Five Shades of Fantasy

by W.J. May

Chapter 9

  From the other side of the narrow wooden door, worn with time, Sarah had no idea what would await her inside the local pub. She stepped into the large hall, dirt crunching beneath her booted feet, and stopped to take in the vaulted ceilings and crowded space. Countless tables faced the tarnished wooden bar. Roars of laughter and conversation echoed through the air. Flames flickered from candles in iron chandelier-like wall sconces on the stone walls. Sarah had always thought of candlelight dinners as romantic occasions, but watching a large man with greasy hair bite into a giant drumstick changed her opinion in a hurry. The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and roast beef wafted into her nostrils, making her stomach growl in spite of the crude and unsanitary atmosphere.

  Jules went to place the order for their feast, and Sarah and Frank walked past long banquet tables filled with customers she could swear were wearing outfits straight out of Hollywood. They weren’t dressed fancy like the people in Victor’s ballroom. The women wore long, simple dresses, while the men were garbed in itchy-looking wool breeches with a tunic or doublet and cloaks with a simple belt.

  A tall woman seated them at a dark wooden table, on long benches draped in animal furs. It looked as though the woman wore two braids, one on each side, and then wrapped them around her head like a headband and tucked them into place, like some kind of milk maid. Sarah smiled at the lady sitting next to her on the bench, taking in the deep wrinkles running across her forehead and face.

  The woman returned the smile, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “Don’t order the peacock, milady. It’s tough as leather and tasty as one’s sandals.”

  Wait…these people eat peacocks? I thought they were only for showing off their pretty feathers in the zoo! I’d rather eat sandals! Sarah smirked. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The old woman inched closer and patted Sarah’s hand as she mumbled, “I hope you’re not into dark meat either, love. The pigeon’s too salty here.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration as well,” Sarah said, cringing at the thought of eating such a dirty, messy bird that leaves feathers and feces everywhere it goes.

  Frank glanced over at the woman. “How’s the dragon-tail soup?”

  “Stop it.” Sarah nudged Frank playfully as she peered around. “Look how crowded this place is. This tavern must be the happening place.”

  “Yeah, it’s definitely the medieval hotspot. The only thing missing is the flamethrower…and maybe the jester.” Frank slid in next to Jules and smiled. “I hope these furs don’t have fleas.”

  “Thanks, Frank,” Sarah said. “Now I’m going to start itching.”

  “Don’t worry, honey,” the old lady said. “The furs have been treated with wormwood. Fleas and moths are not keen on it.”

  “Wormwood?” Sarah stood and waved her hand, trying to get the woman’s attention. “Waitress…um, I mean, wench, we don’t need luxury seating. We’d prefer a nice hard bench.”

  “Relax,” Frank said. “It’s some kind of plant or herb.”

  Sarah sat down. “I knew that.” She chuckled.

  Minutes later, a lady in a red velvet dress with a black lace-up waistcoat brought drinks in wooden mugs, along with a generous platter of raw vegetables, fruit, a loaf of bread, and some kind of braised meat on a bed of prunes and cedar nuts.

  Jules ripped off a golden-brown leg and bit into it like a starving homeless man. “I hope you will enjoy the duck. Eat, drink, and be merry.”

  Sarah laughed and looked around for a plate, napkins, or silverware. “Um, are there utensils we can use, or are we supposed to go at it caveman style?”

  “Utensils, miss? Why do you think God gave us hands?” Jules asked between mouthfuls of food.

  Frank reached for a piece of meat. “The fork’s still centuries away from sitting in a silverware drawer, Sarah. Just dig in like he said. We’re sitting on animal skins, for God’s sake. I don’t think manners are all that important here.”

  “If you don’t mind, then I don’t. Just don’t wipe your greasy hands on my cloak.” She bit into a drumstick and smirked as the food stuck between her teeth. Eventually, she managed to swallow and put the meat aside.

  “Don’t like it?” Frank asked.

  “Well, for starters, it’s cold.”

  “Maybe they could pop it in the microwave for a few seconds.” Frank tore off a piece of bread and dunked it into the meat grease.

  “I guess beggars can’t be choosers.” Sarah laughed as she popped a plum into her mouth.

  “Better get used to it. You’re not gonna survive on celery and plums, Your Highness.”

  “What is this microwave you speak of?” Jules asked.

  Sarah met Frank’s gaze. “You do the talking.”

