Ghastly Glass (18 page)

I took the radio and tucked it into my belt. “I believe I’m capable of making that decision.”

“Yeah right,” he muttered.

“What did you say? ”

“Nothing. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

The door to the apartment was locked, as it should’ve been. Nothing unusual was inside. I glanced at the bed and thought about the scythe and the message again. It wasn’t really there; all of it had been cleaned up. There was even a new comforter on the bed with my costume and a dozen red roses from Chase.

How could I stay angry at the man? He was so good, most of the time. Besides, I had the radio back, and my costume, meant to appease and provoke the king, was exactly as I’d ordered. Beth—the Village seamstress—and Portia could do miracles if you paid them enough.

By the time Chase came upstairs, I was ready. He took one look at me and sat down hard on the bed. “Where did you get that? ”

“I found it during my break while you were busy. I felt like King Harold was issuing a challenge to me after I bested the Devil yesterday. I couldn’t let it go unanswered.”

Chase got up and walked around me, looking at me from all angles. “It must be Joan of Arc.”

“You got it.” I smoothed down the miniscule white skirt that began at the armored bodice and ended up high on my thighs. The breastplate jutted out (I’ve always admired those large bosoms) but managed to be very low cut around a white ruffle that revealed more than it concealed. Part of the armor extended down my arms over the white sleeves that also ended in a ruffle at the wrist above the dainty gauntlets. “What do you think? ”

He took off my shiny silver helmet and threaded his fingers through my hair. “I think we have time for you to conquer me before we go to the feast.”

I raised my long sword. “On your knees, knave!”

W
e didn’t quite have enough time for all that much conquering to take place, but we held hands and ran to the Great Hall when we were finished. The Village was empty since everyone was at the castle. There was heavy fog on the ground and rising from Mirror Lake, courtesy of the fog-making machine.

At that moment, the spookiness didn’t bother me. Of course, I was wearing armor, carrying a large sword, and had a six-foot-eight, two-hundred-fifty-pound man running beside me. Even I’d be hard-pressed not to feel safe.

Gus Fletcher, master at arms, passed us through the gate. He was a big man, an ex-professional wrestler. He whistled as I ran by, my white skirt flying. “Looking good tonight, Jessie. Stop by my place if you’re looking for a
real
Renaissance man.”

“Hey!” Chase glanced back at him. “You could at least wait until I’m not standing right next to her!”

Gus shrugged. “Sorry, man.”

We kept running, past the serving wenches and the jugglers practicing with plastic skulls for the king and queen. There was music playing, and I could hear the sounds of laughter as the visitors to the court were entertained by the ten different performances going on while they ate dinner.

There were huge cobwebs all over the castle. Some we had to walk through, which was kind of creepy. Mirrors on the wall reflected faces that weren’t there, and a soundtrack whispered ghostly voices as we walked by. The effect was pretty chilling. I couldn’t wait to see what was happening on the field that separated the tiered dining areas that rose around it.

Chase took us up to the dais where the royal family with their courtiers and hangers-on (including sycophants and fools) sat during dinner. He was probably right in assuming we should make our bow to them before going anywhere else.

The king’s guard passed us through, and we came out of the narrow corridor to emerge in sight of Their Majesties. They were dressed in their finest, as always, but with one large change. “They’re skeletons,” I murmured to Chase. “How did they convince Livy to do
that
? ”

Before he could answer, a trumpet fanfare sounded. The king looked our way (at least his empty eye sockets did) and held out a bony hand and arm to me. “We believe one of our champions has joined us. Welcome, Craftsman! You shall best evil again here tonight for us.”

I
glanced at Chase. He shrugged. I didn’t like the way this was going. I knew anything could happen at the feast. Residents understood the rule of absolute monarchy at the event. The king and queen were the final word.

Chase bowed to Their Majesties. He looked awesome in his midnight blue velvet doublet and matching blue hose. He’d bought a nice blue and silver cape that complimented the outfit. He was one man who could wear tights and not look silly. A fact Princess Isabel seemed to notice right away.

“King Harold, your bailiff greets you this evening. Command me in your needs.”

Harry didn’t seem to notice him. His eyes behind the skull mask were fixed on me. “We are at a loss this eventide, Sir Craftsman. The queen’s champion, Sir Reginald, has taken ill. He will not be able to exact justice from an evildoer who dared disgrace Princess Isabel as she took her daily stroll through the Village.”

I
definitely
didn’t like where this was going. Sure, all of it was staged. But for the residents, it was serious stuff. The king obviously wanted me to fight Henry, who I knew was being replaced by Roger. That couldn’t happen. I mean, which of us would lie down and lose?

Livy trilled her peculiar laugh. “Harold, we have noticed something odd about your champion. The craftsman appears to be a
craftswoman
.”

The crowd of visitors laughed hysterically as they put roast beef and potatoes into their mouths. I didn’t see anything funny about what she’d said. But maybe Harry would decide he didn’t want a woman facing someone as the royal champion. That would kind of be uncharacteristic. And like my namesake at the moment, I’d probably be burned at the proverbial stake for even daring the task.

“We acknowledge our mistake in supposing the craftsman was a man and not this womanly vision in silver armor.” King Harold quaffed something from his large, royal cup. “But we ask if this woman will indeed fight to defend Princess Isabel’s honor.”

