by Rowan Casey
“My father was an overbearing prick who never offered me an encouraging word in his life.”
Grimm shook his head slowly, as if highly disappointed in me. “Reginald Bishop…” he paused, his gaze narrowing. He cleared his throat. “Your father is the reason you were chosen. His dying words to me were that you were the only one he trusted with this particular quest. He made me promise to give it to you, and only you.”
“You’re making that up.”
“I can’t make you believe it if you don’t want to.”
“You were with him when he died?”
Grimm’s gaze drifted up and away from me, off into some point through the window. “He was my first, he was supposed to be the knight in command. The tip of the spear.”
I leaned back into the chair. “How…?”
“That’s a story for another time. Suffice to say, he died like he lived, with honor. The reason he sent you away to boarding schools, the reason he pushed you so hard, was that he knew he would not be there for you, and with your mother gone, he knew there would be no one else, that you’d have to rely on yourself. He knew this was coming before anyone, before me, even. He was cursed with the knowledge from when you were a little boy, the foreboding of a storm on the distant horizon. He made tough decisions. When the forces, the shadows, behind this put their plans into action, they didn’t come after me. They went after him.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. The idea that my father had been rough on me to make me tough, or so that I’d have higher standards, was something I’d dismissed long ago as rationalized bullshit, and I wasn’t ready to take a more generous view. But I could feel the ground on which I’d built my opinions shifting, could sense tiny cracks threatening the foundation.
“Perhaps I should have told you earlier, but that was another judgment call I made. I worried that if you knew that your father had chosen you, that he had his reasons for being the way he was toward you, then you may have been too distracted to focus on the task at hand; too busy processing the new information and adjusting your understanding of who he was, and of your relationship with him. I also thought that your resentful competitiveness, your desire to prove yourself, might provide extra motivation and drive. Keeping it from you was my doing, not his.”
“Hey, what better time to fill me in than when the clock is ticking on my all-but certain death, right?”
He hitched a shoulder. “Your anger when I arrived was shifting its focus to me and you were a few sharp words from losing all sense of mission. I couldn’t allow that.”
I stared at him, my gaze far short of deferential, then I looked over to Pip. She made eye contact, but couldn’t sustain it.
“How do I find the lock this goes to?” I said.
“All I can say is, the Key would not have let you come into its possession without you also possessing the ability to use it.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, I don’t know the answer. I don’t know all that much about the Key, or the Contest. I’m not sure anyone does. Your father knew more, through the visions that haunted him, but nothing that made sense. They were more like impressions of what was to come. Feelings. But I do understand the nature of the kind of spell this would require, and that spell would not allow you to hold the Key without having access to the lock. There are rules that govern sorcery just as there are rules that govern physics.”
“And if I find it, what then? Can I beat it?”
Now it was Dante’s turn to look at Pip. “Your father seemed to think so.”
“But you don’t.” I lifted my hat and raked my fingers through my hair. I let out a long breath that inflated my cheeks. “And maybe my father didn’t, either. Maybe he just thought I’d be stubborn enough and angry enough to try.”
“Or, heroic enough.”
I raised my head at that, fixed my eyes on his. I wasn’t sure why, but something slipped into place in between my ears, completing a thought I hadn’t realized I’d been puzzling over.
“That’s why I have a squire, isn’t it?” I looked at Pip, who didn’t look away this time. Her eyebrows pinched together over her nose like she wanted to deny it, like it pained her not to, but didn’t think I’d believe her. “She’s supposed to bring you the key. Once I’m dead.”
Dante’ frowned. “No. If you don’t emerge victorious. Well, let’s just say any chance we have of keeping the Veil intact will be gone. That is the one thing I do know. The key and the container form the element. But, there’s a cost.”
“I get it. To get them together, you had to find the Key, and that meant someone had to volunteer for the suicide mission, because they’d have to win this Contest.”
