couple of glasses.”
“Aye, lord.” Lesh backed the rest of the way to the door, half-bowing several times. “Are you feeling well now, lord?” he asked.
“Well enough,” I said, nodding. Lesh closed the door as he left. Joy stared at the door, then turned her head to look at me.
“Lesh?” she said.
“You’ve met him before,” I reminded her. “A couple of times. He was at the hospital, and before that, in Chicago, during Mardi Gras.”
“Am I going crazy or is this all a dream like The Wizard of Oz?”
“Neither. You’re not going crazy and this isn’t a dream. This is all for real.”
Joy shuddered, then put her head on my shoulder for a moment. She was still trembling, but not as wildly as before.
“He kept calling you ‘lord,’” she said after a moment, and her voice was beginning to sound a little more normal as well.
I took a deep breath. “He calls me that because he knows it doesn’t bother me as much as being called ‘Your Highness.’”
“Gil, what’s going on?” Plaintive, still frightened, but not in the same way as before.
“The ‘lord’ is because I’m the Hero of Varay. Capital H. It’s a formal title. But my great-grandfather is the king, and I’m also his heir.”
She didn’t respond to that.
“I didn’t learn about any of this until my twenty-first birthday,” I said. I started to tell her about that, but I didn’t get very far before Lesh knocked at the door and brought in a tray with a bottle of Bushmills Irish whiskey, a pitcher of water, and two small crystal glasses filled with ice cubes. Lesh and Parthet must have brought a load of ice through from Louisville.
Lesh set the tray on the nightstand and left without speaking. I poured whiskey for both Joy and me. Joy was never much of a drinker. I had only seen her try hard liquor once, and she only rarely had a glass or two of wine with a meal. But she didn’t hesitate now, and she waved me off when I went to add water to her drink. She took the glass I handed her and poured most of the whiskey into her mouth. She coughed and gagged a little, then made a face, but it did seem to help her. She finished, handed the glass back to me, and said, “More.”
I refilled her glass, and topped mine off. I had only had time to take one small sip of mine.
“I’ve fallen into a fairy tale,” Joy mumbled while I was pouring her second drink.
“Sort of,” I said, returning her glass.
“With strange creatures, evil witches, and all that?”
“Enough strange creatures, I suppose. No witches, but there are wizards, some good, some not. That kind of magic is gender-specific.” The way Parthet put it was a lot earthier. “The only woman with the balls for magic is the Great Earth Mother,” he told me when I asked him about witches, “ and she is far beyond mere magic.”
“My Uncle Parker—his real name is Parthet, by the way—is a wizard.”
“That funny old man?” She hesitated a bit, took a more controlled drink of her whiskey, then said, “I guess he does look a little like the phony wizard in The Wizard of Oz.”
“Well, Parthet may not be the most talented wizard around, but he is for real. So are the dragons, trolls, evil elflords, and all the rest.”
“Oh, shit,” Joy said. She took another long drink, coming close to the bottom of the glass again. I took a fair-sized drink myself. I had never heard her use the word shit before. She was starting to pick up one of my bad habits.
“You ready for the fifty-cent tour of Castle Cayenne?” I asked.
Her smile was weak, but she was trying. “Might as well,” she said. We both emptied our drinks first.
“We’re closer to the top than the bottom, so I guess we start there,” I said, leading her to the stairs.
Castle Cayenne was more than a thousand years old. At least some parts of the original were still in use, though the castle had been rebuilt, repaired, and renovated several times in that millennium. Even I had made some
“Aye, lord.” Lesh backed the rest of the way to the door, half-bowing several times. “Are you feeling well now, lord?” he asked.
“Well enough,” I said, nodding. Lesh closed the door as he left. Joy stared at the door, then turned her head to look at me.
“Lesh?” she said.
“You’ve met him before,” I reminded her. “A couple of times. He was at the hospital, and before that, in Chicago, during Mardi Gras.”
“Am I going crazy or is this all a dream like The Wizard of Oz?”
“Neither. You’re not going crazy and this isn’t a dream. This is all for real.”
Joy shuddered, then put her head on my shoulder for a moment. She was still trembling, but not as wildly as before.
“He kept calling you ‘lord,’” she said after a moment, and her voice was beginning to sound a little more normal as well.
I took a deep breath. “He calls me that because he knows it doesn’t bother me as much as being called ‘Your Highness.’”
“Gil, what’s going on?” Plaintive, still frightened, but not in the same way as before.
“The ‘lord’ is because I’m the Hero of Varay. Capital H. It’s a formal title. But my great-grandfather is the king, and I’m also his heir.”
She didn’t respond to that.
“I didn’t learn about any of this until my twenty-first birthday,” I said. I started to tell her about that, but I didn’t get very far before Lesh knocked at the door and brought in a tray with a bottle of Bushmills Irish whiskey, a pitcher of water, and two small crystal glasses filled with ice cubes. Lesh and Parthet must have brought a load of ice through from Louisville.
Lesh set the tray on the nightstand and left without speaking. I poured whiskey for both Joy and me. Joy was never much of a drinker. I had only seen her try hard liquor once, and she only rarely had a glass or two of wine with a meal. But she didn’t hesitate now, and she waved me off when I went to add water to her drink. She took the glass I handed her and poured most of the whiskey into her mouth. She coughed and gagged a little, then made a face, but it did seem to help her. She finished, handed the glass back to me, and said, “More.”
I refilled her glass, and topped mine off. I had only had time to take one small sip of mine.
“I’ve fallen into a fairy tale,” Joy mumbled while I was pouring her second drink.
“Sort of,” I said, returning her glass.
“With strange creatures, evil witches, and all that?”
“Enough strange creatures, I suppose. No witches, but there are wizards, some good, some not. That kind of magic is gender-specific.” The way Parthet put it was a lot earthier. “The only woman with the balls for magic is the Great Earth Mother,” he told me when I asked him about witches, “ and she is far beyond mere magic.”
“My Uncle Parker—his real name is Parthet, by the way—is a wizard.”
“That funny old man?” She hesitated a bit, took a more controlled drink of her whiskey, then said, “I guess he does look a little like the phony wizard in The Wizard of Oz.”
“Well, Parthet may not be the most talented wizard around, but he is for real. So are the dragons, trolls, evil elflords, and all the rest.”
“Oh, shit,” Joy said. She took another long drink, coming close to the bottom of the glass again. I took a fair-sized drink myself. I had never heard her use the word shit before. She was starting to pick up one of my bad habits.
“You ready for the fifty-cent tour of Castle Cayenne?” I asked.
Her smile was weak, but she was trying. “Might as well,” she said. We both emptied our drinks first.
“We’re closer to the top than the bottom, so I guess we start there,” I said, leading her to the stairs.
Castle Cayenne was more than a thousand years old. At least some parts of the original were still in use, though the castle had been rebuilt, repaired, and renovated several times in that millennium. Even I had made some
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