Episode 167

                “Eat, drink, and be merry. For tomorrow, we may die.”
                                Anonymous

                “To what is right.” Everett said, holding the large glass, half-filled with the dark red liquid, out towards the lake. The thick liquid sloshed around in the crystal chamber, but remained obediently inside. The knight turned back to his wife as she laughed, a glass in her hands too. “To what is fair.”

                “Fair, dear.” She said, already red in the cheeks.

                “That’s what I said.” He glared playfully at her, having to steady himself on the banister of the patio above the ground.

                “F-A-I-R, Edgar.” She said. “Not F-A-R-E. You pronounced it wrong.”

                “They’re pronounced the same way.” He argued.

                “And that’s what’s amazing about your pronunciation!” She laughed even harder.

                “Fine.” He said. The knight turned back to the lake as the sun began to lower towards the trees, the edges of the sky just beginning to change color. “To what is fair.” He repeated, over-enunciating the word. “To what is just. And to what is . . .  what is . . . oh wait. I know this one.”

                “Moral, you gray-bearded buffoon.”

                “It’s not gray.” The knight cackled. He suddenly began to stroke his beard very affectionately. “It’s . . . silver.”

                More laughter.

                Gray stones kept the somber knight company as he walked. The digital watch on his wrist showed the casual time of just a bit past noon. In his hand, he carried a hand full of freshly picked summer flowers, while in his right hand carried two beers. The ice on the cans slid off, leaving a frozen water trail over the grass that was quickly melted by the late spring sun.

                The black and red fighter came to stop before a single grave. The simple stone marker of William Smith waited. The knight waited in response for a moment, then with a simple flick of the wrists threw the flowers down to the grave. “Hey grandpa.” Roland said.

                When it came to his uniform, Edgar preferred to start with the bottom button.

                The red shirt came together across his chest as the knight slowly closed it up. Over the white tank top, Edgar watched himself transform into a red-and-black clad knight. The silk shirt he wore pulled around at him, making him hold his breath until the shirt was closed. Not for size, but in reverence.

                Edgar turned back to the bedroom, to see his wife still in the bed, fast asleep. He moved silently across the dark room and around the bed to sit down next to her. Still hidden under the covers, she dug her head into the pillows, dreaming away.

                Edgar reached out gently, stroking her blonde hair as he watched her sleep. She stirred at his presence, but she didn’t wake. “Good night, angel.” He whispered, leaning down. He kissed her sweetly on her cheek and then was up.

                Through the door from their bedroom, Edgar found his suitcase waiting. On top of it, the black trench coat and the sheathed rapier. He picked up the unobtrusive bundle and headed down the stairs.

                “This is it grandpa.” Roland said, popping the top of his beer can. He took a quick sip of it, then looked down at the other, still-closed can next to the grave. “I always thought, you know, when I was younger. I always thought that you and me’d be the ones to lead the charge. Well, at least I’ll be there.”

                Roland looked up at the graveyard, sighing. “This place has gotta suck, man.” He lamented. “I mean, it’s boring. I wish mom and dad would have listened to me when I said I thought you should be buried under an arcade or a strip club or something. That would be a lot more interesting than hanging out with all these old folks.”

                Another sip.

                “I mean, really. Oh, I’m sure you’ve got a couple of robbers or something. And your stable ‘murdered’ guys. But for the most part, I bet ninety percent of the dorks in here, man, are probably old geriatrics who died in their sleep.”

                Roland shook his head. “No way for a knight to die. That’s for sure.” He looked back down at his grandfather’s grave as he sat atop the gravestone. “Now me, I want to go like you did. You found out you had . . . what was it? Oh yeah. Brain cancer. Did you do anything? No. Hell, I remember going with dad and mom to the doctor and them trying to explain to you that chemo was the way to go.” Roland laughed. “I still remember dad’s face when you called him a ‘boot-licking pussy’ for even suggesting it.”

