NaNoWriMo 2022
Holy Land
American Kingdom Day 37
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“One thing I will say,” Seth, Viscount Washington, went on, “is that Duke Francis contacted the Palace yesterday, using an unusual method of communication. Or rather, he contacted the Regent, not the Palace. The subject of his communication, like the previous one, was you. Do you have any idea why this might be so?”
I must admit that the skin on the back of my neck prickled. Why was the Regent taking an interest in the newest recruit to the King’s Army?
“His Grace may have put in a good word for me. I think he is a little sweet on me.”
And me on him, truth be told. An old gentleman with manners you don’t see much nowadays.
“Is that so?” Seth considered this. “Not just his Southern ways? He does have a certain, well, grace and charm about him.”
“Yes, but no. There’s something there.”
“I won’t argue with you.” He spread his hands out. “But surely the recommendation of someone who is perhaps a little affectionate to you is not enough, no matter how highly you regard yourself, to overturn twenty years and more of tradition, to bring you and your comrades a long way in a short time at considerable expense, not to mention flinging me across the length of the Med and back in a single day?”
Good point. Besides, Francis had advised me not to aim for the Palace. why would he sabotage his own advice?
I shrugged.
“I’m nothing special. Sergeant Aizle is most likely a better shot and a better warrior than I am. The two captains and Sergeant Wandurn have specialist skills. So why me?”
“Nothing springs to mind? Nothing at all?”
“I have an ugly scar, the result of a terrorist attack in Afghanistan. A curiosity. It reminds me how precious life is and that I should serve our Heavenly Lord, never forgetting His own injuries sustained in the service of us all.”
“You were showing it off to the barman.”
“I think he was more interested in the canvas than the artwork.”
Seth smiled. “Yes, well put.”
I looked at him, and he looked at me. Finally, he sighed.
“Very well. The whole issue is probably old hat to you but amongst a certain segment of our admittedly spiritual and devoted company, your story of dying and being reborn with an impressive scar to prove it has sparked what I can only describe as a frenzy of gossip. Captain Dansom, an actual eyewitness, thinks that you must have journeyed into realms thus far unavailable to the rest of us, even if you have no actual memory. She describes you smiling and making joyful noises while unconscious in her care.
“Just a story, but an attractive one for some of us, including your friend the Duke of Charleston, who felt moved to share the tale with his old friend, who happens to be the current Prince of Jerusalem. One salacious aspect of that retelling, as you have already discovered, found its way out into general circulation, at least within the members of the Kingdom. We, and here I mean the Prince, who has good reason for wishing his private communications to remain private, see this as a serious breach of our internal security.”
“Okay,” I said. “That makes sense, I guess. But it’s still ridiculous. I was knocked out by the blast, looked like I was dead, and they cut me open to see how I died. Nothing supernatural about it. Trust me, I saw enough shrinks afterwards that any memories would have been brought to the surface and examined in fine detail. There was nothing. I woke up in hospital in Germany, very confused and unhappy.”
The lounge was filling up now. I looked around; all I could see were strangers. Spaniards heading off on vacation, Americans and British returning home.
Annie and Oscar must still be in the showers. Good luck to them. In my experience shower sex sounded way more exciting than it actually was. A good way to slip over and damage vital anatomy, just between you and me.
Oh, I’m not knocking it as a way to have soapy fun, especially exploring the geography of a new partner, but if you want to fit the bits together, then the shower is the appetiser, not the entree.
Ahem. I recalled my wandering thoughts.
Just as Hazel joined us and stirred them up again.
“Have you tried this cava stuff?” I asked. “It’s totally yum.”
Goodness. I was about as good a wine critic as Nathan.
“Have you seen the mob at the bar?”
I glanced over. Fair point.
“Ah, there’s a self-serve section,” Seth pointed out. “Nothing sparkling, and nothing shining but if you want a glass of acceptable local wine you have a choice of red or white.”
Hazel shook her head. “Getting a bit peckish, though. Where’s the restaurant?”
“I may have given you the wrong information there. Table service is for dinner only, like nine o’clock onward. There are serve-yourself snack bars, however, and they aren’t too bad. If you can wait until we are in the air, they will serve us a meal. Business Class food is pretty high quality on Iberia.”
“I’ll take my chances at the snacks,” she said. “Breakfast was dismal on the flight over and I haven’t had anything like a proper lunch.”
I thought about joining her but truth to tell I had been living high off the hog at Camp Whiffie, if I may use that term for cuisine that hadn’t actually included ham or pork unless you counted crispy bacon rashers at breakfast. I could wait for whatever they served on the flight.
Now here were Oscar and Annie, wheeling bags through the crush. They looked about as pink and scrubbed and full of joy as two human beings could be. I moved over to give them two chairs together.
“And two more reasons to move swiftly,” Seth said, as I plopped my bottom down beside him. “Our betrothed couple are to be married tomorrow, at the Palace, an auspicious beginning to their service in the Kingdom, I trust.”
He hoisted his cava glass in salute. I did the same. They smiled in unison.
“Congratulations again, Oscar,” I said. “And my very best wishes for your happiness together, now and forever.”
I should be so full of raw joy.
I had been, I guess, only five days earlier. Jesus in my heart reached out and gave me a squeeze. Some things were above the pleasures of the world. I hugged Him back.
“Here, Sergeant Wandurn,” Seth said, rising, “have a seat. I’m just off for a moment. We’ll be boarding in about ten minutes.”
Hazel sat down with a plate piled high with crispy, savoury, Spanish munchies. I reached out and snagged something that may have been fried chicken that had never seen a Southern colonel in its life. Yum. I plucked out an olive to follow it up and washed it down with some cava.
“Not hungry at all, Molly?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “Just ravenous the moment I smelt your lunch. Besides, you’ll never get all that down in ten minutes without my help.”
“Just watch me.”
She made a fair fist of it, occasionally helped along by my piracy.
“Ready to go?”
Seth had found Nathan.
We gathered our bags and rattled our way after him. Next stop Tel Aviv!
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Notes
I’ve commenced a blog at Mollyfretag.com, aimed more at the publishing and promotional side of things than actually writing. That will likely get more of my attention once I get some serious revision under way.
I went to the movies today, seeing Top Gun: Maverick for the first time. Must be close to the end of its run here; there were only a handful of people in the little theater.
Wow! What a movie. Plotwise very satisfying and of course the visuals on the big screen were awesome but what snagged my attention was the dialog. Punchy, dynamic, full of character.
Unlike my own long-winded speeches here.
I really need to revise my text, aiming to trim the flab, make the talking more like players flicking a tennis ball back and forth and less like high school speech night.
This was also brought up in comments on Inkitt, where I have uploaded my work so far:
So, the hard grind of November is over but I still have a crapload of work to do, not just to finish the story but to get it into readable format. The hard part will be to keep everything straight, I think. Each revision will have to be made in three places: here, Inkitt, and Scrivener, the last being the master copy from which I will compile and format epubs and pdfs for actual publication.
Molly