The Green Knight (Space Lore Book 1) (3 page)

Everyone in Eastcheap, except for Vere, applauded the Gthothch’s sporting gesture of letting the Watchneens go. The bartender, happy not to have more dead bodies in his bar, gave the Gthothch a complimentary drink. Vere withheld her applause, not because she disapproved of the sportsmanship that had been shown, but because she was too busy watching the woman who had rushed into the bar and unknowingly started the fight.

The woman was still going around from one dimly lit table to another until she saw everyone who was seated at it. Once she had, she continued to another part of the bar. By the time the fight was over and the applause had died down, the woman was at the table next to Vere’s.

That was when Vere got her first good look. The woman looked frantic but not scared. Each time she had gotten to another table she had assessed its occupants and moved on. When a table of Jur-Nan assassins hissed at her, she had stared them down rather than run away. Seeing her up close now, Vere noticed she had big blue eyes and short, bushy hair that bounced as she darted to and from each table.

Finally arriving at the only table she hadn’t yet intruded upon, the woman scanned the faces, and then her eyes lit up.

“Vere, I— ” the woman started to say.

“I don’t know who you think I am,” Vere said, her gray eyes shining, “but I can assure you that you’re mistaken.”

“You’re Vere CasterLan,” the woman said, her eyes not wavering. “Daughter of Artan the Good, and heir to his throne.”

“Friend, I think you must be confused,” Vere said under her breath, her eyes narrowing with irritation. But as she said it, she also scanned the bar to see if anyone else had overheard what the woman had said.

Traskk gave a soft growl, his diamond-shaped reptile eyes narrowing at the person bothering them. The scales on the back of his neck went up and the entire table moved when his giant tail, hidden beneath them, twitched with anger.

Vere put a hand on the giant reptile’s shoulder, then asked the woman in front of them what her name was.

“Morgan,” the woman said. “Morgan Le Fay. I come from Edsall Dark, where
you
are from,” emphasizing
you
as if it were an insult, “and where your father still rules.” The woman’s voice grew louder: “And I don’t have time for these games.”

“Listen,” Vere said. She tried to take the woman by the shoulder but the woman jerked away.

“Part of your father’s fleet just destroyed a ship full of people who didn’t do anything wrong,” Morgan said. “He had them killed for no reason.”

Fastolf gulped another portion of his drink and belched before saying, “And?”

“And they did this in Vonnegan space,” Morgan said, her eyes narrowing as she gazed at the fat man for the first time, knowing immediately that she didn’t like him.

Sitting on the far side of Traskk, Fastolf felt safe enough to ignore her dirty look and instead shrugged and kept drinking.

“Listen,” Vere said, “I’m sure this is all some sort of misunderstanding, but—”

“But what?” the woman yelled. “I know it must be fun to spend your days drinking and thieving, but there’s going to be all-out war if you don’t get up off your seat and do something.”

Before Vere could say anything, Fastolf leaned forward and said, “Honey, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

Morgan’s nostrils flared, then she picked an empty glass off the table and threw it at the fat man’s face. “Call me honey again and I’ll tear your nose off.”

Traskk, whose reflexes were stunningly quick, snatched the glass before it hit Fastolf’s face and set it back down.

“Listen, I’m sure this is all some sort of mistake,” Vere said.

“Yeah, sure,” the woman said. “Tell that to the fleet of Vonnegan ships that are massing at Mentieth.”

5

In front of the Mentieth portal, deep in the space ruled by Mowbray Vonnegan, an Athens Destroyer moved itself closer and closer to the circular confines of the energy field that would transport the vessel from one portal to another. From the edge of the Vonnegan Empire to the edge of the CasterLan Kingdom. As it did, its tinder walls slid down over every part of glass and every exhaust port. All of the destroyer’s cannons were facing forward like forty black eyes staring in judgment.

After the ship disappeared into the portal, another Athens Destroyer moved into position to do the same thing. Behind it, another was ready. And another. And another after that. Nearly one hundred Athens Destroyers in all, each fully equipped for war, were aligned in a perfect row so that if you faced one, all of the ships behind it seemed to vanish. And one by one, each ship entered the portal.

