==========================================================================
Introduction
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This is a medieval Elseworlds for my Ranma 2096 series, found at
http://www.thekeep.org/~willmore/
No knowledge of R2096 is needed, but followers of the series will probably
get twice the (already considerable, I hope) chuckles that other readers
obtain.
Oh, yes. For those of you familiar with medieval romances, the story is
also a concious parody of the genre, as well as of the Penguin reprints of
the same.
Disclaimers: If certain names seem familiar, that's because I've cribbed
them from Takahashi Rumiko's classic Ranma 1/2 series. I don't have the
rights to them, and they're used without permission.
-CW
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Cristobal de Guillermas
============================================================
SIR KIM: THE KNIGHT WITH THE PETTICOAT
============================================================
or,
The History of the Most Blessed
Saint Kimberley Thompson of Lye-on-Kunou
Edited with Notes
and an Introduction
by
Christopher Willmore
* *
*
MORRIGAN BOOKS: VANCOUVER AND NEW YORK
First Printing: (Morrigan Edition) May 18, 1995
This edition: July 9, 2000
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CONTENTS
The Adventures of Sir Kim
Editor's Introduction .............................................. i
1. Which tells of Love, and other matters .......................... 01
2. In which Sir Amnar is very confused ............................. 05
3. How our knight discovers the perils of dressing fashionably ..... 07
4. The Quest begins ................................................ 09
5. Which tells of the wondrous things that happened at the banquet . 12
6. Murder, Marriage and more Mayhem ................................ 15
7. In which Sir Kim learns to appreciate the benefits of Chastity... 22
8. Of swords and visions ........................................... 24
9. In which Sir Kim is wooed ....................................... 28
10. In which Sir Amnar fights the final battle of this history ..... 32
11. The Canonization of St. Kimberley Thompson of Lye-on-Kunou ..... 36
NOTES .............................................................. 38
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i
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EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
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LIFE OF CRISTOBAL DE GUILLERMAS
Not much is known in detail about De Guillermas. He was born to
Spanish parents, but for diplomatic reasons was sent to England as a young
boy. He spent the rest of his life in the service of the Duke of Cornwall,
starting as a page and dying his most trusted confidante.
In his time he was well-known for his poetry, most of which is lost to
us today. Sir Kim was his only major prose work.
Some authorities place him in the 14th century, while others would
argue that he lived during the mid-1300s.
THE STORY
Summary:
In brief: Lady Kimberley forces herself to fall in love with a knight.
He is not aware of her affections, and so the duchess resorts to the use
of what she believes is a love potion. Unfortunately, it turns out to be a
body-exchange potion. The lady lasts only a few hours in the knight's body
before she is killed in combat, and the knight is quite distressed to find
himself 'no longer his father's son', to paraphrase the text. After a
series of escapades, the ghost of the deceased Lady Kim and Sir Amnar, the
knight, meet. The rest of the story revolves around their attempts to
avenge their murder.
Sir Kim as Satire:
The plot, then, is simple. That is not where the work's merit lies. It
must be taken as an adventure in the style of Don Quixote; that is, as a
satire of the medieval genre. De Guillermas pokes fun at every aspect of
the chivalric romance, from the 'sword-in-the-stone' theme to the
pasteboard damosels who are rescued wholesale by absurdly omnipotent
chevaliers. The way he does this is the reason that his work is so often
dismissed as a badly written example of what it purports to criticise. The
incidents of the plot, by themselves, are completely credible as
components of a romance in the style of Lancelot or Tristan. It is only
when they are placed next to each other, and certain elements are brought
into relief, that their humour is extracted from its dormant state. Even
then, the reader has the option of reading it as a 'straight' adventure,
since most of the jokes are 'tongue-in-cheek'.
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ii
Central Themes:
The central theme of the tale is the exploration of the consequences
when the powerful find their status reversed. Sir Amnar, before his
transformation, is at the top of the social hierarchy. He is physically
strong, wealthy, and a lord, used to getting his own way. When he finds
himself in a woman's body, he is unable to wield a sword, and the slave of
endless courtly minutiae. The companionship of Lady Kim's ghost gives him
an opportunity to change, and amend his behaviour, but he cannot. For
example, at the banquet he persists in eating his food like a man, though
it splatters his dress and embarrasses the original possessor of his body.
Though shifting his deportment, at least in public, to one more acceptable
for a duchess would greatly facilitate his assimilation, he insists in
acting as he did before. He runs the duchy and his husband, takes part in
battle and refuses to be wooed. The human mind, De Guillermas is saying,
is a constant. It is only the environment which houses it that changes.
The pattern of reaction to stimuli for a given person will only change if
that is the only option available for ensuring his survival. By a series
of bona fide miracles, Sir Amnar avoids threats to his person, and so does
not need to change his behavioural ethic.
From Lady Kim's point of view, she starts out as a sensual being,
living off her physical emotions and ignoring all things mental ('Lady Kim
wasn't used to thinking...' (page 1)). Her death catapults her into a
world where she has no physical existence; she cannot be heard or seen
except by Sir Amnar, and she herself is only a creature of mind.
Regretfully, De Guillermas does not expand the possibilities that are
contained in this character. He was prone to the most common literary
limitation of his day; that of treating women as secondary characters.
THE TEXT
De Guillermas compared to his fellow writers:
Cristobal wrote quite differently from his contemporaries. He abhorred
long descriptions, and only included them to poke fun at them. Likewise,
he did not enjoy writing about battles (See note to page 32). As well, his
references to classical personalities are few, since part of his
philosophy as a social critic involves relying only upon himself as an
authority, and not upon the foundations of the edifice he is attempting to
destroy. There are only two mentioned in all of Sir Kim: Avicenna (Chapter
IX) and Ganelon (Chapter X). Both should be well-known to even the
least-experienced student of medieval literature.
