Dumb Luck

by J G Jerome

  “Hello. You must be Peg. I’m Jack. Please pass on to whomever does your laundry that they do very good work, and my clothes feel better on my skin than they ever have.”

  She looks at Trina, “Well he’s not completely improper.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peg. Trina has made it clear to me that she is very fond of you.” I give her a smile. “Peg, I’m somewhat familiar with the courts, so please don’t think you have to talk around me. Now, I’ll let you two ladies finish your chat while I pack up, and catch up on correspondence.” I lean in to gently press a kiss Trina’s cheek, closing my eyes for a moment as I hug her into me.

  I wave bye to Peg, only to hear her gasp! Her hand is over her mouth for a moment, and then she points at me. “You!” She looks at Trina and back to me with her hand over her mouth. “Mother Nature, it canna be!” Then she looks back at Trina, “Hang y’armoire bag on th’wall, lassie.” As she points her finger at Trina. The background behind the mirror changes, and then the image disappears.

  Trina says, “Oh shit. She’s coming through!” She closes the box, sets it on the foot of the bed, and launches to her duffle. “She said she’s only done it once before in her lifetime. She told me it’s dangerous. Shit, Jack! What will I do if I lose her?” She sets the bag for the mirror on the bed next to box. Then she reaches out and pulls out another black cloth with a metal hook. She tosses me a package from her outside pocket on her duffle. “Jack, please put a couple of adhesives on the velcro patches.” It’s a pack of the hook and rug fasteners from 3M that you put on pictures. There are a couple of hook patches without adhesive, so I quickly fix them up. Trina unties the bag and hangs the hook from the peg on the back of the door. I push the velcro-like patches into the ones sewn into the cloth, and pull off the protective paper before pushing them into the doorframe.

  Trina hangs her head and whispers, “Goddess, please keep her safe.” Then she waits to open the bag.

  We hear a knocking sound, and Trina pulls it open. Inside kneeling on the bottom of the armoire is a small being with the face I saw in the mirror. Wrinkled walnut brown skin covered in thin fur like peach fuzz. She reaches out her hands to me with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Comere ya. Lemme look atcha.” I step forward, so she can put her hands on either side of my face and gazes deep in my eyes. “You’re like Railand was, only stronger.”

  I respond, “The elves said that my brother was like Railand, but that I barely have enough Verdic genetic code to detect.”

  Peg responds, “Bah! Th’elves don’ know everythin.’ They know science, and they know magic. Th’way their magic works, youda thought they’da learnt they can work tagether. Set me down on th’floor!”

  Trina exclaims, “No!” She holds my arm with both hands. “You told me it was dangerous to come through!”

  Peg cackles. “You were eighteen years old and wantin’ your Nanna Peg to come visitcha. If’n you thought it were simple, you’da ha’ me there ever’ week ta dry your tears, lassie! I’m glad ta know you paid attention’ tho! Help me down little girl, or letcher man do it! I don’t care which. I’m too old ta jump down,” She says with a frown.

  Trina gawks at her, “You mean old crone!” I reach in and pluck her up and set her on the ground. Trina continues, “You also said you put away the brogue accent for good. What’s going on, Peg? It’s been getting stronger and stronger as we’ve talked.”

  Peg is heavier than I would have thought. She’s short, broad, and sinewy. I’m guessing she’s roughly three-and-half feet tall, and two feet across at the shoulders. She’s not wearing a stitch of clothing, and her small dugs dangle a bit, but there isn’t much to them. I imagine this is a smaller version of what a naked 80-year old looks like.

  She looks up at me with a nod, and then looks at Trina sadly. “Aye. I’m lettin’ m’emotions run away wid me. Gimme a bit ta pull meself t’gether, Princess.”

  “Peg, would you like a chair?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and walks over to the wall and squats down to the floor. Looking at me she says, “What’s your brother’s name, laddie?”

  “Scotty Gerard Jerome.” Her eyebrows lift at that. “I am sorry for your loss and his. Whatever happened to his killer?” Now it’s my turn to lift my eyebrows.

  “Gary Owen. He was charged, found guilty, and sentenced to 20 years. He went into the penitentiary in Canaan, Pennsylvania and disappeared. As far as I can determine, he never came out. Any records relating to him after that have either been expunged or disappeared.”