If you ask me, I’d say the king had quaffed a little too much for one night. What was he thinking? So Sir Reginald didn’t feel good. He probably ate too much for dinner. There were plenty of other knights who could take on the responsibility.

“Your Majesty.” Chase tried to get Harry’s attention again. “I would be delighted to fight on behalf of Princess Isabel and vanquish the evil one who disturbed her.”

Queen Olivia giggled and held her hand out to him. “Approach, Sir Bailiff. You shall sit at my right for the match as Sir Reginald would have done could he be here. We feel certain there will be all manner of things for us to discuss.”

The crowd laughed again. No doubt there’d been too much ale poured by that time. But I was still in a fix. It was my own fault for daring to pique Harry’s interest. I could’ve dressed in a simple craftsman’s outfit. But oh no, I had to show him that it was a woman who beat the Devil. That’s what I get for being prideful.

“Now, good craftswoman,” King Harold instructed, “you shall go down on yon field and address the evildoer. Whose favor shall you carry with you? ”

I bowed my head to the inevitable. “I shall carry Sir Bailiff’s favor, sire, if he will give it.”

I didn’t think before I spoke. The women of the court all carried handkerchiefs to give out as favors. What would Chase give me?

He got to his feet, tall and handsome, his long brown braid over one shoulder. The light glinted on the silver earring he’d exchanged for his usual gold hoop to match his outfit. I apologized mentally for putting him on the spot. I hoped he didn’t feel obligated to do anything weird or embarrassing to live up to my request. I mean, if he had to take off his hose or something, that would be bad. Interesting, but bad.

But Chase didn’t seem phased by my request. He walked back to me and removed his silver earring, hooking it carefully on my breastplate. He bent his head and kissed me. The crowd went wild. “For luck.” He smiled and winked at me. “Keep your sword up.”

By this time the crowd was clapping their hands and stamping their feet. The roar was almost too loud to hear the beginning of the challenge as the trumpets sounded and Lord Dunstable came to the microphone.

“Good ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the crowd. “We have a grievous assault on a royal personage. This slight shall not go unpunished. Fighting for the princess’s honor is Mistress Jessie Morton. Fighting for the offender, Henry Trent, is Roger Trent of the Craft Guild.”

Roger came out into the arena in full dress garb. His doublet was made of red velvet, embroidered with threads of gold. He didn’t wear tights, thank goodness. His black breeches ended in tall, black boots. His short sword hung from his waist in a black scabbard. The light from the ceiling gleamed from his shaven head. It might’ve been better if he’d worn a hat.

But he cut a good, strong figure on the sawdust-covered floor of the Great Hall. He raised his sword and turned in all directions to face the crowd. As was customary, half of the crowd booed and the other half cheered. They knew which to do by the cheerleaders who held up signs and encouraged their sides to yell the loudest.

Roger knelt before the king and queen. “Your Majesties, I am here to honor my guild and my family for the dishonor caused by my nephew, Henry. I pray you will grant us favor after this match, whatever the outcome.”

The king and queen both agreed to forgive the debt after the match. I made my way down to the arena floor, feeling hundreds of eyes on my short, white skirt and silver armor. It was kind of exciting and a little strange. I wasn’t sure what exactly was required of me in the match. Obviously we never really fight, just give a good show. Like Tony and I had done.

Lord Dunstable stood between us as I reached Roger’s side. He took his finger off the microphone and addressed us. “Decide now which of you is falling down.”

“I’m not falling down,” Roger said.

“I’m not falling down either.”

Lord Dunstable glared at both of us. “You have ten minutes to decide this while you fight. I’ll give you the signal to start and the signal to stop. One of you has to lay down your arms or otherwise surrender. Got it? ”

Roger looked at me mutinously. All the good rapport we’d gained that day was obviously gone. I glared back before setting my visor down on my face and raising my sword.

I thought about the two-week training everyone who works in the Village receives. It covers events like this one, jousting, being put in the stocks, all the strange, physical things that can happen to a resident. My sword wasn’t sharp like a real sword, but I supposed it could hurt if it hit Roger the wrong way. The same thing could be said for his. At least I
hoped
his wasn’t real.

“Let’s get this over with,” Roger growled, taking out his sword.

“I thought you wanted my favor to have during the duel.” Mary’s voice was like an angel stopping by to make this whole battle thing better. Roger and I both looked at her.

He fell to his knees at her feet, tears flowing down his face. “Mary! You came! I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

She resembled an angel, too, dressed in a long, flowing white gown. She looked beautiful and ethereal. I don’t know whether the white was supposed to be corpselike, but it worked for her. She put her hand out and touched Roger’s head. “Baby, we’ve been apart too long. It was pride, I know. We won’t let it happen again.”

He sniffed and wiped his tears from her shoes. “Let’s get married. We’ve been together a long time. You’re a widow now. There’s no reason for either of us to be alone anymore.”

Mary glanced at me. “We’ll talk about it after you rough Jessie up some. Right now, I think the crowd is getting restless.”

She was right. Without the bones from the little chickens that are normally served (the menu calls them Cornish hens), the audience was looking around for things to throw to show their displeasure—and they found some. A rain of various forms of potatoes and tomatoes flew through the air at us. It was only a matter of time before my silver armor would be marred by a vegetable.