The Perfect Sun

by Brendan Carroll

“Please… Brother… Louis?” Konrad tried again when he fell quiet. The German Knight reached tentatively for Louis’ hand and this time, Louis allowed him to touch him. Konrad took his hand and then hugged him tightly, kissing him lightly on the lips in the Templar fashion. “Come and sit down. Apolonio get him a bottle of cognac.”

  Konrad guided him back to one of the black and white covered tables.

  “I don’t feel well,” Louis moaned and sat down heavily. He eyed the Boggans who stood watching him from a distance.

  “You are disoriented. It will pass,” Konrad assured him and Apolonio arrived with a cold bottle of wine. “We are here at the Queen’s behest.”

  “The Queen? You mean Ereshkigal?”

  “Exactly…. Your mother-in-law.”

  “And your mother!”

  “Yes. Precisely. Watch your tongue, Louis. We are not alone.”

  “I see.” Louis nodded and cast a nervous glance at the five Templar Knights dressed in white uniforms sitting at one of the tables. The Knights were watching them curiously while drinking beer from silver tankards. He recognized them as some of the ghostly fellows that the Djinni kept with him. “How did they get here? The same as the rest of us?”

  “Exactly, though I’m not sure why mother would bring them.” Konrad frowned and then waved one hand at the Templars. They nodded in return, but continued to gaze dispassionately at them. “Mother is planning a family reunion and…”

  “What?!” Louis bellowed and tried to get up again, but Konrad grabbed his arm.

  “Please, Brother,” he pleaded with the King. “Don’t make this more difficult. There is nothing we can do. Believe me, I tried, but she feels that we’ve forgotten how to have ‘fun’, and she wants us to have a family get together. She misses her children.”

  “Ahhh,” Louis nodded. He still looked terribly confused. “So where is Oriel?” He looked about hopefully.

  “She is not here yet, but she is on the top of the guest list along with myself, Vanni and Jozsef Daniel,” Konrad lowered his voice.

  “Jozsef Daniel! He’s dead… isn’t he?” Louis looked as if he would cry or faint.

  “I don’t know. Mother speaks of him as if he were just down the street,” Konrad looked around at the bright, sunny landscape. It never changed. The cooler never emptied of beer, wine and ale. They had only to ask and everything was brought to them immediately. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he was well aware of how the time passed at different rates, depending on where you might be in the underworld. “Do you know how long I’ve been missing, Brother?”

  “I don’t know how long I’ve been missing,” Louis shook his head. “Missing from where?”

  “That is a good question,” Apolonio spoke up. “I can’t remember where I was before I came here. I know that I haven’t seen my wife in a long time, and I know I need to get back to somewhere, but I’m damned if I can remember what, I mean where.”

  “That is the same way I feel,” Konrad admitted. “I think I was on a horse. It died or something or I did. I’m not sure.”

  “Your horse died. You were injured. Your leg,” Apolonio added. “I don’t remember anything else.”

  “This is simply intolerable.” Louis’ shoulders sagged. “Why did she bring me here without Oriel? And where is Thaddeus?”

  “I don’t know. He’s on the list as well.” Konrad sighed.

  “And so are dead people. Where is the good Queen?” Louis asked him and turned up the bottle. The cognac was very fine.

  “She said something about the band,” Apolonio answered him.

  The bandstand was near the bar-be-cue pit. Louis eyed the bandstand and then his eyes fell on the massive black cooker next to it, for the first time.

  “Is that my pit?” He asked in amazement.

  “No, but it is a close copy. That’s why you are here early.” Konrad steeled himself for another outburst, but Louis simply stood up very slowly.

  The King of the Franks walked toward the Texas style smoker Ereshkigal had so carefully reconstructed for her reunion. It was a masterpiece. An elaborate set of gleaming cookout tools hung from pegs on the side of the pit. There was a large cutting board and prep table set up beside it and on the table was every imaginable sauce and accompaniment for a genuine Texas cookout. Louis was flabbergasted. He approached the monster with awe, and ran his hands over its smooth service. Two cords of gnarly wood lay stacked in an iron rack at one end of the bricked dais on which it set. Konrad and Apolonio followed him around the thing and watched as he picked up a piece of the odd-looking wood.

