First Knight

by Ines Johnson

  “No,” Arthur said. He raised himself up on the soft mattress. The cushion made him wobble instead of supporting him. “I’ll go to her.”

  Constance huffed, but she didn’t try to stop him. Arthur knew that Morgan likely would when he saw her. She’d insist he return to bed. And he would. But he’d rather be in his own bed. And he wanted her by his side there.

  No one would say it was improper. He was too weak to do anything carnal. He just wanted to be alone with her. In his current state, no one would deny him that.

  As his feet hit the floor, Arthur saw another figure in the corner.

  “He hasn’t left your side since he brought you here,” said Constance as she motioned to the sleeping Lancelot. “Gwin snuck him a sleeping potion an hour ago.”

  Arthur would deal with Lance later. The two of them would do the whole gruff, manly apology without any song and dance that would absolve both of them their idiocy. Right now, all he wanted was Morgan.

  Arthur pulled a tunic over the cotton bottoms someone had covered him with. Modesty would have to be damned. He opened the door and made his way out.

  It was past dinner time. But a large number of Camelot’s citizens were stuffed into the Great Hall. Children rested their sleeping heads on parents’ shoulders. Chairs were shoved all around the hall. In other places, people sat on cushions or blankets or directly on the ground.

  Arthur didn’t make a sound at the display. His heart swelled that they’d stayed by his side during his time of need. These were his people. They knew he’d lay down his life to protect any of them. So, it shouldn’t surprise him that they’d endure a little discomfort until they knew he was well.

  He looked around for a dark head of hair. He must have missed her his first go around. He scanned the crowd once, then again. Still, he came up short. Finally, he spotted a blonde head of hair placing blankets over a sleeping, elderly witch.

  Arthur made his way to Gwin. When she straightened and saw him, her face didn’t register joy. Her features darkened at him. For the first time, he noted how much the two Galahad sisters favored.

  “You should not be up,” Gwin chastised.

  “Where is she?”

  “Morgan? She’s …” Gwin looked around. Her gaze was certain for the first second. But after a few seconds of looking left, then right, then back left again, her brow furrowed.

  When the hart had raced toward him and Lance, Arthur had felt no fear, only duty. Fear crawled down his spine now at Morgan’s absence.

  “You’re looking for Lady Morgan?” asked Sir Bors. “She left the castle over an hour ago. I saw her getting into a car and leaving the grounds.”

  “To go where?” said Arthur. He turned back to Gwin.

  Gwin held up her hands in a placating motion. “The last thing she said to me was that she was going to get a drink.”

  “She could get a drink in the kitchens, or at the bar here in town. Why get in a car to leave town?”

  Gwin lifted her shoulders. As she did a chime rang through the air. It was a song from a musical they’d traveled to London to see years ago. A song about a witch learning to fly and defying gravity. Arthur knew it was Gwin’s ringtone for Morgan. He also knew that Loren’s ring tone was a jazzy tune about a witch casting a spell over a man. Instead of placing the receiver to her ear, Gwin tapped the keys.

  “She just texted me. She says she’s arrived in Cardiff safe and to not wait up.”

  “Cardiff? What’s she—” But then Arthur remembered. The night of his proposal she’d been coming from Cardiff. From the university. She’d said the Science Department was interested in her work. “She went to school as I lay on my deathbed?”

  “You weren’t on your deathbed,” said Gwin. She took the same tone as she would with a child who swore he’d broken the leg he was still standing on.

  Arthur turned a mutinous gaze on her. But like any Galahad girl, Gwin didn’t scare easy. He was too weary to muster any more strength to argue. The wound was healing, but another, deeper ache spread through his limbs.

  She’d left. But what did he expect? She was Morgan. She never did as he told her.

  Arthur took his responsibility as lord seriously. Being the lord of this castle was the most important thing in this life, what he was born to do. The woman he chose to be his lady would need to feel the same. She certainly wouldn’t leave his side when he was at his worse.

