Sword Fight

by Nathan Van Coops

  Oh God.

  How had she let herself get to this state?

  The part of her that objected to him seeing her like this was quickly overruled by the part of her that acknowledged how much she needed it. He gently worked the grime out of her hair. She turned toward him and rested her forehead against his bare chest.

  Damon slowly pulled her shirt up her body and over her head, carefully examining her skin. There were angry, red patches on her forearms and shoulders, and the skin on the back of her neck burned, even under the flow of the cool water.

  She climbed out of her pants next. Her legs had fared better, protected by a thick layer of material, but there were still burn marks in places she hadn’t even recalled feeling at the time.

  The bottom of the shower now held clumps of her singed hair. The strands raced each other through little eddies of water around her feet.

  Standing in that shower, soaked and in her underwear, it felt as though all of her ambitions were washing down the drain as well. How could she have expected justice? Whatever small irritation she could cause the Jasper Sterlings of the world, they were capable of delivering a vengeance a hundred times worse. She was nothing in their world. All of her work thus far had only brought misery and pain to everyone who had tried to help her.

  “It would have been better if you’d left me in that alley,” she said, muttering the words into Damon’s chest.

  He shut off the shower and gently wrapped her in a towel.

  She closed her eyes and tried to disappear.

  Valerie wasn’t exactly sure what occurred after that. It was as though it all was happening to someone else. When next she opened her eyes, she was in Damon’s arms being carried upstairs. Her disgusting clothes were gone, replaced by a clean, oversized T-shirt that was no doubt his. Her burns were dried and bandaged and her hair partially wrapped in a towel, though she had still managed to dampen Damon’s shoulder as she rested her head on it. Little beads of water ran from his collarbone down his bare chest.

  When her head hit the pillow on Damon’s bed, it seemed to swallow her. She wished it would.

  She stirred enough to find Damon’s hand and grasp it in hers.

  “Get some rest,” he said.

  “Don’t go. Come to bed,” Valerie managed. “Stay.”

  Damon began to pull away, but Valerie kept her grip on his hand. She concentrated her efforts and pulled.

  He slid onto the bed next to her.

  When he had settled into a position beside her, Valerie curled into the crook of his arm. If she tugged the covers up high enough, there would be nothing left of her to see. She pulled them over her head, disappearing from the world into the only place she could. But even the solidness of Damon’s body beside her wasn’t enough to shield her from the memories. Flames still danced across the inside of her eyelids, revealing a moving picture show of faces. Janet, Henry, her mother and father. In her mind, the flames continued to spread, consuming all of Tidewater. They swallowed up Rico and Damon, transforming all the waterside villages into a lake of fire that lapped against the city walls. Jasper Sterling looked down from a parapet and laughed.

  She opened her eyes only long enough to dispel the visions, grounding herself in the present moment, the feel of the rough sheets beneath her and the earthy smell of Damon beside her. She listened to the rhythm of his breathing for as long as she could and then cried herself to sleep.

  25

  Otter and Oyster

  Valerie woke to the sound of trumpets.

  She rolled over in Damon’s bed and winced, rediscovering her injuries from the night before. She blinked a few times and tried to orient herself to her circumstances.

  Memories came in flashes of orange flame. She could still hear the roar of the fire, and her mouth tasted like charcoal. It took a moment for her to realize it was her own breath that still held the lingering scent of smoke.

  Damon wasn’t in the room, but morning sunlight was filtering through curtained windows at one end of the loft.

  The persistent blaring of the trumpets drove her from bed.

  She staggered stiffly to the window and opened it, scattering flakes of white that went dancing from the windowsill. The roofs of the warehouses next door were all coated with ash. Another trumpet blast made her look up. High overhead, vehicles lined the Crown Bridge. The trumpeters were heralds, positioned at the sides of the road and blasting away as a caravan of vehicles rolled past. The cars were flying the banners of the House of Pendragon and the flag of Avalon.