  The King smelled the wood and then looked at them in wonder.

  “Is this mesquite wood?” He asked.

  “I don’t know much about wood except the fact most of it burns.” Konrad shrugged. “Is it the best?”

  “Perfect,” Louis said quietly. He was tired of the state of things, tired of missing his wife, tired of being King of the Franks. He just wanted to get away, be the old, complacent Louis he had once been. If Oriel and the rest of his family showed up some time soon, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Then it must be mesquite.” Apolonio nodded solemnly.

  Their quiet conversation was interrupted by a loud commotion away under the trees. The three displaced Templars turned as one and watched as a group of Boggans jogged into the meadow from the trees. They carried the Queen’s yellow and black banners and trundled along on their bow legs, grunting out some sort of traveling song, as if they had come from a great distance. A tall man dressed in black leather and silver studded armor, rode a black horse at the head of the incongruous column. On his head was a leather and silver helmet covering most of his face with a long, horse tail plume, which fell down his back. A quiver of arrows was slung over his shoulder and a wicked crossbow hung from his saddle.

  “Is that Plotius?” Konrad whispered the question to the air. The column turned toward them and they waited while the grunting, loping troop came down the length of the meadow to a spot directly in front of the main canopy. The Boggan Captain slid from the horse and quickly removed something small from a leather bag on the horse’s rump. He barked orders at the troops in a most unbecoming manner and they dispersed. It was only then the three Knights noticed a colorful company of clurichauns bound hand and foot to a long chain.

  “I’ll be horsewhipped,” Louis muttered, dropped his bottle of cognac and ran toward the hopping and bobbing clurichauns.

  “Louie!” A familiar voice shouted to him from the melee. Paddy Puffingtowne grinned from dirty ear to dirty ear.

  Plotius walked stiffly toward them, scowling around the nosepiece of his helmet.

  “You will not tamper with the band, Sir,” he said as he inserted himself between Louis and Paddy. “Queen’s orders.”

  “My, my, Captain Plotius. You’ve come a long, long way from the scruffy dog you once were,” Louis growled at him, but the Captain’s words were backed up by a small contingent of Boggans armed with spiked clubs.

  “I will take no offense at your words, my good fellow,” Plotius said and raised his clean-shaven chin a bit higher. “I understand your distress, but it will pass.” He turned his light blue eyes on Konrad. “You did explain to His Highness what the Queen expects of him?”

  “I tried,” Konrad said and shrugged.

  “Would His Highness care to inspect the meat?” The Captain addressed the King.

  “His highness would care to do much more to the meat than inspect it,” Louis mumbled. “Do you mean to tell me we will be serving clurichauns?”

  “Do not concern yourself with the clurichauns, Sir,” Plotius continued. “They will be tended to shortly. I serve none but the Queen and I’m sure she does not expect you to serve them. Her Highness, Queen Ereshkigal, will take care of it personally. They will have the finest accommodations before practice. As well as the opportunity to bathe.”

  “Practice?!” The three Templars repeated the word in unison.

  “Of course,” Plot
ius stepped aside and looked at the filthy group of disgruntled faeries. “We would not want them smelling up the festivities, now, would we?”

  Louis closed his eyes and sighed with relief. He well remembered the fact that Boggans generally considered all manner of fae prime roasting fare.

  They had apparently had a long, arduous journey. None of them had ever seen Paddy looking quite so shabby. They recognized his cousins Seamus and Paddy Stagmaster in the group.

  “Dunna be warryin’ yurselves aboot us, laddies,” Paddy called to them as they were hustled away to inspect the meat. “We’ll be takin’ care o’ these gentlemen quoite soon!”

  Plotius did not look back. Instead, he kept looking down at something he held in his hand. Konrad, Louis and Apolonio followed him. They didn’t have much choice in the matter as far as they could see. If Ereshkigal had the power to ensnare an entire troop of the elusive clurichauns, she would have little trouble keeping them where she wanted them.

