Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (50 page)

A slow smile spreads across my face. “So all we have
to do is come up with an idea for a bet that Lord Verdgris thinks
he can’t lose, but
we
know he can?”

Pembroke smiles back. “Precisely, madam.”

Well, that seems easy enough. “I think I have an
idea.”

Chapter
16

I’ve just finished whispering the details of my plan
to my fellow prisoners. And they aren’t that enthusiastic.

“Let me get this straight,” Jaclyn whispers. “You’re
going to convince Lord Verdigris to transport all of us back to New
Jersey so
you
can fight a duel with him there? And bet him
that if he loses, we get to stay in New Jersey? But if he wins,
he gets to kill us all
, even the immortals? Why don’t we all
just hang ourselves with magic nooses now?”

I hold up my hand. “Keep your voice down, Jaclyn.
You don’t want him to overhear. Just let me explain things in a
little more detail.”

“Yes, please do, madam,” Pembroke whispers. “For
even though you are my heart’s most beloved, I must confess I am
having a spot of trouble with your plan as well.”

“I plan to offer Lord Verdigris the opportunity to
fight a duel with me on my home turf of New Jersey. The only catch
is,
I
get to choose the venue, the rules, and the weapon.
And trust me, nobody knows more about how to survive the tough
streets of New Jersey better than me. I think everything’ll work
out fine.”

Jaclyn arches an eyebrow. “You’ll choose the venue?
And
the weapon? What makes you think Lord Verdigris’ll go
for it?”

“Oh, I have my ways,” I snicker. “Just leave
everything to me.”

I break up our huddle, clap my hands, and begin
shouting out into the mists. “Hey! Lord Verdigris! HEY! Are you
listening? ‘Cause I got a proposal for ya!”

Silence.

“HEY! I know you’re out there, somewhere! And I’ve
got a BET for you. A BET you’re sure to win! C’mon! I know you love
to gamble!”

Silence.

“You can’t lose!”

The cartoonish laughter once again fills our cell.
“My lady Louisa, there is no such thing as a wager that cannot be
lost,” he says, feigning indifference. But I can tell that he’s
still just a little bit interested.

“Okay, fair enough,” I offer. “Let’s just say it’s a
wager that would be
very difficult
for you to lose.
Difficult, but not impossible.” How about that?”

“Go on.”

“All right. You agree to transport all of us to my
hometown of Trenton, New Jersey so you and I can fight a duel. A
duel with rules and weapons of my choosing. If you win the duel,
you get to use whatever means you want to kill all of us. But if
you lose, me and all my friends get to stay in New Jersey, and you
also give me the secret of opening and controlling the master
portal. And you also agree to free Bridget and let her live with me
in New Jersey.”

There’s more silence while Lord Verdigris thinks it
over. After almost a full minute, he speaks. “What happens in the
event of a tie?”

A tie?
Well, I guess that’s something I
hadn’t thought about. I ponder this a moment, then come up with
something I think is pretty reasonable. “Well, in the event of a
tie, you get to challenge The Rose Knight in a jousting match at
Medieval Worlds
, the place where I first met you. Winner
takes all. How about that?”

“Very well then, Lady Louisa. I agree to your wager.
And I shall look forward to winning it and killing you all.”

More of that annoying cartoonish laughter. And all
at once, the vortex begins to spin, spin, spin, faster and faster,
until we’re all spat out one by one onto the pavement on Kingsbury
Street in Trenton’s South Ward. There’s a rundown pizzeria on one
side, and a gun shop on the other.

Perfect.

Pembroke and Trenton look around, utterly mystified.
Jaclyn just looks scared. (The rough-looking neighborhood punks
watching us from their hangout on the corner probably aren’t making
her feel very safe.)

“Madam, pray, what is this strange and exotic
place?” Pembroke asks.

“This is Trenton, New Jersey,” I say. “This is my
home.”

Chapter
17

Lord Verdigris appears out of thin air on the
pavement beside us. To my surprise, instead of his usual elegant
knight’s clothing, he’s dressed in urban-homeboy clothes circa
2009—a Fubu shirt and matching baseball cap (turned backwards, of
course), unlaced Converse hi-tops, baggy jeans pulled way down his
ass, and a huge fourteen-carat-gold dollar-sign necklace.
Obviously, Lord Verdigris studied up on early
21
^st
-century urban culture before dropping by. He blends
right in with the rest of the Trenton, New Jersey riffraff.

