Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  Knights of Excalibur

  Gawain

  by

  Donald Hanley

  Copyright © Donald Hanley 2017

  All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Donald Hanley

  The Knights of Excalibur Series

  Gawain

  Bedevere

  Lucan

  Arthur

  Other Books by Donald Hanley

  The Simulated Crime Series

  Simulated Murder

  Simulated Assault

  Simulated Conspiracy

  Simulated Assassination

  Simulated Blackmail

  Simulated Abduction

  The Order of the Shamrock Series

  Lucky

  Faithful

  Hopeful

  Beloved

  1

  The tide of the battle shifted north, leaving him alone for a few blessed seconds. The bodies of the men he fought lay all around him, staring sightlessly up at the gray sky overhead. He knew a few of them by the blazons on their shields but most were strangers, all of them too eager to fight and die for their beautiful and treacherous Queen.

  Somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang. A spectral fog rose up from the bloody ground, shrouding the dead and muffling the shouts of the living. He turned around slowly, searching for its source, but he saw nothing but shifting shadows.

  The bell rang again. The fog thinned before him, revealing the shore of a lake that hadn’t been there a moment before. A boat without oars or sails or crew beckoned him to board and travel across the water. He took a step forward and then balked. Was this an escape or a trap?

  Ring. He hesitated too long. The fog closed in again, dispelling the lake and the boat and smothering him in a thick miasma that choked his breath. He fell to his knees, clawing at his throat, and felt the closing darkness steal his life away.

  Ring. He shoved away the blanket covering his face and fumbled for the phone on the nightstand. He squinted blearily at the display, first at the time and then at the name. It was Nim.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. For a fleeting moment, he considered letting the call roll over to voicemail, but that would only delay the inevitable. He tapped the answer icon. “What?”

  “Are you alone?”

  He turned his head to check the other side of the bed. He was a bit surprised to see she was still there, snuggled up in one of the sheets like a cocoon. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve lost contact with Lucas.”

  “Maybe he’s asleep.” Like I was, he didn’t add. The silence on the other end was chillier than the late December air outside. “What happened?”

  “We don’t know. I spoke to him briefly Tuesday evening but I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Doesn’t he have a tracker?”

  “It went dead twenty minutes ago.”

  “Shit.” He let his head fall back onto the pillow, glowering up at the shadows on the ceiling as he thought. “Is he still in Berlin?”

  “He never went to Berlin. The conference was just a cover story. We didn’t want anyone following him.”

  “So where did he go, then?”

  “Boston.”

  “Boston? What the hell’s in Boston?” The connection was absolutely silent, not even the faintest whisper of a breath. He pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure Nim hadn’t hung up on him. “Hello?”

  Nim’s sigh carried uncertainty and frustration in equal proportions. “Lucas was on a Quest.”

  “A what?” He threw the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. Behind him, the girl murmured something unintelligible and rolled over. “There hasn’t been a Quest in –” He couldn’t remember how long it had been. At his age, the years just blurred together.

  “Eight years. That’s why it was so important this one go smoothly.”

  “And now he’s off the air. Fuck.” He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. “Maybe his tracker’s broken and he just hasn’t noticed yet. You know how we get on Quests.”

  “Maybe.” He recognized that tone. It meant I doubt it. “I need you to fly up to Boston and find out what happened. You’re booked on the six AM flight out of La Guardia.”

  “I’ll drive. It’ll be faster.”

  “It’s a four hour drive from there.”

  “Three,” he countered.

  “In this weather?”

  He stood and padded to the window and parted the curtains. Flecks of snow swirled in the wind but the streets were still clear. “It’ll be fine. If I leave now I can be there by seven.” That earned him another sigh.

  “Fine. I’ll send you everything we have, including the last coordinates we received from the tracker. Let me know the minute you find out anything, all right?”

  “Sure.” He grimaced as another thought occurred to him. “What about Ben?”

  “Ben’s in London.”

  “I know that. Does he know about Lucas yet?”

  “I’m holding off until we have more information.”

  “Does he know about the Quest?”

  “No. We were playing this one pretty close to the vest.”

  He asked the obvious question. “You think they found out somehow?”

  “I hope not, but they watch us as closely as we watch them. Keep your eyes open, just in case.”

  “I will.”

  “Good luck, and thanks.” Nim disconnected before he could say anything in reply.

  He scrubbed his face with his free hand, trying to remember where he stashed his travel bag. His searching eyes fell on the bed and his shoulders slumped. “Shit.”

  He stood over the girl, watching her sleep. Strands of long brown hair covered most of her face, but her lips were curved in a peaceful smile. He hated to disturb whatever dreams she was having, but he couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  He reached over and tapped her lightly on her bare shoulder. She mumbled something and shrugged him off. He tried again, adding a gentle shake. “Hey, wake up.”

  She frowned and stirred and pried one brown eye open, peering up at him and then around at the darkened room. “Is it morning already?” she asked. At least, that’s what he thought she said. She still wasn’t quite awake.