  “I will not cook horsemeat!” Louis declared loudly and Plotius glanced over his shoulder at him. They entered the woods and began to follow a cobbled path under the trees. “I refuse to have anything to do with camels!”

  Plotius again glanced at the king and then returned his attention to the hidden thing he carried in his hand.

  “If I cannot recognize it, I will not cook it!” Louis spoke a bit louder. He was frustrated and looking for a fight. Konrad touched his elbow and shook his head. Plotius would not be the one to subdue any trouble they might start. The loping band of Boggans some few yards behind them would be the ones to put down a revolt.

  Louis tried to calm himself and soon they came upon the banks of a pleasantly bubbling brook. Plotius led them up a scenic trail that followed the bank until it disappeared under a small waterfall. The air here was cool, and there were many small fish, insects and butterflies to make the idyllic area complete.

  “She’s thought of everything, hasn’t she?” Louis asked Konrad sarcastically before ducking under the transparent water flowing over mossy green rocks.

  Behind the fall was a sizable cave and inside the cave was a shiny metal door. Plotius produced a large key from one pocket and opened the heavy door. A rush of chilled air poured into the cave. A row of incandescent light bulbs lit up the interior of the meat locker. Here were hung rows of beef sides, whole pigs ready for roasting, legs of lamb, sausages, hundreds of birds, plucked and ready for the smoker. There were even tubs filled with wieners, bratwurst and turkey legs. Louis was astounded. He actually began to inspect the meat, forgetting their situation and the presence of the Boggan Captain who had picked up one of the raw turkey legs. Konrad watched in disgust as the captain gnawed on the cold flesh. He was still a Boggan at heart.

  Louis frowned when he saw what the captain was doing, but thought no more of it as thoughts of seeing Oriel and Thaddeus again filled his mind.

  “Are you sure… do you believe that Oriel will be here? And Thaddeus?” He asked as he looked up and down a table full of mutton.

  “I can only believe it will be so,” Konrad answered. “She brought you here.”

  “I wonder who is going to cook the side dishes.” Louis asked after a moment. The idea of a nice picnic and bar-be-cue in this picturesque setting was beginning to grow on him. He was tired. He needed a diversion. He wanted to see his family and enjoy a bit of peace.

  “I’m sure she will employ the best chef she can find.” Apolonio walked around Plotius, eyeing him closely. The captain kept one hand cradled close to his stomach as he devoured the turkey leg. He eyed the apprentice disdainfully as if he thought he might want to take the leg away from him. “Wouldn’t that be better cooked, my grisly friend?”

  “Cooking destroys many of the vitamins and nutrients,” Plotius told him matter-of-factly. “You should try it.”

  Plotius threw the naked leg bone on the floor and walked back to the door where his Boggans waited for them in the cave. Apolonio was curious about what the captain carried in his hand. Plotius stood silhouetted against the light and appeared to be petting something or talking to it.

  “I believe our friend has a pet,” Apolonio whispered to his father.

  Konrad squinted at the captain.

  “Probably a mid-afternoon snack.” Konrad drew a deep breath. “Brother, we should be getting back. I want to make sure Paddy and his friends are all right.”

  Louis dropped the leg of lamb he had been studying and wiped his hands on his mantel.

  “Sorry,” the King muttered as he walked past them. “I wonder if she remembered the Worcestershire Sauce. You cannot have a proper basting sauce with the Worcestershire Sauce.”

  Chapter Ten of Sixteen

  Have the gates of death been opened unto thee?

  Catharine accepted the cup of coffee that Lucio brought her with much aggravation. She sat in his living room, reading a local newspaper, trying to hide her rampant thoughts of imminent death destruction. She noticed right away the glaring problem with the paper: the date had been carefully left off the front page. The paper listed restaurants, theaters and concerts, but nothing dated, nothing that could be used to ascertain the date and Lucio didn’t seem to care. He was intent upon ignoring all the anomalous things about their existence. She had watched the traffic in the street for several hours from the kitchen window balcony. The people looked real enough, but they did not acknowledge her when she called down to them as if they weren’t really there.

