The Dragon, the Earl, and

by Gordon R. Dickson

  He remembered singing "Good King Wenceslas," the Bishop praising it to the other assembled guests, and his singing it again to general applause and agreement. But that had been only the beginning of the evening, not the end. Now that they had him, the guests were not about to let him go. They wanted him to sing some more. They wanted him to sing another song they'd never heard before. Another, different song.

  Jim had insisted that some other people had to take their turn for a while, but eventually they came back to him with insistence. But during that time he had had a chance to do some hard thinking. He stood up and sang to them the ballad of the Martins and McCoys, with appropriate changes to make the Martins and McCoys into two families of fourteenth-century knights. Instead of:

  Oh, the Martins and the Coy's

  They were reckless mountain boys

  They could shoot each other quicker

  Than a squirrel's eye could flicker…

  they got:

  Oh, the Martins and McBytes

  They were gallant fighting knights

  They could slay each other quicker

  Than an arrow shaft could flicker…

  The words altered from the original lyrics of the ballad varied from awkward to nonsensical; and sometimes to mere noise, when Jim had to make them fit the same rhythm and line length as the original ballad. But if anything, this song went off with more success than "Good King Wenceslas" had.

  After that his memory of the evening became more and more patchy. He was aware of being there for quite some time, and singing a number of songs more or less altered to fit the time and place in which he was now living. They were all very much liked by his audience. He gave them "The Face On The Barroom Floor," as a romantic ballad that started out with a knight on a sorcerer's floor—manacled there and about to be tortured to death—who somehow broke his bonds and managed to rescue the princess in the tower after all. Nonetheless he ended up losing the princess—which gave it a sad ending, over which he had worried somewhat before singing it.

  He should not have. He discovered that these people liked tragedy almost as much as they liked blood. And their appetite for blood was remarkable.

  He sang them "Casey At The Bat" to a tune pulled at random from his memory, transforming it into the story of a knight who is a champion on one side in a melee, and who is the last one left alive, but died immediately of his mortal wound when there was no one else to fight.

  After that, he had a vague notion, he had sung some more— and that was where memory ceased. Somehow he had gotten to where he was now. As he rose from the murky darkness of his slumber he came into an awareness of a splitting headache and a feeling that he had become something that had crawled out of the woodwork to die; and slowly he began to realize that he was in the outer of the two rooms that he shared with Angie, the servants and Robert.

  He was lying on his own mattress on the floor and there was a piece of paper beside him with something written on it in what looked, to his bleary gaze, like Angie's handwriting; but he was not up to reading it right at the present moment. He crawled to his feet, staggered to the table, found the water jug and drank it almost dry; then collapsed into one of the chairs.

  He wished most desperately that he could go back to sleep; but he could not. He felt too uncomfortable for sleep now.

  It was bitterly ironic, he found himself thinking on a note of self-pity. He normally did not get hangovers. But on the other hand, normally he did not let himself slip into the depths of drunkenness he must have hit somewhere along the line last night—and, from the feel of it, simply kept going on down.

  He remembered how once before he had had a hangover after an incautious evening and gone outside to find Sir Brian and John Chandos examining Gorp, his so-called war horse.

  Both Brian and Chandos had been drinking; and with the cheerful malice of their kind, they had insisted he immediately swallow a large, full cup of wine with them. He had just managed to get it down; but he remembered now that, once down, it had helped. He looked at the wine jug presently on the table before him, and shuddered.

  No, life was not worth it. He would become a hermit and live on water and dry bread. He needed help.

  He looked toward the leathern curtain that covered the entrance to the other, adjoining room.

  "Angie!" he croaked.

  There was no answer from the other room and Angie did not appear. He called again, but still there was no answer. Painfully, he bent down and reached for the piece of paper that had been lying by his mattress, pulled it up, rubbed his eyes and with effort read it.

  Jim—

  If you're going to stay up like this on other nights, would you see if Brian will put you up for the night.