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iii
The Manuscript:
Sir Kim survives in two complete manuscripts (Dover A,B) and one
partial one (The Pink Book). The two complete ones are quite similar,
except for minor differences in Chapter III (Childra's reaction to the
departure of 'Sir Amnar') and an extra paragraph in Chapter X (a
description of the battle), as well as minor (1-3 word) emendations
elsewhere. For the Morrigan edition, I have chosen to follow the fuller
version (Dover B). Cristobal wrote quite clearly, so the editor's task has
been a leisurely one. My major corrections involve modifications of the
pronouns, as detailed in the first note. In general, the fragmentary
manuscript follows Dover A, but the occasional sentence shows better
phrasing than in either of the other books, and so I have twice or thrice
in the story used one from the Pink Book in favour of Dover B .
The epilogue is not part of the original, but a fifteenth century
addition. No copy of Sister Yarimanko's Summary, if it ever existed, has
been found, nor has any mention of a St. Kimberley Thompson in any of the
records of the Catholic Church. This chapter is here included because it
adds a very clever, satirical ending to the piece which De Guillermas
would surely have approved of. With its removal, the story ends with a
very disappointing anti-climax. Indeed, it is not known whether the piece
was finished, or whether Cristobal planned to write another chapter. The
decline in the style of writing towards the end of Sir Kim would indicate
that the author had fallen ill, or was dying, so it is possible that he
passed away before completion of the work.
The Language:
Sir Kim is written in the English of Chaucer. Thinking that 14th
century spelling is merely a nuisance, rather than an aid to understanding
the piece, I have modernized throughout. For help in technique, I am
deeply indebted to Mr. Nevill Coghill. Though we have never met, his
splendid work on the Penguin edition of The Canterbury Tales has been an
invaluable aid and inspiration.
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1
CHAPTER I: Which Tells of Love, and other matters.
'Well,' she thought, 'it's not every day I get to be rescued by an
accomplished knight. And he IS handsome. True, the pigtail makes him look
like a Moorish boor, but below the neck he is a fine figure of a
nobleman.' She paused. 'And below the waist, too, I'll gather. Such a
pity that his cod-piece blocks the view.'
Lady Kimberley Thompson of Lye-on-Kunou was in a quandary. Just this
morning, her chambermaid Childra had told her, "Kim, you have to fall in
love. Now." Childra was seldom wrong. However, Lady Kimberley had no idea
how she was going to follow this bit of advice. Fortunately, she didn't
have to. Things seem to sort themselves out for noblewomen when one least
expects it, and by sheerest serendipity her castle was successfully
besieged that afternoon. Her looks and rank had made her a valuable
prisoner, and she had been led away on a dapple-grey palfrey, just in time
to be rescued by Sir Right.
That wasn't his real name, of course. Just her private one for that
tall, pigtailed, red-shirted hunk. She could hear his mail clinking in her
ears even now... Yes, she was definitely in love. Well, that was that.
Childra should be pleased. And curious
She would be pleased herself, too, except for one thing... Lady Kim
wasn't used to thinking, but she was pretty sure that when her maid told
her to find a lover, it was with matrimonial intentions at heart. That
meant that he had to love her, as well. Darn.
Kim looked down at herself. Not bad. Young, hair golden as the Sun
(when there's a cloud between it and one's eyes), skin smooth and fuzzy as
a peach, fair as snow (after the horses have ridden through it), ruby
lips... In short, she was possessed of all the standard charms, to some
degree or another. Her dress, too, was pretty, trimmed with ermine and
festooned with gold thread. At least, no one could say she was ugly.
Surely, all those suitors couldn't be wrong. All right, so a few of the
older ones were a bit blind; they were in the minority. All-in-all, one
could say she was rather good-looking, and she had the minstrels' poems to
prove it.
A bird cried, waking her from her plotting and calling her attention
to the setting of the Sun. It was probably best to go back inside now,
before the spooks came out. If Prioress Nutkin heard she'd left herself
open to ghostly attack, it'd be her head. With a sigh, she pushed herself
off the bench and made her way back to the castle, pausing only to pick a
daisy from the garden path and stick it in her hair.
Childra was waiting for her in her sitting-room.
"You've been out late again, Kim." The old maid was knitting, the
weight of her ample bosom straining to the limit the carrying capacity of
the wooden chair on which she had chosen to collapse.
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2
"I was thinking."
Childra looked up, surprised.
"That's a new one. Are you sure you don't mean embroidering? You
usually do embroidery on Thursdays..."
"No, I. . . I think I'm in love." Childra leapt towards Kim like a
shark who smells blood. A very well-endowed shark.
"Are you sure?" she whispered in her ear, "If so, you're in luck, my
dear. Aye, you're in luck.. . Who is it?"
"Sir Amnar."
"Oh! He's a handsome one. What does he think of YOU?" Kimberley
lowered her face and clasped her hands before her.
"I... I don't know. I haven't really asked him." Her face was clouded
by sudden concern. "He isn't married, is he?"
"No, my dear." Relief. "Don't you worry. He'll be at the banquet
tonight, and you next to him, as hostess. The town wants to thank him for
his services."
"What if he doesn't like me?"
"He will, dear. I'll make him like you."
A pause.
"And... What if it all works, and I... get bored of him, or
something?"
Childra smiled.
"You won't. Come. I want to show you something."
They walked together into the bedroom. The maid bolted the door
behind them, then knelt on the floor. She turned to Kim.
"I need some help, here. I'm not so young as I was, you know."
Kim felt a twinge of guilt. Childra WAS ancient, after all. She
refused to reveal her exact age, but most believed her to be in her
mid-thirties. The Lady took a position beside the old woman, being
careful to lift the train of her dress so as not to dirty it.
"One of these flagstones is loose. Help me pull it out."
It took a few tries, but the two women were able to eventually lift
and remove the heavy stone slab. Underneath it, in a tidy rectangular hole
made for the purpose, was a plain wooden chest, stained dark by the earth
around it.
"Don't just dawdle; take it out!"
Kim looked for a suitable rag but found none. Seeing no alternative,
she overcame her aversion for the dirt just long enough to quickly reach
inside the hole and retrieve the cask.
Childra grabbed the box and flipped the top open, and her face lit
with glee at the sight of the contents. Purring with contentment, she ran
her fingers over an odd assortment of phials and bottles which were housed
in the chest.
