A Knight on the Town

by Hermione Moon

  “I wonder whether Mary has a tattoo of a triquetra on her wrist,” Arthur says.

  Imogen and I both stare at him. “Of course,” Imogen says softly. “We know Mary is a witch. Maybe they’re all part of the same group or something.”

  “Coven,” I say. “They probably belong to the same coven. And the day they met here was Saturday—they were probably celebrating the festival of Ostara.”

  “Do you belong to a coven?” Christian asks me.

  I shake my head. “I’m a kitchen witch, sometimes called a hedge witch or a green witch. I practice alone, doing spells mainly with my baking. But covens are relatively common. I know of at least three here in Glastonbury, and this would make a fourth.”

  “I never realized. I—” Christian’s words are interrupted by Arthur, who has taken a mouthful of whisky and promptly has a fit of coughing.

  “I’m okay.” His voice comes out as a wheeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect that. That’s strong stuff.”

  Christian grins, but gives him a curious look over the top of his rectangular glasses. “You’ve truly never had whisky?”

  “No. Mead was the strongest thing I’ve drunk.” Arthur looks into his glass doubtfully. “I’m not sure this is for me.”

  “Mead?” Christian laughs. “Where are you from, really? Don’t tell me New Zealand. They have whisky there! Anyway, your accent isn’t a Kiwi one. You don’t drive. You’ve never even seen chopsticks.” He sees Imogen and I exchange a glance, and says, “Come on, guys, you can trust me. I’m not going to go and blab it out to everyone.”

  Arthur leans his elbows on the table, and the two men study each other for a moment. Arthur’s gaze slides to me, then back to Christian. He looks amused rather than angry, but he doesn’t speak.

  “I’m your friend,” Christian says. “Aren’t I?”

  That makes Arthur smile. “Of course. I’m not being obtuse. My situation is… unusual, that’s all.”

  “What he means,” Imogen adds, “is that he’s worried you’re going to think we’re all bonkers and run off and leave me.”

  “That too,” Arthur says.

  “I think I’m quickly coming to understand there are a lot of unusual things going on in Glastonbury at the moment,” Christian replies. He looks at Imogen, and the softness returns to his eyes that only appears when he looks at her. “And nothing you could say could scare me off.”

  “I sincerely doubt that,” she says.

  He grins, then looks back at Arthur. “So come on, then. Are you from a remote tribe in the Amazon rainforest or something?”

  “Not quite,” Arthur says. “I’m Romano-British.”

  Christian blinks. “Pardon?”

  Arthur runs his hand through his hair and looks at me. “Help?”

  “He’s sort of a time traveller,” I announce.

  “Okay…” Christian draws out the word, and I can see his brain struggling to accept this new information.

  I look at Imogen, who gives a little shrug. “He’s King Arthur,” she says. “His spirit was captured in a ruby that was in the pommel of the sword held by Sir Boss in the Avalon Café. Gwen let him out, and here he is.”

  Christian stares at her. His gaze slides to me. I smile. Then he looks at Arthur.

  “King Arthur,” he says.

  “I was never a king,” Arthur states. “But yes, Imogen’s telling the truth.”

  His jaw drops. “You’re serious.”

  It’s only now that Imogen’s said it out loud that I realize how unbelievable it sounds. But you can’t put toothpaste back in the tube.

  “I know it sounds incredible,” I tell Christian.

  “It does. Have you told anyone else?”

  “Only Beatrix and Max.”

  “Shouldn’t you tell everyone? Doesn’t the world deserve to know?”

  “That’s up to Arthur,” I say. “For a start, nobody would believe him. And if they did, can you imagine what would happen if scientists realized this kind of thing is possible? They’d take him away, lock him up, and do tests on him.”

  “I don’t fancy that,” Arthur says.

  Christian’s lips curve up. “Fair enough.” He leans back, accepting the glass of whisky from Arthur as he pushes it across, and he tips the contents into his own glass. “It does explain why you seem… different.”