  18

  The night’s sky was a dark blanket. There was no space for stars to poke through. The city lights muted the celestial bodies’ existence, eclipsing the powerful orbs. A light streaked across the sky, falling into the night.

  Morgan knew that the term falling or shooting star was a misnomer. The dying body wasn’t a star. Nor was it dying. The trail of light was simply a meteor burning up as it entered the Earth’s atmosphere. The bits of dust and rock burning up as it came too close to a place it never should’ve dared journey.

  Up ahead of her, white headlights from the opposite side of the highway came at her as she headed north. Immediately in front of her, the red of tail lights glared at her. But she didn’t stop. She pressed on the gas, putting distance between herself, the place she’d orbited around her whole life and the man who had pulled her into his sphere, making her feel bright only to let her fall when she came too close. The traction burned.

  Morgan pressed her fist to her chest to quell the acid sensation there. It wasn’t heartburn. She hadn’t had anything to eat, and her stomach wasn’t grumbling.

  In the end, she let the acid burn. That’s what it was good for; clearing out any debris in its path. And this thing was just that; scattered pieces of something that never truly was.

  She rolled down the window, allowing some of the night’s cold air to slap her in the face. She couldn’t catalog what she was experiencing as heartache. She hadn’t given Arthur her heart.

  This unquantifiable thing between them had only been in existence for twenty-four hours. And like a radioactive element, it had exploded into existence and then left without a trace.

  Which was better. That meant it was a fluke. Likely unrepeatable inside a lab.

  Constance was better for Arthur. She would be a better partner. She wanted to stay home. She could offer him healing when he got hurt. Unlike Morgan who could only stand by, step out of the way, and watch helplessly.

  It was late at night as she rolled through the university’s gates. Bodies milled around in and out of buildings, especially the brightly lit library. The parking lot near the Science Department was full, but Morgan found a spot. Before she left the car, she pulled out her phone and texted Gwin.

  She’d left in such a hurry she doubted anyone knew where she was. She didn’t want to add to their worries. She only had three-percent of power left on her phone, but it was enough to send her message through before her cell died.

  Morgan tucked her dead phone in her pocket and stepped out of the car. She’d pulled out heels in anticipation of spending more time with Arthur for their date. She wore them now along with a skirt that flattered her hips, and a bodice that pushed up her breasts. It wasn’t exactly academic wear. But these scientists were on their downtime, so she should fit in at the local bar.

  She made her way to the science building. Her toe cleavage felt the last touches of winter as she picked up her pace. Morgan pulled her wrap about her shoulders as the wind wound around her legs.

  Inside the building, a night security guard sat behind the desk. “Student ID?”

  “I’m not a student,” said Morgan.

  “My apologies,” grinned the guard. “You look very young. Faculty ID, please?”

  “Oh, I’m not faculty either.”

  The guard’s smile wavered. He pursed his lips together in a grimace.

  “I’m here to see Dr. Simon Accolon.”

  Some of the tension left his face. “Would you happen to be a Ms. Galahad?”

  “Galahan,” Morgan corrected.

  “Oh,” the man chuckl
ed. “That would’ve been cool if it were Galahad.” He made a sword swiping motion. Then he handed her a white plastic card on a lanyard.

  Morgan accepted the card and turned it over. There was her name, Morgan Galahan, Science Department. Her thoughts scattered, a big bang in her head as she looked down at what was the start of her new trajectory in life.

  After being told she needed to stay inside, to stay safe, to stay out of trouble her whole life, this card would open doors and get her into restricted areas. The firing of the synapses of her brain rained down muting the ache in her heart.

  Morgan reached out her hand and tapped the card against the closed gate. Immediately, without lecture, the doors to the inner building opened for her. She stepped onto the elevator, scanning her card again, and made her way up to Simon’s floor. Stepping out of the elevator, she collided with an older man.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss.”

