A murmur ripples through the room. I glance over at Melphus and his cronies, who are all quiet and still. For a split second, I lock eyes with the known Hordesman and sworn adversary of my lord and knightly lover until I lose my nerve and stare back down at my embroidery.
“Well, I don’t think we wanna speculate too much on that,” Grizzly replies. “Middle Marches is in a load of mess, though, that’s for sure.
Everyone, that is, except Master Melphus, who stands up.
“It ain’t the shire of Middle Marches that’s in a mess,” Melphus growls. “Pretty much everyone else here is, though.”
Lady Ceridwen clears her throat and tries to say something, but instead just falls into a massive coughing fit. Baron Grizzly whacks her on the back a few times and she stops, but she gestures to Grizzly that she’s unable to speak.
Baron Grizzly takes over. “All right, Melphus, what’s the problem?”
“You oughta know, Grizz. You were there. You saw everything that happened.” Master Melphus takes a fighting stance, with his knees bent and his back arched.
“I didn’t have anything to do with that fire and you know it,” Grizzly hisses back.
Master Melphus’ burly entourage, who all look like rejects from the set of Dog: The Bounty Hunter, stand up and form a semicircle behind their leader. Paladar the Passionate is pounding one meaty fist over and over into his palm. All the men have their flinty eyes locked on Baron Grizzly in a collective gaze that could melt steel. The air in the basement lounge hangs thick, and I’m pretty sure everyone has stopped breathing. I know I have.
Master Melphus’s cigarette-roughened voice finally cuts the air. “Maybe you didn’t have nothin’ to do with that fire, Grizz, but you did have a lot to do with me an’ the boys here gettin’ arrested. You sold all of us down the river, Your Excellency. The Horde managed to bail most of us out, but Lady Ramona’s still in jail, ‘cause they set her bail at $100,000. And it’s all your fault. Why’d you have to go an’ do somethin’ like that, huh?”
At this, Lady Ceridwen goes into another wild coughing fit, and Baroness Barlonda goes white as sugar. Baron Grizzly says nothing, and just starts chewing his bottom lip.
Pegeen nudges me and whispers, “I told you there’d be some great gossip at this meeting.”
“No, you didn’t,” I whisper back, never taking my eyes off the dueling Melphus and Grizzly. “You said these meetings were boring.”
“Shhh,” Pegeen replies, and jabs me with her knitting needle again. “Watch.”
“Master Melphus, you got yourself arrested an’ you know it,” Grizzly finally shoots back, even as Barlonda is making wild motions for him to stop talking.
“Funny for you to say such a thing, Baron Grizzly, considering you’re one of our best customers.” Melphus, who hasn’t unlocked his eyes from Baron Grizzly’s chubby old face, is clenching both fists. From the look of his attack-dog stance, I think he might jump Grizzly any minute.
“I dunno what yer talkin’ about,” Grizzly says weakly. Master Melphus and his entourage start to laugh.
Suddenly, thinking back to the conversation Grizzly and Syr Phillip had at the front door of Ramona’s house that night, I realize what the dispute must be about. I know that Master Melphus and most of the post-revel attendees probably all got busted for marijuana possession, or even marijuana dealing—but was it because Baron Grizzly tipped them off to the cops? It must have been, because Grizzly’s forehead is practically gushing sweat. “I did what I had to do, Melphus. You have my apologies, but you have to understand I got a wife to think about. I could lose my job if—”
Master Melphus scoffs and steps closer to Grizzly. “Funny,” he hisses. “You never seemed to worry too much about that before.” A few latecomers straggle into the meeting room, but freeze in their tracks when they see the near-melee that has erupted between the two middle-aged men. “Consider yourself out of the business, Your Excellency.”
Baron Grizzly lets out a long, slow breath. Barlonda puts her face in her hands. Pegeen drops her knitting, takes a small notepad out of her purse, and starts doodling something that I can’t read.
“Let’s go guys,” Master Melphus instructs his entourage, and they all pile out of the room’s only door, nearly knocking over the gaggle of latecomers hovering there. Lady Ragamuffylan, Lord Woadsbane, and Lady Ceridwen’s husband Cip all follow them out.