  None of us got a wink of sleep last night after you came back—except Robert. We'd just manage to drop off, and you'd start snoring again and wake us up. I've never heard you snore like that before in my life. Robert, the little darling, somehow slept right through with no trouble at all. But the rest of us are all worn out and Geronde has been good enough to let us catch up on our sleep in her room; since she's going to be out of it all day long.

  If you want anything, don't forget you can send the sentry at the door for just about anything you need. I'll be back up to the room to dress for dinner about an hour before noon. I'll see you then if you're free.

  I'm sorry about this, Jim, but you do snore. If you had to lie and listen to yourself all night, you wouldn't be able to put up with it either.

  Love, Angie

  Jim let the paper drop from his fingers. There was a scratching at the door. He closed his eyes against the noise.

  "What is it?" he called, sending a stab of pain through his temples.

  The door opened a crack and the man-at-arms on duty outside stuck his face in.

  "Sir Giles is here, m'Lord," he said. "He's been here several times, but he didn't want to disturb you. Can he come in now?"

  "Who? Giles?—Yes. Yes," said Jim, every word an effort and accompanied by an extra stab of headache. "Let him in."

  The door opened and Giles came in, carrying a large pewter flagon, with a green cloth tied over its top. He walked softly with this to the table and set it down carefully there.

  "Sit," said Jim, remembering his manners.

  Giles sat. He himself, except for the arm that was still in the sling, was looking very well—but concerned.

  "We were all up rather late last eve," he said, in a carefully low tone of voice, looking interestedly at one of the blank walls of the room and avoiding Jim's eye.

  Jim was caught in a dilemma. Would it hurt more to nod his head or just say yes?

  "Yes," he said. He had been wrong, of course. To talk had evidently been the worst choice.

  "All are speaking today about how finely you sang last night," Giles said, looking earnestly back at Jim, "and what an honor it was to speak with you. Many were concerned that you had overtired yourself, when you—er—could not finish a song and needed some assistance in leaving the hall. The Lady Angela has been explaining to us this morning that the evening we had came on top of a very hard morning of necessary magic duties, that normally you would have rested from for at least twenty-four hours. All understand that you must rest today; and all are concerned that you soon recover your strength."

  "Oh," said Jim bravely, ignoring his headache. A knight, of course, could not admit to any weakness; and theoretically would never become drunk enough to be helped out of a room. Only theoretically, of course, for it happened almost daily. A sort of The Emperor's New Clothes situation. "That's very good of them. I should be all right in another twenty-four hours."

  "I'm overjoyed to hear it!" said Sir Giles, as earnestly as if he really believed that Jim had been nothing more than overtired the night before. He looked away at the wall again, however, before returning his gaze to Jim. "By the way, I thought I might bring you a draught that in our family has been known as a remarkable cure for fatigue such as yours."

  He g
estured at the flagon with the green cloth tied over it.

  "You merely drink this down without stopping—you must not stop, it would be mortal otherwise—it will greatly help an overtiredness such as yours."

  He untied the thong holding down the green cloth over the top of the flagon, and pushed it with the cloth still on it toward Jim.

  Jim eyed it with suspicion. It was undoubtedly one of the noxious brews that went by the name of medicine in this particular age. On the other hand, it might just possibly turn out to be one of those types of folk medicines that actually helped. Almost anything would be welcome. Also, he suddenly remembered, he was on the horns of a dilemma.

  As a knight, he could not admit to having been drunk; therefore he could not possibly admit to having a hangover. Officially, he could only be "overtired," as Giles was delicately insisting. Therefore, as a knight he could not in politeness refuse the restorative medicine that his close friend Giles had just brought him.

  Jim stared at the flagon for another minute. There was really no choice at all. He held his nose with one hand, whipped off the green cover with his other, grasped the flagon and poured what was in it down his throat, swallowing desperately until it was all gone.

  "There," said Giles after a long moment during which Jim had sat absolutely without movement. "Do you not feel better now, James?"