  “The king,” Valerie muttered.

  He had finally arrived.

  The news would have thrilled her a week prior. A week ago she had a plan. She had allies. Now everyone she had come to rely on was paying the price for helping her.

  A sea breeze picked up more ash from the windowsill and swirled it into the room. She closed the window.

  Was Janet alive?

  Whatever her condition, there were many citizens of Tidewater who hadn’t woken up this morning at all. Many more were scarred or injured—all because of her.

  Valerie stepped into the bathroom and had a look at her wounds in the mirror. The girl staring back at her was about what she expected.

  Her run through the fire had left her hair completely burned in several places and singed in others. Her face had avoided the worst of it, but she had been scorched at her temple and several more places on her neck. The most painful of her burns—those on the back of her neck and several on her arms—were still bandaged. She gingerly checked the dressings on her arms, replacing one that she could manage on her own.

  She surveyed Damon’s bedroom and located a pair of shorts she could roll the waist down on and wear comfortably. She was already swimming in his T-shirt. She descended to the warehouse level and discovered her boots sitting at the base of the stairs. She stepped into them, not bothering to lace them up before searching the ground floor. But there was no sign of Damon.

  Where had he disappeared to?

  She clomped past the Guardian and crossed the training area to the side door, cracking it open to peer outside. Several people along the street had stepped out to watch the passing caravan overhead. It took her a second glance to realize that one of them was Rico. He was standing with his arms crossed, his face blank and unreadable, gazing up at the Crown Bridge.

  As if sensing she was watching him, he glanced her way. He stared at her for a moment, then lifted his chin in acknowledgment.

  “Hey,” Valerie managed, calling across the broad, vacant driveway between them. “You okay?”

  “Doing as badly as expected,” Rico replied. “Look at them up there. Last night proved it. Tidewater could literally be on fire, and they wouldn’t even piss on us to put out the flames.” He glared at the bridges, gestured toward the royal caravan with a solitary finger, then turned and made his way over to her.

  “Any news about Janet?” Valerie asked, not convinced that she wanted to hear the answer.

  “I tried going up to the hospital this morning. The bastards won’t let anyone in who isn’t family. Haven’t seen Ann. No one knows anything.” He kicked at someone’s discarded cigarette pack that was littered on the ground. “They’re setting up a board with names for missing persons down at Pier Five for people trying to find each other.”

  Valerie hugged herself to ward off the morning chill, wincing as she discovered more tender areas on her skin. “What about Carlyn and the kitchen staff?”

  “Carlyn is safe,” Rico said. “She’s already helping out with a survivor’s breakfast they’re putting together over on Gull Street. Told me to bring you by if I found you.”

  “I’m not sure I could handle that,” Valerie replied.

  Rico shrugged. “I told her no one would have any appetite. Not after last night.” He looked Valerie over. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Rico looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “Is that all you have to wear?”

  Vale
rie glanced down at what she had on. “I’m still doing a lot of borrowing lately.”

  “Come on. I think I have a few things that might fit you. Maybe not well but better than that.”

  “I’m sure there are more important things to worry about,” Valerie said.

  “Just let me help,” Rico said. “Let me do something.”

  Valerie nodded.

  She followed Rico up to his apartment. Once inside, an overweight Calico cat met them at the door and immediately began rubbing its whiskers on Valerie’s shins.

  “That’s Gertrude,” Rico explained. “She’s an ornery old lady most of the time, but I guess she likes you.”

  The cat was possibly the only resident of Tidewater unaware of the previous night’s tragedy. It purred contentedly as it rubbed against her leg. Valerie scratched the cat atop its head and followed Rico into his bedroom.

  Had she not known differently, she would have assumed Rico’s room belonged to two different people. One was the auto mechanic she was with now. Grease-stained shirts. Coveralls. Torn jeans. The other was an elegant woman who wore flowery scarves and fancy dresses. A sewing machine had a place of honor along one wall.