6

Vere motioned everyone aside to make room for their guest.

“I don’t want to sit,” Morgan said. “I want to get back to Edsall Dark.” She looked at Vere and added, “With the one person who may be able to stop this war.”

“War?” Fastolf laughed, then took another drink. To him, nothing was happening in the galaxy except what was going on in Eastcheap, which was why he turned his attention
 
to the bar and to ordering another round of drinks rather than letting the visitor ruin his good mood.

“There has to be a misunderstanding,” Vere said again, because it was the only thing she could think to say and because she had no intention of leaving Eastcheap.

Traskk and A’la Dure remained quiet. Only Occulus, who had lived twice as long as anyone else at the table, spoke up: “Who sent you here?”

“Who sent me?” Morgan said, looking at the old man and then at everyone else seated around her. She shook her head as if she wanted to take each of their drinks and break the glasses over their heads. “Who sent me? A war is going to break out because her father”—she jabbed a finger at Vere—“ordered innocent aliens to be blasted away. In Vonnegan space, of all places. And you’re asking who sent me? Common sense sent me.”

In a soft voice, rubbing his gray beard as he spoke, Occulus said, “What you’re saying just doesn’t make any sense.”

Vere ignored what her friend had to say. She was too busy staring at Morgan, her mouth slightly open, trying to decide if she should take offense at having a finger jabbed in her direction. Also, she was wondering if there was any point in trying one last time to claim she wasn’t who Morgan thought she was.

Just then, Fastolf returned from the bar with another handful of glasses, each filled with gold liquid. One for everyone except Morgan.

“You’re not still talking about nonsense, are you?” he asked Morgan. Then, not waiting for a response, he raised his drink in the air and said, “To horrendous blunderings!”

Morgan shook her head and slammed her fist against the table. To Vere, she said, “Why are you associating with people like him?
You
, the heir to the kingdom, and you’re drinking with this... mess.”

“Hey,” Fastolf said, leaning forward, “If you’re going to keep sweet-talking me you should at least buy me dinner first.”

Morgan’s other fist appeared on the table alongside the first. Her tongue poked into the side of her mouth, causing her cheek to stick out. Her nostrils flared. As she let the anger dissipate, she continued looking at Vere instead of at the man who had taunted her. But then, shaking her head, realizing there was simply too much irritation to ignore, she lunged across the table, one hand grabbing as much of Fastolf’s left ear as she could find and the other punching him twice on the eye.

Traskk roared and stood up from the table. When he did so, his tail broke the chair he had been sitting on and slammed into the wall with enough force that the plaster crumbled away. With his teeth bared at her, each longer than her fingers, she quickly forgot about the insult she had been given and let go of Fastolf’s ear.

The fat man howled with indignation at being treated so poorly. It was impossible for anyone not to notice how quickly his eye was swelling. He kept touching his ear, kept muttering that it felt as if it were going to fall off.

Morgan wasn’t worried about him fighting back. She was sure she could beat him in the close confines of the bar or the open air of the alley outside the bar or anywhere else. What she was worried about was the giant reptile standing over her, taller than any human or any other two-legged creature Morgan had ever seen.

“Okay, okay, everyone,” Vere said, but she was looking at Traskk and reaching toward him with her open hand as if to soothe him.

A strand of saliva stretched from one of Traskk’s upper teeth to one of his bottom, and Morgan was sure her entire head could squeeze in between the gap. Without even being conscious of it, Traskk’s tail waved back and forth, a clear sign that any Basilisk was angry. Morgan pursed her lips shut and hoped the tail would stop moving, knowing that the majority of people who ever saw a Basilisk’s tail move that much didn’t live to see anything else afterward.

“It’s okay,” Vere said again. “Let’s all be civil.”

“But she started it!” Fastolf yelled.

Vere shot back an exasperated look. “I said, let’s be civil.”

“Man,” Fastolf said, rubbing his eye and trying to get sympathy from anyone who would give it to him. “I think my eye socket is broken.”

“Serves you right,” Morgan said.

“Damn it, I said let’s be civil!” Vere hissed.

