A Night on Glastonbury
A Night on Glastonbury
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A Night on Glastonbury |
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It was raining that night, but then it always was raining, this time of year. He smiled slightly to himself. That wasn't really true, but it sounded good. And it was true enough. No one went to Britain for the sun. The grounds were well kept, as always. There wasn't much evidence of tourism. This wasn't the 'season' for it, really -- tourists came here earlier in the year, when the weather was better. When Americans could get time in the summer and thought of Great Britain, naturally. Well, that was fine as well. He certainly didn't want to have to explain himself tonight. Not this night. He looked at the plot of land, with the sign marking where the cross once was. The cross itself had been a fake, of course. Twelfth Century. And it didn't mark the true site of the grave either. That was elsewhere. And it was so long ago that it might not matter today. But, at the time it was important -- at least to him -- that the man lie undisturbed. David had come close to mocking him -- taking such an interest in a mortal's remains. David if anyone should have understood better. It was an oath. He walked up to the abbey in the rain. Unattended, wearing simple clothes. A black tunic shirt, a leather jacket, a backpack slung over his arm. Just another longhair goth wannabe trekking the English Countryside trying to look like a Neil Gaiman character. Sometimes, you could hide in plain sight. Reaching the door, he realized it was open. There were voices inside. Terse ones. He took a deep breath. Sometimes, these things got to be unpleasant. "...understand me," the woman was saying. Straight back, proud. Blond woman, over six feet in height. He recognized her, naturally. Helsa, Seraph of the Sword. Powerful and experienced -- on track to be endorsed for a Word, should an appropriate one suggest itself. She had a human servant with her. She was accosting Mister Kane, the Seneschal. "Every moment I waste with you gives the Hellspawn that much more time to entrench themselves. It's going to be hard enough to dig them out without--" "I understand your words," Mister Kane said, trying to remain composed, "but tonight is not the night for such things. I do not have the resources to give you. We have a tradition--" "Your traditions do not interest me," Helsa said coldly. "The business of the War supersedes them. I do not expect a dreamer to understand this, but it remains a fact. Whatever you have planned, cancel." He had heard enough. "Excuse me," he said mildly. "Is there some problem?" Helsa turned. The human jumped, startled. In turning, she missed Mister Kane's look of relief. "Excuse me," she said coldly. "The Abbey is closed to tourists until tomorrow morning. This is private." "Yes, I'm aware. I have prior business with the Seneschal. An appointment of long standing." He approached her slowly. He knew she wouldn't recognize him. Not in this vessel. But she should hear the truth of his words... he'd rather not make this unpleasant for a loyal Servitor of the Sword.... "Ah. Then understand this Tether's resources are required in the name of the Sword. Good evening." She turned away, Seraph coldness in her bearing. To her mind, the intruding Angel -- if Angel he was -- had left her world. He put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't have time to be outraged as he spun her and forced her to her knees like a child. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, Helsa," he said icily, letting his true face show in his eyes. "I have prior business with the Senseschal." Anger and outrage swiftly gave way to shock and then burning embarrassment. "My Lord," she whispered. "My Lord, I had no idea--" "Clearly," he said dryly, letting her go and stepping around her. He nodded to the human. "Her Lord," the human said, blinking. He'd clearly never seen Helsa humbled before. "Who--" "I am called Laurence in your language," he said coolly. "At least, right now I am." He approached the Seneschal, his face softening a bit. "Well met, Sir Kay." Mister Kane looked amused and relieved all at once, offering a hand Laurence took and shook. "Well met, Sir Bedwyr," he responded in that soft voice that Laurence had never gotten used to. "It's a rainy night for rememberances." "That's Britain for you, eh?" He clapped the Seneschal on the shoulder lightly. "Sorry I'm a hint late. Business." "Laurence...?" the human said, his voice a mixture of awe and dread. "Archangel Laurence?" "Of course," Helsa hissed to him, having regained