  When it came to choosing the person to borrow from, she was inclined toward the mechanic.

  Rico found her a pair of rugged trousers that were only slightly too big for her. Cinched with a belt and with the legs tucked into her boots, she at least felt prepared to face the day. She was grateful for Rico’s tendency to wear tight clothing. She fit comfortably into a soft, gray, wool sweater, only having to roll up the sleeves slightly.

  “We’ve got to do something with your hair,” Rico said. “That is a fright.”

  But at that moment, a horn blasted in the street. They moved to the windows and observed as a black, armored limousine with golden emblems on the doors rolled slowly down the street. A man was standing up in the car, half of his body protruding through a herald hatch, shouting as they moved. “Gather! Gather to hear the proclamation from His Royal Highness King Logan!” A cape that featured the crest of the House of Pendragon fluttered in the wind behind him.

  As the vehicle rolled on, villagers stepped from their homes and began to follow.

  Valerie and Rico exchanged glances. She borrowed one of Rico’s bandanas to tie up her hair, and they descended to the street, following the crowd toward the wharf.

  She kept her eyes out for trouble, initially wary for sightings of the City Watch, but then it occurred to her that today was her birthday. Since she was now eighteen, they wouldn’t be able to haul her off to St. Anselm’s without trouble. For better or for worse, today she was legally an adult citizen of Avalon. The realization made her stand taller in her boots.

  The royal limousine stopped outside the Otter and Oyster Inn on Market Street directly across from the marina. Three men in royal livery climbed out of the limousine, and one began to read from a document in his hands.

  “Hear ye! Hear ye!” the herald shouted. “Let it be known that His Majesty King Logan Pendragon, the first of his name, has hereby declared his tournament open. Any man or any woman wishing to compete for the honor and privilege of a place in his honored circle of knights at Glastonbury Castle may present their qualifications at the designated tournament grounds at Candle Green and commit to the challenge of armed combat. Competitors shall demonstrate their courage and weapons skills. In addition, the winners of each round shall receive an invitation to the regional governor’s ball in the king’s honor to be held this Friday evening. Long live King Logan!”

  A muffled echo came from the gathered crowd. “Long live the king.” The response was less than enthusiastic and had come from only a few citizens. The herald inserted the document into a frame, then one of his companions hammered a nail into the front wall of the inn to hang it. The innkeeper didn’t look especially pleased about it.

  “What’ll King Logan do about our troubles?” The voice boomed from behind Valerie, and she turned to find the imposing, bald-headed figure of Connor Kane striding through the crowd.

  The heralds looked up from their work and froze. The shortest one let his hand slide to his sword hilt.

  “State your business.” The herald who had issued the proclamation faced Kane.

  “My business is seeing the lords of this city held accountable for what happened here last night. The City Watch will bang on doors and haul off good folk for no reason when it suits them, but some maniac nearly burned down this village, and we saw nary a soul come to help.”

  “There is a system in place to address your concerns,” the herald replied. “If you take your complaints to the local governor, I’m certain he’ll take care of it.”

  “He’ll do nothing, you mean,” an old woman shouted. “Same as ever.”

  A boisterous clamor of agreement erupted from the crowd.

  The heralds eyed the crowd nervously. “We’re just messengers of the Crown,” the short one said. “It’s not our job to take complaints.”

  “Ain’t no one’s job, it seems,” an old man in the crowd shouted.

  “You tell the king we’ll be in his tournament all right,” Kane said. “And when we win, there will be some changes around here.”

  “I wish you good fortune then,” the herald said. “May God smile on your sword.” The three men in livery pushed their way through the crowd, giving Kane a wide berth. They climbed hastily into the limousine and drove off in the direction of the next seaside village.

  A few people stepped onto the porch to reread the notice. A couple of others thanked Kane for speaking up. Most just stood around muttering.

  Kane turned and caught Valerie staring at him.