"You see, Kim," she explained, "I once was even more beautiful than I
am now, and my looks - along with a few other tricks and senses - were
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3
enough to win me the love of a very nice young man. His name doesn't
matter; let the dead rest in peace. All that concerns us is that he was an
alchemist; a magician by trade. His potions could do marvellous things -
turn water into wine, men into pigs, all the standard tricks, and more.
When he... passed away, he left his trinkets to me, and Lord knows I've
found use for them! Not recently, mind you. I'm getting too old for magic.
However, I seem to remember that there was a Love potion around here
somewhere... Don't stare! Yes, a Love potion! Don't you see? Tonight. One
drop in his drink, one drop in yours. you look at each other, and... boom!
You'll adore him, and he'll never leave you. You'll marry, bear lots of
heirs, and never be beaten. Hurrah. As well, I... Here it is! "
She held up a small, tear-shaped vessel filled with a liquid which
glowed red in the candlelight. Near the top, Kim could barely make out an
inscription. She thanked the Saints (and bribes) that had allowed her to
learn to read at the nunnery, and spelled out the words on the minuscule
label:
But drink this draught
In bev'rage hot
and 'fore the rising of the Sun
Those that were Two, shall now be One.
Well, at least it rhymed. Almost.
"Childra, will this really work?" The maid waved at her to wait,
while she pulled herself back up.
"There. Sorry? Oh, yes! Of course it will work. Used it myself, once
or twice."
"But - the seal hasn't been..."
"He always kept several bottles of each thing. Didn't like to be
caught empty-handed, if you know what I mean. " Kim blinked
uncomprehendingly. Childra made explanatory sliding motions at waist
height with one of her hands curved into a loop. "Empty-handed?" More
blinking on the part of the Lady. The maid sighed and gave up.
"Be a dear, and put everything back where it was, will you, Kim?
Careful to keep that bottle, though. Thank-you."
When the flagstone was back in place, it was impossible to see that
it had ever been disturbed.
"Good. now, it's off to dinner! Remember what I told you, and mind he
doesn't notice you slipping it in his drink. Good luck!"
Dinner went as planned. As guest of honour, Sir Amnar sat next to
Lady Kimberley, the mistress of the castle. They chatted pleasantly
through the soup, pheasant, and stuffed swan, and while he was busy wiping
his hands on a borrowed lap-dog, she slipped the potion into the mulled
wine: one drop in his cup, one drop in hers.
A knight after battle is usually thirsty, and Sir Right was no
exception.
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4
He downed his drink in less time than it took Kim to take two sips of
hers.
Smacking his lips, he looked at her, she looked at him, then...
"Got any more? I'm STARVIN' here!"
That wasn't exactly what Lady Kim had been hoping to hear, but she
passed the pickled calf's eyes, anyhow.
The rest of the evening was spent with the knight recounting that
day's victories in splendidly gory detail, while Kimberley recreated the
scenes equally vividly in her mind, substituting Childra for the
chevalier's foes. Each successful lance-thrust or sword-slash would bring
a smile to her lips, and those around her complemented her on her
propriety of feeling. She smiled politely at their comments, while she
thought of burning alchemists.
Eventually, the meal was over, the lords and courtiers drowsy, and
there was nothing left to do but go to sleep. Unless her lady-in-waiting
came up with another brilliant idea tomorrow, her deliverance would ride
away without having given her so much as a kiss, leaving her to a fate
not-quite-as- bad as death. Oh, well.
She plodded up the spiral staircase, through the main hall and into
her bedroom. Childra could bolt the door when she came in later. Right
now, all she needed was sleep. Not bothering to change, she tossed herself
onto the mattress. A hurried prayer was all that detained her before she
sank into a deep and lasting slumber.
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5
CHAPTER II: In which Sir Amnar is very confused.
Sir Amnar opened his eyes, roused from his sleep by the sunlight that
was only now entering the bedroom. One look at the pink canopy above him
made him wish he'd kept them shut. This room, he thought, had looked much
better when he couldn't see it. Now that he could, he saw ruffles, lace,
silk and satin - all in pink.
He hated pink. His mother had made sure of that. After seeing the
Lord her husband turn into an effeminate glutton resembling nothing more
than a large and particularly lazy panda, she vowed that her son would be
a man among men, with enough masculinity to make up for the former
generation's lack of it. Part of the masculinity training, of course,
involved a vendetta upon the colour Pink. When Amnar was young, she would
send the servants out into the forest before a hunt, so that they would
pick all the flowers of that detestable shade and remove them from his
sight. Once her husband died, she inherited his own fief and forbade all
the people and women were forbidden to wear the colour - on pain of death.
Her hatred was passed onto her son through hour-long daily training. He
lived for nearly two decades free of pink and frill, but now... He vowed
never again to rescue a fortress run by a Lady.
But, if it was an eyesore, at least it was a comfortable eyesore. The
mattress fit him like a custom hauberk, and the pillow was much softer
than the horse's rump he usually reclined against. he was tempted to rest
for just a bit longer. Life was long and sleep was short, after all...
The day was growing brighter and the hour later. Soon, it would be
time to ride back to his castle. It was best that he get up.
The knight sat up to stretch, and someone else's arms arose before
him. They were certainly not his. His were wide, strong limbs and,
frankly, good-looking. These were... Well, they looked like someone had
kept a pair of swans' necks from last night's supper. They were flimsy,
soft and much too smooth. He tried wiggling a finger. The hand on the end
of the bald arm also moved a digit. He tried again. And again. The results
were no different.
Sir Amnar hoped to God that he was drunk.
The knight squeezed his eyes shut, cleared his mind, then opened them
again. The ghastly, pallid limbs were still there, at home on the frilly
coverlet.
Once again, he tried to rid his eyes of the horrid apparition by
closing his lids and hoping that the arms would take the hint and leave
while they weren't being seen. To make sure they had enough time to remove
themselves, he began to count to ten.
Someone else counted with him, in a silky soprano voice.
"Chikusho!" he swore, feeling perfectly justified in doing so.
He heard the door to the room creak open, and someone come in with
bold, sonorous strides.
"Lady Kim?" It was a woman, speaking in a rich alto.
"I think she's two doors down," Sir Amnar mumbled, his eyes still
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6
closed.
