Her Knight at the Museum

Chapter Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two

Take a break . Griffin understood what that meant, for the other night, Aaron had said, My wife and I broke up.

Emily no longer wished to be with him.

What was the point of being alive in the world if he was going to be completely alone, with no one to care about him? At least as a figure of stone, indifference had not been personal. To be alive, to move, to speak, and to be rejected, by the very person who’d brought him to life…it was too much.

He had so overstayed his welcome that it had soured and curdled into contempt—which explained why she thought he was no better than an actor—and then rejection. He would start over, completely, from nothing, like Adam in the Garden before there was an Eve, lonely but not damned.

No, she was not the only person in the world. He could meet others. But would any of them ensorcell his heart the way she had done? She’d always thought they would, and he’d always said she was wrong.

It was a question for another time.

Maybe he should leave all the things she’d given him, the phone, toothbrush, the razor, and the clothes that she and Rose had given him as though he were a beggar. But she had no use for them, so he packed them up in one of the thin bags she used to clean up after her dog. He was pitying himself, yes, but he didn’t care.

He would take his armor with him, too, but there was no way to carry it in his arms. What did it matter if no one else here wore it? It was his, and God knew in this new world, he needed all the protection he could get.

He stripped off his jeans and T-shirt. She’d washed his tunic and hose and gambeson, and folded them between layers of thin colorful paper, in a drawer. The care she’d taken tugged at his emotions, but he pushed it away; he’d dealt with enough emotions already.

As he bent to fasten his greaves, he remembered Emily helping him before as a squire would have done. Could he really bear leaving her? But he had no other choice. Their quarrel had caught fire so quickly he could hardly remember what had been said, but she’d wanted him to take the lowliest of jobs, and then she’d wanted to be done with him. He picked up the breastplate and worked on attaching it next. It couldn’t protect his heart, which had already been pierced as though by a lance.

And yet he was not sorry to wear the armor again.

Emily had given him some money the day he’d spent at the museum while she worked. He’d bought ice cream, but he hadn’t spent all of it; he’d left the paper and coins in the bathroom, in a basket among small bottles and tubes. After a minute’s hesitation, he tucked it into his gauntlet.

When he walked toward the door, clanking slightly, Andy trotted alongside him and gave a soft whine. Maybe he was wondering where his mistress had gone in such a hurry. Or maybe he was hoping to be taken for a walk. It was hard to leave him. But Emily would be back soon, and dogs did not have long memories, did they? Before long, the hound would forget he’d ever lived here.

Still, as Griffin patted him on the head, he felt a tightness in his throat. “You are a fine dog, Andy War-Howl.”

He left, closed the door behind him, and felt he was making another new start. Except now, instead of being filled with gratitude, hope, joy, and adoration for his lady, he felt loneliness, confusion, and sorrow.

The streetlights under the deep violet sky buzzed, and long shadows loomed across his path. The cool air carried the sound of traffic, like the roar of a distant ocean. Another dog on another block, barking. The honk of a horn.

It was still better to be alive.

He took a few steps down the sidewalk. Ah. He would go to the restaurant down the street, the one that was open all night. Emily had said such a place had allowed her to stay for hours, filling her coffee cup again and again. There he could ponder what to do next.

At the end of the block, he turned right onto the large street and saw the glowing pink sign that read CORNER CAFé . When he entered the restaurant, only a few tables were occupied, and a stout woman stood at the kitchen counter talking to a cook. She was maybe sixty, with very short silver hair and brown skin, and she wore a blue apron.

“Sit wherever you want,” she called out as she turned around, and then she laid eyes on him. “Oh.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Griffin said, inclining his head to her, and she raised her eyebrows. Then she smiled.

He sat in one of the red leather booths near the large windows, and she brought him a large, glossy menu. The tag on her lapel read Christine .

“Here you go, hon. Can I get you some coffee?”

Coffee. That was the key to being allowed to stay all night. “Yes, if you please.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“A great deal of both, please.” He’d learned what sugar was, a powder sweet as honey, and it would go a long way to making the coffee fit to drink.

