The Trials of Gideon Book 2: Steal the Dark

Chapter 11: Castling, king, rook

"Okay when were you two going to tell me there's two of them?" I ask, walking to Henry and Courtenay's tent unannounced. They are predictably drinking wine and going over ledgers at opposite ends of the table, but when I enter they start laughing so hard they nearly choke on their wine.
"You will address your monarch with more respect, Saint," King Henry recovers first standing up and rescuing Courtenay's wine glass.
"You're not my monarch anymore, you 'died' and became like Jesus. And for your information this is EXACTLY how I talk, to Jesus," I say.
"You're not supposed to talk to Jesus who raised you?" Courtenay sighs.
"Books. Now. Were you gonna tell me there was two of them? Someday?" I ask, folding my arms.
"I did give you one's description, and warn you quite nicely," King Henry says, still struggling not to laugh.
"So, no, that was not a nice warning, a nice warning is 'hey there are two of them they come as a package set and are always together being terrible', not some cryptic little riddle."
"You figured it out didn't you?"
"Yes," I mutter.
"All right then, get out of my tent," Henry says, going to put down his wine and get his cloak.
"I take it the Bastard is dead?" Courtenay gestures to me. I'm generally mucky from the day and still weeping blood.
"One down, one to go. The one to go is in custody, but I don't know which one it is," I say, "How is it that they're switching places? Which one is which?"
"The Archbishop will explain it to you," Henry says, going to the front of the tent.
"What will the Archbishop explain to him??" Courtenay asks, looking up.
"The Archbishop will think of something."
Courtenay stares after his monarch murderously.
"I take it by that little exchange you don't actually know, how to tell them apart, do you?" I ask.
Courtenay sighs, looking down at the letter he was working on, "When do you pray, to Jesus, Saint? I took you for a Muslim."
Fast pass through religion. Since I'm brown skinned the most logically way I got here to pasty old England is the Moors, or the Middle Eastern nations, I look more middle eastern than like a Moor, ergo I'd be Islamic. Since I do not participate in church and am disdainful of Catholicism he was probably assuming I'm Islamic not Catholic. So it's not being racist per-say, he's admitting he's surprised that was not the natural assumption.
"No, um, my father sent me to a monastery, when I was a boy," I say. I was just twelve or something. I'd never brought a girl home or anything. And my father's new girlfriend was religious. And so they sent me to some little, weekly prayer bible study for gay teens to pray the gay away. I hadn't come out to them, but one night my father asked what I was reading at the table so I wound explaining Alexander and Hephesation's relationship and they figured that was the same thing as being gay. Which it kind of is. But I can't say all that. "I'd been studying the Greeks, and not talking to girls, and they thought I needed more religion."
"Ah," Courtenay says, nodding, "And what did you pray for, so incorrectly?"
Catholics don't talk to god, you have to go to a priest then he tells god things, you can talk to a saint, not God, not Jesus. That's why he's saying it like that, like that's not how Catholicism works.
"I asked him why he made me like this. If nobody was going to like me," I say, quietly.
"I used to ask why life had to be so boring. And I had to be so lonely," he says.
"Now look, you're in a tent in the middle of France with enough Europe to campaign until you die," I say nicely.
"And you have a kidnapping victim for me," he smiles though.
"Yeah, about that. I'm a having trouble killing him, so I'm sort of here to offer you a deal, that will get him dead and will also be really fun," I say.
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"Come on," I beg.
"No. I'm saying no," he shakes his head.
"You don't speak for the King."
"I absolutely do on these matters."
"You don't I'll ask him. I asked you first to be nice."
"You're not nice to me!"
"Do you deserve it?"
"Well no, but I do try."
"You do not."
"I do as well you're not asking him get out I want to never see you here again," Courtenay says, standing up.
"Please please please please please," I bounce a little.
"Does that ever work?"
"No, please?" I put my fist in my mouth, "He'll be back I'm gonna find him and ask him."
"No, I'll incapacitate you," Courtenay says.
"Think of how happy it will make him!"
"Think of how stressful it will be for me! No, he got to do a siege this week just no I need my rest and relaxation—,"
"Please? It'll work, he'll enjoy it—,"
"No. No now get out."