  “You!” he shouted. He strode toward her.

  Valerie took an involuntary step backward.

  “People have been talking. They say you were outside the Twisted Tentacle last night.”

  “I was,” Valerie replied.

  “Did you see the car? Someone jump out at the last minute? Who was driving it? What did you see?” Kane reached a meaty hand out and gripped her by the shirt.

  “Hey! Let her go.” Rico attempted to step between them.

  Kane shoved him away. “Come to think of it, we’ve had nothing but trouble since you showed up.” Kane fixed Valerie with a glare. “You were seen driving a Lark sedan yesterday. One like ended up exploding. Could be that you were the one that bailed out of that car before it went in.”

  “No. I wasn’t,” Valerie objected.

  “Some of my best mates were in that tavern last night. You gonna tell me who was driving it?” Kane shoved Valerie so hard that she lost her balance. She grunted as she hit the ground.

  “Kane! Stop.” Rico was there again, attempting to hold the big man back, but this time Kane caught him by the wrist and flung him to the ground.

  The sailor loomed over them. He pointed a thick finger at Valerie. “Now you start talking. You tell me who the bastard was that sent that car. You tell me who killed ’em.”

  “I didn’t see anyone—” Valerie said. “I swear I don’t—”

  “The car was mine.” The crowd turned, Connor Kane included, to stare at the speaker. As Kane moved aside, Valerie had a clear view of Damon. He was wearing his leather jacket and motorcycle boots. He pulled his sunglasses from his face. “It was my car. A junker I left uptown.”

  “And where were you while your car was flaming its way into the Twisted Tentacle?” Kane said.

  “Out.”

  Kane sneered. “Another out-of-towner who has been nothing but trouble.”

  “A lot of us lost friends last night,” Damon said.

  “You’re a hired sword,” Kane spat. “No honor. No loyalty to anyone but yourself.” He faced off with Damon, the muscles in his back rippling with tension. “What would you know about how we feel?” Kane gestured to the crowd of villagers gathered around them. “We’re from here.” He thumped a fist against his chest. “This is our home. You don’t speak for us.”

&
nbsp; Valerie scrambled to her feet. “Damon, don’t fight him—”

  But Damon wasn’t moving into a fighting stance. He spread his arms, leaving himself open. “Your quarrel isn’t with me, Kane. And it certainly isn’t with them.” He gestured toward Valerie and Rico. “If you want to make a statement about what happened here last night, there’s only one way to make it. Use your car. Use your sword. And head to Candle Green. Make them notice.”

  “He can’t,” Valerie said.

  All eyes turned toward her.

  “It’s rigged,” Valerie explained. “Jasper Sterling is paying off the other racers. They’re working together to put him at the Round Table. It won’t be a fair fight for anyone else.”

  The crowd murmured.

  “So they plan to cheat,” Kane said. “What else is new?”

  “Do you have the proof of this?” Damon asked.

  “I did. But I lost it last night.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kane said. “The only thing that’ll get their attention is when I’m standing in their arena with their cheating hearts on my sword.”

  “You two would be better off working as a team,” Damon said. “Watch each other’s backs.”

  Kane grunted. “The last thing I need is someone slowing me down.” He gazed over the crowd as if suddenly recalling he had other places he needed to be. He gave Valerie one last glare. “Stay out of my way on the track. I won’t go easy on you just because you’re a girl.” He moved off through the crowd.

  Valerie was left staring at Damon. He met her gaze and set his jaw.

  “That went well,” she said.

  He turned to Rico. “What’s the word on Janet? Any news?”

  Rico shook his head and repeated his experience at the hospital that morning.

  “I have a few clients that have connections at the hospital. I’ll see if I can learn anything.” Damon turned to Valerie. “Did you do your forms yet this morning?”

  Valerie frowned. “Not yet.”

  “We should get on it,” Damon said. “I’ve been uptown and seen the competition you’re up against. You’ll need to be limber.”