Pegeen nudges me. “Let’s go,” she whispers.
“Let’s go where?”
“After them. We’re spying, remember?”
Before I have a chance to argue, Pegeen’s already out the door. I rush after her.
I catch up with Pegeen at the top of the stairs just as she’s about to follow the Hordesmen into the parking lot.
“What the hell is going on, Pegeen?”
“I’m not sure,” she replies as she peeks around the doorjamb out at the Hordesmen, who are all piling into a large white Chevrolet cargo van. “But I’d bet money they’re all heading over to Noble Roman’s early to talk strategy.”
“Noble Roman’s? What’s that?”
“It’s a pizza place over in Fairborn. Everybody goes there after the meetings. Go get our stuff and meet me at the car in two minutes, okay?”
I dash back down to the meeting room, where Baron Grizzly and the others are still trying to recover from Melphus’ accusations. I snatch our belongings and head back toward the door, but Grizzly grabs my arm to stop me.
“Where are you going, Lisa?”
“I—that is, I, ummm—“
Barlonda edges her way towards me. “Leave her be, Grizz. Lisa, I think I know what you’re up to.”
“I’m not up to anything,” I lie.
“It’s all right, dear. I know you’re only doing what Syr Phillip wants you to do, and that’s fine. I just want to warn you to be careful. And please, be sure to tell Grizzly and me anything you find out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie again, although I know that whatever pained expression my face is wearing right now is giving me away. I’ve never been much of a liar.
“Watch your back!” Grizzly calls after me as I dash up the stairs.
I’m met at the top by a petite fiftyish woman with long, straight black hair and wearing some kind of long, flowing hippie robe. Her hands are ink-stained and she’s carrying a paint-splattered tacklebox.
“Hello there,” she says, grabbing my right hand. To my horror, she starts examining my fingers, seeing how far they can bend while she massages my knuckles. “I’m Mistress Naomi. You look like someone with a lot of artistic talent. How would you like to be my apprentice?”
This must be the Mistress Naomi Pegeen warned me about.
“No, thanks. I’ve really got to go—“ I try pulling away from the tiny woman’s grasp, but her small, bony fingers have formed a deathgrip I can’t release.
“But I really need a new apprentice,” Mistress Naomi insists, grasping my fingers so hard I think they might break. “King Fallon and Queen Marguerite just placed an order for fifty award scrolls, and I need at least three more apprentices to fill it.”
Pegeen swoops into the building lobby out of nowhere. “You better let her go, Naomi. She’s the favored lady of Syr Phillip Reginald of Blackstar, you know. You’re familiar with the Blackstar household, are you not?”
Mistress Naomi goes white and instantly lets go of my hand as if it’s infected. “Of course,” she stammers. “M-my mistake.”
“Let’s go, Lees,” Pegeen says, dragging me toward her car. “We don’t want them to get too far ahead of us.”
As we pile our ourselves into Pegeen’s Tercel, I glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re not being followed. We’re not, so I whisper, “Why does everybody keep talking about Syr Phillip’s Blackstar name? Everybody seems to be afraid of it, or something. What’s up with that?”
Pegeen says nothing. She just grins.
“Pegeen, come on. You’re really weirding me o
ut, here. From what I’ve seen, it’s like ‘Blackstar’ is some kind of magic word for getting people to leave us alone or something.”
“That’s because it is,” Pegeen says, downshifting the Tercel into fourth gear so she can catch up with the white cargo van that is now at least a half-mile ahead of us.
“But why?”
“Maybe you should ask Syr Phillip about that the next time you see him.” I cut a glance over at Pegeen to see that she’s gone tight-lipped.
I settle down into the Tercel’s bucket seat and sulk until Pegeen pulls into the strip mall where the Noble Roman’s restaurant is sandwiched between a nail salon and a dry cleaner’s. The white cargo van carrying the known and possible Hordesmen is already there.
“Here we are,” Pegeen chirps. “Now Lees, it’s very important for you to do whatever I tell you. I’m the gossip expert here, you know.”
“Never said you weren’t,” I sigh.