  Arthur grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  I catch Imogen’s gaze. I’m surprised she told Christian everything. I would’ve thought she’d be too afraid that he’d laugh in her face. But I know her well enough to understand she doesn’t want secrets between them. She’s told him the truth, and if he chooses not to believe it, and to walk away from her because of it, then she’ll tell herself she didn’t want him in the first place.

  She gives me a small smile and turns her gaze to him. “So… you still want to carry on seeing me?”

  He looks at her for a long moment. Slowly, he lifts a hand and slips it beneath her hair to the nape of her neck. He pulls her toward him. Eternally recalcitrant, she resists, and he laughs and leans forward, meeting her halfway, and presses his lips to hers.

  I watch him kiss her, then drop my gaze because it feels as if I’m prying. I glance at Arthur, who’s watching me, a small smile on his lips. His gaze rests on my mouth. He’s thinking about kissing me, too.

  “I’ll get you another drink,” I tell him, my voice a squeak, and rise to go to the bar.

  I’ve told him I need time before we let our relationship develop, and that’s still true. He needs time to explore his new world and work out exactly what he wants, and I need time to get to know him, and to understand what’s happened, and what’s going on between us.

  So it’s good that we haven’t kissed yet. Really good. It makes perfect sense.

  Groaning, I lean forward and bang my head on the wooden bar.

  Chapter Seventeen

  About an hour later, we finally decide it’s time to go home. Imogen has to work early tomorrow, and I’m tired and know I’ll fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  The two guys are reluctant to leave, though. As soon as Christian accepted that Arthur is who he says he is, he didn’t stop asking questions, about what life was like in post-Roman Britain—the buildings, people, clothing, food...

  Arthur, being Arthur and completely understanding someone’s fascination with information and knowledge, answered every question Christian could come up with and more, and I can see that he loves Christian’s deep understanding of not just the Dark Ages, but of history in general.

  Christian promises to take Arthur to football and fishing with him. Arthur agrees to spend some time at the museum, discussing possible new exhibitions. I know Imogen is as delighted as I am that the two of them appear to have struck up a firm friendship.

  We part at the top of the hill, shaking hands and giving hugs, and Imogen winks at me before the two of them head off. Is she taking him back to her place? I hope so. She hasn’t dated for several years after a previous relationship ended badly. She’s thrown herself into her work, and she definitely deserves some fun.

  Arthur and I walk slowly back to the house. It’s cool now, and I’m glad of his hand warming mine. I glance up at him, feeling a strange sense of awe as I remind myself who he is. He’s so handsome. Will I really be lucky enough to keep this guy all to myself?

  “The stars are bright tonight,” I say, to cover the unease that refuses to go away.

  “They are.” He stops and looks up at them. “They’re one thing that’s stayed the same, which is reassuring.” Raising an arm, he traces Ursa Major, also called the Plough or, as my mum used to call it, the Saucepan. “I’ll have to do some reading about astronomy. Apparently there’s a telescope in space that takes photos of the stars.”

  “Yes, the Hubble. The pictures of galaxies are amazing.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s a wonderful world.”

  I smile. “It’s so lovely to hear someone say that. You�
��d be surprised how many people fail to appreciate the fantastic advances we’ve made.”

  He holds my hand again, and we continue walking. “I grew up in the years after the Romans had left Britain,” he says. “For a while, life carried on as it always had, but without that connection with Rome, everything gradually crumbled. People began leaving the cities. The roads became overgrown. The hypocaust systems stopped working, and the aqueducts fell into disrepair. The brilliance of Rome was still in living memory, so we knew what we were missing, and we longed for it. Maybe that’s why I have a greater appreciation.”

  “Maybe. Or perhaps your mind is just more expansive.” I squeeze his fingers. “It was odd watching Christian with you. He’s highly intelligent, and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He can be impatient when someone doesn’t understand the point he’s trying to get across. But even though you didn’t know how to use chopsticks, and you’d never had whisky, he found you fascinating because you have a thirst for knowledge, and you’re not afraid to say ‘I don’t know, tell me how that works.’”