"Nice try, lass, but you still have to go to the banquet. It IS in
your honour, after all. Unfortunately. It's too bad about that knight. He
seemed such a nice fellow, and one HAS to wonder if his assets matched his
cod-piece. Pity he had to ride away. He did, you know. This morning. A
battle, or some other such thing. Seemed too sick to fight, if you ask
me... All that work, for nothing. Can you imagine it? I hardly know what
else to do... Then again, there's that foreign prince - Key Food or
something. He's - Kim? What's wrong, dear? Are you sick? You look pale!
More than the usual, that is. . . Is everything all right?"
The figure on the bed groaned.
"Must have been the swan. I just knew it would come to no good when
the cook bought them so old. But, would he listen to me? Of - "
"Lady," said Sir Amnar, finally sitting up, "I don' know who you are,
an' I'm not quite sure I know who I AM, but I sure as heck know, that I'm
NOT A GIRL!"
"She's been touched..." the busty woman said softly.
"I'm Sir Amnar, Lord of Amiren, an' I haven't ridden ANYWHERE!"
"Well, your lordship, come this way, and get into your dress, will
you? We're running late."
"I'M A GUY! I can't put on a dress!" Somehow, that didn't sound very
convincing when enunciated in soprano.
"Get up this instant, or I'll dress you myself!" The knight looked at
the woman. She was six feet tall and had more muscles than any
self-respecting woman had a right to. He remembered the state of his arms
and decided to get up.
Sir Amnar left the bed in a careful manner. There were certain
'irregularities' in his anatomy which he strongly suspected, but did not
wish to confirm, and so he did his best to rise without looking at
himself. First, he spun about his waist so that his legs were dangling off
the edge of the mattress. This done, he used his arms to prop himself onto
his feet, keeping his line of sight perpendicular to his trunk at all
times, and his neck absolutely straight.
"A little stiff, are we? I hope your Ladyship is back to normal, or
I'm afraid I'll have to bleed you. I don't need leeches, you know." She
drew a machete out from under her dress to illustrate the point. "Today
is an important day for the both of us, and there's no time for
tomfoolery."
Childra's little discourse (for the more dim-witted readers, the
anonymous buxom woman is no other than Kim's personal attendant) fell upon
deaf ears. Its recipient was spending all his concentration on thinking of
how to make his way to the dressing table and put on the clothes that were
laid out without catching a glimpse of himself.
"By the way, your slippers are untied." The knight looked down towards
his feet, and promptly swooned.
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7
CHAPTER III: How our knight discovers the perils of dressing fashionably.
For the second time that morning, Sir Amnar awoke, to a pink sky. This
time, the rosy canopy covered only half his(l) field of vision. The other
half was mostly filled by a rather worried chambermaid. Or rather, mostly
by her chest.
"It's about time that you woke up! Keep this up, and we won't make it
to the banquet. That'd be shameful, seeing you're the hostess. Up an' at
'em, lass!"
Lass. The knight cringed. Now he remembered why he'd fainted. He
couldn't very well deny it; not after what he'd seen... Somehow, through
the night, he had been moved into Lady Kim's body. Not a bad body. Not a
particularly GOOD one, but it was serviceable, and given his current
situation its tomboyish looks were a definite plus. The only problem was,
he'd rather be without it than within it. But he WAS in it, and there was
no way to leave that he could fathom, so he had better learn to bear with
it - at least for now.
But, if he was in her body, where was Lady Kim?
Sir Amnar froze. Hadn't the maid said something about his riding...
Sensing a disturbing topic, his brain drew on years of experience and
stopped that train of thought, automatically eliminating all memories of
its ever having started.
"Are you going to be there all day? Come over here and get into your
dress!"
No use putting it off any longer. This woman was obviously not going
to believe him, and her machete-twirling was speeding up at an alarming
rate.
He left the bed casually, having given up trying to fool himself. Just
because he accepted what had happened, however, didn't mean he had to like
it. As he walked the few steps to the dresser, Sir Amnar quietly muttered
a standard vow not to rest until he had avenged this disgraceful slight to
his honour by sending whoever was responsible for the atrocity into low
earth orbit. Provided, of course, he/she/it/they could be found.
The dresser was made of oak from Logres, carved by Gaulish sculptors
into a pleasant representation of a spring day with scenes of lovers
frolicking beside the bushes. me highlights were done with gold, as was
the hair of the people depicted. Their eyes were of lapis lazuli and their
lips finely cut ruby; smoky white quartz was their ermine, and for silk
they used topaz. There was not a more beautiful piece of bedroom furniture
to be found in all the world.
Unfortunately, Sir Amnar could see none of it. The various pieces of
a dress, which had been laid upon the dresser, completely hid it from his
sight.
"It's pink," said the knight, referring to the gown.
"Like almost everything else you own. Now, put it on, dear."
The former man was sorry that he had not spent more time playing with
puzzles in his youth; that knowledge would now have been put to good use.
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8
He examined each of the components of the gown in turn, them managed
to slip into them after only a brief struggle. Beaming with pride, he
turned to the maid.
"It might help," said Childra, stifling a laugh, "to put the corset on
the inside. Are you sure you're well, your Ladyship?"
It took some persuasion, but Sir Amnar eventually swallowed his pride
and (reluctantly) agreed to let the woman dress him. He had been trained
to ride, fight and be manly: fashion sense and personal hygiene were not
among his talents.
As a first step (and before he could complain), Childra stripped him.
If he had any doubts as to his situation, they were removed along with his
inner garments. He was definitely not his father's son. Then, with
surprisingly nimble hands, the maid put on layer after layer of
constricting clothing: panties. corset. stockings. gloves. neck garter.
Each tightened around his flesh with an enemy's grip, nearly cutting off
his circulation, not to mention his breathing. It was only through supreme
control of his mind that he restrained himself from tearing the raiment
into shreds.
Over all of these went a dress which, if low-cut, was beautifully
crafted from blue silk, pearls and silver thread. Finally, the slippers,
which (thank heavens!) were a comfortable fabrication of deer-skin lined
with fur.
"There," said Childra, "All done. Now, let's go to the mirror, shall
we?" A mirror! This should be interesting, thought the knight. Mirrors
were scarce in this country, because the glass had to be imported at great
cost.
