A Knight on the Town

by Hermione Moon

  “Leah? You’re sure you’re not too tired?”

  “I don’t seem to get tired,” he says. “I’m sure I will eventually, but at the moment I don’t think I can sleep.”

  “All right, then. Let’s go and speak to Leah. Then we’ll go home and have dinner.”

  We walk around the building and down the high street. It’s about four thirty, so a few shops are getting ready to close, and a couple of the daytime cafés are shut. Perry’s Bookshop is still open, though. A young woman is behind the till, serving a customer. Leah Perry is at the back of the shop, sorting through a new delivery.

  She’s medium height, with shoulder-length brown hair and a pair of rectangular black-rimmed glasses. I know her to say hello to, when she comes into the café occasionally for a coffee, and she smiles at us as we walk up.

  “Hello,” she says. “Gwen, isn’t it? From the Avalon Café?”

  “Yes, that’s right. This is Arthur,” I reply, and he nods to Leah.

  “How can I help?” she asks, straightening from where she’s sorting through a box of books.

  “Can you direct us to the local section? I was hoping to get Arthur a book on his namesake’s connection to the area.”

  She smiles. “Of course. It’s over here.” She leads us across the bookshop to a stand marked ‘Local History’. “This is a good one,” she says, reaching up to collect a book called Arthur’s Isle. She’s wearing a three-quarter-sleeved sweater, and as she turns her hand to pick up the book, she reveals the small black triquetra tattoo on the inside of her wrist, complete with the letters M and S.

  Arthur glances at me, then takes the book from her as she holds it out and starts leafing through it.

  Leah clears her throat and rubs her nose. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I heard that you discovered the body of Valerie Hopkins-Brown this morning.”

  “That’s right, yes. We were taking a walk through the Abbey and just happened to be the first to find her.”

  “How awful for you,” she says. “I can’t believe it. I only saw her a couple of days ago.”

  “Actually,” I admit, “I was talking to Fenella Davies earlier today. We took my Labradoodle, Merlin, over for a visit and got chatting, and she mentioned that she met with Valerie and you and Nancy Armstrong. She said you were planning her birthday party.”

  “That’s right.” Leah looks downcast. “It would have been such fun. The Lady of the Lake pub has a room out the back, and sometimes they do medieval meals—things like roast pig, and you eat off bread trenchers and drink ale out of tankards. We were all going to wear our Living History dresses. It would have been marvellous.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say gently, as she looks genuinely upset. “Forty is no age at all.”

  “It’s really not. People go on about it as if it’s the end of the world, but she wasn’t that upset about it.”

  “Oh? I heard she’d been a bit low over the past few weeks, that’s all.”

  “She had, but I don’t think it was about turning forty.”

  “Did she have other problems, then?” I know I’m probing, and I wait for her to tell me to mind my own business, but she leans forward conspiratorially.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m not upset about what’s happened,” she says. “I am—I’m devastated. We’d known each a long time. And I’m not normally a bitchy kind of person.”

  “Well,” I reply, “I know they say about not speaking ill of the dead, but when someone dies, it doesn’t make them a saint.”

  “That’s right.” She seems pleased I understand. “The thing is, she could be quite a difficult person. She was nice on the surface, and always keen to help wherever she could, but she could be confrontational at times, and when she wanted something, she could be very… determined.”

  “Fenella mentioned something similar,” I reveal.

  “Yes, of course, they had a run-in several weeks ago about Valerie’s Spaniel that died. That was quite unpleasant. They made up, but that kind of thing doesn’t go away, does it?”

  “No. And Nancy mentioned that Valerie got the position as head of the Living History team. There seems to have been a bit of bad feeling there, too.”

  “Nancy really wanted it,” Leah admits. “She reads a lot of history books and watches all the archaeological programmes on TV, and I think she thought she was going to get it, but Valerie could be very charming, and I’m sure she talked her way into it.”

