Sir Thomas the Hesitant and the Table of Less Valued Knights

by Liam Perrin

  §

  "I gave him to Morgan," said an aged, but not old voice.

  Thomas had shimmied straight ahead for what felt like a mile but was probably more like a hundred feet, then taken a right hand branch. The voices were directly above him now. There was a dull light coming down through a grate above, and he lay on his back listening. He'd even caught sight of a swoosh of velvety robe at one point. It had given him a fright, and he'd inched backward so in case anyone looked down, they wouldn't see him looking up.

  "The most skilled fighter in all of Britain and you gave him to Morgan."

  It was Bane's voice. But who's he talking to? thought Thomas.

  "It's an investment, son."

  "The Baron," hissed Thomas, and then clamped his hands over his mouth.

  "What was that?" said the Baron.

  "It was the sound of my future collapsing," said Bane. He was clearly angry. "The investment was supposed to be in me, Father. The black knight beats everyone else, I beat the black knight, Arthur commissions me to an Order, and our little borough of Fogbottom is finally on the map."

  "But you are in an Order," the Baron sniggered.

  Bane blew up. "It's your name too Father! How can you be so dim-sighted?"

  "Don't tell me about my name boy." The Baron's voice was ice cold. "While I walk the earth, Fogbottom is mine to do with as I see fit. Or perhaps you'd prefer to spend some time in my basement with that Farmer boy?"

  "William," whispered Thomas. He had a sudden and completely irrational urge to fly up the shaft, burst through the grate and strangle them both.

  There was no audible reply from Bane.

  "Good," said the Baron. "Anyway, honestly, who would believe you could beat Accolon? It was a foolish plan, and when I realized it, I changed it."

  "You should have warned me. I looked like a fool," said Bane.

  "We all make sacrifices," said the Baron in a tone dripping with mockery. "The peasants of Fogbottom, for instance. Speaking of which, the shipment is almost ready."

  Shipment? mouthed Thomas to himself, in the dark.

  A door opened.

  "I thought I told you – oh sorry, m'Lord, I didn't see you there."

  It was Horace's voice. There was a pause. Thomas imagined the Baron glaring at Horace.

  "I'll just be on my way then," said Horace, and the door closed again.

  "I had to put up with that idiot while you were busy being late," said Bane.

  "My affairs are my affairs. The sooner you learn that, boy, the sooner we'll both get what we want. Now come along and tend to your duties. We can't have the country falling apart on the Less Valued's watch." The Baron sniggered again.

  Thomas heard the door open and close, and then all was quiet. Thomas started hoisting himself up the shaft toward the floor grate. As he climbed, so did his anger: Anger at being manipulated into participating in their ruse with the Black Knight, anger at the sheer audacity of their attempt to hoodwink Arthur, anger at himself for putting off dealing directly with his brother's situation for so long.

  He shoved the grate over and climbed out of the shaft. He aimed a mad kick at a convenient piece of furniture, then remembered Horace and stopped. Thomas opened the door as quietly as possible and peered down the hall. He recognized this part of the palace from their swearing in. He didn't want to bump into Horace again, but he didn't feel much like creeping about anymore either.

  Thomas picked his head up, acted like he belonged where he was, marched down the hall and, ultimately, out of the palace.

  Back at the barracks, he took the blank parchment out of his footlocker, penned something quickly, sealed the letter and shoved it all back where he'd got it. He'd take the letter to the post office in the morning.

  He dropped onto his bunk and fumed. It was a good half hour before it dawned on him that Philip's bunk was empty.

  §

  The mistake most people made with Pyralis's Moral Compass was believing that the thing in any way, shape or form reflected their own sense of right and wrong. A device that decides for the wielder what he should and shouldn't do, and when, is bad enough. Pyralis's diabolical pre-career-shift innovation had been to make the compass fairly clever. With clever came bored, and with bored came mischievous and with mischievous came – well, luckily, that's as far as the compass ever really got.

  The compass was smart enough to know that it needed to deliver, in the end, the thing the wielder was after. And it never lied, technically. But it had learned to have fun with people's readiness to believe that there was just one right way in all matters.