Unlike the rest of us, who are all dressed in our
Hall of Harlots clothes. The gangbangers on the corner are closing
in, probably casing us out as easy mugging targets.

Lord Verdigris gets up from the pavement, dusts
himself off, and looks at me expectantly. “Well, I am here, Lady
Louisa, as promised. Now if you will please proceed with this
absurd duel of yours so that I may kill you and your friends.”

“All right,” I say, standing up and dusting off my
Vampira gown—which wouldn’t play well on the streets of Trenton
even on its best day, let alone now when it’s been torn literally
to shreds by all that swirling around in the goddamn time vortex.
“Let’s get this party started.” I turn to the group of gangbangers
who’ve just closed in on us before they can have a chance to pull
their guns. “Hey, homeboys,” I say, and flash the Gangsta Disciples
sign at them. (My next-door-neighbor back in my apartment building
is an undercover cop; he taught me all the local gang signs to use
in case I ever got into a jam on the street). The Disciples return
the sign and grin. “What da fuck is up wid yo outfit, ho?” one of
them asks. “You an yo peeps is dressed
weird.
An’ how’d
y’all just fly down outa da sky like dat? Dat shit is fucked
up!
”

“We ummm, just parachuted down from a costume
party,” I try to explain. “On Donald Trump’s private plane. Yeah.
We umm, we work for Donald Trump and he sent us all down here to
scope out some property for his next riverfront casino. He wants to
build a new Trump Tower in Downtown Trenton.”

A boldface lie, of course. Donald Trump would
probably eat Rosie O’Donnell’s pussy with a side of coleslaw before
he would come within even five miles of Trenton, but these
gangbangers don’t look smart enough to know any better.

“Awright, cool,” the gangbangers’ leader says,
adjusting his low-hanging ghetto jeans. “Dat’s what we need round
here. Some goddamn video poker.” He pushes up the sleeves of his
New Jersey Nets satin team jacket and cuts his eyes at Lord
Verdigris, who is growing increasingly impatient. “So what else
y’all doin’ here, huh? You look like y’all got some other bidness
‘sides real estate.”
“As a matter of fact we are,” I say. “My friend over here”—I point
at Lord Verdigris—“is from Philadelphia, and he and I have a bet to
settle before we scope out any property for Mr. Trump. And I’ve
decided that we’ll settle the bet with a game of Yo’ Mama. Winner
takes all. I need some street-smart guys to judge the game. Y’all
up for that?”

The gangbangers laugh, slap hands, and nod. “Hell
yeah,” says their leader. “We always got time for a game o’ Yo’
Mama. Which one o’ y’all gonna start?”

“I will,” I say. “Once I’ve explained the rules of
the game to my friends here. See, they don’t play Yo Mama back
where they’re from, so they need to know a little about what it
is.”

Lord Verdigris holds up his hand. “I require no
explanation, Lady Louisa. We play a version of this game in my own
time. ‘The game, ‘tis as ancient as the Romans.”

The gangbangers stare at him. “Damn, dat dude talk
funny,” one of them says. “He don’t sound like he from no Philly,
neither” another says.

“He’s from South Philly,” I explain. “The Irish
part.”

They seem to accept that. “Well for the rest of you,
the rules of the game are, Lord Verdigris and I will trade insults
about our mothers until the judges here declare a winner. And if
there’s a tie, we’ll have to go to
Medieval Worlds’
to
settle the bet.”

“Aw, y’all goin’ to dat knights-an-horses joint?”
the lead gangbanger asks. “I went there once on a field trip. Dang
place smells like horse shit.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it does. Now let’s get started,
shall we? Lord Verdigris, your mama is so fat, she’s got her own
kingdom.”

He rolls his eyes. “Verily, ye say so? Well, Lady
Louisa, your mother is so fat, she fell in love—and broketh
it.”

Everybody laughs. “I think I played a version of
this in the nursery with the servants’ children back at Elysia,”
Pembroke says.

“That’s nice, Pembroke,” I reply. “But please shut
up until we’re finished. You’re messing up my rhythm.” And I didn’t
expect Lord Verdigris to actually be
good
at this game,
either—but as usual, he’s full of surprises. “Lord Verdigris, your
mama is so fat, she sweats lard.”

“Lady Louisa, your mother is so ugly, she makes
blind children cry.”

“Oh yeah? Your mother is so ugly, when she looks in
the mirror, it breaks.”

