A Hard Day's Knight

by Simon R. Green

  “Not on the best day you ever had,” Sir Gareth said cheerfully. “But then neither am I, or any of the London Knights. Excalibur is so much more than a sword, or any enchanted blade. Whoever bears Excalibur has the power to shape the fate of nations or change the course of history.”

  “Is that why you felt compelled to make a show of strength?” I said, glancing at the other knights, standing still and silent and watchful.

  “Just being cautious,” said Sir Gareth. “And, to show respect. To the sword Excalibur.”

  “And to the man who bears it?”

  “Perhaps. As I said: your reputation goes before you, John Taylor.”

  “Who are you people?” I said bluntly. “What, exactly, are the London Knights? I know the name, I know the reputation, but I don’t think anyone knows exactly what it is you do. And I’m not handing Excalibur over to just anybody.”

  “Fair enough,” said Sir Gareth. “We go to great pains to keep what we do secret. We’re not in it for the applause. Now, do you want the long version, or the short version? The short version misses out a lot of fun stuff, but the other version does tend to go on a bit. We have been round for a very long time ... What say I hit the high spots, and you can ask questions afterwards?”

  “Can you guarantee there will be an afterwards?” I said. “One of the few things I have heard is that you people have a tendency to execute those you consider unworthy.”

  “Oh, we don’t do that any more,” Sir Gareth said briskly. “Or at least, hardly ever. Only when we feel we absolutely have to. Now then, the London Knights are descended from those original knights who sat at the Round Table in Camelot, serving King Arthur and his glorious dream of justice, of Might for Right. The knights themselves were slaughtered at the final battle of Logres, fighting Mordred’s army. All save one. The knights fell, and the dream was over.”

  “You did win, in the end,” I said.

  “Nobody won. Arthur and Mordred killed each other, both armies were destroyed, and the land was devastated. All they had built, gone, less than the dust. Good men, the finest of their generation—all that was left were piled-up bodies in the blood-soaked mud. But one knight survived. He gathered up all the families of those who fell and took them to a safe place. To the Unknown Castle. And down the centuries he slowly rebuilt the order of knights and based them here in London. That the might and the glory and the traditions of Arthur’s dream might not vanish from this Earth. We maintain the chivalric way, serving the good and battling evil. The London Knights.

  “We are warriors. We are the secret army, the hidden force, the men who ride to battle when all else has failed. We don’t solve problems, we don’t investigate mysteries, and we don’t do diplomacy. We fight. We are the steel hand; we are sudden death; we are vengeance.

  “Mostly we work behind the scenes, apart from everyday society, that we might not be corrupted by it. We fight our wars on far-off worlds and in hidden places, and no-one knows our triumphs and our losses but us. The London Knights stand firm against evil; that is all you know and all you need to know. We are still a religious order as much as an army, with every knight sworn to give his life and honour and everything else that matters to the cause that never ends.

  “We are the guardians of the world. Any questions?”

  “Where were you when we could have used you, during the Lilith War?”

  “We don’t sweat the small stuff,” said Sir Gareth.

  I glared at him. “All right. Who’s in charge here?”

  “Our leader is the Grand Master. That last original knight who survived the battle of Logres. Perhaps immortal, certainly very long-lived. He goes on, ensuring we still follow the right path and maintain the old traditions.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I thought I had a pretty good idea of who this Grand Master might be. Though how he was still round was a mystery to me. I met Sir Kae, Arthur’s stepbrother, back in the sixth century; sometime after the final battle of Logres. In fact, I bashed his head in with his own spiked mace after he disfigured my Suzie. Hopefully, he didn’t still bear a grudge after all these years.

  “How is it that your Grand Master is still alive?” I said finally. “I don’t remember any immortal knights in Arthur’s Court.”

  Another knight stepped forward, to stand beside Sir Gareth. “Those are our secrets. Ours to know, not yours.”

  “Allow me to introduce Sir Roland,” said Sir Gareth. “Hardcore traditionalist, doughty fighter, and a real pain in the arse when it comes to getting your paper-work in on time.”

