manipulate events to his advantage.
Later, back on the starship bridge, Harold and Zachary were playing Zoe two-to-one volleyball, using Zoe’s basketball for the ball and the washing line as a net. The Wyzen was helping. Meg lay sulking on one of the couches, and trying to cool off Guinevere’s enthusiasm for the impending wedding.
‘And when shall thy nuptials be?’ asked Guinevere’s image from the screen.
‘There’s not going to be any nuptials,’ Meg said.
‘‘tis not an offer to be dismissed too lightly. A peasant woman such as thyself, still unwed in middle age, to be married to a lord…’
‘Who says I’m a peasant!’
‘Art thou of gentle blood then?’ Guinevere seemed puzzled.
‘And I’m not middle aged! And my father was knighted for services to the British Army before we came out to Australia.’
‘Very well. I shall not call thee peasant, Meg, lawful and decent as that calling may be. I say to thee Meg that the daughter of an humble country knight, offered marriage by a most puissant lord should look well to it.’
‘He’s arrogant.’
‘Was ever duke or belted earl not so? How many offers hast thou had in all thy long life that thou shouldst thrust him off like this?’
‘I’ve had plenty of offers! In my quite short life!’ Meg was getting very irritated with Guinevere.
‘Offers. Of marriage?’
‘Yes of marriage, ironbrain!’ Meg paused and amended the statement. She was not by nature a liar. ‘Among the plenty of offers I’ve had, several have in fact been of marriage.’
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