Hard Day's Knight

by Katie MacAlister

  “It does if you are Ronnie,” Fenice said, flinching as both jousters on the arena floor took simultaneous headers off their horses, their broken lances falling beside them. All the teams’ lances had been double-checked by the jousting society sponsoring the competition, but no other weakened ones were found.

  “What on earth does that mean?” I asked, my mind not on the sabotage but on why Veronica was so interested in me.

  Bos, sitting next to me with his arm encased in a blue sling, grimaced as Moth suddenly had a spaz attack and attacked the fringed end of the leather belt that lay along Bos’s thigh.

  “Please excuse him; he’s deranged,” I said as I carefully pried Moth’s claws from Bos’s tights. “Back to Veronica—”

  Fenice—minus her attendant jousters, since they were due in the ring in a short while—half turned on her bench to cast me a knowing look. “Do you know what she does when she’s not doing charitable good works?”

  I shook my head.

  “She’s what they call a cannibal.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “Headhunter, not cannibal, Fenice,” Geoff corrected. “She finds people for high-placed positions in posh companies.”

  “Oh, a headhunter. That makes sense . . . no, it doesn’t. What does that have to do with her wanting a person who doesn’t know how to joust acting as an alternate on her team?”

  “Boy, you’re just really looking for the strokes today, aren’t you?” CJ asked, whapping me on the arm and dropping her voice to a whisper as the next two jousters were announced. “She thinks you have talent, stupid!”

  “Oh.” I thought about that for a minute, then realized that it was a very good compliment. Undeserved, but still good. “Oh! That’s very nice of her.”

  “Shh, Bliss is next.”

  The afternoon slipped by in a flurry of knights taking dives off their horses. I understood why the majority of the jousters considered the Southern Italian style the most dangerous—with no shields, and passing each other on the right side, the jousters more often than not went flying with the impact of the blows from the lances.

  After an hour of watching, I felt the time had come for a little basic explanation. “Okay, explain to me why Vandal qualified when he was knocked off his horse, but the guy from New Zealand didn’t qualify.”

  “It’s all to do with the scoring,” Bliss answered. She had joined us, having qualified easily, and was sitting at Bos’s feet, leaning back against his legs. “If your lance touches anywhere between the saddle and the neck, but doesn’t break, that’s half a point.”

  “If it breaks, then you get a point,” Geoff said.

  “Touch but no break between neck and crest of helmet, two points,” Fenice added.

  “Break with a touch between the neck and crest of helmet, three points,” Bliss said.

  “Unhorsing, four points,” Bos and Geoff said together.

  “Unhorsing as the result of a touch between the neck and crest of helmet, five points,” they all chanted.

  “Vandal was unhorsed only once, but he scored more points by going for the higher-scoring shots than his opponents, who played it safe,” Fenice explained.

  “Then there’re the penalties,” Bos said, raising his good arm and holding up his fingers as he counted them off. “Hitting any object besides the knight is minus two points. Hitting the saddle is minus one point. Hitting anywhere on the knight but the target areas is minus three points. Sweeping the lance sideways is also minus a point. Striking the horse is disqualification and banishment from the tourney circuit, not to mention a probable lawsuit by the horse’s owner.”

  I looked at Bliss. “Right, that’s it, I’m not even going to practice with you anymore. I might not be overly fond of horses”—I ignored the hissing gasps of surprise at that admission. “but I don’t want to accidentally hurt one of them.”

  “Don’t be stupid; you’re almost a vet,” CJ dismissed my concern. “You help animals; you don’t hurt them.”

  I glared at her, giving her arm a little pinch. “I write software; I’m not a vet.”

  “Shhh! Your ex-boyfriend is up next.”

  “He is not—”

  “Shhh!”

  “—my ex-boyfriend. He never was my boyfriend.”

  “You dated him; thus he was a boyfriend.”

  “One dinner does not a date make . . . ow. That had to hurt. Guess Farrell has a bit of a chip on his shoulder because of the whole Walker thing. You think that other guy will be able to beat his helmet back into shape?”