  There was a brief chuckle amongst the other knights, quickly dying away as Sir Roland looked back at them. He carefully lifted off his steel helm and tucked it firmly under one arm, revealing the face of a man in his fifties with close-cropped grey hair, cold grey eyes, and a steady gaze. He looked hard used by life, with deep lines etched into his face, but a small smile kept appearing at the corners of his mouth as though it couldn’t quite help itself. There was a sense of barely suppressed energy about the man, of a need for battle or just plain violence, to soothe his inner fires.

  “I can’t believe the Lady gave Excalibur to a jumped-up thug like you, Taylor,” Sir Roland said briskly. “Oh yes, boy, I know all about you.”

  “He has a subscription to the Night Times,” said Sir Gareth. “And the Unnatural Inquirer.”

  “John Taylor, a man who has warred with angels, battled with immortals, and meddled in more ethically dubious areas than is good for any one man,” said Sir Roland. “You choose your enemies well, boy, but your friends are little better. Is it true you and Shotgun Suzie are an item now?”

  “Yes,” I said, taken aback.

  Sir Roland smiled his brief smile. “Well. Never saw that one coming. You have consorted with gods and immortals, the dead and the undead, and worst of all, you spent time with that despicable sorcerer, Merlin Satanspawn.”

  “He wasn’t that bad,” I said. “Well, actually, he was ... but he had his redeeming qualities. And he did go to his final rest rescuing the Nightside from destruction.”

  “You say that like it’s a good thing,” said Sir Roland.

  “We’re not going to get along, are we?” I said.

  “Who knows?” said Sir Roland, suddenly all bluff and cheerful. “Early days yet! Now, if you really have got Excalibur ... show it to us.”

  “That is why I’m here,” I said.

  I reached up over my shoulder, taking my time about it. The knights’ eyes followed my every move. I grasped the invisible hilt and drew Excalibur from its invisible scabbard with one easy move. The sword flashed into life between us, the golden blade filling the air with its glorious light. It was as though the sun had come down amongst us, to bless us with its life. The sword blazed more brightly in the castle hall than it ever had in the Nightside, as though it was back where it belonged. As though it had finally come home. And one by one, amidst a soft clattering of armour, the last and greatest of all the knights in the world slowly lowered themselves onto one knee, to bow their heads to that most ancient and honourable blade, Excalibur. I stood before them, holding the sword, and never felt less worthy in my life.

  I have done good things and bad, great things and terrible, but nothing that justified bearing a sword like Excalibur.

  I put the sword away, and the golden light snapped off in a moment. The knights slowly got back onto their feet again, with a rather louder clattering of armour and a certain amount of leaning on each other for support. Sir Gareth and Sir Roland looked at each other, then at me. They both looked a bit dazed, as though someone had sneaked up and hit them both a good one while they weren’t looking.

  “It’s certainly Excalibur,” said Sir Gareth. “No doubt about that.”

  “To be blessed by its presence, after so many years ...” Sir Roland frowned and fixed me with a stern look. “How did you get your hands on such a sword?”

  I took a certain amount of pleasure in telling him, and a little bit more in wat
ching Sir Roland’s face turn an unhealthy shade of purple. His hands clenched the air before him as though he couldn’t decide whether to grab the sword away from me, or settle for choking the life out of me on general principles. Sir Gareth looked very much like he wanted to go off on his own somewhere and have an extended fit of the giggles. The other knights gave every impression of being stunned speechless.

  “In the post?” Sir Roland said finally, veins bulging in his neck. “You’re supposed to have the holy blade bestowed on you by the Lady of the Lake, not simply dropped on your doorstep, wrapped in brown paper!”

  “Well,” I said lightly, “that’s the Nightside for you.”

  “Would you like to take some of your little blue pills, Roland?” murmured Sir Gareth.

  “I could spit soot,” Sir Roland said bitterly. “All these years I dreamed of the holy blade returning to us in glory, to the order where it belongs, but this ... this ... this is what comes of watching too much television! Excalibur, in the hands of a private eye!”