  "Hhrrrllp!" wheezed Jim, managing to get some air into his lungs. "Wasser!"

  Giles reached for the water bottle on the table, took the cork out of it and peered into its interior.

  "Here is some small amount—" he was beginning, doubtfully, when Jim threw proper manners to the wind, snatched the vessel out of his hands and drained everything that was in it. He shoved the empty jug back into Giles's hands and pointed at the door with his free hand.

  "More!" he gasped.

  Giles stared at him for a moment, then got up, carrying the water bottle, and went to open the door.

  "Get this filled immediately, sirrah!" he said to the man-at-arms on duty.

  "But, Sir Giles," protested the guard, "I'm not permitted to leave—"

  "Next room—" husked Jim as loud as he could, from the room behind Giles, pointing desperately to the leathern curtain.

  "Look in the next room, numbskull!" said Sir Giles to the sentry.

  "Yes, Sir Giles."

  The sentry took the jug, ran with it past Jim, through the leathern curtain—and there was a moment of silence, followed by the provokingly slow sound of water being carefully poured from one water jug into another. It ended, eventually, on a gurgle that implied the first jug was empty; and the sentry came triumphantly back with the refilled water jug Giles had handed him. He set it on the table before Jim. Jim glared at him. He went out and closed the door behind him.

  Jim snatched up the jug, filled the closest empty cup, drank it empty, filled it again, drank that off and finally found the extraordinary fire that had been ravaging all the areas of his interior beginning to gutter and go out. He put the glass down and looked at Giles, who had come back to sit down again in his chair and peer concernedly at him.

  "Thank you," said Jim, with raw vocal cords.

  "A nothing," said Giles, waving one hand airily and sitting back in his chair with relief.

  Jim was getting himself back under control. In the process he was discovering that most of the ill effects of his hangover were gone, including the headache. The cause of this, he told himself, was probably simple shock, rather than any anesthetic qualities of the liquid dynamite he had swallowed. Because what Giles had given him had been the rawest of possible raw distilled liquors he had ever run into in his life.

  In fact, nothing in his experience approached it. It must have had a proof of about a hundred and eighty. His mouth, tongue and throat still had that "white" feeling he remembered getting on occasions when he had seared those parts with some near-boiling soup or coffee. It was the last sort of cure that Jim had expected someone like Giles to produce.

  "Where did you get this?" he croaked, wondering as he asked if this was the liquid of which the wet nurse had drunk so deeply. It couldn't have been. That must have been diluted to a certain extent. "Is it some of what they're calling French brandy?"

  "Indeed!" beamed Giles. "The Earl had some and was so good as to give me some when I told him it was for the Dragon Knight."

  "Ahh," said Jim, pleased at having his guess justified. Then an ugly thought struck him. He pushed it away from him—surely not even Agatha Falon would be reckless enough to try to poison a magician; who might not only be aware that what was being offered him was poison before he ever tasted it, but could retaliate with all sorts of magical violences. This must be the real, uncut stuff; and its source be the Earl, himself, rather than something Agatha Falon had brought down from London and the court— unless she had brought it down and had been using it to get the Earl under her control.

  Giles was speaking again, but Jim did not catch what he was saying, because just at that moment a long quavering howl was heard. It was off in the forest, and its sound reduced by distance and the shutters, which were still shut on the room that Jim and Giles were in; but it was unmistakable. Aargh was calling for Jim again.

  Jim's mind scrambled for some excuse that would let him part from Sir Giles without any waste of time. It was still scrambling when Carolinus walked in the door. The guard had not attempted to stop him, which was remarkably sensible, Jim thought.

  "Never mind, never mind all this!" said Carolinus testily. He waved a hand in the general direction of Giles, looking irritated. "Your friend can't hear us now. But we need you right away. The meeting between the Earl and the troll will have to be this afternoon. In fact, it has to be now."