  “Well, it’s a kind of box, you see, and…well, I suppose you’d probably think it’s magic or something, but you put food in it, and it zaps it hot.” Frank bit into his pear, signaling the end of the conversation, but Jules didn’t seem keen on letting him off the hook.

  “So this box carries a magic fire?”

  “Maybe it’s best we don’t talk about our world,” Sarah said. “It might blow our cover or at least get us locked up in the medieval cuckoo’s nest.”

  “Right. When we’re done eating, maybe we’ll start asking around about Liz,” Frank said. “I’m sure someone knows her or has heard of her.” His investigation skills were kicking in. No matter where—or when—the man went, he was destined to always be 100 percent reporter.

  Sarah took a sip of her ale. “Just keep a low profile, okay?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, right, like you fit right in here. Okay, I’ll see what I can dig up.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “We should be safe here in Dornia,” Jules said. “Finish your lunch, and then I’ll take you to somebody who might be able to help. After that, you’re on your own.”

  “So this is where we part ways?” Frank asked.

  Jules nodded. “As I said before, I must head back to my own land. I must find out where my Mia is and be sure she is well.”

  “We can’t thank you enough, Jules,” Sarah said.

  After eating her meal, she excused herself and squeezed between two long tables, heading for the bar. Folding her hands on the wooden counter, she waved to get the bartender’s attention.

  He was a broad man with a black beard. He turned to face her and arched his eyebrow at her inquisitively (or perhaps flirtatiously) as he wiped down the filthy counter with an even filthier rag. “May I help you?”

  Sure. Allow me to fill you in on the wonders of antibacterial soap. If you learned a thing or two about germs, perhaps it would eliminate all those plagues running rampant in the history books, she humored herself. “Perhaps you can be of help. I’m looking for a woman named Elizabeth Larker. She goes by ‘Liz’. She’s my sister, one year older, and she looks just like me.”

  The man poured a mug of ale, avoiding her gaze. “Never heard of her, miss, but I know there is an Immortal who looks just like you.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, that’s not her. Liz is human.”

  “How can she be a human and your sister if you, yourself, are an Immortal?” He looked down at her ring, then back at her face.

  She sighed. “It’s a long story, sir, but let me assure you I am not one of them.”

  He smirked, then put the rag on the counter and placed his large, hairy hands in front of her, leaning forward as he emphasized each word. “Your finger bears the ruby ring, and you are the spitting image of Princess Gloria. You must be one of them.”

  She regarded him intently, trying to make sense of what he was implying. She was obviously not Princess Gloria, and the only person she’d ever known who looked even remotely like her was her sister. Wait…could Liz be…? No way. And if she is, why would she change her name to Gloria? She leaned against the counter, her interest piqued. From the movies, she knew bartenders are the go-to people for everything, so she was sure it couldn’t hurt to a
sk. “Perhaps you could tell me more about this princess, this Gloria? Was she adopted into the family as a teenager?” Sarah considered the idea that maybe her so-called father, this king, abducted Liz or gave her sanctuary in his kingdom after hearing she came through the portal. Crazier things had happened.

  “Adopted?” He scoffed as he used the same dirty rag to wipe down the glasses and mugs—the ones his customers drank from. “No. I worked as a cook in the castle when Princess Gloria was a baby, even courted her nanny for many months. I do know that Gloria moved away to another country when she was twelve, but she recently moved back to spend more time with her family here in Dornia. She’s so grown up now. I saw her last month at a ball at the castle.”

  Well, there goes that idea, Sarah thought. There’s no way that could be Liz. “Could you tell me—”

  A maid inched closer and whispered to the grizzly barkeep, “You’re not supposed to talk about them.”

  The guy nodded, a frown perched between his brows.

  Sarah straightened her back, and a determined look came over her face. She was unwilling to drop the topic just yet. “You said—”

  The man shook his head. “You may ask all the questions you want, miss, but there’ll be no more answers coming from me, I’m afraid. I have a bar to run here.” His tone was sharp, almost arrogant.

  Sarah wondered what had caused the sudden sealing of his lips. “But I just—” Sarah started.

  He slammed his fist on the counter. “Just leave! I don’t want any trouble with your race. The last time the Immortals were in here, they tried to kill me with a sword. Your drinks and food are on the house, but I have the right to ask anyone to leave my establishment, and I am asking you to go now.”

  Frank approached, touching her shoulder as he whispered in her ear, “Not only does that ring get us out of trouble, but it also gives us all kinds of perks and freebies.”