“Your mother is so ugly, Lady Louisa, that the tide
won’t come back in.”

“Well, your mama is so ugly that Medusa is
jealous.”

“Your mother is so ugly, her pillow weeps all night
long.”

“Your mama is so fat, her tailor has to take
measurements in centuries.”

“Your mother is so fat, her gown is used to house a
garrison of soldiers.”

“Your mama is so stupid, she tried to drown a
fish.”

“Your mother is so old, when I told her to act her
age, she died.”

By now we’ve both run out of insults. Lord Verdigris
and I just fold our arms across our chests and give each other the
staredown from hell.

Jaclyn turns to the gangbangers. “So, judges. Who
won?”

The gangbangers huddle for a conference. After a
minute or two of discussion, they throw up their hands. “Dude, I
dunno who won,” one of them says. “They wuz both pretty good.”

The lead gangbanger agrees. “Looks like a tie to
me.”

Lord Verdigris smiles, rubs his hands together like
a slumlord. “Then let the jousting begin!”

He snaps his fingers, and we’re all caught up in the
time vortex yet again—but only for a moment. When we come back down
to earth, I find myself back at the
Medieval Worlds
arena,
at the exact same moment I headed off for the men’s room and got
myself into this whole mess in the first place. But instead of
sitting on a haybale narrowly missing flying rump roasts, I’m
backstage, in the
stables-slash-dressing-room-slash-employee-break-room.

Lord Verdigris is here too, of course. And he’s back
in his gorgeous Green Knight getup, the very same getup that helped
seduce me in the men’s room back in what seems like an eternity
ago—but in terms of the space-time continuum, was actually just a
second or two ago.

Lord Verdigris is saddling his horse. “Your plans
for the tiebreaker were perfect, my lady Louisa,” he says. “For I
never miss a jousting match—in any century. Good Sir Rose Knight, I
shall see you in the ring. Godspeed to you, sir. For ye shall
require all the well-wishes on earth to sustain ye in Hades.”

With that, Lord Verdigris mounts his horse and heads
for the arena.

Jaclyn, Pembroke, and I are just standing around,
confused and even a little frightened. Because not only have we
been dropped into the
Medieval Worlds’
arena without a
second to spare before putting all our lives on the line, in his
infinite time-traveling wisdom, Lord Verdigris has somehow managed
to have us all dressed in the cheesy polyester costumes of
Medieval Worlds’
beer waiters. I’m even carrying a tray of
Bud Light pitchers, and dodging catcalls from the head bartender to
“get my ass back out on the floor and move the booze.”

But Trenton’s not worried at all. He’s in his
element. He’s dressed in a sort of postmodern Rose Knight outfit
and jousting armor, a cross between Heath Ledger’s outfit in
A
Knight’s Tale
and the football-player-inspired armor Patrick
Stewart wore in
Excalibur!
He’s already commandeered the
best-looking stallion from the stables and is preparing to saddle
him, much to the chagrin of the teenaged stable boy.

“Hey you! You can’t take that horse! You don’t even
work here!”

The Rose Knight points his massive lance squarely in
the kid’s face. “I do now, lad. And ye would be wise not to cross
me, for I can run ye through in the blink of a mare’s eye.”

The stable boy wisely backs down. “I’m gonna get
fired for this,” he mutters to himself.

Pembroke and I hold each other tight. Jaclyn blows a
kiss to Trenton, then kneels to pray. All our lives, mortal or
immortal, are now in The Rose Knight’s hands.

We all follow behind Trenton’s trotting white
stallion towards the arena, just as a deep male voice with a thick
Jersey accent booms over the loudspeaker. “ATENSHUN, ladies an’
gents. Now comin’ into da joustin’ ring is da Green Knight,
Medieval Worlds’ most popular atTRACKshun. Put yer hands together
fer da Green Knight, folks! Da Green Knight is UNDEFEEEEEETED in da
joustin’ arena, folks! Grab a haybale, cop a squat, and watch as Da
Green Knight kicks yet another opponent in da ass! An’ Da Green
Knight’s opponent today is—“

The loudspeaker broadcasts shuffling papers,
followed by static, followed by angry whispering. “Da Rose Knight?
What kinda freakin’ pansy name is Da Rose Knight? I ain’t never
heard o’ no Rose Knight nohow. Awright, forgeddaboudit.Folks, watch
as Da Green Knight kicks Da Pansy Rose Knight’s Ass!”