  Jim darted a glance at Giles, who was sitting, apparently frozen, with his mouth open and a friendly, inquiring look on his face. Before Jim could speak the elder magician went on, in a more cheerful tone.

  "My, that hypnotism of yours can be quite handy!"

  "Why right now?" Jim said, deciding that he could only handle events in serial fashion.

  "You just heard Aargh," Carolinus answered. "He was telling us that Mnrogar is on his way up to the meeting-place. The Earl's awaiting us at the castle gate, and we want to get him there before Mnrogar appears. You have to be there too."

  "But why all of a sudden this way?" demanded Jim. "Did something happen?"

  "Only that the Earl decided that he wanted it right away," said Carolinus. "He suddenly realized he didn't want any of the guests watching except the Bishop, who's been told to watch from the battlements secretly. This is the time when all the other guests will be down in the hall at dinner, expecting the Earl to come in at any moment. The Earl doesn't want the guests to see the troll, which is reasonable. In fact, you should have thought of it beforehand."

  "I should?" said Jim.

  "Of course!" said Carolinus. "That's an apprentice's responsibility—deal with the details! At any rate, you're to come right now."

  "But what shall I do about Giles?" said Jim. "I can't just leave him here like this."

  "Of course you can," fumed Carolinus. "He won't remember anything except what you last said to him. The talk can't take too long, and we should be back in plenty of time for the Earl and you to get to the dinner and nobody know the difference."

  "It's not right just to leave Giles this way," said Jim stubbornly.

  "All right, then!" said Carolinus angrily. "I'll wake him up and you tell him to go away. Then we'll go." The magician turned to Giles and spoke, too softly for Jim to hear.

  Movement came back into Giles. He blinked at Jim.

  "It's the strangest thing, James," he said. "I could have sworn I was about to say something to you; but it has escaped my memory completely."

  "I'm not surprised, Giles," said Jim hastily. "What happened to you is just something that happens when a magical message is delivered to somebody else in the room. I've just gotten one. I must go immediately."

  "Go?" Giles stared
at him. Then his face saddened. "I was hoping we might have a chance to talk, James."

  "I'll look you up the moment I'm free; and we'll have all the time we need to talk, Giles. I—I give you my word," said Jim.

  "Well, well." Giles got slowly to his feet, trying to smile. "Duty is duty, of course. But I'll see you soon, James?"

  "Yes," said Jim, also getting up. "You have my word on it."

  "Oh, I trust your word, of course," said Giles.

  "I didn't mean that, either," said Jim. "Forgive me, I'm a little hasty because of the urgency of the message I just got."

  "Oh. I see," said Giles quickly. "Forgive me—I won't hold you a moment longer. I'll look forward to seeing you soon, James."

  He was already in movement as he spoke. He opened the door and went out and the door closed behind him.

  Jim looked balefully at Carolinus. Carolinus looked mildly and inquiringly back at Jim. Jim changed his mind about saying to the elderly magician what had been on the tip of his tongue a moment before.

  "Well, then, we can go now," he said.

  They did.

  Chapter 24

  It was not long before Jim found himself standing in snow in the woods, because Carolinus had magically transported him to the meeting spot, once they gotten outside the castle. He was standing next to a table that consisted of a flat wooden top laid on two trestles—exactly like those in the dining room, except that it lacked the linen tablecloth that was to be found right down into the households of well-to-do tenant farmers. The table, with its picnic connotations, seemed sadly out of place here, three-quarters surrounded by wild woods.

  The removable top was of seasoned wood and at least three inches thick, four wide planks joined together—probably by pegs in the edge of one plank, fitted into holes into the edge of the plank next to it—and of a uniform gray color that testified to the fact they had been in use for a large number of dinners. There were also the trees he remembered surrounding three sides of the clearing, with the fourth side open, giving a good view of the castle, half a bow shot away, and the bright steel caps of archers and men-at-arms clustered on the curtain wall in plain view there. Aargh was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Carolinus, or Mnrogar, or the Earl.