“I have faith in you, Sir Regis,” Pip said. “I have never let myself believe you might fail.”
I wanted to say something snotty in response, but the look on her face told me she felt even worse about the situation than I did. Which was saying a lot.
“Ha!” Golgameth held up the metal loop and waved it in the air. “Golgameth has prevailed!”
Grimm smiled and took the medieval-looking puzzle from him. “Well, now… that barely took over ten minutes. It seems like I underestimated you.” Then to me, he added, “Sometimes, people can surprise you with what they can achieve.”
“Ha HA! Golgameth is smart, like wizard!”
With that, Grimm turned toward the door. He paused when he reached it. “You’re not the first knight to go into a hopeless battle, Sir Regis. Nor will you be the last. At least now you know what that armor is for. This is what it means to be a knight.”
He closed the door behind him without saying anything more.
“Golgameth shall win battle, Little Man! Just like Golgameth beat puzzle!”
I turned over Dante’s words a few times, my mind unwilling to let them fade. And then it hit me.
“I know where the lock is,” I said, telling myself as much as the others.
Pip inched closer, her compact body tightly wound, wavering between excitement and dread. “You do? That’s wonderful, Sir Regis!”
“Ho HO!” Golgameth pushed himself off the couch. “Let us go, Little Man! It is time for battle!”
I took a breath, but didn’t respond. My eyes were drawn to the collapsed cushions on my now sway-back couch. There were at least three broken loops from the puzzle that had slid to the lowest point in the middle, beneath where the giant had been sitting. The giant had cheated.
I pushed myself away from the desk, unsure if this last thing counted as a revelation, or an affirmation, but I marveled at it either way. My lips mouthed the words soundlessly, at least the last three of them, just to give the thought texture.
Dante Grimm is one manipulative son of a bitch.
“WHAT IS THIS PLACE, Little Man? This does not look like a battlefield to Golgameth!”
I parked the Mustang in the museum parking lot, now empty. I took a spot around back, not easily visible from the street.
“You’ll like it,” I said, getting out. “It’s got everything a guy like you could ask for.” I took my eyes off the building long enough to give him a quick glance. “Well, maybe not all in your size.”
“Ha HA! Little man makes a joke!”
“Keep your voice down,” I said, looking around. “We don’t exactly have permission to be here.”
“Ha Ha Ha! Who will stop Golgameth?”
“I don’t know, someone with an assault rifle who’s trying to sleep? Look, just try to be quiet, okay?”
The springs groaned as the giant climbed out of my Mustang. I feared it was going the way of my couch. Of course, chances were so was I in a matter of hours, so it was hard to get too worked up over any of it.
I put a finger to my ear to feel the earpiece. “Pip, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Sir Regis. I have your armament, and am ready to join you.”
“Where are you?”
“Close. I can see you. I do not believe anyone has
followed you and I see no signs anyone else arrived there before you. Are you sure this is the location?”
“It damn sure better be. Because if it’s not, I’m all out of ideas.”
“Sir Regis…I’m sorry I’ve kept so much from you. I know you are angry with me. I don’t blame you. I wanted to tell you. Really, I did. But I didn’t think I had a choice.”
I didn’t respond to that. Things had been a little icy since Grimm left my office, but as much as I’d wanted to, I didn’t call her out over it. While it’s true I was mad, and that I did feel more than a little betrayed, part of me understood she’d been put in an awkward position.
I wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily, though. Petty acts of revenge can go a long way to balancing those imaginary scales we use to deal with others, and right then I wasn’t above putting a thumb on it. Besides, there wasn’t time to have a heart-to-heart with her about my feelings.
“I’m going to check the entrance.”
A brief pause. I could sense her resignation through the silence. That caused a tinge of guilt, but I told myself there’d be plenty of time to talk things out if I survived.
“Sir Regis, what are you going to do about… him?”
I looked over at Golgameth, who was stretching and scratching like some zoo attraction. “I’m not sure yet. There’s a chance he might come in handy.”