  A bit like her brother, I think to myself. Matthew can be quite the smoothie when he wants to be.

  Arthur puts the book back on the shelf. “I would have thought you would have been a good contender for head of the team, working here. You obviously read a lot of history books, too.”

  Leah shrugs. “I went for the job, but I’m not devastated that I didn’t get it. I’m busy here, and doing the Living History tours is fun, but I don’t want it to take over the shop. I’m also running for the Board of Governors at the high school—I’m hoping to be chairperson.”

  “Wow,” I say, “that’s a challenging role.”

  “Valerie and I were both going for it,” she says. “I suppose I stand a better chance now.” She meets my eyes. “Sorry, that was inappropriate. I meant it to be funny, but it came out as callous—I really didn’t mean it like that.”

  “It’s okay, I understand.” I give her a sympathetic smile. “Her death must have been a real shock for you. Were you here when you got the news?”

  “Yes, I get to the shop around eight thirty. I’d had a new delivery, and Casey and I worked here cataloguing the books non-stop until around midday.” She nods toward the girl at the desk.

  I look at Arthur. “Well, did you want any of these books?”

  “I think I’ll get this one,” he says, holding up Arthur’s Isle. “It’s very informative and has some nice photos, too.”

  “Okay.” I take it from him and smile at Leah. “Thanks for your help, and I’m very sorry about your friend.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles back, and we leave her to go back to her unpacking while we pay for the book and then head out.

  We walk slowly back to the car, Merlin at our heels. “What do you think?” I ask him. “Valerie does seem to have rubbed quite a few people up the wrong way.”

  “So they were both hoping to be on the Board of Governors for the school,” he says. “I’m not quite sure what that is, but it doesn’t sound like a position worth killing someone for.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so. I wouldn’t have thought any of the problems that Valerie’s friends had would provoke them to murder, but someone must have done it.” I hold my hand out to Arthur, who takes it in his own. “Are you hungry?”

  “I seem to be permanently ravenous,” he admits.

  I chuckle. “Let’s go home, then, and I’ll cook you a nice dinner. What would you like to eat?”

  “I have no idea. What choices do I have?”

  I get him to pull out his phone and give him some options to look up. He’s excited at the range of exotic dishes I’m able to prepare—recipes from all around the world, including Japan, China, and India.

  “What does curry taste like?” he asks. “It sounds very popular in England.”

  “It’s England’s most loved food,” I tell him as I park the car outside the house, “adopted from when India was part of the British Empire. Curry is amazing. It’s usually spicy, though. Do you like spicy food?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “Probably.”

  Laughing, I let us indoors. We take off our jackets and shoes and go into the kitchen, and Arthur sits at the table and reads his new book while I cook. Occasionally he reads out paragraphs to me or shows me photographs, commenting on what the place looked like in his time.

  It’s only been a day since he came to life, but as I fry onions and chicken, and add spices and tomato paste and cream to the sauce, it occurs to me that I feel as if I’ve known him forever. I don’t feel weird being at home with h
im alone anymore. It’s almost as if we’ve been married for years.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It turns out that Arthur likes curry.

  “Do you think there’s anything you’re not going to like?” I ask him with amusement, as I watch him wipe up the last drops of sauce with a piece of homemade naan bread.

  “No,” he says, chewing and then giving me a grin. “You’re an amazing cook, Gwen. I’ve watched you for all these years producing fantastic cakes and pies and thought they were wonderful, but you truly are talented.”

  “I’m really not,” I scoff, rising to collect his plate and taking it with mine over to the dishwasher. “Anyone can make a decent curry. It’s really easy.”

  He watches me, his eyes holding that lazy, sexy look that suggests he’s wondering what I look like without my clothes.

  “Stop it,” I scold, squirting washing-up liquid into the bowl to clean the pan. “I’ve known you one whole day. You can’t look at me as if you have x-ray vision.”

  “What’s that?”

  “As if you’re wearing glasses that can see through my clothes.”

