by J. R. Rain
“Who art thou?” she asked. She spoke with a lilting accent to her words, and I wondered if Charlie had unwittingly imagined characters with a slight British accent. She hid the fear in her voice; she was a strong woman.
I considered her question. Should I tell her my real name? Would any of this, somehow, make it into the novel? I wasn’t sure what would be written, and what would be considered “behind the scenes.” After all, in the novel, her baby had very much been kidnapped, and the reader was left heartbroken. I know I sure was. I felt the queen’s pain, perhaps more so than most. Obviously, we were already in his notes, and thus a part of the fabric of his world.
Still, I thought it best to give her a fake name. I said, “I’m Lady Tam Tam, and this is my servant girl, Allie the Wench.” I might have grinned.
“I see,” said Queen Autumn. “And from where doth thou hail, Lady Tam Tam?”
“I haileth frometh—”
Too much, Sam, thought Allie.
I tried again. “We hail from the County of Oranges,” I said.
“The County of Oranges?” she said. “And where is this county? I have not heard of such a place.”
“It is nestled along the western shores, Your Highness. Famous for its beaches, babes, and plastic surgeons.”
Sam! hissed Allie in my mind.
“Plastic surgeons?” asked the queen.
“It is a special type of wizard, Your Highness, trained in the dark arts of reducing age and enlarging breasts.”
“Mayhap I would like to visit such a surgeon. I have surely aged a decade or two in these past few weeks alone.”
“Weeks?” I asked, confused.
“Yes. Two weeks ago to this day, my baby girl was taken from me.”
I considered. What had been two weeks for her, was four months for us, since Charlie had last put pen to paper, as the writers of old used to say. Then again, it would make sense that her world hadn’t kept pace with our world. Why should it? Charlie could sit down and simply start the story where he had left off, with no time elapsing in their world at all.
I said to the queen, “It is why we are here, Your Highness.”
She put a hand to her chest. “I do not understand.”
I took in some air, and noted it was clean and fresh and no doubt suffused with the right amount of oxygen. A good thing because otherwise, Allison wouldn’t have made it this far. She glanced at me and nodded. It hadn’t occurred to me to worry about such a thing, but it had worried Allison. Of course, I wouldn’t have known it worried Allison, since she kept me blocked from her thoughts these days.
Focus, Sam, she intoned in my thoughts.
I nodded, released the breath, looked straight into Queen Autumn’s beautiful eyes, and said, “God has heard your prayers, Your Highness. And He sent us to help.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
She stared at us.
We were certainly stare-worthy. I was dressed in a black tee-shirt with the words: “Think Pink” scrawled in pseudo-lipstick across the chest. My distressed jeans had stylish tears in the knees. Viewed from her regal perspective, they undoubtedly looked anything but stylish. My sneakers glittered with silver and were as cute as cute could be. But to a princess, they might have looked, well, enchanted.
Allison was dressed in an unbuttoned maroon flannel shirt, with a black tank top underneath. Her jeans were black, as were her silver-tipped black boots. Allison tended to dress a bit bleaker—
Insert stylish, came her words.
—than me. One would think she was the vampire and I was the nerdy telephone hotline psychic.
Hey!
Ignoring Allison, I said to the queen, “We dress unusually in the County of Oranges.”
“I would say so. Although, I do find your attire rather intriguing. Mayhap I could try on a pair of similar trousers?”
“Er, mayhap,” I said, and wondered if Charlie could write in a village Gap store. Le Gappe Shoppe?
“And you are really here in answer to my prayers?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And the Good Lord sent you?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“All the way from the County of Oranges?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And you heard the Lord’s call?”
“We did, yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You are close to the Lord?”
“I am, in a way.”
“You are a sort of priestess then?”
I did my best to remember if this land approved of priestesses or not, but couldn’t remember. “In the sense that I have direct communication with the Creator, then, yes, you could say that I’m a priestess.”
She nodded. “And how did you get past the guards?”
I glanced at the open wardrobe, which, from this side of the room, looked far more intricate and immaculate than I could have imagined.
She said, “You hailed from the wardrobe?”
“I did, Your Highness.”
“Then you are from the Creator?”
“Like I said, he sent us in response to your prayers.”
“To find my baby?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
She took in some air, and summoned an inner courage that I doubted even I could find within myself, in such a situation. “Then my fate, my life, my hope, my everything is in your hands.”
I next did something that surprised even me, and sure as heck surprised her. I reached out and drew her in tight, and hugged her harder than I had any right to, but I didn’t care. She sank into me almost immediately, and soon hot tears flowed down my neck.
It was a few minutes later before she stepped back, wiping her eyes. “You are cold, Lady Tam Tam.”
“I am, yes.”
“We need to warm you—”
“My kind is never warm, Your Highness.”
“Do I want to know what manner of being you are?”
“Probably not.”
“Very well. But you are here to save my baby?”
“We are,” I said.
“Then we shouldn’t delay a drammit longer.”