  She nods, “Trina called you Jack. You would be Jacque Guillaume Jerome,” she nods mostly to herself. “Your brother was like Railand in that he won the genetic jackpot - everth’in available from your parents from your green heritage he got. You on th’other hand appare’tly only got th’important bit.” She looks at Trina, “Ama gettin’ easier t’unnerstand?” Trina rocks a hand back and forth, and Peg snorts in disgust.

  She sits for a minute, and I gather up all the clean glasses and pour everyone water. I’m parched after my workout.

  Peg takes a sip and nods. Trina and I drain ours; so,I refill them three times.

  Peg starts again with only the barest of accent, “I was born in the last third of the reign of the last Green Lord.” Both Trina and I have our eyebrows in the clouds at that. “Tha’s right. I was 498 years old when I went to claim his body on the battlefield.” She’s looking off into the distance. “The Sidhe had butchered him. I gathered his head, his arms, his legs, and finally the three pieces of his torso and all the parts that fell out. I loaded them on a sledge, and dragged him back to his camp. His first concubine, Alora, helped me clean the pieces, and lay them out on a stretcher. We sewed the pieces back together, dressed him in a clean tunic, and sandals. We brushed out his hair and beard. When we were done we left the stretcher on two sawhorses, so his people could pass by and mourn him. We didn’t call it lay in state back then, but that’s what it was. While that was going on, I had his men build a pyre in a...depression in the ground. It was like a shallow bowl in the ground about as deep as the height of one-and-a-half tall human males. We packed that bowl with fuel until it stuck out of the hole about twice my height. As the mourners finished their procession. We backed a siege engine up to the pyre and used it to raise his stretcher high enough to slide it onto the pyre.”

  She paused for a moment to wipe a tear from her eye and take another sip of water. “Alora was on top of the engine, supervising the placement. When we had him in place, she called for a torch, and asked me to do the honors. She called me, ‘my Darling’ in her clear, ringing elven voice for the last time. I walked along the windward side of the pyre and lit it in several places. The wind picked up and fanned the flames and the fire began to roar. At that point, Alora jumped down from the engine onto the pyre, and lay down next to her Lord as we used to do when he was alive, and perished in the flames. Quiet whimpers and sobs were the only sound she ever uttered as the flames slowly took her to where our Lord went. I stood there surrounded by my two children and her seven as they held me tight, so I wouldn’t join her and their father.”

  She takes another sip, but doesn’t bother with the tears streaming down her face. “His name was Yornian. He was a huge man, easily a full head taller than you, Jack. He had a huge manhood, too. Somehow he used his magic to allow him to give me two beautiful children. He and Alora were my beautiful, generous lovers. I’ve never taken another.”

  I refill my glass, and sit next to her on the floor. Trina sat on the other side with tears running down her own face. Not knowing the first thing about Brownie culture I just sit next to her and send her peaceful comforting thoughts.

  Peg looks up a Trina, “Ama getting easier to understand?”

  Trina nods at her, “Yeah, Nanna Peg.”

  Peg pats her thigh, “You’re a good girl, lassie.” Then she continues her narrative. “The elves say that there was no designated heir, but that is untrue. Our Lord, nor any Lord ‘o th’Green,
would never have considered not having first and second heir designated - it woulda been a breach of duty. My Lord received word from two couriers the day before that final battle that both his chosen successors had been assassinated. The secondary successor, his 12th son, a 130-year old green lord from a Sidhe concubine, was slain in his bed by a demi-fey assassin. The lover in his bed, one of his guards, was awakened by his gasp, he heard the wings fly away with a whispered ‘I’m sorry, lord. I must to save my babies.’ The guard wrote up the report for our Lord, and then he mounted his horse and flew to the battlefield to expunge his guilt. He died about six feet from where our Lord was butchered. The primary was our Lord’s cousin, a 375 year-old lord of the green, a scholar and experienced warrior. He was holding a study session on genetics with some visiting elven Loremasters. Among them was a dark elven assassin. She truly was a visiting scholar and Loremaster, but she was selected by her clan for this mission given that she already had been welcomed by the lord to visit. They had been trying to get into the lord’s citadel for well over a year, when she came to their attention. She broke bread and shared wine with him, and then opened the large artery in his thigh when he was pouring refreshments for all the scholars during a break in their studies. Normally he might have survived that if he could bring his magic to bear, but he struck his head on a table. He lay there stunned. She pushed a stiletto into his skull from behind his ear as he lay helpless on the floor. Her clan are now known as “the Nameless” since she broke the strictures of hospitality to kill him.”