  “Technically. You need to go.”

  That got her attention. She propped herself up on one elbow, hugging the sheet around her chest. “What’s going on? Is your wife on the way over?” She said it jokingly but she looked worried.

  “No, I got called into work. I have to leave.”

  “I could just wait here until you get back,” she suggested, teasing her lips with the tip of her tongue as she let the sheet slip down a few inches.

  “Sorry, I’m heading out of town. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  Her face went carefully neutral and she nodded her understanding. She slid her long bare legs out from under the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed, leaning over to retrieve her scattered clothes from the floor.

  He dug through his closet while she dressed, finally finding his bag in the back behind his meager collection of clean slacks. He tossed it on the bed, wondering how much he should pack, but he was distracted by the sight of her bending over to pull up her jeans. That firm little ass was the first thing that caught his eye in Maroney’s Bar last night. Her laugh and a shared interest in old movies did the rest.

  She caught him watching her and gave a hopeful wiggle as she tugged her jeans up to her narrow waist, but he shook his head and found his own pants, crumpled in a heap a
t the end of the bed. By the time he had them on, she was already heading into the living room.

  He followed her out. She grabbed her coat and scarf from the back of the chair and slung her purse over her shoulder, not looking at him at all. Her boots were by the door in the middle of a tiny puddle of melted snow and she carefully slipped them on, stamping them into place.

  “Well, I guess this is goodbye,” she said quietly, not quite meeting his eyes. “I had a great time.”

  “Me too.” She nodded and reached for the door knob. “Wait, hang on a second.” He crossed over to the kitchen counter and grabbed his wallet where it lay by his keys and cigarettes. He extracted a hundred dollar bill and held it out to her. “Here.”

  She stared at the benjamin like he’d slapped her with it. “What’s that for?” she demanded frostily through her clenched teeth. He was surprised it didn’t start snowing inside.

  “For a cab.” She shook her head with a dubious frown. It was far too much for anywhere she was likely to go in a taxi. “And breakfast.” Now she quirked up an eyebrow. “And a nice present.”

  That pulled a laugh out of her and she rolled her eyes. “You’re a jerk, do you know that?” she asked, but she took the bill from his fingers and tucked it into her purse. “Do you treat all your dates this way?”

  “Just the good-looking ones.”

  She blinked in surprise and tried to disguise her blush by sweeping her hair behind her ear. “Well, thanks. I’ll see you around, I guess.” She reached for the door again and this time he didn’t stop her. She hesitated on the threshold, looking like she wanted to say something, but she just shook her head. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.” He watched her leave, staring at the closed door for a long while before he ran his hands through his scalp again. “Fuck,” he muttered and went back into the bedroom to pack.

  2

  “Well, look who finally decided to come into work.” Marcia didn’t even look up from her terminal as Trisha walked by, stabbing at the keyboard with her index fingers.

  Trisha looked at the big clock hanging on the wall right over Marcia’s head. “It’s two minutes after seven,” she pointed out as she unwound her scarf.

  “Your shift is supposed to start at seven sharp. More importantly, mine is supposed to end at seven sharp.” She rolled her eyes in Trisha’s direction. “Hot date last night, I hope?”

  “Late buses this morning. Let me stash my stuff and we’ll get you on your way home.”

  Marcia made a rude noise. “I’m in no rush, honey. It’s just Earl and that boy of ours there.”

  “You love them and you know it. Be right back.”

  Trisha stowed her coat and scarf and purse in her locker in the staff lounge and hung her ID around her neck. She checked her hair in the mirror by the door, patting a few loose strands back into place, practiced her professional smile, and headed back out into the nurse’s station. Carol gave her a cheery “Good morning!” like she always did as she hurried by with an armload of blankets, but Naomi was nowhere to be seen. She mentioned that to Marcia.

  “We’re low on swabs and tape. She went to get some.” Marcia pushed her chair back from the desk and winced at the squeal of tortured metal. “I told Maintenance to fix this thing.”

  “They’re probably just tied up with other projects,” Trisha said diplomatically. She didn’t point out that Marcia was the only one who had problems with that chair. In her scrubs, she looked like a giant chocolate-filled blueberry.

  “It’s always something,” she grumbled, levering herself to her feet. Just standing up winded her. “Lord, I need a vacation.”

  “Why don’t you take one, then? You’ve got enough days, don’t you?” As far as Trisha knew, Marcia hadn’t taken any time off since she started working in the emergency room.

  “Too expensive,” Marcia groused. “It’s all Earl and I can do to keep the boy in college. He’s at MIT, you know.”

  “I know.” Trisha hid her smile. For all of Marcia’s grousing about her family, she was proud of her son’s accomplishments. “Anything I need to know about before you head out?”

  “Quiet night. They got Mrs. Carter’s insurance sorted out so she’s upstairs now. We had one emergency appendectomy come in and a drunken nitwit who passed out in his kitchen and cut his scalp open. They’re both in recovery. There’s a kid in Exam 2 complaining about stomach pain, probably something he ate.”