Allison’s words in my mind: They are the equivalent of seconds, remember?
I nodded, recalling. “I agree. Not a drammit longer.”
“What do you need from me?” the queen asked.
Allison and I exchanged glances. We knew the story well; most important, we knew who kidnapped her baby. And where she was being held.
I said, “Lead us to the dungeon.”
Chapter Thirty
It was late and the castle was quiet.
Guards stood at the head of each hallway and floor; all bowed deeply as we approached. Many kept their gaze on us, and one or two made to block us, until a snappy order from their queen got them to back off. The guards were tall and muscular. Most sported broadswords sheathed to their backs, and smaller rapiers hitched along their hips. The sentries all looked vaguely similar, and I wondered if this was a result of the limits of Charlie’s imagination. Had he simply mentioned that all the castle guards were tall, muscular and square-jawed? I suspected he had. Which begged the question: was this world only as detailed as Charlie described? Or was it able to extend beyond even his imagination, and take on a life of its own, so to speak?
I didn’t know, but judging by the sameness of the castle guards, I was beginning to suspect the answer lay somewhere with the former. Obviously, Charlie hadn’t described each and every sentry’s physical appearance in the book. That would have bogged down the book. Nor had he described every inch of these hallways, yet I could see the individual bricks that made up the walls. Anthony once described the process of how video games were made using texture-mapping, which was a method of repeating details throughout a game, with variances for lighting, weather, and other factors that the programmers had determined to be important.
Really, Sam? Video games? We have a baby to find.
Aren’t you at all curious about how this world was actually
made?
Not right now.
We turned another corner and headed down a flight of steep, circular stairs. According to Charlie, we were in the royal keep. I ran my hand along the wall, noting the solidity of it, and the general massiveness of the structure itself. And all from the mind of one man. No, one creator.
When the stairs leveled off, Queen Autumn led the way forward, her evening gown flowing behind her. The lolling guards, clearly surprised by her sudden late-night visit, snapped to attention—and then promptly reached for their swords when they saw us. She waved them all away. Surely the three of us were a curious sight.
We entered a massive hall lined with tapestries so ornate that Charlie must have spent considerable time on them in his notes, as I didn’t recall them mentioned in the book. After all, he had spent a lifetime on those notes, having only recently put pen to paper for his first novel.
The tapestries were quickly forgotten—and so was all thought, for that matter—when I spied the man standing at the far end of the room. Both Allison and I gasped, recognizing the great knight immediately. Sir Rory, the queen’s protector knight, was unlike anyone I had ever seen, and probably would never see again. In the book, Charlie had spent considerable time on the man, who undoubtedly filled many pages of notes, too. Unlike the cookie-cutter guards who filled the upper levels of the castle, this man was a shining beacon of detail: the long, flowing, white hair. The bare, broad shoulders. The leather jerkin must have seen dozens if not hundreds of battles. Leather trousers that were entirely too form-fitting for my own and Allison’s own good. Boots that marched up his calves, laced with silver buckles. A long broadsword that ran diagonally from one shoulder down to the opposite hip. Only Kingsley would have matched the size and breadth of Sir Rory.
Rory stepped away from the young man he’d been conversing with—a man I immediately recognized by his unruly black hair as the knight-in-training, Caleb—and blocked our path. We all pulled up short, although I might not have minded running headlong into the big man standing before us. I imagined his cat-like reflexes would have kept me on my feet, all while he held me up with those strong arms.
Hey, said Allison, I just had the same thought! Are you sure you can’t read my mind?
Never mind that, I thought. You know what to do, right?
I do, she replied, and, without breaking stride, Allison raised both hands and said something just under her breath. I knew her magic was earth-based magic, and often worked in concert with Gaia herself, Mother Earth. How this translated into another world, I didn’t know, but I suspected she was calling upon the nature entities around her—nature entities in this world—seeking their help and guidance, and whatever else they could offer her.
“Stop, witch!” said Rory, and made to draw his sword, but I was behind him before he could, and I caught his reaching hand behind his back. I used some of my old agency training, and drove a knee into the back of one leg. And with nearly all my strength, I forced him down to his stomach and face, his arm still pinned behind him. In his defense, the movement had been faster than any he’d probably ever seen. That I had the great knight pinned to the ground was not something I was especially proud of. I knew Rory to be a good man and fearless warrior. Little did he know the depth of the betrayal around him.
As he struggled, and as the Queen stood back, aghast, a pulsing bubble of clear energy expanded from Allison’s hands.
Squire Caleb leaped forward, drawing his own sword and swinging it so fast and smooth that I was certain I wasn’t going to reach him in time before Allison got her head cut off. I had just made a move to stop him when the bubble of energy burst and Caleb and his sword somersaulted backward, only to be pinned against the domed ceiling high above.
Due to all the excitement, I had relaxed my hold on Rory, and the man sent me hurtling through the air. Unlike Caleb, I landed on my feet and turned and faced the realm’s most decorated knight, who just so happened to be the queen’s right-hand personal protector, a man she was secretly in love with, and he with her. Good stuff, all of which had kept me riveted to the pages.