“Who are you talking to now, Little Man? How many voices can such a small head hold?”
“It’s Pip,” I said. When he didn’t react, I added, “Redhead, ‘bout this tall?” I flattened my hand and held it front of my chest. “My Squire?”
“Ah! Of course! The Little Man has a squire who speaks to him through magic! Good! But you will not need a squire, for Golgameth shall fight this battle and be declared winner of the Contest!”
“Yeah, about that. Look, G-Man, I appreciate your enthusiasm and all, but this has kinda-sorta-gotta be my ‘battle.’ On account of if I don’t win it, I apparently face certain death and all.”
“Nonsense! This glory was promised to Golgameth! Golgameth will win the Contest and become the Champion!”
“What I really need you to do, Golgameth, is for you to have my back. You can be my, you know, trusty sidekick or something.”
Even in the weak wash of the streetlight, I could see the giant’s expression harden. It was not a sight that sent warm fuzzies running through me.
“Do not get in Golgameth’s way, Little Man. Golgameth does not want to hurt you.”
It wasn’t an argument I was prepared to have, so I just continued walking. I didn’t want the monstrous oaf with me at all, but how the hell could I get rid of him? I suppose there was also a part of me that kept thinking he might come in handy. I mean, a guy that big had to be good for something. I patted my sports coat where the Key was and made my way to the front of the building.
The odds against the doors being unlocked were, I figured, probably a million to one. But I had learned long ago that checking stuff like that is a way to avoid the humiliation of finding out later how wrong you were. And I was sure glad I did, because the oversized glass entry door opened when I pulled on it. That feeling of good fortune was fleeting, though, because I immediately realized that probably meant someone was inside.
“What is it, Little Man? Why do you stand there and not move?”
“Someone’s here,” I said. “Or has been.” Lowering my voice, I added, “Pip, the doors are unlocked. I’m going inside. Wait for me to give you the all-clear.”
“Enough talking! Golgameth is impatient!”
I pulled the door all the way and walked into the entryway. The second set of glass doors was also unlocked. I looked back as Golgameth squeezed his ridiculous frame through the space and stepped inside.
The museum was dark. Exhibits glowed in the dim red light of emergency exit signs, which gave the place a Welcome-To-Hell vibe; like a little demon with horns and a devil tail was going to pop out at any moment and announce he would be our tour guide.
Something felt off, though I wasn’t sure what.
One thing I was sure of was that the intense discomfort at the small of my back was the Colt, wedged behind my belt. I removed it and let the look and weight of it boost my confidence. I gestured back to Golgameth to follow me, finishing with my finger to my pursed lips, and was gratified that he actually seemed to understand, more gratified still that he complied.
On creeping cat feet, I headed toward the room where the medieval weapons were displayed. I gave up tiptoeing after a few steps when I realized Golgameth’s footfalls would probably cause impact tremors in a glass of water out in the parking lot.
Every space has its own ambient sound. Outside locations have the susurrant friction of a breeze, or the trill of crickets, or the din of traffic, some combination of hums and ticks and whispers, however faint, that provide a background audio track for all ears that can hear. Indoor spots each have their own distinct mixtapes. The micro echoes of air circulating, the drone of electrical equipment, the whirring of a fan, the notching of a clock. The thing about this place was, there was nothing. I mean, nothing. Not a sound, not a tremor. I could hear every pop of my knees. I could hear every rustle of my sports coat. I could hear my breathing, Golgameth’s breathing, and my heartbeat. The only thing that truly counted as noise was our footsteps, which sounded hollow and dead in the silence.
And I’m not ashamed to tell you that it creeped the hell out of me.
“These weapons…” Golgameth’s voice, though mercifully lowered to a whisper, boomed in my ear, causing me to practically soil myself. He had leaned forward to where his lips were almost brushing my lobe. “How many do you think they have killed in battle?”