her feet. "My Lord, I did not realize the Seneschal's business was with you, but there is still the matter of--" "Are you still here," he asked mildly, glancing over his shoulder. "Lord... there is a matter of great urgency, involving a significant entrenching of Hell's forces. We suspect Demons of the War, with their Soldiers--" "And this must be dealt with tonight, Helsa?" Inwardly, he was proud of her. Laurence expected to be honored and respected as his rank and position demanded. He didn't expect to never be questioned. He wasn't Gabriel, after all.... "With every passing minute, their position becomes more difficult to dislodge." "Are there mortal lives at stake?" "Not at this time...." "Well then... if you will stop interrupting, I will give the matter my personal attention in the morning. Will that be sufficient to your need?" Helsa blinked. "Your... yes, My Lord. That will be more than sufficient. I will leave you and the Senseschal to your business. Drake?" "Huh? Right... I... excuse me... your... um... Archangelness?" Helsa stopped in her tracks and had the presence of mind to look horrified. Laurence smiled a touch. "Lord or General will do," he said. "Though I believe 'Your Blessedness' is the technical address. Yes?" "I... don't mean to... I mean, it's none of my business--" "You have had sufficient cheek to ask a question," Laurence said. "Ask it without apology." "Well... I overheard you call Mister Kane Kay... and he called you Bedwyr.... Um... General, do you mean the Sir Kay? And Sir Bedivere?" Mister Kane smiled a bit, his eyes twinkling. "My Bright Lady's seeds still take root in these modern times, Bedwyr," he said with cheer. Laurence half-smiled. "You know the legends... Drake, was it?" "I know the -- yes, sir. Drake, sir. Drake Fuller. And... yeah, yeah of course I do. I mean, the movies, the books, the plays... why do you think I signed up?" "Because you were about to be eaten by a Servitor of Haagatini," Helsa muttered. "Drake, we should leave...." Laurence glanced at his Servitor. "Mm. Perhaps not, Helsa. Mister Kane is right -- this is a matter of Dreams now, and we are in a Tether of Blandine's. Perhaps the Sword should respect that, and respect when a Dreamer asks a question. It is another front of the War, after all." Helsa didn't answer, which almost made Laurence grin. He had never spoken of Dreams to his Servitor, but he knew how several of the Seraphim of the Sword felt about the Marches. The truths they held so sacred were fluid there, and a different kind of truth could be felt in a dream.... "Bedwyr," Mister Kane interrupted. "Perhaps we should retire to the study. Assuming you brought your usual...." "Would I forget?" He smiled, opening up the backpack and slipping out one of the bottles of Mead. "I found a Microbrewery in Oregon of all places...." Mister Kane's eyebrows arched. "American mead? Oh Bedwyr...." "One must accept that which one cannot control." He zipped the backpack up. "Helsa. Mister Fuller. Come with us." "Lord?" Helsa asked. "I... do not understand." "No, you don't." Laurence said, following the Seneschel into the study. "That is precisely why you're coming." Drake followed a hair more quickly than his Mistress. Laurence wasn't really surprised. Laurence wasn't known for fraternizing, even with favored Servitors. He was looking around, the shock working its way through his system. "Why do you meet here," he asked. Mister Kane smiled slightly. "I am Seneschal here. It's easier to meet here then to meet somewhere else." "No, I mean, why are you--" "I think we know what you mean," Laurence said with a slight smile. "We meet every fifty years on the anniversary of the death of who you would call Arthur, King of the Britons. Originally, all of those who remained from those mad, tragic, glorious days met with us as well. But with time and other concerns, either they passed away or they simply forgot. It was never a requirement." "There was another, last time," Mister Kane noted. "Mm. Yes. But no sign of her yet?" Mister Kane shook his head. "Well enough. Sit, you two. Kay, as our host, would you pass the mead around? It's a good night for it." Kane smiled, taking the backpack. "Let me see to the doors, Bedwyr. You can begin to tell the story, and I will get the glasses while I'm up." "Story?" Helsa asked. "How better to learn what you want to know?" Mister Kane said with a smile. "Or what he wants your to know, which is the same thing." Laurence nodded slightly, and settled down. The storm was raging outside, but in the study it was warm. Warm enough to let words tell stories.....
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