Only Occulus seemed unaffected by the punches that had been thrown next to him and by the giant yellow reptile baring his teeth. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he said again.

A’la Dure, who had been quiet throughout the altercation, put a hand on Traskk’s side. Only then did the reptile gaze back into the bar to see everyone was staring at him. A group of Hoh’ksons, skinny pale things with enormous ears and barely noticeable slits for eyes, were retrieving money they had tossed into the center of the table they were sitting at, probably wagering how long it would have taken Traskk to kill everyone else at the table. Traskk turned his head and stared at the Hoh’ksons until they all made little hiccup noises and slouched down in their chairs.

Occulus held his drink with both hands and looked in Vere’s direction. “Whenever something like this happens,” he said, sounding like a professor, “you have to ask yourself who benefits the most. That’s the only way to figure out true motives. Your father”—Vere frowned but there was no point in pretending to be anyone other than who Morgan knew she was anyway—“doesn’t benefit at all. In fact, he has the most to lose. The Vonnegan fleet has more starships and more firepower than the CasterLans have ever had. And everyone knows Mowbray has been wanting an excuse to expand his empire. Now, with the attack taking place in his own territory, he has it. I can’t believe your father would order the attack. He’s the person who will pay the highest price.”

“He ordered the attack,” Morgan said again. She tried to focus on getting the others to believe her, but every time the Basilisk breathed a whistle of air escaped between his huge fangs where his tongue, longer than her hair, slithered in and out of his mouth.

Vere ignored Morgan. “Then who benefits, Occulus?”

 
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said. “Something isn’t right. Your father would have to be insane to order an attack that brings the Vonnegan fleet to him.”

“He did,” Morgan said.

“But if he did—”

“He did!”

“But if he did,” Occulus continued, “what is he aiming to accomplish by doing it? I’m afraid to say it, but there won’t be a CasterLan Kingdom anymore. Only a much larger Vonnegan Empire.”

Vere’s mouth curled up at the side when she asked Morgan, “You don’t really think he ordered it, do you?”

“Oh, he ordered it, all right,” Morgan said.

“And how exactly would you know that?”

Morgan reached into her back pocket to retrieve a paper. Her brow furrowed. Her hand searched her other pocket. Then another.

Vere, knowing what had happened, tried not to laugh. “Just give it back,” she said to Fastolf.

The heavy-set man, his glass held up to his eye to keep the swelling down, feigned indignation.

“I don’t understand where—” Morgan started to say, but then remembered Fastolf walking past her to get the last round of drinks. She was in the middle of a pack of thieves and had already fallen victim without knowing it.

As soon as her eyes focused on him and her fingers curled into fists, Fastolf made sure Traskk was in her way and then tossed the paper at her.

“A copy of the orders that Hotspur received from the king,” she said, unfolding the document.

But before Vere could see what proof Morgan had or didn’t have, another fight erupted on the far side of the room. The bartender could do nothing but shake his head and pull glasses back from the bar so fewer things got broken.

A poor Wren, covered from head to toe with beautiful cream-colored fur, was being attacked by a pair of men who swung their barstools at it. Wrens were typically good-natured but because they were wider than they were tall, a confined space like Eastcheap often caused problems. This Wren had apparently knocked an entire table over—purely by accident—and there were thirsty drunks who took that personally.

The Wren had one man over its head before tossing him ten feet across the room, while the other man broke a barstool over the alien’s back.

Through the fighting, a man ran into the bar, looked around from table to table, then dashed right past the violence without acknowledging it. Out of breath, the man stopped at the same table Morgan was now sitting at.

“Vere, I—” the man said, hands on his knees.

“What is this, a convention?” Vere said, lowering her eyes, not wanting anyone else in the establishment to know who she was.

“I’ll drink to that!” Fastolf said, raising his glass. When no one else joined him, he shrugged and downed the drink by himself.

“You need to come to Edsall Dark right away,” the man said.

“I know, I know,” Vere said, rolling her eyes. “Something about a war, right?”

“A war?” Still panting, the man squinted with confusion. “I don’t know anything about a war.”

And for a moment, Vere thought everything might be okay after all. Maybe this truly was some sort of misunderstanding.