  Peg takes another sip, “In the roughly 4,000 years since my Lord died, Railand came the closest to having the magic to be Lord of the Green, and yet it wasn’t enough. He had no magic. Your brother was gifted and charismatic, but I’ve never heard whether he had the magic or not.” She looks at me and places a hand on my thigh. “The elves say you don’t have much Green DNA, but I suspect you have the only part that is important. You have the magic. It calls to my magic and makes my blood sing. You have grown stronger since I’ve arrived. I suspect you have grown stronger since whatever the trigger was. It may have been your brother’s death. It may have been meeting Trina or Moira. I didn’t become aware of it until about two months ago. I’ve felt it stronger the last three days. I don’t know.” She looks at her hand on my knee, and then rolls forward onto her hands and knees and crawls away from us. She turns to face me, and just stares into my eyes for a moment. “What I do know is this. In just over 4,000 years, there has been no Green Lord. Until today. Your magic hit critical mass this morning. I felt it in Missouri. I feel it here. You are the Green Lord.”

  The ancient brownie prostrates herself to me. “Please Lord. Accept my service. I would serve the Green Lord again before my days end.”

  I pause for a moment. I look to Trina, and she nods gently to me. I roll up to my knees, and pull Eventide from my back pocket. I bid her take her original shape, before laying her down in front of me. I prostrate myself to Peg and tell her, “Please rise, Peg.” When she does, I rise as well to see her staring at me. “Peg I am not worthy of your service, but I suspect I am going to need souls of your caliber beside me for what is to come. So despite my unworthiness, I accept your service. Please give me your right hand.”

  Peg extends her hand, and I cut it deeply with Eventide. Then I switch the blade to my left, and score my own equally deeply. I lay Eventide back on the ground, and then I grab her right wrist with my left hand. Then I press my bleeding hand to Peg’s. “Peg, my blood for your blood. My service for your service. I accept your service and pledge to you my own. As you accept me as your Lord, I accept you as my family. I am yours, and you are mine.” I focus my will to heal her cut - a green halo circles our clasped hands. “Rise, Peg. Serve me and mine as I and mine serve you.”

  Peg sets back on her heels, and stands with the grace of a veteran geisha. I stay kneeling in a seiza.

  Trina tosses me my workout T-shirt, which I use to wipe the blade clean and scrub the carpet. I’m surprised it comes off the carpet. I bid Eventide to return to her lockback form, and return her to my back pocket. I sit back against the wall, and beckon to Peg. “Come here, Peg.” I wrap her up in my arms and pull her into my lap. “You are not my pet, Peg. But you are treasured and loved. That Trina calls you ‘Nana’ is a huge endorsement from my perspective. Trina is my Pet. I love her, and want to spend my life with her. If it were up to me, she would never set foot inside a Sidhe…” I look at Trina, “is it a Sith or a Sithen?”

  “Sith,” they say in unison. Trina chuckles, but Peg does not.

  “Peg, if it were up to me Trina would never set foot inside a Sith again. Myra nor the Ravens either. We’re not going to realize that dream immediately, because Trina is committed to protecting Myra and she’s worried about her safety. I’m concerned that Trina is in bigger danger than Myra. Have you heard anything?”

  Peg nods, “Well Lord, as I was telling my beautiful lassie, the two queens have been talking. I don’t think the queen of winter court is in the dominant position.” She ticks off her index finger.

  Then she raises a second finger, “The queen of the other court has been telling Moira’s, excuse me, Myra’s mother about a prophecy that the house of Laughlin would betray its court. Tha’s interesting wording because the Laughlin clan has royal bloodlines of both courts running in their veins in the Winter Court. The Laughlin clan in the Summer Court still carries royal bloodlines, too. Our Trina is technically a princess, and it’s true regardless of which court you’re talking about. When the Prince Laughlin married the Queen of the Winter Court, the Summer Mother was from Clan Laughlin. He brought over half of the clan with him because they were fed up with the political games and lies propagated by the Summer Queen at the time. The Summer Mother went to Winter, too!”