She chuckled. “All right. I’ll be right back.”

The menu included color pictures of all the choices, which Griffin appreciated. Christine returned with the coffee, and two large bowls, one filled with little white cups, and one filled with paper packets. “You know what you want?”

“The Hot Roast Turkey Dinner, my lady.”

“Hmmph. Don’t get too many orders for that this time of year,” she said, scribbling on a notepad. “It’s good, though. You need anything else?”

A friend.

“No, thank you,” he said, and she retreated.

He figured out how to open the packets and the little cups and dumped the contents of four of each into his half-full mug and stirred it. When he took a drink, he found that the cream and sugar had done much to ease the bitterness of the coffee, just as friendly conversation might have eased his bitter spirit.

In his own time, if his spirits had been low, he would’ve confided in someone. In his sister, in Mordrain before he’d destroyed their friendship, or in another friend. He could hardly talk to Rose, since she was much more Emily’s friend than his. At that very moment, Emily might’ve been describing all his faults to Rose, and Rose might be echoing her outrage, as such ladies who were friends were wont to do.

Aaron . The man courting Rose, the one whom Griffin had entrusted with the truth about his life. When Aaron had put his number in Griffin’s phone, he’d said, Call me any time .

Griffin touched Aaron’s name, the only one in the phone besides Emily.

After a few rings, a voice said, “Griffin! Hey, I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” The friendliness in Aaron’s voice was like sunshine through the clouds. “How’s it going?”

“Very ill indeed,” he confessed. “It is as though my very heart has been ripped from my chest. I am utterly bereft in the world and know not where to turn.”

A moment’s pause. “Uh…wow, man, sorry to hear that. Are you at Emily’s?”

“Nay, and I am not like to go back.” He couldn’t keep the mournful tone out of his voice.

“ Oh . Where are you now?”

“An inn. The Corner Café, on Broadway Road.”

“Griffin, I’d like to stop by and talk to you. Can you stay there awhile?”

Griffin gave a short laugh. “I will stay all night, for I have nowhere else to go.”

Aaron didn’t respond.

“My friend, are you still there?”

Nothing. Griffin took the phone from his ear, hung up, and tried calling again. The phone had run out of minutes. Emily had said this might happen soon. She’d meant to get him another one, but he supposed she’d forgotten. She’d never been very conscientious about phones. He sighed, got up, and tossed it in a nearby trash can.

Soon, Christine brought him a steaming plate, and he thanked her again. He tried to eat the roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and carrots slowly, but by the time Aaron walked through the door, he’d just taken his last bite.

Aaron wore a light jacket over a T-shirt and jeans, and when he spotted Griffin, his eyebrows rose. Griffin stood as Aaron drew up to him.

“Hey, man,” Aaron said, reaching out, pausing, and then awkwardly embracing him. Having taken off his gauntlets to eat, Griffin slapped him on the back.

Aaron stepped back to look him over and gave a low whistle. “Beautiful suit of armor.”

“Thank you.” Griffin gestured for him to sit and did the same.

Aaron took his phone out and placed it on the table before setting the jacket next to him on the seat. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

Presumably, there was a device on the phone that would do so with no effort. Why would Aaron want to do so, though? Someday, Griffin would understand all the new social customs.

He shrugged. “Not at all, if you wish to.”

Aaron nodded and touched a button on the phone. His gaze landed on the pile of empty cream cups and sugar packets. “I take it you two broke up.”

He nodded. “She has withdrawn her love. But I loved her with a fierceness, and although she offended me greatly, I love her still.”

Aaron shook his head. “I’m sorry. How are you holding up? I tell myself I’m over my wife, but…” He shook his head. “What did you fight about?”

The back of Griffin’s neck burned. “She wanted me to do a job that, at the last moment, I could not do. It was beneath my pride as a man…and she was sore enraged.”

Aaron nodded slowly. “The job was her idea in the first place?”

“Aye, it was. You can well imagine the kind of job she wished me to do.” He raised his arms, indicating what he wore. There was only one place now where men donned suits of armor for work. Aaron would know that.