  “You like television,” said Sir Gareth. “You never miss Strictly Come Dancing.”

  “Entertaining though this is,” I said, “it would help if someone here would take the time to explain exactly what Excalibur is and what makes it so important. I’m guessing it’s not because the sword comes with its own built-in night-light. Someone told me ... that it’s not what we think it is. And it never was. And while we’re on the subject: who or what is the Lady of the Lake? I did do some research before I came here, and I couldn’t find two books that would agree on the subject. The best guess seemed to be that she might have been Vivienne Le Fae, sister to the more infamous Morgan Le Fae.”

  “No,” Sir Gareth said immediately. “Not even close. That’s what comes of historians who love a good story; they always want everything to tie up neatly. The Lady, and the sword, are much older than that. Older than human history, older than the Fae, old as the land itself. All the other great artefacts and symbols of Arthur’s reign were Christian in nature. We’d only recently put our pagan past behind us, in the sixth century, and we saw Christian significance in everything. And, of course, there was the Holy Grail ...”

  “Do you have it?” I said.

  “No,” said Sir Roland, and he sounded honestly regretful. “The Grand Master has forbidden any of the order to go questing for it. He still believes that was what broke up the original Round Table ...”

  “The Lady,” I said. “And the sword ...”

  “They both predate Christianity,” said Sir Gareth. “By quite a while. The Lady of the Lake is Gaea. Mother Earth herself. And the sword is her will made manifest in the world. To wield Excalibur is to take the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  “Hold everything,” I said. “Gaea? As in, the whole world, personified? She’s real?”

  “You’re from the Nightside,” said Sir Gareth. “Are you really having trouble getting your head round such a simple concept?”

  I really was. Even after everything I’d seen and done, to know for a fact that the world we all lived on was alive and aware ...

  “Given all the damage we as a species have done to her, I’m amazed she’s still talking to us,” I said, finally.

  “She doesn’t, much,” said Sir Gareth. “But she’ll want to speak to you.”

  “She’s here?” I said.

  “She visits,” said Sir Gareth. “When she feels like it. She’s always taken an interest in us, her favoured children.”

  “When she’s not giving us a right bollocking for not doing more,” said Sir Roland. “Though, strictly speaking, she’s in no position to complain ... You’d better come with us, boy. And for once in your disreputable life, concentrate on making a good impression. She hasn’t actually struck anyone down with a lightning bolt in ages, but there’s no point in tempting fate.”

  All twelve of the knights escorted me through the wide stone corridors of Castle Inconnu. Sir Gareth and Sir Roland led the way, one on each side of me, so I wouldn’t get lost. Sir Gareth kept up a stream of cheerful chatter, all of it safely inconsequential. Sir Roland contributed the occasional grunt, and every now and again I caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye as though he still couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Didn’t bother me. I’ve always enjoyed being a disappointment to those in authority.

  Little victories ...

  We passed through a number of stone galleries, splendid indoor gardens, and comfortable gathering places, and finally ascended a long, winding stairway that ended in a circular stone chamber that felt like it was some way up in the air. (Since there were still no windows, it was impossible to be sure.) The chamber was wide and airy, and dominated by a great well in the centre of the room. (A well, in a tower. Six impossible things before breakfast ...) The chamber was a good sixty feet in diameter, and fifty feet of it were taken up by the well. The stone rim was only a few feet high, and when I leaned forward and looked down, all I could see was darkness looking back at me. It reminded me of the oracle I’d consulted in the Mammon Emporium. Except that here, I got a definite smell of the sea, far below.

