Page 23 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

She nodded to Gabriel, who pushed the itinerary away to uncover the parchment she’d delivered to him upon his arrival. He stood, and so did everybody else. His mouth felt dry, but it would have been unseemly to moisten it. He couldn’t start a historic and important ceremony with a lip-lick.

“Do you swear to defend the order of the knighthood andthe sanctity of this table, in the name of which we hold sacred our bonds to each other and to… to the king? Do you swear to lay down your life in the defense of the kingdom we set out to build? Do you agree to uphold the principles of our endeavor; of chivalry, knowledge, and a just hand to every fellow being? Do you swear to meet each other in friendship, and to only raise your sword in the company of those gathered here to shield against any who might seek to harm them?”

It was a bit lengthy, but Lady Oakley had thought that proper. Gabriel was just glad he’d gotten through it without switching any of the words around.

“I do so swear,” Sir Bowen said seriously. It was too awkward to kneel with a massive table between them, so he removed his sword from its sheath and placed it reverently on the table.

“I so swear,” Sir Leonard added, his voice smooth as honey, as he did the same.

Everybody swore; every sword was placed on the table. Gabriel was surprised and slightly alarmed to see that Gwen was apparently now carrying around a wicked-looking shortsword, which she produced with unsettling glee.

“I swear the same to you,” Gabriel said, which was quite a nice little addition of Oakley’s. “From this day forth, until the crown or death release you, you nine will be known as the knights of the round table of Camelot.”

There was a spark of something then, the disquieting notion that perhaps this really did matter; Gabriel felt it, and felt silly for feeling it, and then realized that everybody else was feeling it too. There was an energy in the room, a shudder of something that was rippling through all of them like the chill of a breeze. He could see this second being inked indelibly on to history, but not just capital-H History; hisownhistory. Thismoment was going to be part of him until he died, and long after. He looked at Gwen, and she looked right back, every part of her face smiling except for her mouth.

Then the silence went on too long, and Lady Oakley said, “Well then,” and everybody had to start picking up their swords; Arthur somehow knocked Sidney’s onto the floor, and Gabriel could hear them swearing at each other with quiet enthusiasm as Sidney scrambled to pick it up.

“Oh,” Adah said. “Sorry, Sir Bowen, I think this one is yours.” Sir Bowen glanced down at his blade, then nodded. They swapped.

The moment was well and truly over.

Gabriel had enjoyed it. For half a breath there, he’d almost felt like a real king.

Eleven

They planned to depart from Camelot on the first Monday in October, and were confronted with a brief unexpected streak of warm weather in the fortnight that preceded it.

The last gasp of summer couldn’t have come at a worse time. Being called to endless, back-to-back meetings and appointments to try on winter cloaks, hats, and boots as the sweat beaded on Gabriel’s brow and fat flies threw themselves haphazardly at the ceiling was the vilest of tortures. After his last fitting, he had to have a lie-down just to recover from the feeling of thick winter velvet brushing against his clammy skin. Everyone assured him that once this hot spell was over, autumn would truly begin.

They were right. As everybody gathered and mounted their horses in the courtyard on Monday morning, the weather was sunny but crisp, Gabriel’s breath clouding the air as he stood dressed in his finest, most regal scarlets.

All he remembered of the weather turning last year was Arthur.

That day, like so many of them, had been packed with emergency council meetings and long, awkward interludes with the new court physician and Master Buchanan, who had taken it upon himself to get involved with Gabriel’s recovery and rehabilitation. He’d been experiencing excruciating pain at the site of his amputation, short episodes that were so intense he’d woken himself up shouting in the night, convinced he was being held down and carved into with a knife. Nothing helped, but every day they tried something new. There was always somebody he loved sitting in a nearby chair, grim-faced, as he winced through varied ministrations.

Arthur had been his companion on the day the mornings turned cold, which meant he’d been the one to watch the physician painstakingly insert many slender bone needles into Gabriel’s thickening scar tissue. It was a remedy from Zhongguo that had apparently been used with great success to treat the lingering pain from injury. Master Truman, eager as he was to help, was unfortunately far from an expert, and after Gabriel had sweated palely through the first twelve needles, his arm had jerked, pain lancing through him, and the remaining needles had ended up on the floor.

“Ha,” Arthur had exclaimed humorlessly, closing the book he’d been pretending to read and getting up from his chair. “Right. That’s enough stabbing for today, I reckon.”

Gabriel had shrugged, even as gray, squirmy light freckled across his vision. “It’s fine.”

“Counterpoint: It’s not helping and you look like gruel. We should wait until they can bring in the specialist.”

Then Gabriel had tried to pick up one of the scatteredneedles, and his body had decided this was about the right time to blink out of consciousness for a second. When he was able to see, he’d found Arthur crouching by his chair, pushing Gabriel’s sweaty curls away from his forehead while Master Truman went to fetch cold water.

“Hello,” Arthur said, his voice quiet but strained. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is horrible. I’m actually kind of annoyed that you fainted, becauseIwas planning to faint. And now if I do, it’ll be… you know. Derivative.”

Gabriel accepted a cool, wet cloth for his brow from the physician, who then melted away out of sight. “Mmm.”

“Gabe? If you close your eyes, I’m going to assume the worst, and I’ll warn you now that I am not going to be very grown-up about it.”

“I’m here,” Gabriel said, blinking Arthur back into focus. “I’m just tired.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “True. But just in case, I think we should get some fresh air.”

Master Truman had concurred, so Gabriel had let Arthur drape a cloak over his shoulders and then accompany him very slowly down the stairs and out into the grounds.

The chill in the air had been unexpected and wonderful. The cobblestoned courtyards were soft around the edges with deep drifts of fallen leaves, and the sunlight had a different quality, like it was putting on a last show before it conceded to the dark of winter.