by Moore, John
Roland looked at the table doubtfully. “That doesn’t seem right.” He put his finger on one of the shot glasses. “You’re saying the poison was in this glass?”
“No, the other one.”
“But this is the one I drank from.”
“No, you didn’t. You drank from the one that is closest to you.”
“Well sure, this one is closest to me now, because I put it down here. But when I picked it up, it was closer to you.”
“Yes, I know that,” the sorcerer said uncertainly. “I put the poison in the glass here, then I moved it to there when I switched them, then to here when I switched them back, then you picked up the glass that was—um—here. Right?”
“No, it was here. I think.”
“Are you sure?”
“Um, no.”
They both stood in silence for a minute, looking at the table with the two empty glasses. Roland picked up the bottle and sniffed it, then did the same to one of the glasses. “That won’t do any good,” said the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains. “I already told you it was odorless.”
“I know. I was just checking.”
“Put the glass back in the same place! You’re confusing things even more.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay, let’s go over it again. You saw me put the poison in the glass here . . .”
“Wait,” said Roland. “You said this stuff was supposed to be very fast. Instantly, you said. So, shouldn’t one of us be dead by now?”
“It’s always been fast before.” The sorcerer checked his own pulse. “I feel fine.”
“So do I. Let me see that poison again.”
The Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains took the tiny bottle out of his pocket and passed it to Roland. Roland glanced at it. “Oh, for God’s sake,” he said with exasperation. “We’ve been waiting for nothing. This isn’t idogain. It’s iodine!”
“What!” The sorcerer grabbed the bottle back from him. “It’s idogain.” He looked closely at the label, then moved the bottle away from his face, then extended it a bit more, until finally he was holding it at arm’s length, at the end of his fingertips, squinting at the small print.
“Iodine,” Roland said firmly. “No wonder that drink tasted like scotch. You need to get reading glasses.”
“I do not need reading glasses!” the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains shouted, dropping the vial on the table. He grabbed his sword again, brandishing it in such a threatening manner that Roland instinctively drew his own and backed into the center of the room. The sorcerer kicked the table over. Bottle and glasses shattered on the floor. The lamp went out. “All right, you young punk! You think you have the advantage of me in years? We’ll see about that! You’ll find out what skill and experience can do.” Light from the palace came in through the windows, just enough to illuminate the sorcerer’s face, his brows furrowed in anger. “Prepare to die!” The Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains pointed his sword at Roland’s heart, and with a powerful, yet graceful leap, sprang over the couch.
Alison reached the top floor just in time to hear a loud cry of pain. She snapped the crossbow up to her shoulder and ran into the hallway, armed and ready to fire. Three soldiers of the Medullan army followed her, two with swords, the last with a mace. She saw the open door, and was about to rush into it, but one of the soldiers held her back. The other two went inside with their weapons ready. Nothing much happened. Alison could feel her heart beating against her ribs. Both soldiers came back out. One said to the other, “Get a medic. Tell him to bring a stretcher team.”
“Oh!” was all Alison could say.
The soldier who spoke first told the third one, “The room is secure.” He nodded and took a post by the door. The second soldier left to find a doctor. The first soldier took Alison by the arm and led her inside.
She was expecting the worst. She was not expecting to see Roland calmly standing in a corner of the room, his sword in his belt, looking down at the floor while he meticulously adjusted his cuffs. She let her crossbow drop to the floor while she ran and hugged him. “Roland! Are you all right? Where is the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains? We heard him shouting while we were coming up the stairs. Did he get away?”
“Um, Miss?” said the soldier. “He’s lying right at your feet, Miss.”
Alison looked down. “Oh, right.” The Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains was flat on his back, looking up at her. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed him before. He was still alive, but his teeth were clenched, and his face was twisted into an expression of pure anguish.
“Come on,” said Roland. He took Alison’s arm. “The king’s men will take care of him from here on. Right, gentlemen?” The soldiers nodded. “Let’s go and find the others.” He led her into the hall and closed the door. “But first, another kiss.”
“Good idea,” said Alison, and did the job thoroughly, putting her tongue into play and backing it up with lots of body language. When they finally pulled away from each other she said, “But Roland, what happened in there?”
“I tried to capture him. I gave him a chance to surrender. He attacked me.”
“What did you do? Did you stab him? I didn’t see any blood. Did you beat him up?”
Roland seemed reluctant to speak. He seemed to be wrestling with his conscience. It wasn’t until they reached the ground floor, and walked out into the night air, that he put his arm around her waist and said, “In all honesty, Alison, I didn’t do anything. I never touched him, in fact. He threw his back out jumping over the couch.”
Alison rested her head on his chest and laughed. “Of course.”
Gloria ran through the hallways, following a smell of smoke and singed feathers, in hot pursuit of the enraged gryphon. She had only caught a glimpse of it, but it was easy to follow. Its giant claws left marks on the hardwood floor, and its massive shoulders knocked the paintings from the walls. It was also insanely suicidal to follow it, but Gloria was past caring, or even thinking about danger. The excitement of the chase, the hazardous ride, and stress of the last week had caught up with her. She was dizzy and disoriented from lack of food and sleep, and the only thing she felt at this point was guilt.