  “Is there such a thing?” His voice holds wonder and hope.

  “No.” I laugh. “I’m sure you’d buy a pair if there was.”

  “Absolutely I would. What man wouldn’t?” He chuckles and rises to pick up the tea towel and dry the items I put on the draining board.

  I cast a sidelong glance at him. “This is weird.”

  “What is?”

  “Washing up with King Arthur.”

  “I told you, I wasn’t a king. But I don’t mind if you want to call me that.”

  I nudge him. He nudges me back. Merlin snorts from under the table, and we both laugh. I glance over my shoulder at him. “It’s funny to think he was a bard.”

  “And a good one at that.”

  “He composed poems?”

  “And sang them while he played the lute. He had a lovely singing voice.” Arthur’s gaze drifts off for a moment, and I wonder whether he’s picturing an evening sitting around the fire with his soldiers, listening to songs of home.

  “Do you want to hear one?” Arthur says.

  I blink. “What do you mean?”

  He picks up a plate and dries it while he sings. He has a deep, rich voice that sends shivers all the way through me.

  “Sparks in the hearth, stars in the sky, singing an endless lullaby, your love is a golden thread through the weft and weave, a fairy tale I’ll always believe, leaving you is a sword that pierces the heart, the wind and the rain and the heavy snows… that fall on the fields and the valleys and the hills… will never keep us apart…” He holds the last note, then stops and smiles.

  “Oh,” I say breathlessly, looking down at Merlin, “that’s beautiful.”

  The Labradoodle lies with his snout on his paws, his big brown eyes looking up at me.

  “Who was it about?” I ask softly. “He obviously loved her very much.”

  Arthur looks down at the dog, then back up at me. He doesn’t say anything, just reaches for another plate to dry.

  My mouth opens. “M-me?”

  “He was soft on you,” Arthur says. “We never discussed it, but it was obvious.”

  “Aw.” I drop to my knees and bend to kiss the dog’s head.

  “Don’t feel sorry for him,” Arthur tells me. “More than his share of beautiful women passed through his tent flap.”

  That makes me giggle, and I’m convinced Merlin rolls his eyes. I kiss him again, then rise and return to washing the dishes, humming the song.

  When I’m done, I dry my hands and tell Arthur, “I need to make a couple of phone calls. I should ring Immi and Beatrix. Then we can settle down for the evening. Maybe watch a movie?”

  “I’d like that.”

  I pour us both another glass of wine, and we take them into the living room. Arthur chooses a book from the shelves—my well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare’s plays—and sits in one of the armchairs to read it, Merlin at his feet, while I stretch out on the sofa, my feet up, and call Imogen.

  “It’s me,” I tell her when she answers.

  “Hey, you. How are you doing?” I can hear the rustling of papers; she’s still in the office.

  “Why aren’t you out on a date with Christian?” I scold.

  “Too much work,” she says. “It’s good to keep ’em waiting.”

  “No it’s not. Arthur and I want to know if you and Christian would like to go to dinner with us.”

  “Really?” She sounds delighted. “I’d love that. When?”

  “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Working.”

  “Then tomorrow it is. I’ll book us a table at ‘I Long for Won Ton’ for seven. I think Arthur’s going to like Chinese. He had curry tonight and wolfed the lot.”

  Over in his chair, Arthur gives a short laugh.

  “I knew he’d like curry,” Imogen says. “He’s a real man’s man.”

  “He is. Very.” I study his handsome face, thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.

  Without moving his head, his gaze rises to meet mine for a moment before he smiles and returns it to his book.

  “How are the two of you doing?” Imogen wants to know. “It’s a shame the day started off so badly. Has it got any better?”

  “Oh yes, definitely.”

  “I knew it,” she says. “You kissed him, didn’t you?”

  “No. Not yet. We had a hug, though.”

  She smiles. “You two are so sweet. So what have you been up to?”

  “Well… I hope you won’t be cross, but we’ve been doing a little investigating.”