The looking-glass slid out of a hidden compartment in the dresser. Sir
Amnar looked at himself in it. He was surprised to find that he was still
attracted to himself. Then again, why shouldn't he be? The image looking
back at him was a noble (if somewhat plain) one: long hair or, eyes azure
on a field blanc, and two circles gules rampant on its cheeks. And below
the neck...
He stopped himself. There wasn't any reason to blush. Was there?
Whether by fate, accident or magic, this was now his body, and it was not
right for him to be embarrassed by himself. He peeled himself from his
reflection.
"Satisfied?" asked the chambermaid.
"Yes. You said something about a banquet?" His stomach was rumbling.
Food sounded good.
"They're expecting you in the Hall. Go on, dear."
"You're not coming?"
"A servant would not be appreciated among the heads of state."
"Right."
Briefly pausing to adjust a fallen stocking, he turned and went out
into the main corridor.
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9
CHAPTER IV: The quest begins.
The inexperienced Lady waddled awkwardly down the stone walkway,
slipping on her train and stopping ever few steps to curse at the
infernally uncomfortable clothing. With difficulty, Sir Amnar made it
through the dungeon, chapel, torture chamber and the games room. When he
arrived, exhausted, at the crypt, he decided to recuperate his strength
before going any further. One of the sarcophagi in the middle of the room,
he thought, would make a perfect resting place.
The knight limped over to the grave-turned-bench and fell onto it. He
closed his eyes.
"I like your dress," his new voice said. Sir Amnar started. Had he said
that? It did not sound like something he would say, least of all to
himself.
"I'm over here." The voice, which persisted in sounding uncannily like
his own, originated somewhere behind his left shoulder. He snapped his
head around to face in that direction. Nothing. Just a mirror. But-
He frowned, and his reflection smiled.
All right. Not a mirror. It looked a little too three-dimensional for
an image. If it was not a trick of the light (or of his mind), then it had
to be
"Lady Kimberley?"
"Not quite in the flesh, but I am she." Indeed. The vision was the
spitting image of the noblewoman - if you squinted. She was not quite
there, and the rays of light which hit her vacillated, indecisive as to
whether they should be affected by her presence.
"Are you-"
"Dead? Yes," confirmed the translucent Lady. This wasn't much of a
surprise; this Kingdom was so rich in ghosts that they'd had to create the
post of full-time Ghost Fulminator or risk being drowned in apparitions.
Ever since Prioress Skeride had been given the post, the problem had been
nearly eliminated - but the old stories were still told.
The ghost told Sir Amnar of the events set down in the first part of
this history, and then said how the next morning, she had been woken (in a
knightly body) by three squires, who had armed her and led her out of the
manor before she realized that it was not just another nightmare. By noon,
she had found herself, quite against her will, in pitched battle against a
dozen robber knights. By five past twelve, she had been slaughtered.
"Why didn't you defend yourself?" Sir Amnar asked. He felt annoyed
that the shade had not taken better care of the borrowed body. It had been
his, after all, and he had worked long and hard all his life to bring it
to perfection.
"I did not have the chance to," said the translucent Lady. "I am a
noblewoman, and not a warrior, but I would have tried to defend myself in
fair combat. Often, I had been a spectator at tourneys, and since I knew
most about that type of fighting, that was the kind which I chose to try
first. I was preparing to joust with a minor knight, when I was attacked
from the rear."
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10
Amnar looked at his (her) waist.
"Yeah, I guess that was the broadest target, huh?"
The late Lady Kim slapped her hand through his cheek, and after a
moment's thought added, "Well, I suppose so. After all, it was YOUR
figure and not mine, was it not?"
"..."
Appeased, the spirit continued.
"A sword was plunged into my armour-less back, and came out the front,
leaving me scarcely enough time to turn and see my- your- OUR murderer
riding away at full gallop."
"What did he look like?"
"He was wearing armour."
"Anything else?"
"And he was riding a horse."
"Most knights wear armour and ride horses. Was there anything to
distinguish him from the others? A bright shield, or a third arm or
somethin'? Did he wear anything on top of his mail?"
"Nothing like that. He rode a brown horse, and the only mark on his
armour was a golden eagle on the back. Sir Knight, I have sought you out
to entreat your grace to avenge your own loathsome murder. You must find
this traitorous warrior and smite him, both for my good, and to cleanse
the noble order of Chivalry of one of its worst stains. If you do not, I
will be doomed to roam the night for all eternity, as a soul who has lost
its life through foul play."
From long-time habit, the ghost put the back of her right hand to her
tilted forehead, and prepared to swoon. Second after second passed, and
yet she stood upright. Apparently, spirits were immune to self-induced
temporary epilepsy. Embarrassed, the shade put her hands behind her back
and glowed a deep rose.
To see a maiden nobly born in such a state of affliction was more than
the gentle knight could rightly bear, and so a stream of tears dropped
copiously from each of his eyes.
All right, so it wasn't quite like that. Seeing a Damsel in Distress
sent his mother the Lady Akodon's training into control of the knight's
mind, and he switched into formulaic auto-pilot.
"My Lady," he said, "I swear by all the saints in Heaven that 'ore the
month is done, I will have found and killed this vile betrayer of all that
is good and holy. Let not your incapacitated state sadden you and spoil
your matchless beauty, for I hereby place the entirety of my martial
skills at your dispose, that your situation may be righted as expediently
as possible."
"So you'll help me?"
The auto-pilot turned off.
"I guess so."
Lady Kimberley smiled, and looked at the knight. The knight smiled,
and looked at Lady Kimberley. They stayed in this state of mutual
observation for forty minutes, after which Sir Amnar blinked. Before Kim
could claim victory of the staring contest, the gong was rung in the
dining hall.
"I must needs go," Sir Amnar excused himself.
"Certes," said the Lady, "but do not think you will rid yourself of me
that easily."
"Lady Kim?"
"Since you wear my body, I thought you would be able to see me.
Thankfully, you can, but you are the only one. Without you, I would be
completely alone, and solitude, though quite respectable and to be desired
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ll
when seen in the light of piety and chastity, is nonetheless very boring.