                “You were so cool grandpa. I miss you a bunch.” He continued. “I remember, I wanted a BB gun for Christmas one year and mom and dad wouldn’t get me one. So, naturally, I asked you and grandma. And you said, I’ll never forget this, you said ‘Roland, you little yellow-belly punk. You don’t want no gun. You want a real weapon’.” The knight looked down at his katana as it stuck out from his belt. “And that’s when you contracted that guy you met in World War II, over in Japan, and got him to make my sword for me.”

                “You taught me how to sword fight. You taught me how to cheat in school. And man, I can still spit farther than anyone else. Twice as far as the other knights. Even Morgan can’t beat me and he’s better than just about everyone at just about everything.”

                “Oh, grandpa. I wish you were here today, man. I know the knights could you use you. We need some leadership. And I’m not saying Everett isn’t a good leader, but he wasn’t born a leader, you know. Most leaders, they’re just kind of thrown into the position and they have to figure it out as best they can. You, you took command just by being there.”

                Roland took a thick swig of his beer can, then laughed some more. “Grandpa, I’m gonna make you proud of me. I know you already are, but I’m gonna keep doing it. Mom and dad, they never understood the whole knight thing. And I love them to death, but neither of them could be knights. You were something else, though. I still can’t lift as much as you could. But still, I’m gonna make you proud to tell all the angels. Or ghosts, or devils, where ever the hell you went, that I’m your grandson.”

                Roland jumped off the gravestone and took one last thick gulp of the beer can, emptying it. “Well, grandpa. I’ve got to be off. I’ve got to go see Sydney, then drive Ledger around a bit. But I’ll be back, once we finish this whole thing off, okay?”

                Roland looked down at the open beer can and the wad of flowers. “I’ll see you again, Grandpa. I love you.” The knight turned and left.

By the time Edgar arrived at the restaurant, the other knights were sitting around, most of them already three sheets to the wind. The eldest knight sat down without announcing himself, watching as Morgan presided unwillingly over an arm wrestling match between Ledger and Armand, while the others ignored it until the outcome was decided.

                “What’s the order?” Edgar asked, swiping up a menu. “Or have we?”

                “Just the appetizers.” Sydney said, holding up her shot and chaser.

                “Ah. It’s going to be one of those nights.” Edgar grinned to himself.

                “We may not have another one, so enjoy it.” Everett said.

                “Cynicism is unbecoming of a knight.” Edgar jabbed.

                “It’s not cynicism, it’s realism.” Morgan chimed in. “Although, I do understand how the two could be mistaken.” He looked over to Armand. “Would you please hurry up and lose?”

                “No.” The younger knight ground out between clinched teeth.

                “I think I’m getting the chicken finger platter.” Edgar decided, putting the menu away.

                “Isn’t that a party-sized appetizer?” Sydney asked.

                “Well, since none of us are driving to the airport, that means lots of drinking before hand. And I’ve already had my monthly allotment.”

                “Wuss.” Sydney chided, taking another shot. She clinched her face up tight, then gasped out. “Oh, god that’s strong.”

                “Is that what she looks like, Everett?” Roland asked, from between Edgar and Ledger, opposite Sydney.

                “Would somebody hit him?” Sydney said, after trying to reach him herself.

                “My beard’s gray. My days of service are over.” Edgar said, holding up his hands. But as he finished talking, Ledger reached up with his free hand and slapped the white knight sitting next to him. Unfortunately, the act threw his leverage off and Armand slammed his hand down into the table.

                “Yeah!” The younger knight shouted, holding up both his hands in triumph. “I won! I won! I finally kicked your ass at something!”

                “Ref.” Ledger said to Morgan. “I call interference.”

                “Wah wah wah.” Roland joked.

                “You know, I will hit you again.” The black knight glared, then looked back at Morgan for the ruling.

                “You lost, Ledger.” Morgan said with indifferent finality, going back to his menu. “Don’t add whining to being weak.” The sniper grumbled, then sat back, resigning himself to his sulking defeat.