"I'm just gonna ask him I don't know what you think is stopping me," I say.
"Me, that's what!" Courtenay says, about to hex me.
King Henry ducks back in the tent, followed by a dog which I guess is what he went looking for.
"Your Majesty do you wish to fight the Bastard in single combat?" I ask.
"Yes of course!" King Henry completely happy and ignoring Courtenay trying to kill me. "He agreed?"
"Said something about me being pathetic trying to kill him and that's only right it's you, something long about Achilles and the Iliad," I say, very casually while Courtenay comes over to fight me in single combat.
"Did you get it in writing?—Edmund—Edmund fetch my armor—,"
"Not now! In the morning," I say, as I duck out of Courtenay's choke hold.
"You didn't say that," Henry, like so obviously disappointed. Like it's sad he's genuinely disappointed he was putting on chain mail he was absolutely going to go fight a ghost at midnight.
"I did now, I was a little busy—quit—," I say, cancelling another spell Courtenay tries to put on me.
"What? Were you against it?" Henry asks Courtenay genuinely confused why his husband doesn't want him fighting another man to the death. "You know there's no man better with the sword than I."
"He's undead, I don't know what that means," Courtenay says.
"He also has only one hand."
"Yes we know," I mutter.
"Even so," Courtenay says.
"We don't think I can die yet."
"Yes, but I am against testing that," Courtenay sighs.
"I'm not going to die. I do not die—,"
"We don't know if he can die," Courtenay says.
"He can, if I cut off his magic, which I'm going to right before the fight," I say, "Then we think he can die, but we're not sure."
"See?" Courtenay says.
"Well I'm happy to test the assumption," Henry says, clearly excited.
"Father, I heard you calling," Edmund skitters in, big dog following him. he's half in mail and was clearly getting ready for bed. He bows very quickly to his father.
"I have been informed my duel is not until dawn you can go back to bed," Henry says, kind of nicely.
"You're dueling someone?" Edmund asks, nearly bouncing.
"Yes the Bastard, Saint, I don't seen agreement? In writing?"
"Here I ah, edited it a little, really I told you the jist of it," I say, handing him a very profane letter. Like I didn't know half of those words in any language.
"Thank you—where is he? Shouldn't you be minding him?" Henry asks.
"Yep, going—ow," I say, as Courtenay tries to trip me.
"Your Majesty, Archbishop" I nod to them both, bowing before taking myself back to Harlech.
Back at Harlech it's late but none of us sleep anyway so that's fine. I left Oisin minding the cousins, which means everyone gravitated down to the dungeon. It took the Duke of Conwy, oh let's be conservative, ten seconds to formally adopt both of them and he's now he's arming the Bastard with a prosthetic of some sort as well as an ungodly amount of weapons.
Gareth is there watching (supervising), "You really didn't need to bring him a new present, Gid."
"I know, he's enjoying it though," I say, as Gareth traps me in a hug.
"How'd it go?" Oisin asks, "What'd Henry say?"
"He agreed, immediately," I say.
"Still doesn't mean this plan will work," Gareth says, "Or worse he won't blame you."
"I'm hoping to avoid that, but also he blames me for things that happen when I'm not even there so," I shrug.
"It'll work," the Bastard scoffs, carefully attempting to move his arm with the hook on it, "Henry loves nothing if not a good fight."
"Yeah if you should worry about anything, it's Courtenay murdering me. He's mad I'm enabling Henry, like he's really mad," I say.
"Why? He enables Henry all the time?" Oisin growls.
"Yeah, that's his thing apparently he doesn't share it," I say, rubbing my face, "All right, I think we are actually good for now? Time to go to bed?"
"Yes, you're exhausted," Oisin says, rubbing my neck, "It's been a long two days. Go say goodnight to the wains, I'll meet you at the room."
"With the two of them—?"
"Oh yes."
"Ah, feel like I'm forgetting something—," I sigh.
"He's thought of everything twice and argued with it, personally," Denis assures me, poking his cousin lightly. His cousin ignores him, testing the weight of another sword.
"I believe you—no wait. What happened to Violet?" I ask.
"Who?" Gareth asks, just like, not even surprised I have another stray.
