I cave in and click on the cordless receiver I’ve buried underneath one of my bed pillows. “Hello, Pegeen. No, I am not dead. Although I wish I were.”
“Lees—“
“I’m hanging up now,” I seethe. But something prevents me from actually doing it.
“Lees, listen. You can’t hide out in your apartment forever. I’ve been covering for you at work the past two days—I told Brad the “death” in your family was your mother, so since it’s supposedly immediate family, you can use your three paid bereavement days off for the funeral instead of cutting into your sick time. But in order for that cover story to work, you have to come back on Thursday. That gives you another day to—relax, or whatever it is you’re doing. What are you doing, anyway?”
I don’t answer her.
“Okay, fine, you don’t have to answer right now. I know you’re upset. But I have to tell you Lees, as your best friend, that what you saw the other night was all just a big misunderstanding. Syr Phillip wasn’t doing anything—sexual with Lady Ramona. Really.”
Yeah, right, I think. Men just strip to their underwear and embrace sleazy, slutty women who are also in their underwear for absolutely no reason, sure. Pegeen is silent on her end of the line. After a moment, I finally say, “Pegeen, you did warn me a couple weeks ago to watch my back when it came to Syr Phillip. Didn’t you?”
There is a pause. “That’s true,” she admits. “But I still think you overreacted.” I think about mentioning what I heard Barlonda and Danyel gossiping about in the bathroom, but I don’t.
After a moment, Pegeen goes on. “Lees, I guess now that I’ve had a few days to think it over, I suppose I can understand the way you reacted to what you saw. But I’m here to tell you, that it wasn’t what it looked like at all. You see Lees, there are some things about the upper levels of the SCA that you don’t know about, and probably have no way of understanding.”
I sigh with a mixture of anger and hopelessness. “Oh, and you do? You’ve only been in the SCA three months longer than I have. What makes you such an expert?”
“I’ve become privy to certain—information since I joined,” Pegeen explains. “Mostly through Arundel, but also through others. Like I said, there are things that you don’t understand. But I think I have a way to help you understand.”
I seriously doubt this, but I don’t say so. I remain silent, waiting for Pegeen to resume the conversation.
“Look, don’t worry about Brad or anything that’s happening at Delco for the next day or so. I’ve got you covered until Thursday,” she says. “But when you do get back, make sure to tell Brad and all his vultures that your mom died in a bear attack when she was visiting Yosemite National Park over the weekend. That’s the story I gave them.”
“I don’t suppose it matters that my mom has already been dead for over ten years, does it?” I ask softly, swallowing down the lump in my throat that inevitably rises whenever I think of my parents.
“I don’t think anybody at the plant knew that,” Pegeen offers. “At least Brad didn’t know, and he’s the only one that matters. Anyway, like I was saying before, I think I have a way to help you understand what was really going on with Syr Phillip and all the others before the feast. Spend the rest of today relaxing, but make sure to have yourself and your apartment in a presentable state by 2:00 tomorrow afternoon. Someone important is coming to visit you then.”
“Who?” I ask, examining my fingernails, which are caked with dirt and dried-up pizza sauce from my three-day bender.
“I can’t tell you who over the phone. It’ll be two older men. Don’t worry, they’re not axe murderers or anything—they’re really nice. They want to help you.”
I can’t help but be suspicious. “I don’t think I need any help, Pegeen. After what I saw Phil and all the others doing with Lady Ramona the other day, I’m not real big on men in general these days—let alone male strangers who show up unannounced on my doorstep.”
Pegeen sighs. “Well, how about this. I’ll see if I can get one of their wives to agree to come along. Will that make you feel better?”
“Maybe,” I sigh. “But I won’t open the door for them if they look too freaky.”
“Fair enough,” Pegeen acquiesces. “I guarantee you’ll like these people, though. They’re some of the best folks in the entire SCA. Old-timers who’ve been around almost since the SCA first started way back in the sixties.”
At the mention of the SCA, I involuntarily clench my jaw. “About that, Pegeen,” I say, picking at one of my dirtier fingernails. “I don’t want anything more to do with the SCA, ever. So how about you tell these people, whoever they are, that they don’t need to be stopping by my place after all. ‘Kay?”