“Yeah, I can. I’m glad you decided to talk to me about this. Who else was involved?”

Griffin shrugged. “Rose. It required a great act of deception, though I am sure you will not hold that against her.” Aaron would know all about identification cards, too.

“Right. And no one else was helping you?”

“Rose’s brother,” Griffin said. Though Griffin had yet to meet the man, he’d given Griffin his first clothes in this new world.

“She told me about her brother,” Aaron said. “He’s been in prison for theft, and now he works at a moving company. Right?”

“Aye, and that has been a great good fortune for him.” Rose had said so.

“I’ll bet. So will you be doing the same thing as before? Creating a diversion?”

Griffin understood none of this question but was too proud to say so. “Aye, as you say,” he answered vaguely.

Christine came up to their table. “Hey there,” she said to Aaron. “You need a menu?”

“You have apple pie?” She nodded. “Black coffee and apple pie.” Aaron pointed at Griffin. “Let’s get you a piece, too.” He turned back to Christine again. “One check, I’ve got it.”

As a boy in church, Griffin had learned, It is more blessed to give than receive , but he’d never truly believed it. He did now. Would he ever give rather than receive again?

Aaron gazed at Griffin sympathetically.

“Listen, Griff. I’m proud of you for not going through with the job.”

“But I have disappointed the woman I love.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed. “If she really loved you , would she ask you to do this?”

“She wanted a man whose word she could trust,” he recalled aloud. It was one of the things she’d said in the beginning, when answering those questions about suitors. How could he have been so stupid? She’d trusted him to do what he said he would do, and he had not. “And she wanted a man who didn’t think himself too good to do a job.”

“You did the right thing. You’re better than a common thief,” Aaron pointed out. It was strange that he said thief and not actor , but then again, the two often went hand in hand. “Most men think they’re above some kinds of jobs.”

“Exactly! It confused me…and now she curses my pride, and there will be love and affection between us no more. And I have no money, and do not know what to do.”

“I’m sorry about the money problem. Is the job still going down without you?” Griffin frowned, uncomprehending, and Aaron added, “Are they still doing it?”

“Aye, of course.” Why would people who played at being servants and knights and queens cease their performances, just because he would not join them? They didn’t even know who he was.

“What more can you tell me about it?”

Aaron was strangely curious about this theatre. “I know nothing else. ’Tis no affair of mine.”

Christine returned, setting a slice of pie in front of each of them. They both thanked her, and as she retreated, Griffin picked up a fork and tried a bite.

“This is excellent. Thank you,” Griffin said. Aaron was a good friend. He at least had that.

“No problem. And the sculpture—that was Emily’s job, too?”

Griffin frowned. “Aye, as you know.” Emily had told him herself she’d been restoring it.

Aaron gave a small smile. “I just wanted to confirm it. You and she did that together?”

“Aye.” Griffin let out a sigh. He didn’t want to be rude to the only friend he had in the world, but he’d already told him the story of how he’d come to life. His friend was behaving strangely, asking questions for which he already knew the answers.

“Were Terrence or Laurie involved with the sculpture job?”

“Nay, not at all.”

“Thank you.” Aaron touched the screen of the phone again and hit a few more buttons before looking up again.

“Here’s what I don’t understand. This whole bit with you wearing armor, pretending to be from the fifteenth century. Why choose that for a diversion? Was that her idea, too?”

What?

Griffin set down his fork. “You think I am dissembling?” Frustration boiled up in him. Why did everyone expect him to be a vile actor? “I have told you the truth, and I thought you believed it.”

Aaron raised his hands. “Whoa, I’m just saying—”

“You seem so gracious, and then call me a liar!”

Christine straightened where she stood at the counter. Griffin knew that look on her face, for he’d seen it on many a female innkeeper. He couldn’t get himself thrown out. He had nowhere else to go. Raising his hands in a gesture of truce, he leaned back in his seat, but resentment burned in him.

Aaron set the phone back on the table again and said quietly, “You’re telling me two different stories here. You really believe you were turned into stone and came to life again?”