I'm staying with you, whether you like it or not."
"By my troth, I am right glad of your company. The presence of such a
gracious lady as yourself is always welcome to a sorry knight of my ilk."
Kim smiled. "Not!" The ghost opened her mouth to berate Amnar, but a
second blow to the gong interrupted her. The sound meant that there were
only five or so minutes left before the food was served. The knight picked
up the skirt of his dress and skittered out of the crypt, the spectre
floating behind him.
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12
CHAPTER V: Which tells of the wondrous things that happened at the
Banquet.
They were the last to arrive at the dining hall. Everyone else was
seated, and only waited for the hostess to begin their meal. Being hungry
from the night's fast, courtiers, lords, and visiting dignitaries alike
all turned their eyes towards Sir Amnar when he entered. He bowed,
embarrassed, and sat at the head of the table. "You should have curtsied,"
the shade whispered.
Dinner was delicious. There were apples, roast bear, croissants,
danishes, eel salad, fish prepared in many sumptuous ways, Gaulish wine,
haggis, flavoured ice, jalapenos, kid and lamb, mashed potatoes, Spanish
nougat, olives from Greece, persimmons, quail, steamed rice, salmon
briskets, freshly made toffee, Ugandan spices, viands of many kinds,
watercress soup, a xylophone crafted out of garden vegetables, yak butter,
and zebra meat.
Throughout the affair, Lady Kim was standing behind the knight,
licking her immaterial lips and ogling the food which she was now unable
to enjoy. Now and then she would have to scold her paladin, who persisted
in eating his food not only like a male, but like a male lion who had been
kept on bread and water for a fortnight. When the quail arrived, he took
the bird whole in his hands, and gripping it like a playing-ball sunk his
teeth into the part of the bird that was closest his mouth. Grease and
gristle splattered everywhere, staining table and dress alike with no
discrimination between the two. All present inconspicuously turned their
eyes in his direction. After trying to swallow a particularly large chunk
of skin, the knight belched. All conversation and movement ceased.
Everything was stone still.
"Good food, this," said Sir Amnar. If he had looked behind him he
would have seen a spirit cry. It was torture for Lady Kimberley to see the
reputation of her body mutilated so.
After several awkward minutes, conversation began once again, though
not nearly as vivaciously as it had been before. In an attempt to liven up
the meal, the Sir Amnar asked another knight, Sir Sable, to tell him
of a tournament that had taken place a month or two ago.
"Well," said Sir Sable, "Sir Calambastotalbaceguverrix smote Sir
Galt over his horse's crupper, and Sir Xenophanes smote Sir A'tcha-loom-"
"Benedicite."
"I didn't sneeze. That's his name. Sir Xenophanes smote Sir A'tcha-
loom over his horse's crupper. After that, I think, was when Sir Jack of
Cheapside smote Sir Nalob, 'the Knight with the Small Mole on the Right
Side of His Nose', over his horse's crupper. Next, Sir Arteles smote Sir
Borus over his..."
Suddenly, the Hall doors burst open, and in rushed a young courier,
interrupting the chevalier's fascinating discourse. He was decked in the
livery of Ki O'Foo.
Sir Ki was a heathen prince who ruled a neighbouring land. He was
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13
known for his cruelty, his chivalry, and a fondness for torturing small
animals. More importantly, he was extremely generous to those he took a
liking to, which was the reason he had been invited to dine at
Lye-on-Kunou by the pecuniarily deficient Lady Kimberley.
The messenger approached his master, and knelt before him with his
head bowed.
"You may speak," said the Chief Executor. (The infidels do not call
their rulers kings, as do all civilized people.)
"M'Lord," he began, "a ship has been sighted at your capital."
"Ships," said Sir Ki, "are frequently sighted at my capital. It is a
port. Why do you bother me?"
"It has black sails, sir, and..."
He was cut short by a loud groan from his lord.
"Not another one of THOSE! What does it have in it?" The courier began
to speak. "No, wait. I'LL tell YOU. Inside, it has nothing but a finely
carved bed on which lies a beautiful young maiden, dead and embalmed,
clutching a letter in her right hand. Am I right?" The messenger nodded,
dumbfounded. "I thought so. That's the fourth one this week," he explained
to everyone at the table." These maidens die in swarms for the most
ridiculous reasons, then pack themselves off on ships and expect me to
bear their funeral expenses on the strength of nothing more than a tearful
story and good calligraphy. Quite a nuisance, really." Then, to the boy,
"Pray continue."
"Your knights sent me to ask for guidance. What shall I tell them,
M'Lord?"
Ki O'Foo smiled.
"Burn it," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
The messenger was perplexed.
"But, sire..."
"My young vassal," hissed the Chief Executor, "We couldn't have it
blocking up the river, could we?" Another smile. "No, that wouldn't do at
all..." A pause. "Run along. You are dismissed."
In a quick, rehearsed motion, the courier rose, bowed, turned and
began to walk to the doors. Sir Ki watched him pensively. As his hand
touched the wooden portal, the heathen prince called out to him.
"On the other hand, don't burn the ship."
"Sire?"
"I want to do it myself."
Again, a smile. O'Foo sank back into his chair, with his hands clasped
contentedly before him. A final bow, and the messenger left.
"Sir Amnar," said the ghost, " look at Sir Ki's hands. Do you see
anything?"
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14
"They're kinda wrinkled, an' there's lotsa jewels on 'em," the knight
whispered, "I don't see anythin' else."
"Look on his right hand. At his ring."
"I see... By the Wanderer!" The exclamation cut knife-like through the
chitter-chatter, as everyone quieted to look at him. Sir Amnar smiled.
"Sorry." Conversation resumed.
In lowered tones, the knight informed the ghost of the results of his
perspicacity.
"It bears a golden eagle," he said.
"The same. I am sure it was he that traitorously deprived me of my
continued existence. It is your duty to eliminate this scourge; to efface
the bearer of this fowl(2) device from the surface of the earth, and send
him to his never-ending perdition!"
"You're right! I'll do it right now!" He made as if to leave, but was
stopped by one of the nobles.