"Violet the Templar girl, we lost her somewhere," I say.
"Shame," the Duke of Conwy, not actually upset.
"Oh, um, after you disappeared out of Westminster, I ah, was trying to find you, so I just left her in the custody of the royals," Oisin says.
"Oh, right," I say. Harry didn't bring it up.
But Harry's very nice. I'm sure he made sure she was someplace fine. He's entirely merciful it's not like he'd let any harm come to her.
"That poor Templar? Yes of course, I remanded her to the Duke of Exeter's care," Harry says, cheerfully, when I stand in his office the next morning asking politely what happened to her.
"You—did?" I ask, unable to not wince.
"He's promised me completely that he understands the error of his ways and he's seeking to be kinder to people namely people he views as prisoners, he wouldn't lie to me," Harry's also very gullible, all right.
"Right then, d'you mind if I go and fetch her?" I ask, hopefully.
"No of course not! She's done no wrong I simply asked him to ensure that she was properly cared for till your good self or Oisin came to collect her. I assume she's over in the visitor suites."
Reader, there is a 0% chance she's not back in that trunk.
"Yeah definitely, um, I'm still working on the situation with the Bastard of Vaurus but I'll update you when it's complete, pretty sure it's going really well," I say, backing away. He's putting up charts of looks plans of King's College chapel, and he's quite happy so I assume that's what it is.
"Please do, that poor man. I had prayers said for his soul as well as his fallen countrymen. Awful business," he shakes his head, "Would you see if anyone's standing outside? I'm having a family meeting. You're welcome to stay but it is the same one as last week."
"I'd love to but unfortunately I've got an appointment with our favorite warlord," I say.
"Ah, do update me on that," he winces.
"I promise I will," I say, going to the door to tell whoever is outside the King is ready for them.
Whoever is outside is Margret and Exeter, who both appear to be here under protest. Harry's about to explain to them his five year plan for funding three major universities, his plans for the universities, how many impoverished students he thinks he can educate, and how he plans to rework the curriculum so that no one has to take tests. This all sounds very boring but Harry explains with all the enthusiasm of a protagonist of a heist movie explaining the next job, and he's grinning the whole time.
"Why do I have to come and little Harry doesn't?" Exeter asks, as Owen kind of pushes him in the room.
"How old are you? Seriously? Your son is thirteen that's why he and Jasper do not come," Harry says, hand on hip.
"Well why aren't you making Tudor do it then?" Exeter still trying to leave.
"Because he was paying attention last week," Harry says.
"Yes, I was," Owen smiles, like that teacher's star pupil grin.
"I was paying attention last week."
"No you weren't. You failed the quiz."
Reader, the quiz was 'what college is this' while pointing to a diagram of King's College. This diagram was labeled.
"You weren't paying attention I watched you your eyes glazed over," Margret tells Exeter.
"You weren't paying attention either you also failed the quiz," Harry says, extremely nicely, "That's why we're doing it again and I have better pictures."
"Okay pictures will help—I didn't not pay attention, just all the words you said made no sense in order and I retained none of them, it's different," Margret says.
"Right! Which is why I'm explaining it backwards this time it should be more interesting and I've got more pictures—,"
"Keys Exeter," I say, going up to him.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"That trunk you've got nothing in? Keys?" I ask, holding out a hand.
"I don't have a trunk—,"
"You want me to say it in front of him?" I ask, nicely.
"Fine," he growls, dropping the keys in my hand.
"Thank you," I say, taking the keys and pocketing them, "Have fun."
"Fuck you," Exeter hisses.
"I think I should be able to write things down," Margret is arguing with her husband.
"No, no you won't need to! I've fully reordered the information and I'm going to explain it much more linearly and I have more charts," Harry, just so damn happy, gesturing to a chart with obvious enthusiasm.
"Okay," Margret says.
"Oh if it's a different presentation then," I'm about to stay. For one thing I like supporting the hyperfixation on you know, religion and education and not murdering people for fun. Also I like it when people listen to my extended rants on things.
"Yes of course you're welcome I don't want to bore you—," Harry, setting up another chart.
"It's very interesting," I say, about to stay.
"Don't tell him that," Exeter breaths.
"You have somewhere you need to be," Owen hisses, grabbing the balled up back of my shirt.
