Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  When you are setting out to write a story featuring well-known fairytale or fantasy characters, I recommend looking at the source material for your initial inspiration. It wouldn’t make any sense to me if I used famous characters in my stories, only to take away the stuff that made them that famous character to begin with. To me, the important characteristics about Galahad needed to be included or he would just be a generic knight.

  Luckily, I had centuries of source material, as Sir Galahad has been around for about eight hundred years. In my research, I looked for what really differentiated Galahad from the other knights in the King Arthur tales. What made him unique? I finally narrowed in on, what I thought, were the simple, fundamental, essential ingredients to making Galahad Galahad:

  1) He’s on a quest for a grail

  2) He’s a virgin

  3) He’s chosen by destiny to achieve great things

  4) He’s the best knight in the world

  5) Everybody knows he’s the best knight in the world

  It seems like this guy would be… perfect. Which would be incredibly annoying to the un-perfect people around him and also sets an impossibly high bar for Galahad to live up to. If you’re destined for flawless nobility, how can you possibly reach it? The Battle of Legion chapters were the first ones I wrote, which I think helped me to understand my version of Galahad and shape his character. In the end, I feel like Galahad’s struggles made him more interesting than if it all came easy for him. …Although I did enjoy coming up with all of his incredible, impossible, utterly insane achievements. My personal favorite is Galahad decoding the secret language of the dolphins.

  In the Kinda Fairytale series, I try to use a mix of references from fairytales, mythology, legends, nursery rhymes, etc… from various cultures. For Best Knight Ever, I of course drew on all of that again. (The 2802 model number of Galahad’s gun comes from a possible solution to the riddle of how many people were traveling to St. Ives, for instance.) But, I leaned heaviest on the King Arthur tales for inspiration in this book. They had so many weird details, just dying to be mined for ideas. There is a “hand of fire” protecting a castle in some iterations of Sir Galahad’s story. How could I not include that? Ditto with the glatisant lizard. I mean, if the Arthurian Legend wants to give me something like “barking lizards” to play with, I feel almost obligated to have Trystan eat them. There is also a subtext of infertility in the grail legend, with lands being reduced to wastelands and various “thigh wounds.” This fits with the gryphons being cursed and Uther being unable to have more children. It all just seemed to come together in my head.

  Whenever possible, I also tried to use place and character names from the King Arthur tales, even though I doubt I could pronounce some of them correctly. (Mynyw???) For instance, the Fisher King helps to guide the grail-questers on their way in many versions, which is how Fisher Welkyn got his name in my book. “Siege Perilous,” the name of the casino in Best Knight Ever, is my favorite borrowed phrase. In the Arthurian legends, it is the vacant seat reserved for the knight who finds the grail. Not only does that kind of fit with the theme of the book, it also just sounds cool. I thank all the authors who added and told these amazing stories for the past thousand years. They gave me a lot of material to draw from, as I built this world.

  Trystan is one aspect of this book who did not relate to the King Arthur stories, though. He appeared almost by accident in The Kingpin of Camelot. His entire character sprang from the very small part of Alice in Wonderland featuring griffins. I had originally slated him for Esmeralda’s story, but that version of her book faded away pretty quick and Trystan migrated to Camelot. For this book, I lifted some names from the Tristan and Isolda legend, which does connect to the Camelot tales, but I don’t really consider that Tristan and my Trystan to be the same character. In the Arthurian Legend, Lyonesse is the homeland of Tristan, though, and it sinks beneath the sea. This reminded me of Atlantis, so it fits perfectly in my story. And in keeping with the idea of a sunken island, I made sure to dunk poor Galahad in water as much as possible. Trystan appreciated my efforts.

  I see this book as more of an Adventure Romance story than a Medieval Romance story, so searching for Atlantis also helped to give the characters some adventure-y things to do. (If you’ve read Linda Howard’s “Heart of Fire” or seen The Mummy movie from 1999 that’s the genre I was going for here. A treasure hunt through a dangerous land, while falling for your partner on the quest.) I also mixed in some Western elements, because Westerns often have themes of post-war societies trying to rebuild. I feel like the time Galahad and Trystan spend in Ted-ville is especially drawing from that idea.