  “Yeah, but Victor should’ve given me a handbook. Clearly this guy doesn’t want to help,” Sarah said.

  Frank nodded, frowning. “Yeah. Nobody else is talking either.”

  The sound of hooves thundered in the distance. Outside, horses neighed in response. Sarah walked across the room and peeked out the door. The sun glinted off the armor of twenty or so armed knights as they dismounted. She raced back to Frank, her heart racing. “Great! There are soldiers out there—hordes of them.”

  “Where?” Frank asked, rising from his stool.

  She nodded to the door. “Out there. Look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  He weaved through the tables, heading for the door. “Don’t worry, I still have the tranquilizer gun.”

  Keeping her gaze focused on the entrance, Sarah hurried after him.

  “But how? How did they find us?” Frank muttered.

  She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her. “Jules.”

  He shook his head. “Those aren’t King Victor’s men. That’s King William’s entourage.”

  “How do you know?”

  Jules stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder as he pointed out the doorway. “Look at the crest on their armor. See the golden royal eagle?”

  She nodded. “Princess Gloria’s father, the ruler of Dornia?”

  “Speak of the devil, huh?” Jules turned her to face him, a glint playing in his eyes. “King William Jarod. What are the odds of them turning up at the same moment we did?”

  She took a step back, her dress brushing the cool wall as she turned to Frank. “Maybe they’re just coming in for a bite to eat. Just play it cool.”

  “But if you look anything like Glor—”

  She held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence as she scanned the room for any other exit. There were no windows and no other doors—not even a trapdoor in the ground. Crap! Don’t they have fire inspections around here! Talk about a fire hazard. “We should sue them.”

  “What?” Frank asked, brows furrowed.

  “Never mind.” Sarah pulled the hood of her cloak up and returned to her bench with Frank in tow. She took her previous seat next to the old woman, her eyes darting toward the door as she whispered, “The place is surrounded. How the heck are we supposed to bail?”

  Frank gripped her hand tightly, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let’s just wait and see how this plays out. In our world, police stop for donuts, right? Maybe here they stop for drumsticks.”

  She nodded in agreement and hid her face as best she could.

  A group of knights in chainmail coats stormed in, and the tavern fell silent. The patrons, mostly humble peasants, lowered their eyes to the ground, as if they were trying to be invisible. Sarah’s stomach fluttered uneasily.

  “Attention, patrons,” one soldier said. “We’re looking for Queen Gloria Fesque.”

  Sarah gasped. Just my luck that they aren’t here for a bucket of extra crispy. Shivers ran up and down her spine as she debated whether to make a run for it or play dumb. As much as she fancied the idea of dashing for the nearest exit, she realized her sprint probably wouldn’t get her further than the nearest table.

  “We’ve tracked her here,” the knight continued, whipping out his sword. “Point her out, and we shall leave in peace.”

  Sarah’s gaze wandered from the tall, hairy guy to the gleaming blade in his hand, frightening in the dim light. People dropped to the ground, scurrying under tables and whimpering. “Oh my gosh,” whispered Sarah. “Are you telling me I’ve somehow managed to piss off two kings? How’s this possible?”

  “You better run, dear,” the elderly woman whispered.

  Sarah shot her a sideway glance. “I really am a nice person.” Sarah paused, gathering her thoughts. “Really, I am. Everyone loves me. I don’t make enemies. This is way too much for me.”

  “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job considering you have two of the most powerful Immortals on your tail,” said Jules, “and on mine too,” he added.

  The knight wrapped his hand in the serving wench’s hair and yanked, hissing, “Where is she, wench? Tell me, and perhaps you will live to serve these miscreants another day.”

  Another knight knocked over a thick pillar candle on one of the tables. “We shall have no regrets burning this hole to ash if that becomes necessary!” he shouted.

  Sarah peered up from under her hood at the two women pouring liquid from a brown mug over the smoldering flame that was threatening to ignite a nearby table.

  “Tell me if the woman I’m looking for has been here or is in your fine establishment,” the first knight continued.

  The wench frowned and looked at Sarah, as if debating whether she should keep quiet or rat her out.

  Sarah frowned and bobbed her head ever so slightly, her eyes imploring the woman to keep quiet. Her life depended on the kind stranger.

  The knight pulled out his jewel-studded dagger and held it to the woman’s throat.