  “Holy shit!” I exclaim.

  “Exactly,” Peg says. “The Winter Mother before the current one was a child of that marriage. Trina’s father is a grandchild of that Winter Mother, and great, great grandchild of the a former Summer Queen. Trina is a royal descendant, and could be called to be Lady Winter or Lady Summer as easily as the current Lady Winter and have as much or more support. Lady Moira is well loved and would be all on her own merit, but Trina’s support makes her position more stable. Planting the seeds of a Laughlin betrayal can undermine the clan’s reputation in both courts in addition to undermining our Princess Moira.” She ticks that finger.

  “Finally, our monarch has been having unusual fits of rage. There are days since Trina has been gone with the Princess Moira that her mother’s behavior has made her sister seem relatively sane. It doesn’t help that Trina’s mother, of Laughlin clan, is the only lover that Myra’s mother, has ever truly loved. The prophecy rumor undermines Lorraine’s position with the queen.”

  Trina adds, “Lorraine is my mother.” I nod.

  Peg continues, “With Myra’s mother not trusting Lorraine, there is no one to talk her down when she gets wound up. I’ve hear her rail against Lorraine, Trina, and Myra herself. None of them are safe in the court. She’s letting Mab, excuse me, Morganna, run rampant. There are few lords or ladies of the court that haven’t been attacked, and well over half sport injuries that will take months to heal, even with Sidhe’s enhanced healing. I have seen this kind of behavior in the Summer court when the queen or a powerful lord or lady puts a emotional attack on another. I’m not certain our queen is ill. I think she is cursed.” Peg ticks off a third finger.

  “Those are the basics, my Lord. No one in our court is safe. I suspect that most of the danger is instigated by the other.”

  I pour Peg’s information over in my mind. “Peg, your information is invaluable.”

  Peg gives me a hug. “I’m honored you value my input, Lord.”

  I squeeze her small body, “I definitely value you, Peg.” I look to Trina, “Pet, any questions?

  Trina says, “No, Master,” a half-beat before Peg says “No, Lord.”

  Peg says, “I’m sorry, Lord. It�
��s both comforting and unsettling to sit in your lap like this.”

  I squeeze her again. “Peg, I would never try to take the place of your long lost loves. I will, however, love and treasure you for the intelligence, insight, and love that you bring into my life and to the lives of mine.” I give her one last hug.

  “Okay, ladies. I’m an old soldier. Security, communication, and intel are my priorities. I need to get some pieces in place to gather data and information, so I can have some kind of chance to figure out what is happening. If I can’t do that, I can’t protect mine.” I pause for another moment to consider what I’m going to say next.

  “I’m a Green Lord, with a queen and court of three, none of which is normally going to be available to talk to easily.”

  Peg interrupts, “You have taken a Queen, Lord?” Her eyes look like saucers in her face.

  I nod. Trina interjects, “I witnessed the marriage of our Lord to Lady Myra last night, Peg. They did it the old way. There will be no question about validity.”

  Peg scrutinizes me, “You don’t appear to be wounded.” I unbutton my shirt and reveal the bite scar. Peg inhales deeply. “Tha’ looks years old!” She looks into my eyes, “What happened.”

  I describe the vows, the love making the the eating of each other’s flesh, and how we were bathed in lights. Peg ponders for a moment, never taking her fathomless eyes from mine. “She became the Queen of all Fae. You just put a target on her back.”

  “I think the target was there anyway. Now she knows. She is also carrying my child.”

  “You don’ go by ‘alf measures, dooya?” I shake my head.

  “So first of all, we need to be able to contact one another without anyone knowing about it. We need to have untraceable means to talk to each other. Disposable, untraceable phones. Signal hopping and/or encrypted, tunneled wi-fi, or both. I’m going to need one of those elven devices. I have a good idea how to get one. Do you need one Peg?” She nods. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know much of anything about who can do what.”