Chapter 8
Morrie
The following day, I leave the shop before Mina arrives.
I lied to her yesterday – I don’t have a standing appointment with my bank.
Who – apart from Heathcliff – does their banking in-person?
I bank online, like a sensible, clever adult.
It’s pure madness to stand in a queue and make small talk with a teller who can’t count and will only get into trouble after I rob the place.
No, I have a far more important mission.
I need to sort out our Lancelot situation once and for all.
None of us wants the knight loitering around the shop while Mina’s there, but Quoth is fretting that Lancelot didn’t return last night. “It shouldn’t take him more than a day to figure out the long weight ruse. What if he’s lying in a ditch somewhere after someone ran his horse off the road?”
“We should throw a party.” Heathcliff raises his morning whisky.
“Or what if he stabbed the first person who explained the long weight joke, and now he’s rotting in a jail cell?”
“A big party. With plenty of sausage rolls.”
As much as I agree with Heathcliff, Quoth is working himself up over Lancelot’s fate. The worry is making his tail feathers fall out, and I don’t want to find one in my coffee, so I offer to sort out the problem.
Which means I’m walking into a place I’ve never before dared to tread – the hardware store. These hands are not made for manual labour.
“Yoohoo? Lancelot?” I call out as I wander down the aisles at the hardware store. If I were Lancelot, this would be the first place I’d look for a long weight. I ask behind the counter if they’ve seen a fellow with a mane of beautiful hair and a long, stabby sword.
“Sure did, mate,” says Ben, the Australian behind the counter. “I reckon he must’ve been the most unlucky apprentice I’ve ever seen. Not only did they send him out to look for the long weight, but they made him wear this ridiculous knight getup. He looked like a right plonker.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The same thing I tell all the apprentices. I made him sit in the plumbing section for an hour before telling him we were out of long weights and sending him over to the Grimdale store.” Ben laughs nervously.
“I thought he was going to run me through with that sword when I told him, but he said something about a quest and off he trotted on his horse. Can you believe it? He even had a horse.”
“And this was around what time?”
“He mounted his ‘noble steed’ around 10:30 yesterday morning.” Ben waves at me. “Good luck finding your mate! And don’t forget to check out the half-price cordless drills! You look like a bloke who likes to drill things!”
Oh, Ben, you have no idea. There’s one person in particular I’d like to drill, but I have to get a lothario of a knight out of the way so I can get to her before my two best friends.
I cast a forlorn look in the direction of the shop, where Heathcliff is getting his chance to sour Mina against me. But if we don’t handle the Lancelot situation, then none of us has a shot with Mina.
I call an Uber over to the Grimdale hardware store. The lady there remembers Lancelot, too. She’d let him wait an hour before he started to serenade her female customers with medieval poetry, so she sent him to the Crookshollow store.
I huff with annoyance as I call yet another Uber over to the village of Crookshollow. When I step out onto the footpath, I’m surprised to find a crowd milling around outside the store, staring inside with confusion. Maisie from the Argleton Gazette is there, snapping pictures.
“What’s going on?” I ask a plumber who is tapping his foot with frustration.
“What’s going on is a bloody circus. I turn up to get supplies for today’s job and find that there’s been a hostile takeover. Some loon has stockpiled a horde of power tools and refuses to let anyone enter the store unless they battle him to the death.”
I sigh. “Where are the police?”
The plumber points to a waiting ambulance. Our good friend DS Wilson lies on a stretcher, clutching her arm and moaning, “He cut me.” Seeing my chance to sneak past her without getting arrested, I turn back towards the plumber.
“Never fear, your hero has arrived.”
“What are you doing?”
I snatch the plunger from his toolbox and stride towards the shop doors.
“You shouldn’t go in there—”
I shove open the door. The shop bell tinkles.
The lights aren’t on, and I notice a charred circle on the carpet in the outdoors section, and the remains of a campfire, some hiking food packs and stubs of candles.
I guess our illustrious friend hadn’t yet figured out the convenience of electricity.
There was probably a microwave in the staff breakroom he could use.