  “Probably not,” Bliss answered my question. “That was a very skilled head shot Farrell made. I’m just worried. . . . Ah, there, you see? He’s conceded the victory to Farrell. Poor man was obviously not up to going another two rounds with him. Well, that qualifies Farrell.”

  The man who had done a very impressive swan dive off his horse hobbled out of the arena, flanked on either side by tournament officials, probably making sure the jouster hadn’t been seriously injured. Farrell rode around the ring taking bows and waving at the women who were leaning over the railing yelling to him.

  “What a hambone,” I muttered under my breath. “Just wait till he sees what a real jouster can do.”

  Fenice looked back and me and smiled. “For someone who hasn’t ever seen Walker joust, you certainly do have a lot of faith in him.”

  “She’s seen him wield a lance of a different sort,” Bliss said.

  I lifted my chin and gave them both a lofty down-the-nose look. “I simply have faith in the man, nothing more.”

  “Ha!” CJ said.

  “Hush, both of you, there he is.”

  Walker rode into the ring on the back of Marley, who was looking very full of himself, prancing a little sidestep that Walker effectively nipped in the bud. Obviously his leg wasn’t bothering him in the least.

  I leaned over to whisper in Bliss’s ear, “What are you guys doing about watching the horses?”

  She slid a quick glance at me before answering. “When we aren’t around to keep an eye on them, Walker arranged for a couple of Four-H kids to stay near the stable and make a note of anyone who goes near our horses.”

  “Good plan.” I sat back, relieved, prepared to enjoy the experience of watching the man of my dreams joust. Truthfully, if I hadn’t recognized Marley, I might not have known Walker was under all the steel plate. His helmet was closed, and his arms, chest, and legs were all covered in black armor, while his hands were encased in leather-and-steel gloves. Only his boots were unprotected.

  “Oooh, isn’t he manly in all that armor,” I cooed, watching as he stopped Marley to bow his head at the marshal, sitting in the judging area. “He has black armor just like Butcher!”

  “That is Butcher’s armor,” CJ said. “Walker didn’t bring his own, and there’s no time to have it sent, so he’s using Butcher’s spare set. It’s just lucky that they’re about the same size; otherwise Walker would be in a world of hurt.”

  “Oh. Can’t he have some made? There are armor guys out on the vendors’ row.”

  CJ shrugged. “Too costly,” Fenice said, resting her chin on her hands as she watched Butcher and Vandal accompany Walker, both evidently acting as squires.

  I was a bit surprised when the knight of my dreams rode to the farthest side of the list, but before I could ask what he was doing, Bliss lifted her hand in a warning for silence. Overhead the tinny loudspeaker announced that Walker had appealed to the joust marshal, and due to having to bring Bos back from the hospital, he was being granted a chance to qualify for the jousting that was run during the morning, following which he would make the Southern Italian runs.

  The arena, half-filled as it was, buzzed with comment at that announcement. Bliss sucked in her breath and looked meaningfully at Bos. He just shook his head and leaned against Geoff, his eyes worried. Most people were talking about Walker jousting again, but I had a suspicion that his surprise reappearance wasn’t what caused all the talk.

&n
bsp; “What?” I asked, my warning system going into full “Danger, Will Robinson!” mode. “What’s wrong? It’s good that Walker talked them into letting him qualify for the Realgestech, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Bliss said slowly, her eyes on Walker as he took his lance from Vandal. “It is good . . . but that means he’ll have to either unseat the first jouster in both matches in order to beat them, or he’ll have to joust four matches back-to-back.”

  “That’s twelve jousting runs,” I said softly, fear gripping my stomach and giving it a vicious twist. “That’s unfair—no one else has to joust four matches in a row without a break! He hasn’t jousted in years; he’ll hurt himself! Someone has to stop the foolish man!”

  I stood up to do just that, but CJ and Fenice pulled me down. “You can’t stop him now; it’s too late. If he leaves the ring, he’ll forfeit the match.”

  “But what about that thing you told me about earlier—the forgetfulness or something. Can’t he do that?”