  “Into Valerie? I don’t mind at all. Saves me a job.”

  I tell her what we’ve been up to today, about how we discovered she’d had lunch with her friends, and what each of them had to say.

  “Goodness,” she says when I’m done, “you have been busy.”

  “We have. It was a very productive day. Is any of it useful?”

  “I’m sure it will be. I’m waiting for the coroner’s report to come back. I’m still not sure whether her death was an accident or not. The presence of your watch suggests it wasn’t, but that’s not enough evidence to go on. I’ve spent most of the day dealing with Bradley and the rest of her family, and going over the evidence from the scene. If it becomes clear that she was murdered, what you’ve told me today will give me a good foundation for an investigation.” She pauses. “What conclusions have you drawn from it?”

  Imogen knows almost everything about me. She knows I’m a witch, and she knows I rescued Arthur from Sir Boss. I helped her solve Liza Banks’s murder, and she’s been very open to everything I’ve thrown at her. But I don’t know how she’ll feel about the fact that my Labradoodle is psychic.

  “I’ve got something to tell you,” I say cautiously. “You’ve been great so far in believing me, but this might take a stretch of the imagination.”

  “I can’t wait. Go on.”

  “Well, you know I told you about The Star Sign Spell that Mary Paxton placed on Liza to chain her soul to this plane. That’s why we saw her ghost.”

  “Yes.”

  “Last night, Arthur and Merlin were able to release her.”

  She went silent for a moment. “How?” she says eventually.

  “I’m not quite sure how they did it. But Arthur told me that Merlin is the spirit of a bard—like a troubadour, a poet. And Morgana taught him how to help people pass on to the Summerlands—that’s what he calls heaven. And that’s what he does; he communicates with the souls of those chained to this plane and does what he can to help them pass on.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “And so… with Valerie…”

  “Yes, he’s seen her. And I saw her too, this morning, in the crystal ball. It’s too much of a coincidence. Immi, I’m convinced she was murdered. I know you can’t use any of this as evidence in court, but anything I can
do to help, just say.”

  “Of course. So… do you think there’s something supernatural about her death, the way there was with Liza?”

  “I’m suspicious, mainly because Fenella, Nancy, and Leah all had the triquetra tattoo on the inside of their wrists.”

  “Oh! Goodness, well spotted. That definitely needs to be noted.” I hear her tapping on her keyboard. “Thank you for that.”

  “I promise not to interfere with your investigation, but I hope I can help.”

  “Of course you help, Gwen. People talk to you in a way that they don’t to me. You’ve already discovered that all three of her friends have a motive for murder. Or at least, a motive for disliking her.”

  “I can’t imagine that any of them killed her, but then again I didn’t think Mary looked like a murderer, so…”

  “I know what you mean,” she says. “I took a look at the video footage from last night of the Interactive Museum at the Adventure. Mary does something, doesn’t she, to block the view of the cameras? Some kind of spell.”

  “Yes, she’s quite skilled.”

  “I was worried she’d turn me into a frog.”

  I laugh. “Just make sure her hands are clean. Magic takes ingredients—herbs and flowers, that kind of thing.”

  “Okay, I will. I’d better go—things to do, and it would be nice to get home before midnight. But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll book the restaurant now. Take care, Immi.”

  We hang up. Then I dial the number for ‘I Long for Won Ton’ and book a table for the following evening.

  “That will be fun,” I tell Arthur when I’m done. “I’m looking forward to that.”

  He puts his book down. “It’ll be interesting to talk to Christian. I like him. He helped you a lot when Alice died.”

  “I got in a muddle with some of the paperwork. He was very kind.”

  “I was thinking,” he says. “You’ll be busy in the morning going with Duncan and Una to collect the urn. I wondered whether you could ask Beatrix if I could see Max and have a chat about any positions he might have.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Don’t you want to come with me and watch the urn being lifted?”

  “Not really,” he says. “It makes me feel… odd.”