Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) (41 page)

“You know Sir Patrick, you are not Sir Silence at all, and you are certainly not shy,” she giggled uncontrollably as he ran his hands over her ribcage and body. “Once one comes to know you. Another thing, you still do not cry. I have heard perhaps the saddest of tales from you and not a single tear has fallen from your eye. I see they struggle to come out, but you don’t let them. This is no good.”

“Don’t you think I have tried? Tears are not at my beck and call,” Patrick said.

She took his hand from her waist and just held it. “When was the last time you wept?” she asked.

Patrick thought, calculating. “Before Kellie left me. A long time ago. I do not know why I no longer have any tears. I fear if the day does come again that I weep, it will be an absolute deluge.”

Katherina looked shocked. “That long? Even after all these tragedies? That is not right, Patrick.”

“You know what my theory is?” Patrick pointed out, still smiling. “Everyone else has the problem, not I.”

“Once again I can’t necessarily agree, but that sounded like the most positive thing I have heard you say ever, Irish-man.” Katherina escaped Patrick’s grasp and started to pick up the picnic site. “Come, let us go back to Greensprings, I have to be at loom soon.”

Patrick bent to assist her, but then suddenly stood up and looked off to one direction.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

“Those standing stones, I could have sworn they were over there, and not there, a minute ago.”

Katherina’s brow furrowed. “You certainly do have active imagination. Do you always see things Patrick?” She grabbed his hands and put her face close to his, and in their kiss, they forgot all about the stones.

#

“How do I look?” Patrick asked Sir Jon.

Jon surveyed him. “Your usual dapper self. It’s only a concert, not a state dinner, you know.”

Patrick wiped his sleeve over the polished bronze shield that hung on the wall near the Practice Field, just inside the keep. His efforts did not improve the blurry image.

“Jon, I’m amazed at you. Were you not the one who insisted that a presentable image was necessary if one wanted to improve one’s station?” Patrick straightened Jon’s cape and patted him on the chest. “How goes your attempt of winning the Lord Loki’s endorsement as an Avangarde candidate?” Patrick’s eyes scanned the yard from the colonnade; the evenings no longer were chilly, and the grounds around Greensprings were alive.

Jon pouted. “He said my efforts were best applied elsewhere.”

Patrick grimaced. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say. I’m sure he phrased it more gently than that, right?”

Jon shook his head dourly.

“I’m sorry to hear that Jon. I don’t know what to say.” Patrick placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, and you deserve something for your efforts.”

“Well, you give me hope,” Jon confided as they moved towards the exit of the keep, and the practice field beyond.

Patrick was genuinely surprised. “How so?”

“Despite your best efforts at being anti-social, you’ve still managed to win the attention of a noticeable Guest, the Lady Katherina. I am sure
she
will gladly recommend you become an Avangarde once the next position opens. So, you see, you’ve accomplished what I’ve been trying to do without even trying.”

Patrick waved him off. “I’ve done no such thing.”

Jon smiled. “You’re probably right. It probably has more to do with the fact that she is a bit of a misfit herself. Birds of a feather and all.”

“Katherina? A misfit?”

“Yes, she is much like you. Dines alone, doesn’t spend much time with the other lady Guests, doesn’t participate in...”

“OK, OK, I get it,” Patrick frowned, more than just his feathers ruffled. “She’s been through a lot. She is far from home and she barely speaks any of the common languages here. That alone will isolate you. It wasn’t until a year into the Crusade that I finally began to fit in, after I started to get a sense of French. Loneliness will drive you to do odd things...” Patrick trailed off, feeling pulled toward dark thoughts.

“Still, you will win recognition—Avangarde sort of recognition—for counseling her during her difficult time. All I have to show so far is that I annoyed the Viscount Loki.”

Patrick was about to comment when the sound of hurried footfalls came up behind them in the form of Trent and Willy, on their way to the concert. Willy caught sight of Patrick and wagged his finger.

“Ho, Sir Patrick, I say you’ve gone too far this time.”

Patrick frowned. “What’s that?”

“You know very well. You slipped into my room and absconded with my pottery wheel.”