Just before we step inside the dark, wood-paneled pizzeria, Pegeen reaches into her embroidery bag and pulls out two Cincinnati Reds baseball caps. She tosses one onto her own head and hands the other to me. “Here, put this on. Pull it way down over your face.”
“It’s rude to wear hats inside a restaurant, Pegeen.”
“You’re supposed to do whatever I say, Lees. That’s part of the agreement. Do you want to give your lord and knight the information he needs to win Crown Tournament or not?”
I clap the hat onto my head without another word, and follow Pegeen into the restaurant.
“Keep your head down and be quiet,” she instructs me as we slip through the front door. Once inside, we notice that Melphus and his confirmed-and-possible Horde cronies have taken over the back corner of the pizzeria. Instead of obeying the “Hostess Will Seat You” sign, Pegeen grabs two menus from a rack and starts walking to the back of the restaurant.
“We’ll sit here,” she whispers, selecting a booth just across the aisle from Melphus and his buddies. “I’ll take care of all the ordering and talking, okay? You just keep your ears open for whatever they’re talking about. Don’t do anything too obvious. However hard that might be for you.”
I flip open the menu without commenting on Pegeen’s latest jab and stare blankly at Noble Roman’s mediocre selection of prefabricated pizzas and breadsticks.
“Wanna split a black-olive-and-anchovy pizza?” Pegeen whispers. “My treat.”
I shrug silently and strain to listen to the Hordesmen’s conversation. Melphus and his buddies are keeping their voices low, plus the restaurant’s acoustic ceiling tile is doing too good a job of absorbing the very background noise I’m trying to hear.
“We’ve gotta do somethin’ ‘bout the. . .situation. . .”
“Syr Phillip. . .you know he don’t. . .no, that’s ain’t . . .”
“The Tuchux. . .they aren’t real happy about. . .”
“I dunno. . .”
I flip my menu closed in frustration. No matter how hard I strain my ears, I haven’t been able to learn anything new from the over-testosteroned gaggle of Hordesmen.
Pegeen flags down a pimpled teenage waiter and places our order. Just before he goes to get our soft drinks, Pegeen writes something on a napkin and hands it to him. “Do you think you could help us out with that, hon?” Pegeen nods toward whatever instructions she’s written on the napkin scrap and gives the boy a nice sneak preview of her cleavage as she does. The boy-waiter grins a metallic smile, gives her a single nod, and dashes off towards the kitchen.
Pegeen leans across the table and whispers, “Hear anything good yet?”
“No,” I whisper back. “I can’t hear much of anything at all. Too much interference.”
“Well, I’ve enlisted the waiter’s help. It’s always important to have accomplices when it comes to gossip-gathering in unfamiliar locales,” Pegeen explains.
I roll my eyes at this.
“Here, switch places with me,” she says. “Maybe I can hear more than you.”
“But then we’ll draw attention, and you already said not to do anything too obvious.”
“You’re right.” Pegeen pouts for a moment. “Tell you what. You get up to go to the bathroom. I’ll drop my purse on the floor while you’re away, and use that as an excuse to switch seats. Then when you come back, you just sit here. Easy, and enough within the realm of normal restaurant behavior not to draw attention.”
“Fine,” I groan, and head off toward the bathroom, which turns out to be one of those single-seater unisex jobs. It’s already occupied, so I lean against the paneled wall until its occupant finishes his business.
After about a minute, a very attractive twentysomething man emerges. He gives me the usual polite bathroom-line glance, then pauses for a moment. He gazes downward and sideways, peering at my face underneath the shadow formed by the Reds cap, the bill of which I’ve pulled down to almost to the level of my chin.
“Hey, you’re Syr Phillip’s new squeeze, aren’t you?”
Great, I think. Our cover’s blown. I try to think of a clever comeback to throw this surprisingly handsome man—whose biceps are nearly bursting the sleeves of his faded Nike T-shirt out at the seams—off my trail. But as per usual, my mind is a blank.
“Uhhhh—excuse me,” is all I manage before I duck into the grimy bathroom and lock the door.