“Lees, you can’t quit the SCA!” Pegeen shrieks into the phone so loud it almost bursts my left eardrum.
“Oh yes I can, Pegeen. It’s a free goddamn country.”
“But you’re the Crown Princess of the Middle Kingdom!”
“Not anymore I’m not. I quit.”
“Lees, you can’t quit unless King Fallon accepts your resignation, and I know for a fact that he won’t.”
“Oh, screw King Fallon,” I hiss. “It’s not like he’s king of anything real. What’s he gonna do, have me beheaded or something?”
Pegeen doesn’t answer. I can hear her breathing through her mouth, something she always does when she’s mad. Just when I’m about to hang up, she finally speaks.
“Look, Lees. I know you’re kind of upset with the SCA right now, and I know you’re upset with me, and Syr Phillip, and a lot of other people, too. And on one level I guess I can understand why. But I just want to remind you of something. These past few weeks since you came to the Blood and Roses Tournament, you’ve been happier than you’ve been in years—the happiest I’ve seen you since before your parents died. Sure, you’ve had some bizarre experiences and met some odd people, and maybe Syr Phillip won’t turn out to be the right guy for you, either. But that doesn’t change the fact that you have had a lot of fun along the way. I know, because I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the changes in you, and I’ve seen how you get excited about putting on Barlonda’s beautiful garb and watching the tournaments. And even if things don’t work out between you and Syr Phillip—“
“They won’t,” I snap. “You can count on that.”
“Lees, let me finish. Even if things don’t work out between you and Syr Phillip, I know for a fact that you had some good times—and some excellent sex, mind you—with him, and you never would have had those great times or great sex without the SCA.”
“Well, technically yes, but that doesn’t mean the SCA has necessarily been good for me—“
Pegeen cuts me off. “Lees, there’s one more thing. I saw the look on your face when King Fallon put that crown on your head on Saturday. It was a look that I’d never seen anyone have before. It was a look of total wonder, total enthrallment. You were totally caught up with the idea of not only living in the largest, most important kingdom in a make-believe, magical world, you were thrilled by the idea of being princess of that kingdom. Because the fact is, Lees, you’ve never had the chance to be princess of anything before, unless you count that tacky Halloween costume you wore when we were in second grade. I really think that this whole SCA experience has helped you recapture a part of yourself that disappeared after your parents died—the old Lisa, the Lisa I grew up with, the Lisa who isn’t always sad about losing her parents so young. It’s been nice having the old Lisa back the past few weeks. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to keep the old Lisa around for a while longer.”
I don’t say anything for a long time. I feel the hot sting of tears coming to my eyes, yet mixed in with the familiar stiffness that comes to my body when I’m about to start sobbing, there is a softer, warmer feeling, too. It’s not the same kind of warmth that I felt even when Syr Phillip and I were at our hottest and heaviest—it’s a feeling of joy, self-confidence, and safety that most of us only feel when w
e are tucked away in sleeping bags on the floor of our twelve-year-old’s bedroom, playing childhood games like Truth or Dare and Telephone with our best childhood friend in the whole world.
I realize that Pegeen has touched the part of me that I’ve kept buried behind my shy, inarticulate exterior for years.
Or has she?
My newly awakened joy and self-confidence seems slightly similar to another feeling, a more mature, sophisticated one that I felt come over me when King Fallon placed that crown on my head. . .
All at once, the dark clouds hanging over me start to part. I sit bold upright in bed. “Yowza!” I hear myself shriek. “Pegeen, you can tell those important SCA friends of yours that they can come by to see me tomorrow at two o’clock.”
“Lees?” Pegeen sounds concerned. “Lees, are you okay?”
“I’m great, Pegeen. Great!”
“Hmmm,” she replies. “Are you sure? Because you seem to be having some pretty wild mood swings right now.”
I jump out of bed, surprised at my newfound energy. “No mood swings here,” I say. “Just call it my second wind.”