  It would examine a number of ways to have the thing the wielder wanted come about, then pick the way that was the most fun for itself. There were lots of ways, for instance, that Thomas could have wound up overhearing Bane and the Baron, but the compass had particularly enjoyed scaring him with Horace.

  It had decided to have some more fun with Philip.

  §

  The door to the barracks opened and there, lit by the moon, was a sopping wet, leaf-covered, mud-encrusted Philip. He was holding a shiny gold compass out in front of him like it was a wild animal that could strike out at him any second. There were branches stuck to him and sticking out at odd angles.

  His lips moved, but his jaw stayed clenched. "Take... this... back," he said.

  Thomas thought he could even see a seashell stuck in Philip's hair.

  He tossed the compass at Thomas, turned, and sloshed back out the door, presumably to – somehow – clean up.

  Thomas hurried after him.

  §

  "It led me right up out of the Undercroft, no problem," said Philip. "But I think it decided to have some sport with me in the palace."

  "It decided..."

  "Yes, it decided," said Philip. He stopped wringing out his shirt, and the look he gave Thomas made it clear this point was not up for discussion.

  "Please continue," said Thomas.

  "I was out the door and on the palace grounds when I started to think about how the compass worked, and if there were more than one, you know, right place to be at any given moment. So I tried it out. I started thinking of different things to test it."

  Philip gave up on his shirt for the time being and began picking leaves off of himself.

  "I stood still and thought how nice it would be to have a hot sandwich and a cold drink just then and wham! The compass needle went nuts until I started heading toward the Pickle. So, then I thought to myself, 'Forget the sandwich, how about some of Mum's Shrewsbery cakes–"

  "Your Mum's what?"

  Philip was aghast. "You can't possibly have never had Shrewsbery cakes."

  "Er, my mother doesn't really... That is, in the kitchen, she kind of does her own thing."

  "Ah," said Philip, scraping clumps of mud off his arm. "Well, you'll have to come over sometime. They're these delicate nutmeg and rosewater cakes... more like a thick cookie really. If you dunk them in warm cream..."

  Philip looked up to see Thomas staring back with one raised eyebrow.

  "Anyway, as I was saying, I thought of Mum's Shrewsbery cakes and wham! There goes the needle again until I start heading home at which time, of course, it tells me I'm heading in the right direction.

  "So," said Philip. "That's when I decided to really give it a go, and the compass was more than happy to oblige," he finished with clenched teeth.

  Philip looked himself over. He was still a mess. He gave his shirt some consideration, seemed to come to an internal conclusion, picked it up and started toweling himself off with it.

  "And..." said Thomas.

  Philip tried to ignore him, toweling even more furiously.

  "And so you thought..." said Thomas.

  Philip stopped and looked at the sky. "I thought it would be nice to, you know, bump into Chastity again."

  Thomas grinned. "I see," he said and had to work hard to stifle a laugh. He bounced on his toes instead.

  Philip went back to scrubbing.
/>   Thomas tried to keep a straight face. "And how did that go?"

  In answer, Philip quickly spread his arms, shook his head, raised his eyebrows and glared at him. Thomas was having a really hard time holding it in.

  "The compass," said Philip, "led me right back into the palace, upstairs, and eventually through a window out onto a ledge."

  "You didn't," said Thomas, surprised, impressed and aghast all at once.

  "Oh I most certainly did," said Philip.

  "You went climbing around on the balconies outside of Guinevere's chambers?!"

  "I didn't say anything about a balcony, did I? No, the compass had me stick strictly to footing of a much more questionable variety. Someone should see what the court architect has been up to, because I can tell him the stonework up there leaves something to be desired."

  "Still, I can't believe you followed the compass up there!"

  "Well, you reach a certain point, you know, and you're committed."

  "Or you should be," said Thomas.

  Philip ignored that. "Anyway," he said, and began to laugh at himself. "I came round to where I could see the windows of their suite. I was just starting to think this wasn't such a good idea–"

  "Just starting?" said Thomas.