  Since Trystan has no real fairytale/legendary counterpart for me to acknowledge, he was wide open for me to write however I saw fit. Which basically means he talked and I wrote it down. Fortunately, Trystan is very easy to write… which sometimes makes him hard to write. He almost always knows what he wants to do. If I need him to do X and he doesn’t feel like doing X, then X doesn’t happen. On the plus side, this means that is character stays consistent and his voice always comes through to me. On the down side, this means he can be stubborn about what storylines he will accept.

  Fortunately, he liked Galahad. A lot. Writing them together was never difficult, because Trystan would always think of something to say. Usually it was something sarcastic, but I could tell he was interested in Galahad pretty quick. Writers shouldn’t play favorites with their characters, but I love Trystan. He’s one of my favorites. I wanted to give him the True Love he wanted and I feel like I did.

  For the purposes of literary authenticity, my sister, Elizabeth, and I selflessly investigated the soundness of Galahad’s Pop-Chocolate idea. (You’re welcome.) The research was arduous. We popped a bag of extra-butter microwave popcorn and scientifically sprinkled some semi-sweet chocolate chips over it. The combination only occurred to me because we keep chocolate chips and popcorn in the same kitchen cabinet, so I wasn’t sure it would actually work. (Somewhere, someone else has no doubt tried it first, but this is the highly sophisticated way that I got the idea.) Anyway, I am happy to report the success of the experiment. Even Liz was impressed and she was skeptical about the entire concept. We both highly recommend the melty goodness of this super-complicated recipe. I have no idea how to make potato chips with candy coating, so I’m unsure how Gala-Chips would taste. I’m guessing pretty good, though. Well, maybe not a caramel-and-whey flavor…

  With regards to the next book in the A Kinda Fairytale series, I am still writing Esmeralda’s story. (I do not blame anyone who is rolling their eyes as they read that, given my well-documented troubles with the book.) However, I have recently been working on it from a new angle and I feel more encouraged. I also have written several chapters of a new Elemental-Phases book, which makes me pretty happy. My hope is to keep up the momentum and get books out quicker. Please stay tuned!

  On a sadder and more serious note, there have been real instances of people being put in zoos. In the early part of the twentieth century, an African man named Ota Benga was exhibited in the Bronx Zoo in New York. Public outcry about his treatment eventually led the zoo to stop Ota Benga’s exploitation, but his life continued to be a tragic one. There have been several books written and films made about Ota Benga. It is worth learning more about him and about this very sad moment in American history, if only to help insure that this type of inhumanity can’t happen, again.

  Please drop me a line if you have any questions or comments about this book or any other at: starturtlepublishing@gmail.com. The same email address can be used to sign up for our mailing list for news about our upcoming books. We also have a Facebook page, which we update fairly regularly, and a new and improved website at www.starturtlepublishing.com. I hope to see you there!

  Sneak Peek!

  Please enjoy a preview of the next book in the “Kinda Fairytale” series, The Kingpin of Camelot.

  Prologue

  Avalon

  Thre
e Days Ago

  Avalon Pendragon wanted her daddy.

  Her mommy was locked up in the dungeon, and her house was full of mean people, and the Scarecrow kept yelling at her, and she just wanted her daddy to come and make everything okay.

  Since that wasn’t happening today, she comforted herself with her drawings. Avalon liked to draw. Her mommy said she was the best artist in the whole world and had set up a special place for her, on the western terrace of the palace, where she could create her masterpieces in the open air. Usually, Avalon used her crayons to color flowers and dolphins and the rocking-horseflies in the garden. But lately all her pictures featured a mighty queen with an eyepatch and wings, who would sweep down to get rid of all the mean people forever. Avalon liked those pictures.

  “Now isn’t the time to obfuscate.” The Scarecrow paced around the veranda, trying to hide the fact that he hated her under his phony smile.