Chapter 24
Thanks to Pegeen’s inspiration, my depressive funk has disappeared and been replaced with a new personality I’ve christened Super-Hyperactive-Mania-Driven-Machine Lisa—probably the only term that comes close to describing how I feel right now.
Ever since I hung up with Pegeen yesterday afternoon, I’ve felt like a new woman. Pegeen is right. Being in the SCA is fun. Becoming Crown Princess of the Middle Kingdom is super-cool. Spending my weekends getting dressed up in beautiful costumes and watching middle-aged professionals wear plastic armor and play with swords really does make me happy.
And the best part is, I have discovered over the course of my attack of blissful mania (in which I have spent approximately the past fourteen hours cleaning my apartment) that I can continue to be happy in the SCA—and even continue my reign as Crown Princess and then, Queen of the Middle Kingdom—without being romantically involved with that two-timing, Lady Ramona-grabbing, bed-hopping rat bastard Syr Phillip Reginald of Blackstar.
And how exactly is that possible?
Well, it’s complicated. I haven’t quite worked out all the details yet. I’ve decided that I’ll wait and see what these mysterious SCA old-timers have to say first before I finalize the rest of my post-Syr Phillip SCA survival plan.
My apartment is nearly spotless. I’ve been cleaning, straightening, organizing, and polishing nearly nonstop since Pegeen’s call yesterday afternoon, only taking a brief nap this morning between the hours of four and five. I glance at the plastic Ikea clock on my mantel and see to my surprise that it’s already ten minutes to two, and I haven’t even showered yet.
I’m in the shower, frantically scrubbing myself under a steady stream of super-hot water when I hear the doorbell ring. I throw on my bathrobe, wrap my head in a towel, and go to answer the door.
A stooped, grizzled old man and an elegant, willowy old woman—both of them easily well into their seventies—are behind it. I spy a slightly younger man, perhaps in his early-to-mid fifties, rummaging around in the trunk of a late-model red Volvo station wagon parked in front of my building.
“Hello,” I say, wrapping my robe around myself a little tighter.
“Good afternoon, Lisa,” says the woman. Her voice is mature yet very smooth, with an accent that sounds vaguely New England. “I hope we’re not too early. Pegonia told us you’d see us at two o’clock.”
“Nope, you’re right on time. I’m the one that’s late. Come on in.” I prop open the screen door and the elegant, elderly woman and her silent male companion sweep into the room. She is wearing a loose-fitting purple caftan with well-worn Birkenstocks, and her snowy-white long hair is gathered into a single braid that hangs down almost to her waist. “My name is Diana Kress, and this is my husband, Jerry.” Jerry, a plump, steel-haired man with a leathery face and well-worn bluejeans, gives me a polite nod.
“Do you have SCA names?” I ask innocently. “Pegeen told me that some SCA old-timers were coming over, and I guess that’s you—“ I trail off, not wanting to make much of an issue out of my guests’ age.
“Yes we do,” Jerry’s deep bass voice says. “But our SCA names are both Welsh and very hard to pronounce, so most folks just call us by our mundane names all the time.”Jerry and Diane sit next to one another on my tattered sofa and pull off their shoes, looking as if they’re settling in for a long stay.
“Shen Fu will be along in just a minute,” Jerry says, adjusting one of his socks. “He’s still getting all his boon offerings ready.”
“Shen Fu?” I ask. “Who’s he?”
“Shen Fu is the Supreme KaKahn of the Great Dark Horde, my dear,” Diane says, as if I should have known. “He’s come a very long way just to talk with you, Lisa.”
Something tells me I should take off my bathrobe and towel in favor of some real clothes.
“If you’ll just excuse me for a moment,” I stammer. “I need to change. There’s some cans of Diet Coke in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”
I duck into my bedroom and ponder what kind of outfit will impress a Supreme KaKahn offering boons, whatever they might be. I settle on a simple pair of permanent-press khakis and a light sweater.
When I return to my shabby-chic, spotless living room, Diane and Jerry are both sipping sweating cans of my Diet Coke. The fiftyish man I saw earlier—who can be none other than the Supreme KaKhan Shen Fu——is seated comfortably in my purple La-Z-Boy recliner nursing my last can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. There is a large wooden box painted with the red-and-black insignia of the Great Dark Horde at his feet. Shen Fu smiles at me, sets down the beer on the side table, and stands up.