I don’t actually need to pee, so I just stay inside the bathroom for the requisite two minutes one usually needs, and even flush the toilet for good measure before coming back out.
The surprisingly handsome young man is still standing outside the bathroom door. His arms are folded across his chest in a manner that accentuates just how powerful his biceps are.
“Hello again, Lisa,” he says, staring straight into my eyes. My feet freeze to the grimy linoleum floor and my mouth goes dry.
“How do you know my name?”
“Nobody who captures the heart of Syr Philip Reginald of Blackstar stays anonymous in the Known World for very long, milady.”
“Who the hell are you?” I blurt. I can say with pretty fair certainty I’ve never seen this man before. (It’s not as if that killer physique, those gorgeous features, and that velvety tenor voice would be easily forgotten.)
The killer-bicepped hottie gives me a deep bow. “Forgive my impertinence, milady. I am Master Stephen Blackhawk of the Two Shires. I hail from the kingdom of Aethelmarc, just to the east of your own beautiful kingdom. The Midrealm is famous in other parts of the Known World for its beautiful women, and I am sure that you and your incredible beauty are solely responsible for that reputation.”
“Aethelmarc, huh?” I say, trying to play it cool. “I hear that’s a pretty nice place.”
“You are absolutely correct, milady. You should drop in and see us sometime.”
“Maybe I will.”
Master Stephen the Bicep Hottie bows again, quite the romantic. “My lady Lisa, I am also acquainted with your favored knight’s father, who happens to be the King of Aethelmarc at the moment.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. Knowing what I do about Syr Phillip’s rocky relationship with his dad, I have hit the proverbial spy jackpot with this guy. The fact that he’s also pretty easy on the eyes is just an added bonus.
I slide my baseball cap up on my forehead, giving Master Stephen the Bicep Hottie a good look at my face. I smile and curtsey deeply, making a mental note not to betray my knowledge (such as it is) of the royal father-son dispute. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Stephen. What brings you to our fair kingdom?”
“A bit of interkingdom business. Pretty dull, I’m afraid. Definitely not as interesting as you.” Master Stephen bows deeply again, takes my hand and kisses it with all the relish and passion of a sixteenth-century Frenchman.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I coo, playing right into his hands. “I’m sure that whatever it is, it’s fascinating. Although I’m sure not as fascinating as you are.” I adjust my blouse to reveal a little of what passe
s for my supremely flat-chested cleavage, finding myself a little ashamed of my gossip-gathering conduct on the one hand—and even the slightest bit aroused on the other.
At this, Master Stephen’s eyeballs very nearly pop out of his head. “Well, if you put things that way, my lady Lisa, how can I refuse?” Master Stephen bends to kiss my hand again, and this time he even manages to put a little of his tongue into it.
I’m beginning to understand just why Pegeen likes digging for gossip so much. This is fun. Fun, and just a little bit naughty.
“Do go on, Master Stephen,” I purr coquettishly.
“I’m what you might call a diplomat of some sorts,” he explains, never letting go of my hand. “As far as the SCA can have diplomats, that is. I’m here negotiating a deal between the East Kingdom, Aethelmarc, and ahhh—some other parties.” Master Stephen abruptly lets go of my hand and grimaces in a vaguely familiar, winky manner. I know that he’s already revealed far more to me than he knows he probably should. But perhaps I can use my feminine wiles to prod him just a little bit more. And right now, I think the best thing I can possibly do to get what I want from the beautifully bicepped Master Stephen is to play a role I know I’m a master of—that of a clueless SCA newbie.
“And what other parties might those be? I’m pretty new to the SCA—as you might know—so I’m clueless about all these different uhhh, kingdom-group affairs.” I cock my head like a collie and pull off my baseball cap so fast that my hair tumbles out of it all at once in a bright, shiny, tousled wave.
And just one look at my crowning glory opens Master Stephen up like a day lily. He regains his composure (sort of) and stammers, “Well, since you’re uhhh, new and uhhhh, everything, I guess I can make an exception just this once.” Master Stephen’s eyes have taken on the glisten and gleam of a teenaged boy seeing a naked woman for the first time.
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 70
