Grailblazers Tom Holt by Grailblazers (lit)

Author:Grailblazers (lit)
Language: bul
Format: epub

The Queen stood in the doorway and stared.

`You!' she said.

Bedevere looked up and smiled vaguely. `Yes,' he said. `Long time no see.'

For a moment, the Queen hesitated; then she turned and yelled for the guard. Bedevere shook his head.

`Sorry,' he said, `but it isn't going to work. You know your trouble? Bloody awful management relations.' He indicated the stunned PA curled up by the door. `All the rest have scarpered,' he said, `and I don't think he's in a fit state to be of much use to you. I hit him,' he added, `with the door.'

The Queen looked down and saw a few shards of smashed porcelain. Then she smiled.

`Never mind,' she said, `plenty more where that came from.'

`Doors or heavies?'

`Both,' replied the Queen, `although I was thinking more of the jar. Actually, I was rather fond of that one. Been in the family for ages and...'

Bedevere was impressed. `That old, huh?' he said. `Oh well, never mind. You can't make an omelette, as they say.'

The Queen laughed lightly. `Very true,' she said, and sat down on the cardboard box. `Now then,' she went on, `what can I do for you?'

Bedevere looked at her, and his face seemed to have undergone something of a transformation. Gone was the slightly sheepish look that always reminded Turquine of the last thing but one he saw in his mind's eye before going to sleep; in its place was an expression of gentle but hard determination, such as you might find on the face of someone who will break both your arms if necessary, but with a fitting sense of gravity and decorum.

`I want my money back,' he said.

The Queen's mouth fell open, and for the first time since the groat was demonetised she couldn't think what to say,

`I'm sorry?' was the best she could do.

`So you should be,' replied Bedevere sternly. He was silent for a moment, and then added, `You don't remember, do you?'

The Queen shook her head. `Frankly,' she replied, `no.'

Bedevere frowned. `A castle,' he said, `in the middle of a waste and desolate plain, somewhere in the middle of Benwick. A dark and stormy night, with the rain lashing down and lightning playing about the battlements. A young and innocent knight, hopelessly lost on his quest to pay the month's takings from the family dye works into the bank in Rhydychen. The knight sees the castle, murmurs “Thank God!” and craves the right of hospitality. The chatelaine of the castle invites him in, makes him welcome. There is light, and warmth, and food. And then. . .'

A brief spasm of pain shot across Bedevere's face and then his jaw set, as firm as a join in a superglue advertisement.

`In the morning,' he said, `the castle has gone. So has the money. The knight awakes on the cold fell, with nothing but his armour and a share certificate for twenty thousand Lyonesse Goldfields plc three-mark ordinary shares. He returns home. He explains as best he can. Stunned silence; then the reproaches, the recriminations, how could you do such a thing .

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