I shook my head, gave him an irritable shushing gesture. But I couldn’t wave off his words. I hadn’t really thought of that, not in terms of numbers. These weren’t replicas. The rifles and pistols and bayonets surrounding us were all the genuine article, and all had likely seen action. The red hue blanketing all of them suddenly seemed disturbingly appropriate.
I slowed as I reached the opening to the medieval room and stalked my way in.
This room was much darker than the main museum area. I stood there a moment, waiting for my vision to adjust. There were figures in the shadows, but, thankfully, nothing that was moving.
Seconds passed. I cocked my head to listen, trying to detect any out-of-place sounds. Golgameth pushed past me with a grunt, stomping to a stop a few feet into the room. He put his hands on his hips and peered into the darkness.
“No one is here, Little Man!”
That certainly snapped the mood. I stepped over to the nearest wall and groped for a switch. Nothing. I crossed the entryway and tried that side. I found a pair of switches and flipped them up.
Overhead lights flickered on, bathing everything in a florescent glow.
We hadn’t cleared the entire museum, hadn’t even so much as glanced into any of the adjacent rooms, but I didn’t see the point. Golgameth was right. No one else was here. I could feel it. I guess I should have found that comforting, but I didn’t.
“We’re here, Pip,” I said.
“Is it the right place?”
“I’m about to find out.”
“I’m making my way to you now, Sir Regis. I have your armament.”
Golgameth strode around the room, casting admiring looks at the various weaponry. He stopped in front of a battle axe on a wall mount behind glass. The thing had a handle long enough to pole vault with and a head the size of a Monster Truck tire.
“Ho HO! Golgameth has found his weapon!”
Before I could object, the giant put his fist through the glass. I palmed my face as he knocked out the few jagged shards that remained and then ripped the axe from its mount.
“Golgameth, while I appreciate your enthusiasm—more than the owners will, I guarantee you—I don’t think this is a team event. Whatever this Contest is, I’m the one who needs to compete. Are you
hearing me? I’d love to be able to let you volunteer as tribute, but me staying above ground likely requires it be me, and me alone.”
He hoisted the axe high, swinging it in rapid arcs down and across. If the smile on his face were any bigger, the corners of his mouth would have met at the back of his head.
“So, Little Man, where is this lock? Have you found what we came here for?”
I stared at him for a few moments; his ridiculous face with that ridiculous ponytail springing from the top of his ridiculously gigantic head atop that ridiculously gigantic frame. He was like a giant dog from a children’s book, breaking stuff and slobbering over everything but too genuine in his enthusiasm to stay mad at.
“As soon as Pip comes in with my stuff, we’ll see.”
“What is it?” The giant scanned the room. “A door? A gate? A passage to a battleground where Champions are crowned? Golgameth does not see anything.”
Prodded by his own observation, he began to study the walls, moving between displays and pressing his hand against the drywall, feeling and knocking.
I walked over to the Black Knight. The suit of armor stood over a chest, one metal-clad foot atop it, guarding it. The chest was made of heavy, hardened wood, shaped and supported by iron bands. A thick metal latch fit over an eyehole, which was secured by an ancient-looking padlock. The kind that had a keyhole that appeared to be, from where I was standing, just the right size.
“Just a few more minutes,” I said, looking at the chest. “Pip’s bringing—”
Something slammed into me, knocking the thought right out of my head and the words back down my throat. I felt myself being lifted off the ground as I tried to shake the stars from my eyes.
I blinked and saw Golgameth’s enormous face, felt his piston fingers digging into the pockets of my coat.
“Now Golgameth knows! You thought you could hide it from Golgameth!”
He pulled his hand back, the Key clipped between his two forefingers.
“Golgameth, no!” I reached helplessly for it, flailing. “You can’t!”
The giant tossed me aside, sending me sprawling across the floor.
“Do not try to stop me, Little Man! Golgameth will win the Contest! Golgameth will be crowned Champion!”