  It was a gloomy day, a cold breeze cutting across the kingdom. From the terrace, Avi could see straight down the hill to the foggy forest and then to Mount Baden far in the distance. All of it was dreary. Avalon missed the sun, but it would stay away until Camelot was happy again.

  “We need to identify where the wand is located and it’s incumbent on you to relay the information forthwith.” The Scarecrow nodded like she was supposed to know what all of that meant. “It’s imperative that you cooperate, Princess Avalon.”

  Of all the people in the world, the Scarecrow was her least favorite. Not just because he was ugly and talked funny, but because he was the meanest of them all.

  He was ugly, though.

  His head was made of burlap, with painted features that somehow moved, and a wide-brimmed felt hat. He dressed in a long coat made up of different patches of fabric all sewn together. Avalon had heard someone say that each square had been ripped from the clothing of his victims. That was just icky, because some of them still had blood stains on them.

  Most gross of all, of course, were the birds. The Scarecrow’s body was made of straw and kindling, his arms “comprised” of many branches that he could “articulate” like “appendages.” Those were the words Avalon had heard him using to describe his weird finger-y sticks, anyhow. The Scarecrow liked to use big words when he talked. She wasn’t always sure what they all meant, but she kinda thought that was the point of him using them. To make everybody think they were dumber than him.

  As if the bundles of wooden twigs he used as hands weren’t creepy enough, inside his torso and limbs lived dozens of blackbirds. They nested in the hay and sticks, always ready to do his bidding.

  Avalon liked animals, but she was terrified of those birds. She wasn’t even sure they were birds. Sometimes she felt like they were pieces of the Scarecrow himself that he could send flying out of his body to peck out his enemies’ eyes and noses. Avalon never knew where they would be and it was scary.

  In Camelot, there were all kinds of people. Human-sized mice, and giants, and pixies, and fish who could talk… Avalon respected them all as unique beings. Her mommy said it was important to treat everybody equal. But the Scarecrow was different. Wrong. Inside of him there was nothing but birds and meanness. She didn’t want to talk to him.

  “Are you heeding this discussion?” He prompted when she didn’t answer. “Avalon, concentrate. You must confess to where the wand is located. If you relinquish it to me, you can have Guinevere back.” He crouched down in front of the small table where she was coloring and tried a big, fake smile. “Isn’t that what you desire? Your mother returned to you? You need to help me in my undertaking, if we’re going to make that fond dream a reality.”

  Avalon didn’t like to look at him. It disturbed her to watch his dirty coat move as the birds shifted under the patchwork fabric. “You’re a bad person.” She told him, because it was wrong to lie. “I’m not helping you.”

  His painted-on eyes narrowed and he forgot he was pretending to be her friend. “I’m not Bad. You’re Bad. You and your Bad kind have polluted this kingdom long enough with your villainy. Soon enough, all of you will be expunged from Camelot.”

  Avalon wasn’t sure what “expunged” meant, but it sounded mean. “My mommy and daddy are going to stop you from hurting everyone.” She knew that was true, so why didn’t he? It was clear to her that the Scarecrow wasn’t nearly as smart as he pretended.

  “Your father is dead!” He shouted and his birds restlessly fluttered in agitation. “Killed by your murderous mother in this very house!” He pointed upward, towards the balcony where King Arthur had fallen the year before.

  Avalon finally met his eyes, shocked that he could believe such a lie. “My daddy isn’t dead.” She said with absolute confidence.

  The Scarecrow hesitated, as if her certainty confused him. “Of course, he’s dead. I beheld his corpse with my own eyes. It’s interred in the royal tomb.”

  Avalon tilted her head, studying him for a long moment. “No,” she finally decided and went back to her drawing, “you’re wrong.”

  The Scarecrow’s lips tightened. They were painted to look like stitches in the burlap. “I grow weary of your obstructionism.” Reaching over with his twig-fingers, he grabbed all the crayons from her.

  Avalon sent him an angry glare. “Those are mine!”