  “Forgiveness, and no, it’s not applicable in this instance. A knight can call a forgiveness only if the horse’s head is in the way, or if the tip on his lance falls off, or something like that. He can’t just decide not to run after he’s said he would. To do so would be cowardly.”

  “Whatever happened to discretion being the better part of valor?” I asked, watching with worried eyes as the list marshal gave the signal for the jousters to start by yelling out, “Lay on!” “Lay out is going to be more like it. This is insane. He’s going to get hurt, seriously hurt. He hasn’t trained for this in years. He can’t possibly—Oh, no!”

  “Sit down; you can’t help him,” CJ hissed as she pulled me down onto the hard metal bench. “Stop making a scene! He’s used to this.”

  I sat, my stomach twisting with fear for Walker. What had previously seemed like fun suddenly took on grim overtones. I knew it was irrational, but I couldn’t help it. That was my man down there being pummeled! “This is hard to watch. I don’t know how you can stand it with Butcher.”

  “I have faith in him. You need to trust that Walker knows what he’s doing.”

  “Easier said than done,” I said softly, sick with worry. CJ was right. I was going to be a candidate for the nearest insane asylum unless I got control of myself. What I needed to do was to be more like CJ. She was supportive. She stood at the sidelines to yell and cheer Butcher on. She never once fainted from sheer, unadulterated horror whenever he took a hit.

  What CJ could do, I could do. I rallied my pride and put on a brave, supportive face.

  “You look like you’re going to barf,” CJ whispered. “Stop worrying. There are five judges watching every joust. If the Aussie does something wrong, they’ll say so.”

  “It’s all right, Pepper, really it is. Walker is used to taking falls,” Fenice said sympathetically. “He’s not hurt. See? He’s up and about already.”

  I nibbled on my thumbnail as Butcher helped Walker to his feet, dusting him off and giving him a hand in remounting Marley. Vandal had a fresh lance ready, placing it in Walker’s outstretched hand. “Oh, God, why did I think this was such a good idea? He could get himself killed!”

  “Not our Walker. He’s the best there is,” Bliss boasted, but there were tension lines around her mouth that belied her concern.

  The second run was much better, at least as far as my nerves were concerned. Both Walker and the Aussie jouster kept their seats, both of them shattering their lances. The third and fourth ended up with touches, but no broken lances. The fifth time Walker unhorsed his opponent, and the sixth ended up with them both losing lances.

  “What’s his total score?” I asked, too worried to add the points up. “Does he qualify? Tell me he qualifies!”

  “We won’t know that until the end,” Bliss said. My heart clenched like a fist.

  While the second jouster entered the ring, I turned to Bos. “Will they let Walker qualify for the jousts you did yesterday?”

  He shook his head. “It won’t be necessary—as an alternate, he assumes the points of the person he replaced, namely me. Since I qualified for Northern Italian and French, as my alternate he’s automatically entered.”

  “Oh, good.” I gnawed on my lip a little more while watching the new knight. There was something about his green-and-taupe surcoat that was vaguely . . . “Oh, my god, he’s jousting one of the Palm Springs team!”

  “Not just one of them,” Fenice said, pointing to the electronic scoreboard at the far end of the arena. The scoreboard was used to show the number of points earned by the jousters on each pass. On one side of the scoreboard was Walker’s name, while the other side read: TYLER, V.

  “What? He’s jousting Veronica?”

  Bliss sighed.

  “Of all the people to get in the draw . . . Ronnie’ll make mincemeat out of him,” Fenice predicted sadly.

  I stared in shock as the two jousters rode to the opposite ends of the list, positioning themselves so the barrier running the length of the list was on each knight’s right. “What? She will? Walker? Are you sure? Why? I thought he taught her!”

  “Yes, he taught her, but he’ll also allow his emotions to interfere and will pull back rather than attack her the way he should,” Fenice said in a low whisper.

  “Attack?” I asked, beyond worried.

  “Jousting-wise, she means,” Bliss explained. “The problem with Walker is that he’s just too nice—he’s afraid of hurting her. We’ve told him time and time again that we can take the hits as well as any man, but he does tend to pull his punches when he jousts against a woman.”

