The Calling

Bors pushed his way from the undergrowth which separated the forest to the road and stepped onto the hard pavement and glanced about the street. “For whence we came” he said pointing back through the forest as his two comrades pulled themselves free of the vegetation and swung around pointing up the street, “there forth hence we must travel yonder” he declared.

“My Lord Bors” said Percival cautiously, “what is yonder lights?” The three Knights stared long the road to the source of the light. A small congregation of people huddled around a yellow cordon, straining to see past the rope and through the hastily constructed white tent which stood on the hot tarmac.

“I know not” admitted Bors, “tis a strange world indeed”

“Aye...” said Tristan sadly looking around at the small town which had grown up around the castle, “much has changed to my beloved Cornwall since our time”

“But tis still thy home” said Bors confidently.

“To a sort...just not if thoust doth understand my meaning” Bors nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled looking the Knight in the eyes. “This was my home” continued Tristan, “I can still see the land rising and falling in my mind” he sniffed, “The land still smells like Cornwall...yet doth not. It is tinged with...a presence”

“My Lord” said Percival, “Should it be wise that we dwell?”

“No” admitted Tristan, “we had better move onward”

“Aye...prudence shall be our valour this day” said Bors looking over the heads of his comrades. The three Knights walked slowly up the road, their clothing and manner gaining little interest from the growing spectators around the tent. As they neared the blue light flashed on and off and they could see a swarm of people, mostly men dressed in an official blue uniform standing behind the yellow line. “I say good sir” said Bors loudly as they neared the rear of the crowd, “what goes on yonder?”

An elderly gentleman turned and spied the Knight suspiciously for a moment then spoke through narrowed eyes, “you here for the castle or something?” he asked, “your clothes” he added nodding down at the armour and tunics worn by the Knights.

“Aye...Aye...thoust is correct” said Percival hastily, then he leant forward, “we come for the pageant” he winked at the man as he spoke.

“Pageant you say...yeah...well...bit early for that ain’t you?” said the old man.

“Best be early than late” laughed Bors.

“What goes on?” asked Percival gazing past the man to the yellow tape and beyond.

“Don’t rightly know” the man admitted, “but the word is someone’s been killed...stabbed to death” he whispered leaning close to Percival. “Old Doris reckons some guy stabbed him with a sword...” he trailed off as his eyes wandered down to the scabbard around the waist of Percival, then back to Percival’s face. “Ere...you’re not...”

“No... no...no good sir” said Tristan at his side, “these are not real, but mockeries”

“Oh” said the old man, “like plastic fakes or something”

“Aye tis right” agreed Tristan frowning, “now...Doris...” he urged.

“That’s about it. She reckons these guys had an argument in the road, fought and...” he thrust his hand out before him, “dead” he said finally.

“Does she know who?” asked Percival craning his neck past the crowd. “tis man or woman?”

“Eh? Oh, I don’t know” said the old man, “asks a lot of questions your pal don’t he?” he said turning to Tristan.

“Tis the best way to learn” said Tristan smiling warmly.

“Reckon your pal don’t think so...” he said nodding through the crowd toward Bors, who was pushing his large body through the crowd of people.

“Bors!” shouted Tristan, “Bors!”

If the large Knight had heard him, then he had chosen to ignore him and continued his journey to the edge of the yellow perimeter. His fingers ran along the edge of the tape and he looked about the other people who all stood in a strange fashion behind the boundary. He frowned, he did not understand the custom and took the plastic in his hands examining the item. It ran around several large poles around a large white tent and had strange black markings running in diagonal lines at intermittent intervals across the tape. He frowned and released the tape and looked at his hands, then reached out gingerly for the tape once again, pressing the edges of the tape gently before moving his hands away for a second time. He examined the tips of his fingers and pressed them together, watching as the skin stuck together gently as he opened and closed his digits. He pressed his fingers around the sticky tape once again, he frowned as he lifted the tape high and gazed at the markings running along the line of the tape. He recognized that the markings were letters, but such things were for men of learning he thought, and not for the likes of him, then swiftly ducked beneath the cordon and walked briskly across the road toward the tent.

“Excuse me sir!” the voice was tinged with panic, as it struck his back. Bors turned and watched puzzled as a small man dressed in the same blue uniform as the other men ran across the road toward him waving.

“My good man” Bors greeted him as he slowed to a stop before him.

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t enter here” said the man.

“Why?” the question seemed simple enough to Bors as he asked it and smiled heartedly at the man.

“I’m sorry, but the area has been cordoned off” he indicated toward the yellow tape as he spoke, “this is a crime scene” he explained, “you are not allowed in here”

“Your words...” said Bors slowly, “I do not understand their content”

“You’re not allowed in here sir” said the man politely

“But why?” asked Bors again, “tis not a free country” The man seemed puzzled for a moment and Bors continued, “Am I not permitted to wander where I wish”

“Not here sir” insisted the man, “this is a crime scene. A serious crime has been committed and your presence may contaminate the scene”

“Your words do not make sense to me” said Bors shaking his head.

“I am sorry sir, but I am going to have to ask you to leave”

“Are you threatening me?” asked Bors, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword.