  Arthur smiles at me. “I’m glad you find it an attractive thing. I’ll be saying ‘I don’t know’ an awful lot.”

  We both chuckle, and then he holds open the front garden gate for me. I go up the garden path and open the door with my key.

  We go into the living room and discover Merlin lying in front of the fire. He lifts his head as we walk in and wags his tail.

  “It’s all right,” Arthur says, “don’t get up.”

  I laugh. “Well, I think I might go to bed. I’m very tired.”

  “Of course. Sleep well.”

  “Are you staying up?”

  “I might have a read for a while,” he says.

  I meet his eyes. His lips curve up a little. I think he’s thinking about kissing me again, but I know he’s not going to.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” I say softly.

  “Thank you for inviting me out with your friends. I had a great time. Immi’s lovely, and I enjoyed Christian’s company.” He grins. “I thought he reacted very well to the revelation.”

  “Much better than I’d hoped,” I admit. “We shouldn’t tell anyone else, though. I’m worried that if it gets out…” I hesitate, not sure how to put my fears into words.

  “I know,” he murmurs. “And I’ll say it again. I’m not going anywhere, Gwen.”

  His words reassure me a little. And I like the way he says my name. It gives me goose bumps.

  “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I leave him with Merlin, and go upstairs.

  When I’m in bed, I lie there for a while and think about the evening. I’m lucky enough to have a lot of friends. I often meet up with people for coffee or a drink in the evenings, and I have Beatrix and Delia as mother figures. And I’ve known Imogen forever. But for the first time, I feel as if I have people of my own. This thing with Imogen and Christian is going to be lasting—I can feel it. He knows the truth about Arthur, and he didn’t mock us or back away in horror. He’s going to be there for Arthur, just like Max, which is important, because no matter how strong Arthur is, how solid, he’s in a very strange situation, and he’s going to need support at times.

  And the promise of our relationship lies on the horizon like a Fata Morgana—a mirage that just might turn out to be real.

  I close my eyes, my lips curved up in a smile, and within moments I fall asleep.

  *

  In the morning, I get up, shower and dress, and go downstairs to discover the house empty. Puzzled, I walk into the kitchen and discover a note on the table. It’s the first time I’ve seen Arthur’s handwriting—it looks like something a medieval monk would have written in a beautiful script; it must have taken him ages. Laughing, I open the note. It says, “Gwen—I’m trying jogging. Back soon.” He’s signed it with an elaborate X.

  Jogging? Grinning, I put on some toast and start making coffee. By the time it’s ready, I hear the front door opening, and then Merlin comes in, followed by Arthur.

  Merlin’s panting, and he immediately lies down on the tiles. Arthur laughs. “He says I’m going to kill him. He’s not very fit.”

  He’s wearing a pair of jogging bottoms and a grey T-shirt that has a deep V of sweat on the front. Sweat also glistens on his brow and in the hollow at the base of his throat. My knees feel a little weak.

  “Good morning,” he says, smiling. “You look lovely today.”

  I’m wearing jeans and white shirt ready for work, and I’ve knotted my hair up in its usual scruffy bun, so I’m nothing special, but I glow inside at the admiration on his face.

  “Sweet talker,” I tell him. “How was your run?”

  “Exhilarating. I like jogging. It was good to stretch my legs.” He takes his phone out of his pocket. “I saw other joggers with little things in their ears.”

  “Headphones?”

  “Is that what they were?”

  “They were probably listening to music. Or possibly audio books. That’s someone reading out stories.”

  Arthur’s eyebrows rise. “There is such a thing? And music…” He leans on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “I used to listen to the radio in the café. I liked some of the music on there.”

  “I’ll download Spotify for your phone,” I tell him. “Then you’ll be able to listen to any song you like.”

  “Please,” he says, and hands the phone to me.