“It is missing?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Willy stopped, hands on hips and a serious attempt of a disapproving scowl on his face.

“What makes you think I took it?”

“Because you, Sir, are a hater of art. You always protest my craft.”

Patrick smirked. “I like art just fine, William. It’s your crafts that make disagreeable noises I do not like. Your pottery-making doesn’t disturb my sleep, therefore I have no motive for absconding with your pottery wheel.”

This seemed to stump Willy. “Very well, you are off the hook.” He thrust a finger dramatically into the air. “But I demand a formal inquest into the matter!”

Patrick smiled. “I will look into it first thing in the morning.”

Satisfied, Willy and Trent continued on their way to the concert, but before doing so, Trent called back, “Oh, I almost forgot, King Mark needs help carrying something out of the keep.”

“What about you?” Patrick called after Trent, but to no avail. The gangly boy had already strode out of earshot.

“I’ll go, Jon. Cheer up. You are a good man, forget what Loki said. He’s wrong.” Patrick patted Jon on the shoulder again, and they parted ways outside the keep.

#

Sir Patrick strode down the corridor with a bounce in his stride and he whistled softly to himself. He had not been in this part of the keep since the inquest, and it still seemed gloomy, as if haunted by the old men and their questions. He wondered what Mark was carrying to the concert.

An icy breeze caused the tapestries to flutter. Patrick stopped his saunter. The keep was drafty, but nothing like this, and a shiver ran up his spine. He didn’t like the feel of it.

Then at the far end of the corridor was the shape of a robed and hooded figure. It walked slowly with head down and arms tucked in either sleeve. Patrick’s heart pounded. “F-Father Constant?” he called, but he knew better. He knew that it wasn’t Hugh, or any of the other clergy. It was his own personal tormentor, returning from its absence. As it approached, the Apparition raised its hooded head, and only blackness filled the gap. It thrust forth its accusing finger.

Patrick stood stiffly, jaw clenched. “Who are you?” he said between his teeth. “What are you, and what do you want with me?”

The thing stopped before the Irishman and kept pointing. Patrick flinched, but did not run. He stood with his back straight.

“I will not let you do this to me any longer. Take what you come for, and get it over with. Otherwise do not waste my time, wraith!” Despite his bold words, Patrick shook like a scared child.

The Apparition backed up a step, turned, and walked away. It took a few steps, looked over its shoulder, then continued on its way, fading into nothingness as it did. It was gone.

Patrick let out a long breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. He shook terribly and his brow was wet.

“Sir Patrick? Is that you?” The human voice in the corridor brought him back to reality. He looked up to see the Lady Christianne Morneau approaching from the other direction. When she was in sight of the knight, she gasped. “Are you well? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

Patrick laughed nervously. “I think I am coming down with something, but I believe it will pass soon.”

Melwyn was with her, trailing in her shadow. She peeked over Christianne’s shoulder and gave her characteristic vacuous giggle.

Patrick smiled and bowed deeply. “Good day to you, Mademoiselle Melwyn.”

The servant laughed again and her face disappeared behind Christianne’s back. She long ago had lost her fixation for William, and knew that Patrick was no lover of young men, but she still made a game of it.

“You certainly have a way with the Ladies,” Christianne said. “Melwyn, why don’t you run ahead to the concert? I’ll meet with you there.”

Melwyn conceded and made a wide berth around Patrick as she departed, laughing. He watched her leave and shook his head.

“I mean it Patrick, you certainly have a way with the Ladies,” Christianne said once Melwyn was gone. Patrick didn’t know what she meant, and frowned at her. “I was surprised to see you with the Lady Katherina.”

The knight understood her train of thought. “We really are just friends.”

Christianne wrung her hands. “No, you’re not. Anyone can see that.”

Patrick shrugged. He didn’t make any confession, or made any more effort to deny it.

The Lady Morneau looked away, struggling to say more. “I just wanted you to know that, well, I never meant to...”

Patrick put up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. I don’t have any ill feelings for you. Were you still passing your time with Geoffrey, maybe then I would, but you’re not. I like Mark very much. I am happy with the way things are now. Does that make sense?”

Christianne came forward and embraced him. “Yes, very much. Thank you.”