"Lady Kimberley, I prithee stay! We have unfinished business which
must be settled before the morn."
"Uh-oh." The ghost turned a shade whiter than its normal pallid hue.
"Business?"
"Your imminent marriage. To Baron Reiraku. The date has been set for
two days hence, but he would like it moved to tomorrow evening."
"I forgot to tell you," Lady Kim told the knight, "That's the reason I
HAD to love you. I didn't want to marry Reiraku, and I had to find another
husband. Soon."
"WHAT????" Thinking the remark was addressed to him, the lord
continued.
"I said, Lady Kimberley, that you must be married to him tomorrow. He
leaves on crusade in two days, and he wishes to consummate the marriage
before then. If he does not, the deal is cancelled."
"Well, I, uh..."
"You must," the ghost hissed. "Don't worry. If you do not agree to it,
they will force you to do it with armed guards. If you acquiesce, they
will be more lenient, and we will be able to figure something out."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. "
Trusting her, he told the lord that he agreed, and the time was
changed to sunset of the following day.
"Can I go now?" he asked.
"Of course, Lady Kimberley," the lord said, obviously pleased with how
easily he had attained her assent.
Sir Amnar excused himself from those present, remembering to curtsy,
and left with the ghost not far behind him.
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15
CHAPTER VI: Murder, Marriage and More Mayhem.
The manor reverberated with the knight's angry stomping. He was
holding a heated conversation with the shade floating at his side, and at
the same time trying to balance his voluminous robe so that he could step
furiously down the hallway. This led to occasional mishaps, where he had
to pause in the middle of a sentence to pick himself up off the ground,
but, all in all, he was doing rather well. His slip/eye coordination was
improving, and was now better than the average woman's.
"What do you mean, you can't do a thing?" Kim whined.
"I toldja; your body's just too flabby! What be I supposed to do? Claw
his eyes out?"
"Well, maybe..."
"It wouldn't work. He'd draw his sword before I had a chance to tear
an eyelid."
"Can't you find a sword? I am certain that the armoury is
well-provided with them."
"I can barely lift one in this state, much less fight with it. Look at
this body! It-" The ghost's face drooped.
"I think it is a good body," she said. Oops.
"Sorry 'bout that. Didn't mean to put down your old meat. Far better
that I should rot and be eaten by maggots while my entrails are pulled
apart by a pack of wild dogs on the Lady my mother's front lawn, than I
should ever wish such a beautiful and witty, albeit deceased, damsel any
harm through conscious thought or action."
"Apology accepted. Where are we headed?"
The mention of his mother in the elongated apology above triggered
something in Amnar's head, and he went into auto-pilot.
"I do not know. Despair not, I do this with a purpose. When in need,
I find it best to ride into the forest without map or guide, in the manner
of knights errant. I am sure to find there whatever I may be in need of,
and in less time than it takes to travel to these things through the usual
routes."
"What miracle is this?"
"A true one. If I need a monastery, so a capuchin can heal my wounds,
before I faint from loss of blood it rises up before me. Soon a monk,
complete with cowl, rushes out to greet and cure me. If it should be a
castle that I look for, so that I may lodge the night - where shall I
start? As soon as darkness falls, as if by magic battlements appear in
front of me. Like clockwork(3), by the setting Sun the main gates form
from shapeless shadow. Inside, I find a gracious lord who as my host
provides a sumptuous banquet and a quest to raise my grace in eyes of men.
In addition, for some reason which I wish I knew, his daughter, when I
bed, will be insistent to climb in with me. I hear that other knights
complain and do not take advantage of the poor, deprived virgins. Leave
chastity to them! I hold her in my arms, and then the two of us enjoy
great sport 'til dawn (to our mutual pleasure). When that- " This last
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16
was enough to knock the girl-shy Amnar out of auto-pilot. "Er... uh...
Sorry 'bout that."
"Well," said the ghost in measured tone, "you should be. It is not
proper for a Lady of high birth to speak of bedding the daughter of a
lord."
"I... kinda forgot." Amnar's cheeks reddened and would have made his
face look quite fetching, had there been anyone but its former occupant to
admire it. "I was just tryin' ta say... I THINK I was just tryin' ta
say.... that we just need ta walk for long enough to find what we need."
"Well thought, Sir Knight! But your idea is dependent far too much
upon rare serendipity. I recommend that we a plan of action find more
suitable to the uncertainties in our frail position."
"Say what?"
"Find another plan, jackass."
"Oh."
"Could not another person wield a weapon in your place?"
"Who could we trust? Childra? Then again, she could choke that Ki guy
with her chest..."
"Sir Amnar!"
"...or my dear husband could perform the deed, when we are wed
tomorrow night." Dead silence. There was no humour in the joke.
"Sorry," said the knight, rubbing the back of his head, "I shouldn't
talk 'bout that. But it's just that I've never - WHOA!"
Being occupied in conversation with Lady Kim, the knight had failed to
notice that he had reached the top of the grand staircase. Had he not used
his years of martial training to restrain himself, he would have tumbled
to his death upon the Spanish-tiled lobby floor.
"You MUST be careful!" said the ghost. "What would I do if you had
broke your neck? You are my avatar, and... " An understanding filled her
face, distorting her visage into a wide-eyed roundel of realization. "My
knight, how strong are you- am I- how strong's the body in which you are
now, precisely?"
"Milady?"
"Wouldn't it be dreadful if Sir Ki accidentally mislaid his life by
snapping his spine, while falling down these stairs?" Sir Amnar made the
sign of the bokken.
"'Waki preserve us from calamity that great."
Lady Kim began to wonder whether squires should not include more
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17
book-learning in their training.
"Sir Knight, we WANT him dead. He killed your body, and my soul is now
a wanderer, thanks to his traitorous blows. Besides, he's under a ban of
excommunication, so there's a price on his head. Lye-on-Kunou needs the
cash." Slowly, Sir Amnar caught on.
"So, you want me to shove 'im down the stairs?"
"Almost. Do you see that purple curtain on the side of the top
landing?"
"Yeah."