“Stop!” shouted a voice. It was the queen, and, to her credit, she leaped between us, holding the hem of her gown.
“My Queen, they are witches—”
“They are angels, Sir Rory.”
The man blinked. “I thought I heard you say angels, Your Highness.”
“Indeed. They were sent from the Creator, Rory. You must trust me on this. They are here in answer to my prayers. They are here to find my baby.”
“But they attacked the noble Caleb!”
“If I might interject here,” I said, glancing at Allie. Her thin but muscular arms shook as she focused the energy that kept the squire pinned to the ceiling. “Squire Caleb isn’t who you think he is. Squire Caleb has been dabbling in the dark arts.”
“What are you saying, Lady Tam Tam?” asked the queen.
“Possession,” said Rory, lowering his sword. He turned and stared up at the young man still pinned to the ceiling. “By Gods, that makes sense. The strange behavior. The strange questions. The strange... everything.”
“Possessed by whom?” asked the queen.
“I think you know, Your Highness,” I said.
“The Foul Wizard Xander?”
“Indeed,” I said.
Queen Autumn turned to Allison. “Bring him down, Wench Allie.”
My friend shot me an irritated look, then closed her eyes. Above, nearly invisible cords had appeared and looped around the young squire. Then Allie opened her eyes and lowered her hands, and as she did so, the young man, now rotating in the air like a rotisserie chicken, floated down.
“Impressive,” I said under my breath.
“And don’t you forget it, Lady Tam Tam,” she hissed back.
The young man came to rest on his feet and probably would have stumbled and fallen if not for Allison and her ability to control the energy around her.
Queen Autumn stood before the young man. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“He can’t talk, Your Highness,” said Allison, grunting a little. I suspected the Foul Wizard Xander was fighting her with a little magic of his own.
A lot of magic, she mentally grunted. I can’t hold him off for long.
“Queen Autumn,” I said, “Xander conspired to kidnap your daughter.”
The squire’s eyes widened manically. And just as the queen and Rory moved toward him, Caleb/Xander burst free from Allison’s bonds. Opaque cords flew in every direction, only to dissolve before they hit the ground.
Caleb turned and faced Allison.
“This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me, witch!”
“I knew it!” said Rory, looking at us.
And with that, Caleb spun once, twice, and three times for good measure, and disappeared from the room.
“Merciful Mother of us all,” whispered the queen.
I kind of had to agree.
Chapter Thirty-one
With our little confrontation having garnered the attention of nearly the entire castle, Rory ordered everyone out of the great hall, except for the queen and us.
Now, the great warrior paced before us, keeping a hand on his hilt. I noted his broad shoulders and little butt. He was what Thor should have looked like, although Chris Hemsworth was damn close.
A distant second, came Allie’s words.
His leather jerkin, boots, and various straps and sheaths all creaked. Never, never could I have believed that creaking leather could sound and look so damn...
Easy, Sam. You have a boyfriend.
I know, I thought. Care to finish for me?
Never so damn hot!
“And how long has Squire Caleb been possessed?” Rory asked—or demanded—without breaking stride.
I tried to do the mental calculations, converting what I knew about the novel to this real-time situation. “About a month.”
Sir Rory paused, cocked his head a little, which sent a splash of wh
ite hair cascading over his right shoulder. “That is about right. The stupid fool. Knights do not dabble in black magic. No doubt he did it for a woman.”
The queen turned to me. “Are you witches? Please, I need to know.”
“Yes and no, Your Highness.”
“I see. Were you or were you not sent in answer to my prayers?”
“That is an emphatic yes.”
“You are not angels?”
I shook my head.
“Dark angels, perhaps,” said Allison.
“I see,” said the queen, although I doubted she did. “But you are here to help me find my baby girl?”
“We are. And we will.”
“And you are leading me to the dungeons?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked at Allie, she looked at me. Together, we said, “Because that’s where your daughter is being held.”
She put a hand over her mouth. The look on her face suggested that she was both horrified and relieved. After all, her daughter was nearby.
“But where in the dungeons?” she asked. “They are vast—”
She paused, and her hand went up over her mouth again.
I said nothing, suspecting the queen had puzzled out where her daughter was being kept.
“We must hurry, then.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
***
We were in the dungeons, having passed many cells and levels, most of which held lean and bloodied men, although a few contained women. When they recognized their queen, they threw themselves against the bars and begged for mercy. She ignored them all.
Allison’s expression might have been more horrified than my own. The dungeons appealed to the demoness within me, as, I suspected, she had seen—and used—her fair share of them. I knew she and other dark masters had worked with kings and queens of yesteryear to wage secret wars. I could only imagine how many good men and women had been tortured under Elizabeth’s watch. A distant laughing that seemed to rise up from my deepest psyche suggested I’d hit upon a truth.