  An older gentleman reached out to steady her. Morgan took one look at his gnarled fingers, she heard the creak of his old bones, and she decided that she’d better be the one to steady him. There was a mop in one hand and a bucket of dirty water at his feet.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” said Morgan once they both regained their balance. “Are you?”

  “Oh, I’m just having a bit of trouble with a spot on the floor. Been in custodial services all my life. But working for these scientists, I’m meeting stains that are getting the better of me.”

  Morgan looked down at the indeterminate stain on the floor. She couldn’t tell its origin, but she was sure she knew just the thing. “Just add a bit of vinegar to your cleaning solution. That’ll take it right out.”

  The old man looked at her doubtfully.

  “Trust me,” said Morgan. “Acid is the great equalizer in the scientific world. It can get rid of just about any substance. You’ll see.”

  She left the old man pondering her words and headed toward the voices down the hall. Morgan followed the voices into what appeared to be a break room. There was a large HD flat screen TV on a cart. All manner of AV equipment sat on the shelves of the metal cart, including an Xbox. Three men sat in front of the Xbox, controllers in their hands. The flashing lights from the game’s explosions reflected off of all three of their prescriptive glasses.

  She caught sight of Simon as he approached. “You made it.”

  “I did,” said Morgan. “And I’m feeling a bit overdressed for … this. I thought we were going out for drinks, or something.”

  “I didn’t say out.” Simon had taken off his blazer and loosened the top button where she was certain a tie had hung earlier. “This is what scientists do when they relax.”

  Morgan mixed potions when she wanted to relax. She helped little witches and wizards practice their spells in her free time. Her nights were spent gossiping, mixing fruity drinks, and watching bad 80’s movies with her sister and cousin.

  But what did she know? The knights, the defenders of the weak and devout, had a game room. The men and squires disappeared in there after they returned from quests, or a particularly grueling day of training, to do exactly what these men of science were doing.

  “You are such a geek,” said one of the men. He wore a red and yellow Flash Gordon t-shirt.

  “Who are you calling a geek, you nerd?” said a second man. There was a colorful scarf wrapped around his neck that reminded Morgan of Doctor Who.

  “Did you know a scientist developed a mathematical equation to determine the difference between the term geek and nerd,” Morgan piped in. Of course, she piped in. It was a topic she’d studied. “She plotted each of the characteristics on a graph and found that geeks are more into fandoms and collectible hobbies. Where nerds are practitioners of ideas.”

  The three men stopped their game and turned to stare at her. Since she had their attention, and no one else offered an opinion on her statement, Morgan decided to continue her report.

  “There are similarities that both groups possess, mainly high intelligence, but they each lack social skills.”

  Silence reigned throughout the room. Well, except for the game’s angry music questioning if they wanted to go again.

  “Clearly the social aspect is proven wrong by this gathering of both geeks and nerds and—”

  “Everyone,” interrupted Simon, “this is Morgan Galahan. The one I told you about.”

  “This is the amateur with the residual effects thesis?” said the guy wearing the red superhero shirt.

  In a flash, Morgan rounded on him. “Who are you calling amateur?”

  Both Red Shirt and Scarf Boy reared back. They looked at each other with twin looks of skepticism.

  “Do you play?” offered the third guy who wore a dark hoodie.

  Looking closely, Morgan saw the third person wasn’t a guy at all. As the hood fell away, a ponytail of brown, mousy hair appeared. Morgan felt a huge relief at the added estrogen in the room.

  Morgan looked at the proffered game controller. Then she looked at the game. “I used to play The Sims.”

  The de-hooded girl cringed. Redshirt and Scarf shook their heads.

  “I’m pretty good at Assassin’s Creed,” Morgan offered.

  “So’s my dad,” said Red Shirt.

  “So, you’re a newb,” said Scarf Boy. And then, without waiting for an answer, he turned back to the game. “It’s fine. Did you know that studies show that men make better gamers than women? The male species retains information better and have more dexterity than—”

  A loud blast came from the television speakers. One of the on-screen character’s heads exploded.