In the centre of the shop, power tools, tool chests, packages of screws and nails have been stacked in a teetering pile almost to the ceiling – a defensive position, behind which a certain ridiculous knight could watch each entrance to the shop.
“Lancelot?” I call out, hefting the plunger over my shoulder.
“Who goes there?” he booms, leaping from behind his fort and waggling his sword in my face. Although he looks fearsome, his voice trembles with unease. It must’ve been a very difficult couple of days for him, trying to navigate this strange world. “You shall not pass.”
“I’m not trying to pass, Lancelot. The king has sent me to aid you in your quest.”
“The king? But why would he think I need aid? I am Lancelot, beloved of the gods, Knight of the Round Table…” he squints at me. “I recognise you. You were present when I received my quest.”
“That’s right. I am Sir Moriarty, a fellow knight of the realm.” I indicate my plunger. “I’ve come bearing my mighty sword to rescue you.”
Hmmmm. Sir Moriarty has a nice ring to it. Perhaps I’ll make a permanent change.
Lancelot lowers his sword and drops to one knee, bowing to me.
“I appreciate your assistance, good Sir Moriarty. The Quest of the Long Weight has proven beyond me. I find myself cornered in this strange place, surrounded by my enemies. But together, we shall defend this horde of treasures and locate the long weight and bring it home to lay at Fair Mina’s feet. ”
Oh no, you won’t.
I clap my hand over his shoulder. “I’m sorry to tell you, brave Sir Lancelot, but the Long Weight has gone. While you were searching far and wide, the evil wizard found it and melted it down into an ashtray.”
His lip quivers. “You mean, I have truly failed?”
“Well, it’s not important that—”
“No! I cannot fail!” He swings his sword at the pile. Boxes topple to the floor, smashing open and sending tools and sharp garden implements flying everywhere. I wince. The poor staff at the store are going to have a hell of a time picking up Lancelot’s mess.
Still, at least their guts are still inside their bodies. Sir Lancelot has shown restraint with his blade. He’s a lot nobler than I might’ve been in the circumstances.
Why, I remember the first week I arrived in Nevermore Bookshop.
After deducing my newfound fate from Heathcliff’s grunted answers to my numerous questions and assuring myself that every member of my intricately-orchestrated criminal network was entirely fictional, I set about attempting to singlehandedly destroy the world to which I found myself marooned.
It was only after my attempt to crash the stock market failed and Heathcliff locked me in a closet so I couldn’t assassinate the queen that I realised I’d be better served rebuilding my criminal web and enjoying the pleasures of this world in all their forms…
…which will hopefully include Mina one day very soon…
In the distance, a police siren wails.
I need to get him away before we’re both arrested.
I’m too pretty to rot in jail.
“Forget the Long Weight. I have a much more important quest for you.” I throw my arm around his shoulders, which are so broad that it nearly tears my bone from the socket, and lead him towards the rear of the store.
“The only way to defeat the evil wizard is to find the cup of life, the Holy Grail.”
“The Grail?” Lancelot’s eyes grow so wide that he could audition for the role of Puss in Boots. “But I thought it was lost forever.”
“It’s not lost, per se. It’s just very difficult to find. But I’ll give you a hint.” I think quickly, remembering a headline I’d read in the paper just yesterday. “It’s in France.”
“France?”
“Yes, France.” I pull up my phone and show him the article.
“See this fellow? He’s a guerrilla potter.
He makes these ceramic pots, vases, and goblets that appear all over the city of Paris.
Note that this six-foot high goblet found on the Rue de Rivoli looks exactly like the goblet in this painting of the Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci. ”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Lancelot’s eyes grow even wider. “You’re saying that Jesus our Lord and Saviour spilt his blood into this giant cup that is now being shat on by pigeons?”
“No, I don’t think that’s the grail. But this rogue potter has the grail in his possession.
Otherwise, how could he copy it so faithfully?
” I tug Lancelot out of the rear door of the shop just as police backup pulls up outside.
“You’re going to have to go to Paris and hunt him down.
That’s your mighty quest. I’m putting you on a train right now. ”