“Hi Lisa,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Shen Fu, reigning Supreme KaKhan of the Great Dark Horde. You can just call me Shen. We Hordesmen don’t bother with all the royal pageantry and titles that you kingdomers do.”
I take the KaKhan’s hand and am struck by the firmness of his handshake. “Hi there, Shen,” I say, hearing my voice crack a little as Shen Fu’s firm grip very nearly crushes my finger bones.
“Lisa, your friend Pegeen sent us to have a little chat with you,” Shen Fu says. Despite his low-key bluejeans, scraggly haircut and beard, and informal manner, there is something very regal and important about Shen Fu. “Just a little friendly chat,” he says again. “And some important, sensitive Horde business as well.” Shen Fu takes up the beer again and settles back into my recliner. “Please have a seat.”
I plop down onto my wobbly ladder-backed side chair, the only seat left in the room, nervously fiddling with my hands. “What kind of sensitive Horde business, exactly?”
“It’s come to my understanding, Lisa, that you and my very good friend Phil Dawson have had a rather unfortunate misunderstanding at Crown Tournament this past weekend.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I reply, looking at the floor.
Diane reaches across the coffee table and puts a papery, wrinkled hand on my own. Her touch is gentle and her expression is understanding, yet somewhat authoritative—the kind of look you’d expect from a kindergarten teacher comforting a five-year-old who just wet his pants. “I can certainly understand why,” Diane says. “I didn’t understand the Dark Horde Kingmaker ritual the first time I saw it out in the Kingdom of the West, either. Jerry and I didn’t speak for weeks after it happened.”
“That’s damn right,” Jerry says, and laughs. “But all that silent treatment sure made making up that much better, if you know what I mean!” Jerry gives Diana a playful nudge in the ribs. I notice they’re both wearing matching platinum wedding rings in a Celtic knotwork design.
“Dark Horde Kingmaker ritual?” I ask, stumped. “What’s that?”
“Hopefully we’ll be able to clear that up for you this afternoon,” Shen Fu says. “Along with a few other things.”
“Okay,” I say, skeptical.
“But first thi
ngs first,” Shen Fu says, seeming to notice my discomfort. “Before we talk about rituals, misunderstandings, and other unpleasantness, let me make the first of my boon offerings. Lisa, the Great Dark Horde is in need of your services. We wish to beg a boon of you.”
“You wish to beg a what?”
“A boon, dear,” Diane says. “A favor.”
Now I’m even more skeptical. “I’m not sure I want to do anyone in the SCA any favors right now,” I say. “I’ve kind of gotten burned a lot recently.”
“The Great Dark Horde understands that, Lisa,” Shen Fu replies, his voice taking on a rich tone that only seems to emphasize the vague, unnamable element of importance he carries about him. “The Great Dark Horde believes first and foremost in peace, love, and understanding among all the persons of the SCA. But coming in a close second is our belief in self-enrichment. Which means, basically, what’s in it for us? When someone asks a favor—or boon—of the Horde, we expect something in return. The same goes for when the Horde begs a boon of someone else. That’s why we wish to make you this boon offering before we present our proposal. There’s no obligation, by the way—the offering is yours to keep whether you choose to grant our favor or not.” Shen Fu kneels to open the painted wooden box. He pulls out a lumpy bundle of red-and-black silk tied with gold thread.
“We generally present boon offerings that are of a value appropriate to the size of the boon we’re asking,” Shen Fu explains, holding the bundle out in front of him. “Small boons only require small gifts. Big ones, on the other hand—“
Shen Fu slowly unwraps the package, revealing a beautiful solid gold cuff bracelet, studded with sparkling garnets and aquamarines. I’m no jeweler, but the gold and gems look as genuine as they can be. I gasp involuntarily, then check myself. “Um, I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but is that real gold?”
Shen Fu smiles. “Of course, milady. The Great Dark Horde only gives the best. Here, have a look.” Shen Fu hands me the bracelet and I’m stunned by how heavy it is.
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 77