  “A kid? How old is he?”

  “Twelve. His mother’s with him. Dr. Adams is waiting for the blood panels but he thinks it’s just mild food poisoning.” Marcia counted on her fingers. “Oh, and Boston EMS brought in a John Doe. He’s in 4.”

  “He didn’t give his name?” Trisha flipped through the active charts stacked on the counter.

  “Couldn’t, he’s still unconscious and he didn’t have any ID on him. The police figure he was mugged. Cracked skull, multiple bruises and lacerations, and bite marks on his arm and neck.”

  “Bite marks?” Trisha echoed, aghast. “The mugger bit him?”

  Marcia shook her head. “More like the mugger had an attack dog with him.” Her shoulders lifted in a What’s the world coming to? sort of gesture. “We gave him a tetanus shot but we might have to treat him for rabies if the cops don’t find the guy and his dog soon.”

  “But he’s still unconscious? Why isn’t he up in Trauma already?” According to his charts, John Doe was admitted almost three hours before.

  “Radiology says everything’s fine except for the crack in his noggin.” Marcia tapped her skull above and behind her right ear. “Probable concussion but no swelling of the brain and no neck trauma. He’s stable, but Dr. Adams doesn’t want to move him until he gets an EEG to make sure there’s no brain damage.”

  “All right,” Trish said reluctantly. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Anything else?”

  “That’s it, honey. It’s all yours.” Marcia made her ponderous way towards the staff lounge as Trisha went to check on the boy in Exam 2.

  That visit took a lot longer than it should have. Updating the boy’s vitals went smoothly and he was already over the worst of the nausea, but his mother pestered her with questions like she was afraid her son was about to keel over dead. Judging from her pale, anxious face, she probably thought she was responsible for poisoning her son with her homemade chicken nuggets. Trisha suspected she was right, but she made reassuring noises and escaped as soon as she could.

  She tapped on the door to Exam 4 to warn the patient she was coming in and then rolled her eyes in chagrin. John Doe wouldn’t know she was there if she announced herself with a fanfare of trumpets. Nonetheless, she slipped in quietly and stood beside his bed, shaking her head. “Who did this to you, Mr. Doe?” she murmured.

  He lay motionless in the bed, the only sign of life the slow rise and fall of his chest. His head was elevated slightly and braced with a cervical collar. A sterile bandage shrouded his skull and large plasters covered his right cheek and the side of his neck. His arms lay on top of the blanket tucked snugly around him, one pierced by the arterial line connected to the IV hanging from the corner of the bed and the other wrapped up like a Christmas present in white gauze. The exposed skin on his face and hands was scraped and raw, like someone had dragged him across the frozen ground outside.

  The monitors by the bed beeped softly in time with his heartbeat, confirming that his life wasn’t in immediate danger, but the longer he remained in a coma the less likely it was he’d recover completely from his injuries. Trisha touched the back of his hand and frowned. His skin was much colder than it should have been and she wondered how long he’d lain outside before someone found him.

  “Let’s get you warmed up.” She lifted his arm gently, mindful of his injuries, and tugged the edge of the blanket free from underneath. She laid his arm back down but before she could cover it up, his hand shot out and grabbed hers, startling a yelp from her. Trisha tried to pry her fingers free without hurting him but h
is grip was surprisingly strong.

  “Mr. Doe, let go!” She carefully peeled his fingers loose and slipped her captive hand out. She inspected her hand for any scratches that would have to be treated for blood-borne diseases, but she seemed to have escaped unharmed. She massaged her fingers as she peered at his face from a safe distance. “Mr. Doe?” she asked hesitantly. “Are you awake?”

  He gave no reaction and she wondered if the incident had just been a random muscle spasm. The readings on the monitor hadn’t changed at all, not even an elevated heart rate, although hers was beating at quite a clip. She finally covered his arm with the blanket, ready to jump back if he reached for her again, and then moved around to do the same on the other side.

  “Well, let’s keep our hands to ourselves from now on, shall we?” she told him with mock severity. Fending off patients wasn’t anything new, although they were usually conscious when they got grabby. She noted the incident on his chart and then hugged the clipboard to her chest, watching his face sadly. “Wake up soon, okay?”

  She stepped back in surprise when his lips moved, although she couldn’t make out any words. “Mr. Doe? Did you say something?” She leaned closer, keeping half an eye on his hands. “Mr. Doe?”

  His lips moved again, forming a single syllable. Trisha strained to make out the breathy word over the hum of the monitor’s cooling fans. “West? Is that what you said?” He didn’t respond and seemed to fall into a deeper sleep, as if he used up all of his energy just to utter that one word.

  West? Is that his name? A direction? Trisha shook her head in puzzled frustration. She supposed she’d have to wait until he finally regained consciousness to find out. If he ever does, she thought dolefully. Ten percent of patients with injuries like his never woke up. She added another note to his chart and checked the monitor one last time before heading back to the nurse’s station.