“No... sir.” said the man, “please if you could...” he indicated toward the yellow cordon.

“What is thine purpose?” demanded Bors.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me” roared Bors, “what is thine purpose!”

“I am here sir, to keep people like you out!”

“Ah, I see now” laughed Bors, “thoust is a guard!”

“Yeah...well...sort of...now of you could...”

Bors spied his comrades waving to him from the crowd, who had turned and were watching the exchange between the police officer and the Knight with interest and reluctantly the large Knight moved back behind the cordon and joined his comrades. “Yon blue guard has ushered me away” he complained.

“Tis good that he did” whispered Tristan clutching at his arm and pulling him through the crowd toward the rear of the congregation of people.

“Has thee lost thine nerve old friend” snapped Bors frowning.

“No my Lord” snapped Tristan, “yon blue guard is an official of the new crown, their presence is most lawful”

“They are akin to a sheriff” added Percival.

“I understand...” said Bors looking over the crowd toward the police officer who was standing talking to a comrade looking into the crowd.

“Their presence is most severe” insisted Tristan in hushed tones, “it would appear that one such as ourselves may have slain a youth”

“Mordred...” breathed Bors, Tristan nodded. “Then what should our recourse be?”

“We need to withdraw to think our actions” said Tristan.

Bors spied the public house beyond the cordon and pointed past the tent, “yon ale house...” he said softly, “tis our goal. I suggest we continue with our quest and not let these matters interfere with our goal”

“Aye my Lord...but the two could be connected...”

“Is thoust art saying we should proceed with utmost caution” Tristan nodded at the statement and moved slightly behind the larger Knight causing Bors to laugh, “Thoust is too careful” he pushed his comrade before him and ushered him toward the building. “There is naught to be scared of in yonder building except for the strength of the ale inside” he laughed and pushed Tristan forward.

The Knight spied the same taped which had sealed off the road behind them and cast a glance toward Percival, who answered with a shrug and followed the two up the steps. “There does not seem to any of yon blue guards” he remarked as they stood outside the building, casting a wary eye around them. A sound from overhead broke their chain of thought and the three Knights averted their gaze upward where a helicopter hovered over the tree line for a moment before moving across the town. “What is yon whirlybird?” asked Percival covering his eyes as the glare from the setting sun masked his eyesight.

“Some strange creature...” ventured Bors.

“I think not...” said Tristan, his hand covering his forehead, “it is metal of nature” he said, “I believe it could be a carriage”

“That flies like a bird!” laughed Bors, “Thoust has been in the hostelry already!”

“Nay...my Lord, but I have seen many strange things since we have awoken” he confided softly, “many of these carriages, both in the air like a bird and on the ground”

“I do not believe thee” said Bors.

“It is true” insisted Tristan, “yonder carriage” he said pointing toward a line of parked cars, “run without horses”

Bors stared at him for a moment, then laugh and pushed his bulky frame beneath the yellow tape, “thoust jest old friend” he said and with one final glance along the street he pushed at the door of the pub.

Tristan looked at Percival and sighed, following the Knight inside the pub. “Tis a world of nightmares” remarked Percival, before he too ducked beneath the tape and disappeared inside the building.

The scene which greeted them was of pure chaos, glass littered the floor and strewn across the room were the remnants of tables and chairs which lay discarded throughout the room. “I would hazard a guess that Morgan has paid a visit” said Tristan as he followed his comrades gaze around the room. Bors was lifting tables to their feet and replacing chairs beneath the wooden structures. His feet crunched the glass into the carpet as he moved across the floor, the tiny shards whispering their terrible secrets as they shone in the dwindling light within the bar.

“Aye it would seem...” remarked Bors as he lifted one of the few remaining glasses that had not broken from the floor and held the vessel to his nose, sniffing hard at the contents, “and it would seem that she was not alone” he commented.

“Mordred?” queried Tristan as he moved further into the room.

Bors nodded and placed the glass on the table and straightened from his crouching position. He nodded over to a figure covered by a long white cloth close to the fireplace, “Be it the girl?” he asked cautiously.

Percival pushed his way into the room and moved briskly through the debris strewn floor to the body and lifted the cloth slightly revealing the corpse of a withered man beneath. He gingerly touched the skin, and withdrew his hand quickly as the leathery brown flesh felt dry and brittle beneath the pressure of his fingers. “Nay...it would appear to be a man” he said moving his head from side to side as he surveyed the body. “He is dead” he said simply, stating the obvious, “Morgan...” he whispered and replaced the cloth and stood gazing around the bar. “There doth seem no further person”

“Then we must assume that Morgan has the girl” said Bors.

“What is our recourse?”

“Why is that not simple” declared Bors as he strode toward the bar, lifting the hatch and walking behind the counter. His hand pulled at a glass from beneath the bar and he placed it beneath a long white pump which stood proudly on the bar and tugging at the handle and laughed, “we raid the castle and rescue the fair maiden from the clutches of Morgan Le Fay!” Bors raised the glass to his lips and let the brown ale float past his lips and the white froth cast a covering over his moustache, while his comrades looked toward each other, both feeling an ever growing sense of dread prevailing over the pair.