  I take it, but hesitate. “Are you sure you don’t mind me looking at it?”

  “Why would I?”

  “I don’t know… privacy is an important thing nowadays. Everyone has a password on their phone to stop others looking. I don’t want you to think I’m invading your privacy.”

  He gives a short laugh. Then he comes around the table to stand in front of me. He bends his head. And then he kisses me on the forehead. “You’re very sweet,” he says. Then he turns, leaves the room, and goes up the stairs, saying, “I’ll have a shower.”

  I smile and open my mouth to reply. At that moment, I look up at the glass door of the cupboard in front of me. A figure is standing behind me. She’s wearing a white dress and carrying flowers, and her long brown hair hangs down around her waist. It’s Valerie.

  I inhale sharply, and beside me Merlin stiffens. My heart races at a million miles an hour, banging on my ribs. I look behind me, but there’s no ghost, no sign of the dead woman. And when I look back at the glass door, she’s gone.

  “I suppose I’m going to have to get used to this,” I say to Merlin. “This will probably keep happening until we solve her murder. That’s an incentive to get to work, if ever I’ve heard one.”

  *

  Arthur comes with me to the café, declaring that there must be something he can do to help there.

  “I do have several odd jobs, if you’re in the mood,” I say as we pull up.

  “Absolutely. Just point me in the right direction.”

  We go into the café. Delia’s there, and so is Melissa, her sister.

  “We weren’t sure whether you were coming in,” Delia states once we’ve said good morning.

  “I’m happy to go if you want me to,” Melissa adds.

  “No, please stay, if you’re not busy,” I tell her. “I’ll work for a bit, but I might go out again later.”

  “Of course,” Delia says. She pauses for a moment, but I can see she’s thinking about whether to say something else. I give her a smile of encouragement. “I was wondering…” she begins.

  “Yes?”

  She looks around the café. It’s early, so there’s only one person having a coffee at a table the moment, but she still gestures with her head toward the corridor at the back. Leaving Arthur talking to Cooper, I follow her, and she glances through the window at the kitchen, where Allison and Joss have just arrived and are putting on their aprons, ready to start making sandwiches and rolls. Delia turns into the break room instead, and when I follow her in, she closes
the door behind me.

  “What’s up?” I ask. She doesn’t look upset, just a little nervous.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she says. “About your baking.”

  “Yes…”

  She takes a deep breath. “I wondered whether you’d be willing to show me a few of the… recipes you use.” Her eyes meet mine.

  I frown. “They’re all in the folder in the kitchen. You know that.”

  “Yes… well, I didn’t mean recipes… I meant… spells.”

  I stare at her for a long moment. I’ve never told her that I’m a witch, and she’s never mentioned it. I wasn’t aware she knew there was anything different about my baking.

  “Oh,” I say. “Goodness.”

  She clenches her hands in front of her, clearly worried she’s overstepped the mark. “I’m so sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll never mention it again. But I worked with your mother for some years, and then with you, and I know there’s something special about how you bake. I know you do something with the herbs you use. I don’t know how, but I can… feel it.” She reddens.

  I’m so surprised, I’m not sure what to say.

  “I’d love to learn,” she says softly. “I’ve always been interested in witchcraft, but my mother would never have allowed me to study it, and I’ve never met anyone else who’s interested. Would you teach me?”

  Pleasure floods me, and I catch her hands in mine. “Of course I will. Oh, I wish I’d known this years ago!”

  She laughs and puts her arms around me, and we exchange a big hug.

  “I just thought that if I could help you,” she says, “it would mean that maybe you could take some more time off to be with Arthur.” She smiles. “He seems like a lovely young man.”

  It’s my turn to blush. “He is. And I think that’s a wonderful idea.” It flashes through my mind that Duncan and Una asked if I’d like to help with sorting through the coins from the urn. It might mean I can help out at the field unit a bit more, especially now Liza’s gone. I never wished her harm, but I could never have gone there while she was alive.