He hugged her back. This, for some reason, was more of a relief than seeing the Apparition turn away.

#

Patrick found Mark in his apartment. Crates of yellow and red and blue pennants blocked the window and stopped the door from swinging all the way open. They’d been in storage awhile and some of the crates were moldering and unstable, but Mark wanted to hand them out at the concert, and needed help transporting the load of them to the field.

“Why for a concert?” Patrick asked.

King Mark shrugged. “They have been lying around here for a long time now, and I have been wanting to pass them out for some occasion. I just can’t find one that suits well enough. I figured the concert was just as good as any. They’re taking up space in my quarters.”

“I have an idea,” Patrick suggested.

“Oh?”

“I’ve been thinking about organizing something in the way of a jousting tournament, or perhaps a mock melee with us knights choosing teams and fighting it out. We could hold it on the Practice Field, put up balconies for the Guests as spectators. That would be a more suitable occasion to pass out pennants to wave than at a music concert.”

Mark blinked. “Why, yes. That sounds absolutely grand. I’ll make sure everyone helps out. That is a terrific idea.” He looked at Patrick with a new appreciation. “Why the desire to be so involved all of a sudden?”

Patrick rubbed the back of his head, and turned halfway away. “Let’s just say it’s been pointed out to me that I tend to avoid things and should be more involved.”

Mark nodded with a smile, but his expression turned inward as he reevaluated the piles of crates. “Unfortunately, that means I must put up with these damned things in my bedroom for a while longer.” Mark dropped the crate he was holding and brushed his hands. “But it also saves us from carrying them out there now. Let’s go to the concert.”

It was a quick trip out of the keep to the practice field, where wooden scaffolding was set up for the spectators. These were mostly occupied by the older Guests and keep staff, while the younger Guests and junior staff were content to sit in the grass before the stage, where members of the troupe were warming up their angelic voices.

The Lady Katherina intercepted him, and guided him to the front of the crowd before the stage. There, they found William, Trent, and Jon. “Gentlemen,” he said, “may I present to you the Lady Katherina.” The trio rose to their feet and bowed at the hip and Katherina returned the gesture with a curtsy.

“Pleased to meet anyone who can extract that stick from Sir Patrick’s arse,” Willy said.

With just a hint of color to her cheeks, the Lady Katherina covered a dainty smile with a hand and said nothing.

“Can we sit down, please,” Patrick said, mortified enough for the both of them.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It mean they comfortable with you. You should be happy.”

“I’m ecstatic,”

“What is wrong with the big one?”

Patrick noticed that she was looking at Jon, who was still gloomy.

“He’s not having such a good day. It’s a long story.”

Katherina pouted. “He need cheering up. Or maybe girlfriend.”

Patrick shrugged.

#

“Ah, there is our illustrious leader. Maybe now we can get on with this ridiculous sing-fest,” the Viscount Loki growled, as Mark took his seat.

“Music is not your fancy then, Viscount?” asked Sir Geoffrey, who sat next to the older Guest. Both were impeccably dressed and had spent time on their hair. A few of the other young men had begun to imitate them.

Loki sniffed. “Not such an amateur showing as this, of course not.”

“Surely give the youngsters some credit, they’re working hard to amuse us. Though I wouldn’t mind some of them doing something else for my amusement,” Geoffrey said. His eyes wandered over some of the older Lady Guests in the choir.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “And what has prevented you from asking?”

Geoffrey waved a hand. “I haven’t had much luck lately.”

“That doesn’t seem to be the case with Sir Mark or Sir Patrick,” Loki pointed out, nodding in the direction of King Mark. Mark motioned to the conductor to start the music, and Loki’s chuckle was lost in the first notes.

Sir Geoffrey sneered and murmured, “The Lady Morneau is hardly worth the effort. She is all talk. The Lady Katherina, on the other hand, now that is a tragedy.”

“Because she is with the Irishman?”

“Precisely,” Geoffrey replied. The choir made its first harmony, a sweet, heavenly sound. The two men listened for a few moments, but did not lean back from their heads-together posture.

“You don’t like Sir Patrick?” asked Loki.