  Philip ignored that too. "I heard a cracking under my foot, and that quick, I was off the ledge and in the moat."

  Thomas finally let himself laugh. It felt wonderful after all the stewing in self-doubt and anger he'd been doing. "Nicely done," he said.

  Philip had cleaned up as best he could. They headed back toward the barracks.

  "So the compass lied," said Thomas.

  "Hmm?" said Philip.

  "You never got to see Chastity."

  "Oh no. No, I saw her. And Virtue. And Marie. They all popped their heads out the windows – I must've made quite a racket thrashing around in the water."

  "Were they upset?"

  "Oh no. Well, startled of course. I told them it was me and I was," he coughed, "investigating a disturbance."

  Thomas laughed again and patted him on the back. "There you go. Did they buy it?"

  "Well, Marie said she was pretty sure I was the disturbance–"

  "She's a smart girl."

  "–and Chastity wanted to know if I was working for Horace."

  "They know Horace?"

  "Apparently they love Horace."

  "You've got to be kidding."

  Philip shook his head. "I think girls like mean and creepy as long as it's a mostly safe kind of mean and creepy and the mean part is pointed at somebody else."

  Thomas thought about that. "Hmm," he said. He thought about it some more. "Nope, that doesn't make sense. Because if my dance lessons are any indication, they prefer genteel and embarrassing. Because honestly, even if a guy dances well, it's still a bit embarrassing for everyone involved."

  "But," said Philip, "if one of them could convince someone like Horace to dress up and go dancing... she'd be the stuff of girl legend."

  "That doesn't make sense."

  "It doesn't have to Thomas; they're girls."

  "Good point."

  "And we're in their world next week's end. Weddings are..." He shook his head. "Weddings are the kinds of things you get when you put girls in charge."

  §

  Later, as they lay in their bunks on the edge of sleep, Philip gave a start and whispered, "Oh! What happened? Did you find him?"

  Thomas sighed and said, "Aye."

  When he didn't continue, Philip rolled to his side and said, "And...?"

  "He was with the Baron, and they're up to no good."

  "Well, there's news," said Philip, but Thomas didn't laugh, and Philip had to prompt him again. "What sort of no good, precisely?"

  "I don't know. There was something to do with the Black Knight – he was in the service of the Baron, and Bane was to beat him and earn a promotion."

  "No," gasped Philip. "That scoundrel. We have to tell Arthur."

  "Tell Arthur what? That the Baron of Fogbottom put on the best show Camelot can remember?"

  "Right," said Philip. "Yeah that's a rub, isn't it." After a pause, "Wait you said he was the Baron's?"

  "He's a knight named Accolon. And apparently the Baron's given him to Morgan."

  "To Morgan?" Philip gasped again. "The Baron's in business with Arthur's sister?"

  Thomas decided to treat all of Philip's questions as rhetorical until further notice.

  "And there's a new plan. Something to do with a shipment. He said it was 'almost ready.'"

  Philip sat up. "Now we've got to tell Arthur."

  Thomas sighed. "Again, tell him what? The Baron is... shipping... something. Arthur will like that." Thomas shook his head.

  "But it can't be good, Thomas. Just listen to the way it sounds: The Baron gives a champion knight to Arthur's evil sister, and is now preparing..." he lowered his voice. "A shipment." Philip opened his eyes wide and spread his hands.

  "'A shipment of what?' Arthur will say," said Thomas.

  "'A shipment of no good,' is what we – is what you'll say," said Philip.

  "And when they go investigate the shipment of no good and find out it's tea services for Morgan's staff..."

  "You tell them to investigate the tea services because they're obviously befouled."

  Thomas laughed. "And when they turn out to be just plain, old, normal, tea services?"

  "We point the other way and run," said Philip.

  They both laughed.

  "I see your point," said Philip. "We need more information."

  "Aye," said Thomas.

  After a while, when Thomas was nearly asleep, Philip asked one more question.

  "Thomas," he said quietly.

  "Yes," Thomas replied.