It’s my fault, she thought. The gryphon wouldn’t be here if not for my plan. All the danger is because of me. Now I have to stop it. She gripped the sword more tightly and forced herself to run faster.
Ahead of her the gryphon, maddened by pain, was screeching angrily. The hallway had cleared. The doors on both sides were shut and bolted, the inhabitants cowering within. She thought she could even hear the sound of furniture being piled against the doors. She rounded a corner, and the beast, at long last, came into her sight. It reached the end of the hall, which had a sitting nook with a large bay window. The gryphon stopped, perhaps confused by its own reflection in the glass. It looked back over its shoulder, gave her one contemptuous glance, then burst through the wood frame and into the open air. Spicules of glass rained on the floor. Gloria covered her eyes.
Incredibly, no one else saw it.
Gloria stepped out through the window. The lacemakers were gathered across the courtyard. They were looking the other way, toward a handful of dressmakers who were standing in the back of an open carriage, arguing about prices. Other people were moving hastily along the sidewalks, intent on where they were going, their ears muffled by hats and scarves. Music was coming from somewhere. Snack vendors were absorbed with setting up their carts, trying to get their stoves lit. The palace loomed to one side. Gloria could see figures moving behind the brightly lit windows, but none seemed to be looking out. All seemed to be oblivious to the danger bounding across the cobbles.
It’s up to me, thought Gloria, and she tried to call out to the girls, but she had been running too hard. She no longer had the breath to make herself heard above the music and the street noise. She slipped on a wet cobble-stone, fell painfully onto her knees, and used the sword to push herself back up. Her legs hurt, but she kept running, even though she knew sh
e was too late. Too late to stop the carnage that the gryphon was about to unleash.
Except that, miraculously, the gryphon stopped.
It went into a crouch, held the pose for a moment, and started moving again. The massive beak opened slightly. The wings were once again flattened along its back, and it kept its body low to the ground as it crept forward, slowly, silently, and deliberately, turning its head from side to side to keep its quarry in view.
It’s stalking, thought Gloria. Like a giant feathered cat. It seemed ridiculous that a creature as big as a gryphon would try to remain unnoticed, and it seemed equally impossible that the people in the square could continue to not notice it. But the girls on the street were absorbed in their haggling, and the boys on the street were absorbed in the girls. The gryphon moved into pouncing range. It gathered itself into a knot of muscle and malice, then tensed, about to spring like a robin on a worm. But it had delayed just enough for Gloria to reach it. There was nothing for her to do but run right up to the beast and plunge the sword into its rear.
That got its attention. That got everyone’s attention. The gryphon let out a screech that froze the blood of everyone for six blocks around. Heads turned on the street. Mouths dropped open. Bands stopped. Horse bolted, sending their carriages careening up the sidewalk. In the palace the servants and courtiers ran to the windows. In the treetops the birds that had settled down for the night suddenly rose and filled the air with their fluttering. In the streets the rats disappeared into the sewers. The girls in the square screamed, dropped their lace, and scattered.
And in the courtyard the gryphon turned, lifted one giant paw, and flattened Gloria against the frozen stones.
The blow left her stunned, and fear left her paralyzed, unable even to scream, trapped within giant claws that surrounded her like a cage. The gryphon crouched over her and gave another earsplitting screech. It nearly deafened her. The beast wasn’t hungry, at least not for her, but it was certainly mad. It bent its head low and looked at her with an eye that was as big as a saucer and black as espresso. It opened its beak, that giant curved meat hook of a beak, capable of biting her in two with a single snap, and lowered it for the kill. It was about to close its jaws on her when Terry split its head open with an ax.
It collapsed right away. It took quite a bit of straining, even for Terry, to roll it off the Princess and help her to her feet, where she clung unsteadily to him. When she was finally able to talk, she said, “Terry, where were you?”
“Right behind you the whole time. I called out, but you didn’t hear. But, you know, honey?” Terry paused to survey the comatose gryphon. “Maybe you ought to let me slay the monsters from now on. At least until you get more experience.”
“Right. Good job, by the way.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. Excuse me.” Terry set Gloria on her feet, whereupon he took the ax and proceeded to separate the gryphon’s head from its body. He did a neat and workmanlike job of it, then tossed the ax aside and collected Gloria for another kiss. “When magic is involved, it’s always a good idea to remove the head.” Around them the girls were filtering back to look at the decapitated monster. Above them, every light in the palace seemed to be on, and the windows were thrown open so the inhabitants could hang their heads out and look down. Even the king and queen appeared on a balcony.
Gloria seized the moment.
She threw herself against the knight. “My hero!” she yelled at the top of her voice. “You have saved me!” Everyone—the girls in the square, the men on the street, the faces in the windows, and especially her parents on the balcony, fixed their eyes on Gloria—but for the benefit of any dullards who might be among the witnesses, she also added, “My rescuer!” And then she proceeded to swoon in Terry’s arms.
“What was that all about?” Terry said.
“Look up,” Gloria whispered with her eyes closed. “Try to look heroic.”
Terry looked up. He saw that the windows were lined with officers, court officials, and Medullan nobility. “Right,” he said, and struck his best heroic pose. “How’s this?”