  “No more coloring for you, until I receive the information that I seek.” He glowered down at the drawing she was working on. “And that is one fucking hideous picture.”

  Avalon gasped in outrage. It was a beautiful picture and cursing was a no-no.

  “I realize now that I’ve been too lax in my interactions with you and your mother.” He snapped. “Perhaps you’d like to spend some time in the dungeon yourself.” He seized Avalon by the arm, dragging her inside. “See if that refreshes your memory.”

  Avalon allowed herself to be tugged along. Not that she had much of a choice, since he was so much bigger than her. But if the Scarecrow was taking her to see her mommy, then he was forcing her to go just where she wanted to be, anyhow. Avalon loved her mommy more than anyone and missed her desperately.

  She didn’t fight at all, as he propelled her past the castle’s fancy rooms, towards the stairs she was never supposed to play on. They were made of heavy stones and led down, down, down into the lowest level of the house.

  Avalon squinted into the darkness looming below her, her heart pounding. “You shouldn’t do this.” She warned him quietly, because everybody deserved one last chance to fix their behavior.

  Her mommy always said that when Avalon was breaking the rules. “One last chance to fix your behavior, Avi, and then you’re going to be in big trouble.” If you were smart, like Avalon, at that point you stopped being naughty and made better choices. If Mommy said you were in big trouble, something horrible could happen. Like losing your dessert, or having to cut playtime short, or even an early bedtime.

  The Scarecrow wasn’t nearly so smart as her, though. He ignored Avalon’s advice and began lugging her down the cold steps. “It’s about time you and your mother comprehended who’s ruling this kingdom, now. Once I marry her, you’ll learn to obey me and show some respect for your betters, you Bad little…”

  And then he was gone.

  One second he was shouting at her, his twiggy hand crushing her wrist. The next he was flailing down the stairs, into the blackness of the dungeon. It all happened very fast. Avalon felt someone yanking her away from the Scarecrow’s grip and lifting her off the ground.

  “Don’t watch, Avi.” Mommy said.

  At almost the same time, the Scarecrow was shouting in alarm and careening backwards. Avalon obediently closed her eyes, like her mommy said, but she still heard his body thumping down the steps. The disgusting birds squawked with panic.

  Mommy had pushed him and his nasty flock down the stairs.

  Mommy always kept her safe from the mean people.

  Avalon peeked upward and wasn’t surprised at all that her mother was invisible. The cloak was one of their favorite magical o
bjects. Usually, Mommy got it out during games of hide-and-seek.

  She beamed happily. “Hi, Mommy! Are we going to play, now?”

  “Absolutely we are. And it’s going to be very fun. We’re going to be super-duper quiet, so no one can find us.”

  The cloak swirled around Avalon and she became invisible, too. Inside the folds of the enchanted fabric she could finally see her mommy and she didn’t look so good. Being locked in the dungeon for days and days must have been sad for her. She was hurt and covered in dirt and way thinner, now.

  Avalon blinked up at her, her eyes filling with tears. This didn’t seem like a fun game, at all. “You okay, Mommy?”

  “I’m fine, baby. Are you okay?” She scanned Avalon from head to toe. “Did anyone hurt you?”

  “No.” Avalon shook her head. “But I don’t like it here, anymore. I want my daddy.”

  Mommy sighed, like she was tired. “I need you to be very, very quiet, alright?” She made a “shhh!” sound and carried Avalon back upstairs. “We have to escape without anyone noticing.” At the top of the steps, she hesitated and cautiously looked around. There were several of the King’s Men stationed about, but they couldn’t see Avi or her mommy inside the cloak.

  Mommy carefully edged around them, heading for the terrace. It was the closest way out. “I wish we could steal a horse, but I don’t see how we can get into the stables without someone noticing.” She whispered. “So, we’re going to hop over the railing in your art area and run as fast as we can towards the woods.”

  “I like running.”

  “Good. Don’t stop running. You keep going until we’re in the trees. We just need to put some distance between…”