"Behind it is a closet, large enough for you to crouch in. I will stay
outside, to tell you when our foe arrives. When I give the word, you will
stick your leg out, and the unsuspecting Sir Ki will trip over it,
plummeting to his painful demise. We can ascribe the death to a miracle
wrought by frequent prayer, in which case we receive the money without
being accused of murder."
"You mean, I get the money. His death will set you free, after all."
The ghost smiled.
"I will be sure to put in a good word for you in the Netherworld.
Now, go to your position."
After a few words complimenting her intelligence, the knight did as
she bid him. Scarcely half a minute passed before the foreign lord trudged
down the passageway, drunk as an ape. When he came near enough, the ghost
shouted, "Now!" and Sir Amnar thrust his leg into the corridor. Sir Ki
tripped over it, as planned, rolled into a quasi-ball and toppled down the
stairs, shouting an obscenity at each step. Lady Kim counted them. One.
Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Six.
Silence. The body was still rolling downwards, but it was now a
corpse. Kim smiled. Lucky number seven.
A few seconds, then the ex-Chief Executor reached the ground. And
behold! The very moment that his unchristened heart ceased to beat, a
great stink filled the room, so that those present were hard-pressed to
bear it.
The knight called from the cubby hole.
"Is he dead?"
"He is. Witness how rotten are the insides of those who defy Tatewaki's
lordship, and take this as a miracle on which to pattern your life."
"Certes," said Sir Amnar. He came out, dusted himself off and
rearranged his dress. Immediately after he had finished smoothing out the
wrinkles on his sleeve, a bevy of two hundred and sixty-four ladies came
out of a hitherto unnoticed door, making loud and joyful noises all of
them. They were all dressed in leotards of fine green silk, and the exotic
fragrances which they wore dispelled the stench arising from the corpse,
for which the knight was right glad. They were also pleasing to the eye,
as every damosel sported long black to match the bouquet of dark roses
which each held in her right hand. In unison, they spoke:
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18
"We thank you, O Sir Knight, that you have, in your- Wait a minute.
Where's the knight?"
"What knight?" asked Sir Amnar.
"The one who rescued us by killing our captor, the evil Sir Ki. Only a
knight may rescue damosels. You should know that, being one of us."
"Dunno nothin' bout that," he admitted, "but I'm the guy... GIRL! I'm
the GIRL who rescued you." The maidens talked about themselves, and after
some time, one of them stepped forward.
"I was raised by a hermit," she said, "who granted me the power of
Truth. I am gifted with the knowledge whether any statement made to me is
false or otherwise, so long as the person who utters it knows of my
talent. Will you repeat what you just said, O
maiden-who-believes-she-is-a-knight?"
"I will," said Sir Amnar, pleased to be given a chance to prove his
status. "I'm the one responsible for the death of Sir Ki." As soon as he
had said that, a great light came through the roof and shone down upon
him, while angelic music played. A deep and disembodied voice announced,
"Thou hast slain my greatest foe," and the melodies grew even more
intense. Suddenly, everything stopped.
"He told the truth," said the maiden, and went back to her group.
Again, the two hundred and sixty-four spoke collectively.
"It is not right that one who is so clearly valued by Kochan and Waki
should be denied by the earthly powers. What is your name?" they asked.
"Lady Kimberley Thompson of Lye-on-Kunou," Lady Kim whispered to
the knight.
"My name is, er- Lady Kimberley Thimble-"
"Thompson!" said the ghost.
"I mean, Lady Kimberley Thompson of Lye-on-Kunou."
"Then," said the horde, "by the power granted to us by the divine
revelation which we have just experienced, and by our noble birth, we
hereby dub thee knight. Rise, Sir Kim."
"I was s'posed to kneel?"
"It is only a formality. No one will know." More seriously, they said,
"You are rare, and such a specimen of female prowess should be
distinguished with an additional title. Such is the custom with all great
and noble knights. Thus, Lancelot took it upon himself to be called the
Knight of the Cart after a misadventure of his, and Yvain the Knight with
the Lion. As to you, we grant you the name of 'The Knight with the
Petticoat', by which you will be known far and wide for your (hopefully)
glorious deeds."
"Not without a sword, I won't. . . " the newly reknighted knight
muttered under his breath.
"We heard that. Do not worry about a weapon. The One who has made
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l9
his fondness for you manifest in such a visible fashion on this day will
surely provide you with appropriate armament. And now, all that remains to
be done before we leave you for ever is to tell you our story, a
requirement for captive maidens who have been released, which we forgot in
the height of our confusion as to your gender."
"Shoot."
"You do not have a choice, but thank you for agreeing to it. Ahem."
The sound of over a quarter of a thousand maidens clearing their throats
at the same time caused a minor earthquake, which was later found to have
demolished two houses in the village, and killed three ducks. "Sir Knight,
thank you for in your kindness having released us from foul captivity by
the strength of your arm! We are all maidens, nobly born, who at a tender
age were snatched away from our rightful parents by servants of that
barbarous heathen king. He wanted us to satisfy his wretched lust, and
when we were not occupied within his harem, we were forced to crotchet
mittens for his gargantuan army. Please accept our humble thanks, and rest
assured that we shall be forever in your debt for this benevolence which
you have shown in destroying our oppressor."
"You're welcome," said Sir Kim, "But I am confused as to one point."
"What is that?"
"Aren't maidens usually... Aren't they... I thought they were supposed
to be virgins."
"Well," replied the maidens, unruffled, "we ARE unmarried. Could you
show us the way out?"
"Certes," said Sir Amnar-called-Kim. He led them down the staircase,
stopped for a while when they reached the corpse so they could each take a
piece of the body as a relic, and then continued down to the main gate.
The ladies arrived in single file. He shook her hand of every maiden as
she left, then wished her a good day. This lasted only for a hundred and
twenty of the two hundred and sixty-four, after which Lady Kim's ghost,
thinking he was spending too much time looking at the chests of the
recently liberated ex- concubines, forced him to go back a waise and
satisfy himself by waving to them.
About an hour later, all the rescuees had streamed out, and the twice-
knight and Lady were left alone.
"Well," said Sir Amnar, "We killed him."
"Yes," agreed Kim.
Silence.
"What are we supposed to do now?"
"I don't know."
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[Continues in Part 2]