  “And that’s not good,” I said, my fingers tightening around Moth’s thin leather leash.

  “No.”

  “Are you saying he’s going to lose because he won’t joust as aggressively as he should?” The words croaked out of my mouth, which, considering that my heart was thumping away like mad in my throat, was a minor miracle in itself.

  Bliss glanced back at Bos, then returned her gaze to the arena floor. “If the judges see he’s deliberately going easy on her, there’s a chance of exactly that, yes.”

  “Well, hell,” I said, handing Bos Moth’s leash. While only a few women were at the railing calling for their champions and waving the colorful strips of cloth that served as the favors, I decided that Walker needed every last bit of encouragement he could get, and accordingly stepped over Bos’s and Geoff’s legs, leaping down the stairs with the sound of CJ calling after me. Cheerleader Pepper to the rescue!

  I ran to the end of the arena, where Walker was just reaching down to take the lance from Butcher. He couched it on the lance rest, nodding to the marshal that he was ready. Just as the marshal opened his mouth to give them the signal to start, I leaned over the railing and bellowed, “Knock her on her butt, Walker! No mercy!”

  His head turned in my direction, but I doubted if he could see me, since the helm didn’t allow him much range of vision.

  “Lay on!” the marshal yelled, and Marley leaped forward. I watched for a moment to make sure he wasn’t favoring his leg, but quickly yanked my attention back to the jousters, holding my breath as Veronica lowered her lance toward the man with whom I was now hopelessly in love.

  “This is the stupidest sport I have ever seen,” I growled to myself as Veronica’s lance slammed into the left upper side of Walker’s chest. His hit her at the same time. Although she rocked backward in her saddle, she stayed in it.

  Walker wasn’t quite so fortunate.

  “That was a good try; she just got lucky,” I yelled down as he got to his feet. “You’ll get her on the next run!”

  Vandal led Marley over to him, but Walker didn’t climb back onto the huge black horse. Instead he walked slowly over to where I was leaning precariously over the railing, tilted back the face plate of his helm, and glared up at me. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Encouraging you. It’s called being supportive. You can thank me later.”

  “S
upport is fine, but I’ll thank you now to not distract me the second before the run is called,” he snapped, and started lowering his visor.

  I leaned down even lower, realizing that I was about a one-thirty-second of an inch away from popping completely out of my bodice. “Walker?”

  He raised his visor again. “What?”

  “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  He froze.

  “I just thought you’d want to know that. Good luck!”

  He stood there absolutely still for another three seconds, then lowered his visor and spun around on his heel, marching resolutely back to Marley.

  Butcher handed him the lance, and before I could add my voice to the others screaming their support, he was off and thundering down the list.

  “That was a good shot,” I yelled out helpfully as Butcher got him upright from where Veronica had knocked him off Marley. “I have faith that the next one will do the trick! Go get her, tiger!”

  Halfway across the ring as I was, I could still hear him muttering under his breath.

  “You’re doing really well,” I said as he passed by me. “I’m so proud of you. You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

  “No, I’m not hurt,” he growled, but before I could reply he marched past to where Vandal was holding Marley.

  I chewed my lip, pushing down all the worry and fear that roiled around inside me so that all that showed was my belief in him. “You da man!” I yelled loudly to be heard over the screaming of the other fans.

  Butcher’s shoulders shook as Walker swung his leg over the saddle, snatching the lance from his burly squire.

  “Who wants to do the wave?” I turned to ask the crowd behind me just as the marshal yelled “Lay on!”

  I spun around, the fingers of both hands crossed tightly as Marley and Veronica’s gray pounded down the arena, the high overhead lights shining brightly on Veronica’s shiny, bright armor. The lances were lowered and held for the count of three before both slammed into the oncoming person’s armor, the tips shattering in suitably dramatic style. Veronica listed heavily to the left, and I thought she was going to go off for a second or two, but she clung to the horse’s mane and managed to drag herself upright again.