"Okay then—another time maybe—?" I say, hopefully, as Owen bodily drags me out of the room with him.
"Yes of course I'll have an update next month with more projected enrollment figures—," Harry, completely happy.
"We're doing this every month?" Margret asks, in something like shock. She's not stupid. She just didn't know her husband was smart.
"Why is that bit hereditary and not the France bit?" Exeter breaths.
"Your Majesty," Owen hauls me fully out of the room, basically slamming the door.
"I kind of wanted to hear that—," I say, weakly.
"No, you didn't, also I don't care," Owen says, folding his arms, "A word?"
"What?" I ask, trying to think of what I've done, lately, that Owen would be mad about.
"Oh, Gideon thank goodness you're here," Jasper rushes up, hugging me quickly, then we do our Welsh handshake I made up because I'm very mature. No seriously one of us is gonna get possessed one of these days I'm just getting the jump on it.
"What was that?" Owen hates the handshake, "Don't do that. We aren't friends with him."
"Gideon, the Duke of Exeter is keeping that girl locked up in the trunk again and he said if my father or I told the King he'd break our knees but the King said we weren't to do that and I don't want to anger him," Jasper sighs.
I hold up the keys.
"Okay forget it," Owen just walks away.
"What, was that what you wanted to talk to me about?" I ask, confused.
"Diawl bach," he mutters under his breath. That's profane in welsh.
"He's been under a lot of stress lately," Jasper says.
"He's been under a lot of stress since he was born, come on, show me where the trunk is," I say, messing up Jasper's hair. He grins.
The trunk is back where it originally was, in the study at the back of Windsor. That's uncreative, but like, so sassy of Exeter to literally put it back where he previously had it, and do with it what he was directly told not to do. Don't get me wrong Exeter is a great bodyguard and supporter of Henry VI, but like he's loose with his interpretation of the King's desires. Like, this man and his son will build their own torture devices in the Tower, when Henry VI is staunchly anti-torture anti-murder, pro let's forgive everyone like Jesus forgave us. I'm not saying that's bad, he's a great person but yeah, he needs guard dogs to stop him from being too nice to his enemies.
So the trunk is back in the now closed up offices. It's shaking and making general kidnapping victim noises.
"Jesus, Exeter," I mutter, kneeling to unlock it.
"I know," Jasper twists his hands, "He said if my dad or I let her loose he'd break our knees, and that the King would believe him over us because the King believes anything."
"So, that's true he does believe anything, but he also has known Exeter for a long long time," I say, finishing unlocking the trunk.
Violet tumbles out, clearly dismayed at her rescuers, "Fucking hell," she breaths.
"Sorry, don't break into the palace," Jasper shrugs.
"I did not know this happened, a second time, sorry—I've got this Jas, if you've got places to be," I say.
"I'm almost late for the kennels, thanks Gideon!" He says, bouncing up and hugging me one more time.
"Thank you, be careful, I'll see you later all right?" I say, adding the last bit in welsh.
He grins and replies in kind, "See you about!"
Violet is on the floor rubbing her wrists and glaring at me.
"What? I got you out didn't I? And I found your zombie," I say, folding my arms.
"And? He's been killed?" She asks.
"No, the Templars are freed, and he's actually down with his chosen quest, which is bother King Henry," I say, "So, want to go home to the 21st century? I've got the amulet, you get one free ride."
"No! I can't go back. We are under orders, we must live out our lives in this timeline," she says, standing up slowly.
"That's like—you don't have to do that, like seriously we never do that I went to London for coffee last week then came directly back, like really, you do not have to do that," I say.
"It is a part of our code this is my time now," she says, stubbornly.
"Okay whatever, highly recommend taking me up on it if you sustain a very treatable injury for 21st century medicine," I shrug, "Where d'you want to go in 1445 then? Cause I'm due back in Wales then back in France."
"I don't know, I have nowhere to go. I am still supposed to complete my quest, so I'd appreciate help getting out of this castle."
"You're—still doing your quest? Operation distract the Hammer of the Gauls?" I ask.
"Of course. It is not done yet—why are you smiling?" She frowns.
"You just got yourself two brand new dads."
"What?"