  "Why don't you just go ask Arthur to help your brother and Fogbottom?"

  "The Baron is Fogbottom Philip."

  "You know what I mean."

  Thomas was quiet for a while, then said, "Honestly Philip? I don't think Arthur can help. I mean, you've heard what the Round Table is talking about. They think the cure for the land is found in some magic cup."

  "The Grail," said Philip.

  "The Grail," said Thomas. "The cup from Jesus's Last Supper. Imagine it. The night he uses the grail, he makes a point of washing his friends' feet and tells them, 'This is how you can be great.' And then he dies and people scheme, plot, and kill each other to get their hands on some stupid cup."

  "It is a bit ironic when you put it that way," said Philip.

  "It's ridiculous is what it is," said Thomas.

  "So... We can't tell anyone about Accolon. We can't do anything about the shipment until we know what it is. And not even Arthur can fix Fogbottom. What do we do Thomas?"

  "We do the best we can."

  "I hope it's enough."

  "I hope so too, Philip. I hope so too."

  Thomas fell asleep that night staring at the words he'd etched on his bed frame.

  Somnia, Salvebis.

  Nonsense, you'll be fine.

  CHAPTER XVII

  A Day in the Life

  Day two at Madame Rhapsody's was not unlike day one. The lamps were just as sparkly, and the air was just as flowery. If anything, Thomas felt he was getting worse at dancing rather than better. There were too many things to pay attention to all at once: the bend of his wrist, the angle of his elbow, the position of his feet, where he was looking, where the other dancers were, and in Thomas's defense, the rather unsteady rhythm of Hedley's harpsichord-ing.

  Thomas's neck ached from looking up at Ox, and he tripped twice over Sir Cuddlington who Madame Rhapsody eventually shooed out the window. "I've never seen him take to a young man so swiftly. You must be a special one," she said to Thomas with an appraising look Thomas found unnerving. In an effort to change the subject, he made the mistake of asking about the bend of his knees to which Madame Rhapsody replied, "Oh honey, it's not your knees you need to worry about," and strolled away chuckling.
/>   Ox gave him a smirk and a wink, and it was all Thomas could do to not bolt out the window after Sir Cuddlington.

  In time, the lesson ended, Madame Rhapsody gave her until-tomorrows and the bedraggled Less Valued shuffled out the door.

  A woman older than Grandma Farmer stood on the corner. Carriages and horses raced by in both directions. Thomas watched her glance around the intersection, trying to time her attempt to cross while plotting a navigable route through the great piles of manure and churned mud.

  "Take my arm," said Thomas.

  "Oh," said the woman, and in a moment they were across the street together. Dedric and Edgar followed, while Ox stopped three drivers with a single raised hand.

  "Thank you dearie," she said.

  "My pleasure," said Thomas and gave a bow.

  The LVK headed off to cut through Isolde Park on their way back to the palace grounds.

  No one noticed the woman frown at the store fronts and then make her way to stand at her new corner.

  "That was nice," said Dedric.

  "Always wanted to do that," said Edgar.

  Ox grinned and slapped Thomas on the back, knocking him forward.

  Isolde Park paled only in comparison to the meticulously cared for palace gardens. Even now with most of her trees dropping their last leaves, there were still some blooms here and there. Variegated bushes and groomed wild grasses added variety and a bit of color. The paths were covered with raked gravel and bordered with cut stone. A stream meandered from one corner of the park to the other, crossed by a small stone bridge arching from one side to the other with no support other than its own keystones. It reminded Thomas of another bridge that seemed so far away and so long ago now.

  With the chill in the air, there were fewer people in the park than usual. A few families picnicked, a pair of small boys – orphans by the look of them – played with sticks at the stream's edge, and a trio of young women sat on a bench under a willow.

  "Isn't that–" said Dedric.

  "Marie," said Thomas.

  Ox elbowed Thomas. Edgar said, "We'll see you later Sir Hesitant," and they headed across the bridge to the other side of the park and the exit.

  The girls spotted Thomas heading their way. Chastity and Virtue whispered something to each other and giggled.