  “Oops,” said the girl gamer. “My bad. Guess my feminine wiles got away from me.”

  “You know I wasn’t talking about you,” said Scarf Boy. “You don’t count as a girl.”

  Morgan saw the conflict race across the other woman’s face. In the end, she stood up and tossed the controller to Simon who caught it like a hot potato. The woman motioned to Morgan and Morgan followed.

  “Listen,” the woman said as soon as they were out of earshot. “If you want to be taken seriously here, ditch the heels. Put your hair up and wipe the makeup off your face. No one will think you have a brain if you look like … that.”

  Morgan looked down at herself. “Like what?”

  “Like a girl. You can get away with a name like Morgan because its gender neutral. So you’ll get credit on journal articles easier.”

  Morgan opened her mouth, but a stiff arm with a raised palm stopped her.

  “Don’t talk to me about fairness or girl power or other made up crap. Science is a man’s world. If you want to exist in it, you’ll play by their rules. Let them win a couple of times so you’ll seem less of a threat. I’m only trying to help.”

  “Well, thanks for mansplaining that to me, but the university headhunted me. If they want what’s in my head, they’ll have to take the heels too.”

  With one final head to toe glance over Morgan, the woman shrugged. She pulled her hoodie up. Then she rejoined the group.

  Morgan looked at the group. There wasn’t any extra room for her in their cluster. Morgan searched out Simon, but his eyes were glued to the screen as he worked the controller in his hand. Morgan turned out of the room. But she didn’t leave the building. She headed to the room she’d been in before, the lab.

  Her keycard gained her easy access. And there it was. The reason she was even contemplating entering this world. The cyclotron.

  She walked into the control room. The LED lights were dim, the readout a flat line. Morgan ran her hand over the controls of the machine.

  This was the only game she wanted to play. Unfortunately, the controller was cold and unresponsive. The accelerator beyond the glass was virtually silent.

  Morgan left the panel and went over to the glass panels. Once again, she pressed her nose to the glass. A shiver ran down her spine. She was cold and her body yearned for warmth. That had to be why her mind conjured up the memory of Arthur’s strong, warm
bicep.

  That was no longer her path. This was. She let go of the memory and focused on the machine. The machine would give up answers, eventually.

  As if in response, the machine made a whirring sound. The vibration traveled through the glass sending another shiver through Morgan. The hum was warm and it raced through her, making her tingle. A red alert blasted and the LED lights turned red. Morgan jerked her hands away from the glass.

  “Don’t move.”

  She knew it was Simon’s voice. He sounded close behind her. How long had he been there?

  Simon’s hand tightened on her, holding her still when she tried to move. Morgan wondered if she were in any danger? But just as soon as the alarm sounded, all went quiet on the screen and from the speakers.

  Simon let go of her. He raced over to the controller, his eyes blazed as he read the monitors. His breath came quickly as though he’d sprinted the last few yards to the end of a marathon.

  Was this it? Had there been an impact? Had two elements collided and created the new element they were looking for? If so, they wouldn’t be able to see it. It would already be gone from existence. But there would be a trace. If Simon had already implemented her protocol, they would be able to see the radioactive signature.

  Morgan looked down at the screen. It resembled a heart monitor after a flatline. Between the horizontal lines was a single vertical jump. There had been a huge spike, but the spike was moving down the screen as time passed. The machine was quickly returning one continuous, horizontal, flat line.

  “A false alarm?” Morgan asked.

  Those were known to happen in this experiment. Morgan had read up on it. Having a particle accelerator constantly firing a beam of energy to fuse two elements together resulted in the occasional misfire. But Simon’s gaze was beyond disappointment from a misfire. It wreaked of desperation. Had something else gone wrong?

  “Did I mess something up?” Morgan asked.

  He finally met her gaze. He looked at her as though she were a puzzle. Then he laughed softly, as though the joke was on him. “For just a moment, I believed it was possible.”