“It will do,” murmured the Princess. She let her eyes open a slit. Above her she could see the queen, looking very angry. Gloria smiled.
“Men!” said the princess in exasperation. “You’re all the same. Oh sure, you’re quick enough with the words of endearment, with the loving notes, and the little gifts. You tell us how much we mean to you and that we’re the most important thing in your lives. But the truth is, deep down inside, all you really want is one thing.”
Terry thought for a minute. “Free beer?”
“Exactly.”
They were sitting in an upstairs parlor of a recently renamed tavern called The Great Gryphon. It had a bay window, a sideboard, and a collection of overstuffed chairs and sofas. A small fire burned in the grate. Outside, a light dusting of new snow covered the streets. Two weeks had passed since Gloria’s “rescue.” At that time the tavern had been called The Gray Goat, and the stuffed head of a mountain ram had been mounted over the big fireplace in the main saloon. Now the stuffed head of the gryphon had taken its place.
“Free beer for life,” said Terry, explaining the deal he had made with the owner in exchange for the head. “We can have some right now, if you want.”
“Yuck, no. It’s still only midmorning. We will stick with tea, thank you very much.” Gloria was setting out the tea service on the sideboard.
“It’s only girls who come up with things like proper times for drinking.”
“Oh yes? Well, girls come up with things like this, too.” Gloria launched herself at Terry and knocked him back onto a sofa. She climbed on top of him and began kissing him all over his face. “What do think of this, big guy?”
“Don’t start anything,” warned Terry, between kisses. “They’ll be here any moment.”
“Start something? Me? Whose idea was it to put his hand up my dress, hmmm? Who decided it was okay to touch me—ooooh—there? Hmmm? Hmmm?”
They had just emerged from a meeting of the Royal Council, where the king and the queen had finally, and officially, sanctioned their marriage. It had been a grueling two weeks, especially for Terry. He had been suspended without pay from the Royal Guard, questioned again and again, detained for hours while various government officials threatened him with prosecution, held in a small cell while high-ranking officers took turns shouting at him, and eventually released with multiple warnings not to leave the city. Through it all he stuck to the new story Gloria had concocted, but the next day he was ordered to report for another interview, and the questioning began all over again. The third day started out with more of the same until, to his astonishment, a lawyer named Miligras showed up, announced he was representing Terry’s case, and declared that all further questions would be submitted through his office.
After that things went smoothly. Terry was reinstated with back pay. Miligras demanded a hearing before the Royal Council. There he quickly proved that the tradition of awarding a girl’s hand in marriage to a knight who rescued her from mortal danger had the force of law. Indeed, he was able to cite precedents going all the way back to the days of Queen Donna the Wannabe. Gloria’s mother objected. She insisted that the law applied to dragons, not to gryphons. Miligras was prepared for this. With the aid of illustrated flip charts, he convinced the council that dragons, gryphons, and kidnappers were the same for legal purposes. The expert witness brought in by the Westfield family flubbed his testimony, apparently thrown off-balance by Miligras’ expert cross-examination, or perhaps the numerous sharp glances from Gloria. The fact that the princess had obtained for his wife a coveted invitation to the royal New Year’s Eve party was never mentioned.
Now they had only to wait for Roland and Alison to arrive before they would celebrate. When they stopped kissing long enough to catch their breath, Terry wondered aloud how the other two were getting along. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing when a relationship starts out with a de
ception.”
“You knights are too honorable for your own good,” said Gloria. “Our relationship is based on a massive deception.”
“Yes, but we were deceiving other people. We didn’t deceive each other.” He saw Gloria looking at him thoughtfully. “Gloria, promise me that after we’re married, you will never lie to me.”
Gloria laid a hand on his arm. “Sweetie, I promise that if I ever find it necessary to deceive you, I will make it up to you with lots and lots of really hot sex.”
Terry thought this over. “Yeah, okay. That’s better than what I was asking for anyway.”
That kicked off another bout of kissing, which was interrupted by a gentle rap on the door. “Are you decent?” asked Alison’s voice. “Get your clothes back on.”
Gloria quickly adjusted her dress. “Come in.”
The door opened. The room quickly filled with the smell of freshly baked bread. Roland and Alison came in, each with a large basket of bread, rolls, muffins, and tea cakes, which they set on the sideboard next to the tea service. Alison was wearing all new clothes, courtesy of Gloria’s wardrobe. Roland was wearing a long cashmere coat that had been custom-tailored to his lean figure. Terry had to admit that he looked extremely sharp but couldn’t help noticing that the flour on his cuffs sort of ruined the effect. Roland and Alison had been spending a lot of time in Roland’s shop, trying out recipes.
“So how did it go?” he asked Roland.
“They cut me off without a penny,” Roland said cheerfully.
“No! Really?”
“Your father sent this to you,” Gloria told Alison, presenting her with a long, slim object wrapped in brown paper. Alison tore off the wrapper, revealing a black iron fork with a long handle.
“Oh good. I’ve been waiting for this. You know, on the bright side, at least my father is off the hook for the kidnapping. It never even came up in the hearing.”