  Lucio and Vanni had cleared away the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and then they had immediately started cooking supper with the father teaching the son how to chop and clean the vegetables, how to bread and season the chicken breast, how to roast the garlic and sauté the onions and peppers. Just’a so. Catharine had wandered in and out of the kitchen and finally ventured down to the street. She did not want to go far, but curiosity had overcome caution. She’d taken her patent leather handbag with her and purchased a bouquet of fresh roses from a street vendor. The people had spoken freely with her once she’d entered the street, but they spoke of the weather and the slow postal service or they reminisced about the wars. When she asked questions about the current state of affairs or the date or even the time of day, they looked at her as if she spoke a different language and her Italian was flawless. Not wanting to let the door to Lucio’s building out of sight, she returned to the apartment with the roses and Lucio put them in a vase all the while comparing her beauty to the flowers.

  She sat holding a delicate China cup full of strong Italian coffee, breathing the aroma and wondering if she were possibly dreaming or under some sort of spell. Her thoughts were broken when Lucio came back in the room and found a station on the radio playing polkas of all things. He made her put down the cup and dance around the apartment with him. He was elated, like a child. Vanni was busy stirring the sauce for the chicken, laughing at them as they danced in and out of the kitchen. The Italian was happier than she ever remembered seeing him. He was home, and she had never realized just how much he missed his little apartment overlooking the crowded streets of the busy Italian seaport. His face fairly glowed, and he kept telling her how beautiful she was, and how he had missed her, and how glad he was she had come home. She could not bring herself to try to break the spell. Whatever it was, she would let him enjoy it until she saw something that might give her a clue as to what had happened. Pressed on the matter, Lucio told her they had all died and gone to Heaven.

  When he tired of dancing, they sat on the sofa together and Vanni brought fresh cups of coffee.

  “Dinner will be ready shortly,” the younger version of Lucio announced proudly. “How many places should I set, Poppi?”

  “Set four.” The Knight smiled at him. “I have a feeling that your cooking will attract visitors.”

  “That’s absurd, Lucio.” Catharine laughed and sipped her coffee. “No one knows we are here. Who would come?”

  “How did you know we were here?” He asked her in a more sober tone and she saw
for the first time that the cheerful mood was only a facade. “One can only hope.”

  “Lucio, don’t you think we should try to contact someone? How long have you been here? Do you have your car?”

  “My car?” He frowned slightly. “Of course. How else would I get to work? Would you like to go for a drive after dinner? We can go up in the hills or down to the beach.”

  “What about the Villa? You promised to take me swimming,” she smiled and tried not to seem worried.

  “Oh, si`.” He nodded. “We can go there.”

  “Then that is where I want to go,” she told him and he took her hand, kissing her palm, while looking in her eyes.

  “Your wish is…” his words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  He got up quickly and went to open the door.

  “Vanni!” He called “Look who’s here! I told you that your cooking was making me jealous.”

  Vanni came from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. His white shirt was streaked and stained with various colors and he had flour on one cheek. Catharine stood up slowly and stared at the beautiful young girl in the doorway.

  “Ronni!” Vanni’s face lit up. “What a surprise! And right on time. You look wonderful.”

  Veronica Long, daughter of the Captain of the Guard at Rushen on St. Ramsay’s Island, stood framed in the door, looking very confused. Her dress was the same style as Catharine’s, but blue instead of yellow and covered with tiny embroidered daisies. Her dark hair was pulled back on one side and clasped with another daisy. She too wore short white gloves, patent leather heels and carried a small blue handbag. Catharine knew her quite well and she usually dressed in combat fatigues and bulky sweaters and preferred to wear her hair in ponytails. Ronni found Catharine and smiled weakly at her.

  “Veronica, how nice of you to come.” Catharine went to the girl’s rescue. “Come and sit down. Vanni, bring her a cup of coffee.”

  Vanni kissed her on the cheek and went back for the coffee.

  “We need more flowers and wine,” Lucio announced and grabbed his jacket from a hook by the door. “I’ll be right back.”