  Sir Gareth took me politely but firmly by one arm and pulled me back from the well. One of the other knights removed his helmet and approached the well. Sir Gareth murmured the knight’s name in my ear, Sir Percifal. He was an old man, well into his eighties, with a deeply lined face, sunken eyes, a pursed mouth, and a great mane of pure white hair. His face was grave, even grim, but his eyes were sharp and clear. The hands he placed gently on the stone rim were frail and covered in liver spots, but they didn’t shake. I was quietly amazed he could stand upright, carrying that much armour. But you could tell, just from looking: Sir Percifal was still a knight and a warrior, an old soldier in a war that never ended. And there was something about him that suggested he could still be a very dangerous man when the situation demanded. You don’t get to be an old solider without learning some very nasty tricks along the way. He bent over the well and called down into it; and his voice was firm and sure.

  “Lady Gaea, it is Sir Percifal of the London Knights who calls you. Come speak with us, in Arthur’s name, for the bearer of Excalibur has come amongst us. John Taylor of the Nightside is here; and we’d all like to have a few words with you about that ...”

  He straightened up quickly, as from deep in the well there came a great roaring sound, of something rushing towards us, building and building like an approaching tidal wave. I could feel the pressure of something big coming, of something too large to fit easily into our fragile material world. I looked round and realised that all the knights had backed away from the well, as far as they could go, their steel backs pressed against the stone wall. A few had even retreated into the stairway. I moved quickly back to stand in the doorway. I can pick up a hint if you hit me with it hard enough.

  And then a jet of water blasted up out of the well, dark blue-green sea-water, and it slammed against the stone ceiling before falling back as a shower of rain. Drops of water ran harmlessly down the knights’ armour. I wasn’t so lucky, but there are times when a white trench coat comes in handy. The water fell back into the well, and when I’d wiped the moisture from my face and eyes, a young woman was standing elegantly on the surface of the water filling the well.

  An extremely good-looking woman, in a long dark dress with a bright scarlet sash round her waist. And not a drop of water on her anywhere. She smiled brilliantly about her, stepped forward, and set an elegant bare foot on the rim of the well. She reached out a hand to me, so I could help her step down. I took her hand automatically and was quietly surprised at how normal and human her hand felt in mine.

  She was human, and she was beautiful, but she was also so very much more than that. She was Gaea. All the world in a woman. You only had to be in her company to know it.

  She had a classic face with a strong bone structure, a great mane of night-dark hair, warm blue eyes, and a really nice mouth. She smiled at me, and I realised I was still
holding her hand. I dropped it like it was red-hot, and she smiled again, understanding. And then I made the mistake of looking her in the eye. Her eyes were old, ancient, far older than any living thing had a right to be. I felt small, and insignificant, next to her, like I was shrinking away to nothing. She looked away, and the moment was broken, and I could breathe again. I swallowed hard and took control of myself. I have known gods and monsters in the Nightside, but never anything like her.

  She felt ... like the mother I’d never known and always wanted. The mother I dreamed of. And a part of me wondered if Gaea, old as she was, might have known my mother, Lilith. I was tempted to raise my Sight, sweep aside the illusion, and see Gaea for who and what she really was; but I had more sense. Some things in this world shouldn’t be seen too clearly. We are not worthy.

  The knights bowed to Gaea, and she smiled on them.

  “Hello, boys. What’s up?”

  “Lady Gaea,” said Sir Percifal. “You must forgive us on not preparing for your arrival, but ...”

  “Call me Gayle,” she said, in a perfectly ordinary, perfectly wonderful voice. “You know very well I haven’t used the old name for ages. And I know you boys get off on all these formalities; but really, life’s too short. Let’s get to it.” She shot me an amused glance. “So, John, not quite what you were expecting?”

  “Damned if I know,” I said, and she laughed. Sir Percifal was trying to say something formal, but she was still looking at me, so I talked right over him. “Are you really the personification of the whole world?”

  “I used to be,” said Gayle. “But it all got a bit much once Humanity arrived, so I abdicated. In order to understand you, I had to become one of you and live amongst you. So I left much of me sleeping, and became Gayle.”

  “So,” I said. “This ... understanding Humanity. How’s it going?”

  “Still working on it,” said Gayle.

  “Lady ... Gayle,” said Sir Roland, as impatiently as his respect would allow, “why has Excalibur reappeared after all this time? Why weren’t we told in advance? And why to him?”