  The hostage’s eyes bulged like a deer in the headlights. Pointing straight at Sarah, the woman said, “She wears the mark of the Immortals.”

  The knight threw the woman against a table, sending cups and mugs crashing to the ground. He met Sarah’s gaze. “In the name of the king, you are under arrest for the crime of heresy. You are scheduled for execution. Surrender to me now, and I will make this as painless as possible.”

  Wait…did she just tattle on me? What happened to girl power? Aren’t girls supposed to stick together? Sarah shook her head. Boy, she really is a wench. There goes her tip, that’s for sure. Her heart racing, Sarah knelt and crawled under the wooden tables, bumping into everyone’s grubby legs along the way. Jules and Frank trailed close behind. Her hand stuck in something red and gooey, and she quickly wiped it on her cloak, bumping her head. Mice squeaked and squealed, none too happy to be interrupted from their feast of chicken bones, orange peels, and apple cores that littered the ground. She made it to the end of the table and peeked out to meet the eyes of a dreaded knight.

  He smiled, showing off the gap where his two missing fr
ont teeth used to be. “There she is!” he yelled.

  Frank pointed the tranquilizer gun and pulled the trigger. “Go Sarah!”

  The knight jumped back startled and pulled the dart out of his chest. Sarah raced for the counter and jumped, easily soaring over it. She’d no idea how she could possibly jump that high, but she was aware that adrenaline could do some crazy things. Landing on her feet, she turned and reached out her hands, dragging Jules over, then Frank. There has to be a way out. There just has to be, she thought.

  “I lost the gun!” Frank said. “He kicked it out of my hand.”

  The bartender stood in the corner, cowering. “I told you I didn’t want any trouble,” he hissed.

  Sarah grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Please help us. This nutcase is going to kill me.”

  “Surely you’re an honorable man, sir. You can’t let them hurt an innocent woman over a case of mistaken identity,” Frank said.

  The bartender pointed. “Get to the basement. In the back, under crates of vegetables, is a door that leads to a tunnel,” he whispered.

  Everything happened in slow motion. Sarah ran toward the doorway that led to the basement, but she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her back. She spun around to see the knight holding a crossbow. He squinted, as if taking careful aim not to miss his target. Before she could blink, more arrows shot through the air. In the next second, another one pierced her heart. Pain radiated through her chest. Frank and Jules yelled. Patrons screamed. Her breath became labored as she dropped to the ground, her face slamming against the cold, dirt floor.

  “Evil must be stopped!” yelled the knight. “Your sacrifice will save our land.”

  Sarah groaned inwardly. She didn’t have one evil bone in her body. Scamming the king was wrong, and stealing somebody’s identity was too. She only did it out of desperation to get home, to get out of a world she didn’t belong in. Her vision blurred, and her body went limp. She couldn’t even move a muscle, let alone scream. Blinking, she tried to clear her vision.

  “That ain’t happening!” Frank scooped her up in his arms.

  A door squeaked open, and footsteps thudded down a steep set of stairs. Sarah could feel her head bouncing back and forth, as if she was some kind of inanimate bobble-head doll on a dashboard.

  “Keep going! I’ll hold them back,” yelled Jules, barricading the door behind him with giant jugs of ale that he dragged across the floor.

  Sarah drew in a shaky breath as pain rippled across her chest. She let out a small gurgling sound.

  “Oh, Sarah,” Frank pleaded, his voice wavering. “Don’t you die on me, girl.”

  She reached up to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry, Frank…so sorry.”

  “Hang on!” said Frank, squeezing her hand.

  “I’m…I’m dying,” Sarah whispered.

  He shook his head vehemently, his eyes wide, teeming with an emotion she couldn’t place. “No! Don’t you say that. Don’t you dare die on me, Sarah.”

  Spots danced in her vision. Is this the way it’s going to end? Am I really going to die here, in the basement of some medieval tavern? She didn’t want to die without knowing what had happened to Liz. “When you find my sister, tell her I love her.”

  Frank’s voice wavered. “You’re going to tell her that yourself.”

  A loud rattle made her jump.

  “Those knights pounding on that door might not agree with…with you,” Sarah said with a pained gasp, squeezing Frank’s hand tightly.

  “They’re coming!” yelled Jules. “Hurry!”

  She choked on a ragged breath. Her vision blurred even more, and she blinked again, to no avail. Voices became faint and then trailed off. And then, there was only darkness.