The Cup
John paused at the heavy double doors, and steeled himself — how to break the news to Her Majesty? – Jen Lub
She hadn't had her luncheon martini yet, but it couldn't wait. He knocked smartly and the door was opened by a footman. John squared his shoulders and walked into the room, noticing the bright early summer sunshine shimmering through the tall windows. Queen Elizabeth II sat at table, a crisp white napkin in her lap, tidily finishing her meal. She looked up at his brisk steps.
“Your Majesty…” John cleared his throat as her sharp blue eyes focused on him. “It’s the vault. Someone left the door unlatched and I’m afraid Willow and Holly got in again.” John had taken an instant dislike to the Her Majesty’s beloved corgis. The feeling was mutual.
The queen pinched the bridge of her nose and squinched her eyes shut in annoyance. “Drat the man. Phil!” she called. There was no response from the tall figure snoozing on a divan across the grand room, newspaper over his face.
“He has the utter worst timing. I appreciate he likes to fence with Excaliber, but how hard is it to latch the dratted door?” The queen shook her head. “I suppose the dogs have carried it off again?”
John nodded, “Yes, ma’am. They’ve buried it somewhere in the back gardens. We’re looking for it now.”
“What utter wretched timing! The King of Belgium is due for tea today, and in those gardens!” She placed her napkin neatly next to her plate and sat back a trifle. “Well, the metal detectors will never find it. Even though it has gold leaf, the clay and the glamour will foil that. Who do we have on staff right now that is a sensitive?
John had been provided a short list. He wistfully recalled the excitement he’d felt when he held the acceptance letter for the queen’s personal guard. Oh, how ignorance had been bliss. “We have a short list of candidates, but Fulton feels that the kitchen lad has the most potential.”
“Good. There should be a divining rod around here somewhere. Check the sports equipment lockers. Harry likes to mess about with it.” She rose from her chair and turned to John. “For heaven’s sake, get moving! You’ve been briefed on how the gardens respond to the Grail! I’ll head to the vault and calm things there. The other artifacts will be beginning to worry.” The queen turned on her heel and strode to an alcove with a statue of King Arthur. She pressed a hidden button and a narrow door popped open. Within moments, John was left alone with the napping Prince Philip.
The newspaper rustled in the corner as the prince rose to a sitting position. He looked about the room carefully. “She’s gone, then?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” replied John.
“Oh, good.” He smiled, unrepentant. “I like to get her blood up before these state teas. Makes it much more entertaining!” Philip winked at John and let himself out of a far door in hasty retreat.
After a hassled hour, John found the divining rod and the kitchen ‘lad’ who turned out to be a burly Black man in his 20s named Roy. Roy was quite surprised to learn he was a sensitive as he’d figured people liked him for his easy laugh and charm, not the aura he gave off. Now armed, John and Roy commandeered a golf cart from the garage and headed to the far corner of the gardens where it was reported that the tennis courts had become a pond covered in mist. The corgis had been corralled and were currently napping in the back kitchen after being told they were “very bad doggies” by Her Majesty.
Now it was up to John and Roy to find the Grail and clean up the mess. John glanced up at the trees that were growing larger before their eyes and turning into beech and oak instead of maple and crabapple. Every time the Grail touched living earth, it wanted to recreate Arthurian England. John sighed and looked at Roy, who was examining the polished hazel of the divining rod.
“It should twitch to indicate direction,” shouted John over the golf cart wheels skittering on the gravel.
“Cor,” Roy yelled back. “My first time with magic!”
“Don’t get comfortable. It can bite you in the arse,” replied John, recounting a few choice moments that had led to some interesting scars.
They pulled up to a giant oak tree dripping with moss and lichen. The men got out and looked up as the tree added another five feet of girth. “That wasn’t here yesterday,” observed Roy.
John peered sideways at him, “Oh?”
Roy shrugged. “I like to use the path for my morning run. The flowers are pretty.”
John rubbed a hand across his face. Of course, a sensitive would find the flowers pretty and seek out the greenest path for exercise. If Roy didn’t watch himself, John would find him swimming in the lake next, communing with the swans buck naked. Fulton would need to take the lad in hand after this.
The men approached a path covered in fallen leaves, the smell of water strong, tendrils of mist curling around buttressed tree roots. Roy held the divining rod in front of him, grasping the outward handles. The nose dipped and weaved, but the shifting landscape made it obvious they were in the right place. The question now was, where did the corgis bury the Grail exactly?
John started to sweat as they walked deeper into the primordial forest rustling with life. A stag bellowed in the distance and birds swooped and called in the branches. Roy led them steadily toward a shallow pond, its banks artfully decorated with fresh green moss and toadstools. All this magic made John twitchy and he kept his eyes out for danger. Any minute now, the damn Grail would attract some small creature like a brownie and that led to bigger and bigger creatures. The trees closed in tighter.
“Roy, you got anything definite?” asked John tightly, as he nearly tripped over a tree root snaking through the loam, seeking water.
“Almost man, almost,” Roy replied. He spun slowly around their small clearing next to the pond. The rod was bobbing and weaving furiously.
“I need you to concentrate Roy, on a cup. A cup made from clay, lined in gold, that a poor carpenter drank from,” soothed John. “Focus on the shape of a cup, a manmade shape, but bound with light.”
Roy closed his eyes tightly and breathed. At once, the rod stilled and came to quivering attention. Roy walked steadily, eyes still shut, to the edge of the pond. He knelt and opened his eyes.
“Good, good,” John called encouragement. “Now ask politely for it to return to the hand of man. Place your need in the center of your forehead and project it. Polite, but steady.”
Roy placed both hands on the cushion of moss and bent a little lower, eyebrows drawn in concentration. The moss rippled a bit, but Roy didn’t let up. At last the pond water lapped up and covered his wrists. When it flowed away, Roy was holding the Grail.
“Excellent!” cried John, relieved that they hadn’t had to make a bargain. He stepped carefully across the sward of green. “Here,” John took an intricately carved casket from the hook at his waist. “Put it in here.”
Roy looked up, his deep brown eyes beseeching. “It’s so lonely!” he cried.
“I know, boyo, I know. But we can’t leave it here. Bad people will take it and do evil. It has to come back in this very lovely box. I promise we’ll take it out in the vault. The other artifacts already miss its presence.” And there will be hell to pay if we don’t get its soothing spell back there before Merlin’s staff starts a pissing match with Robin Hood’s longbow, thought John, projecting as much calm as he was able.
Reluctantly, Roy placed the Grail in the velvet lined casket. John snapped the lid shut and locked it with a key. Immediately, the pond started to sink back into the earth and the noise of traffic burbled over the wall. Roy rose, dusting loam from his pants and the two men wended their way back to the golf cart, mist seeping away from their ankles back into the soil.
John pressed his hand to the biometric pad on the vault door’s wall. After a moment it blinked green and asked for the password spell. John dutifully recited it and the giant steel door sighed open. He was going to have a serious talk with Prince Philip. He appreciated a good prank now and again, but these weren’t fancy dog toys or boys’ playthings. These artifacts were dangerous. John walked to the plinth in the center of the room. The muttering racket that had greeted him stilled as he placed the Grail on the plinth so that the spotlight bounced twinkles off the gold leaf. As silence settled like snow, John smiled ruefully. No, he hadn’t known what he was getting into when he took this job, but damn if it didn’t have its moments of excitement. Now to organize the grounds keepers to thin out some trees.