“I do not believe it, sir,” Griffin said coldly. “I know . And I thought you believed me, too.” He stabbed the pie with his fork and took another bite.

“And this is your original suit of armor.”

“Aye.”

Aaron sighed. “You know, it’s weird, because they have security camera footage of you running right out of the photography room in the conservator offices, wearing that armor, and it fits the timeline exactly.”

“How did you know this?”

“I heard about it on a podcast,” Aaron said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “And nobody has any record of you at all. The police, the Internet, they can usually uncover someone’s history. Not with you.” He met Griffin’s eyes.

Griffin gave a huff of disgust. “They would have to search in the dusty annals of ages past. I have explained all this, sirrah.”

“ Sirrah ,” Aaron repeated. “You never break character.” He frowned and took a sip of his coffee. “But you just told me that Emily stole the sculpture.”

He’d said no such thing! Griffin’s temper rose again; he struggled to contain it. What had he said, that had been so misconstrued?

Aaron went on. “But why the sculpture? Anything would’ve been easier to steal. Is this some feminist performance art thing? Because if it is, it’s impressive.” Griffin stared at him, bewildered.

“If you returned the sculpture, neither of you would do any time,” Aaron added. “You’d be famous, and there would be a lot of ways to profit from it.”

“She did not steal a sculpture. She is no thief! I will speak with you no more.” He felt betrayed—again.

Aaron picked up his phone and typed something in. “So you’re still saying you’re a real knight.”

“I swear by the blood of Christ, I am,” Griffin said, knowing it was wrong to make such an oath. “I was knighted by Sir Baudwin, in the chapel at my father’s house.”

The time he’d been a squire, from when he was fourteen to the time he was seventeen, and thanks to the detestable man he served, Sir Baudwin, it had been the most miserable time of his life…until, of course, he’d been turned to stone, and that agony had eclipsed other sorrows.

After his knighting there had been a great feast, and a mock tournament. It would’ve been a sorry thing, if a young man were sore wounded or killed, on the very day of his knighthood, with all those who loved him in attendance. It had been like a pageant. A celebration of prowess and courage.

Like Medieval Legends.

There had been no shame at all in the mock tournament. It had been a joyful entertainment between friends…between lords.

Why had he not thought of that time before? And he’d known, even before going to Medieval Legends, that the tournaments were playacting. It was only when he’d been there, and had heard other men speak of it disparagingly, and say things that reminded him of the basest street entertainments, that his pride had been pricked.

His damnable pride. How had he been through so much and still allowed it to rule him?

“Although ’tis shameful to be an actor,” he mused aloud, “there are worse things one could do.”

Aaron stiffened slightly. “Why do you think I’m an actor?”

“I do not.” How strange this man was, truly…but he was in no position to judge. “Anyone can see you are too rich to be an actor.”

Aaron shook his head. “Uh…you do know that some actors are very rich, right?”

“No!” Was the man teasing him?

Aaron nodded. “Not most of them, but the A-list actors in Hollywood. They’ve got huge houses, and everybody wants to be them…They’re like our royalty.”

Griffin’s mouth fell open. He could hardly imagine such a thing. And then he remembered the flimsy book he’d perused near the river. Hollywood’s Handsomest Bachelors! They were rich and famous, Emily had said. These must’ve been the kinds of actors Aaron was talking about.

Maybe even being at the bottom rung of acting wasn’t as low as he’d thought. Her expecting him to do it was not such a gross insult. And the plays he’d seen on TV weren’t crass affairs but great adventures. The people were often beautiful, and they played their roles so convincingly that Griffin could hardly remember the characters weren’t real people.

“It was very different in my time,” he muttered.

Aaron picked up the check, and after a quick glance at it, he dug out his wallet, drew out a few bills, and laid them on the table.

“You said you were going to stay here all night,” he said. “Do you really have nowhere else to go?”

“Nay, I do not.”

“Looks like you’re coming home with me, then.” He pointed at the table. “Don’t forget your money. Or your metal gloves.”

Griffin put on his gauntlets and tucked the bills back into one of them. They both stood up. As they walked out, Aaron raised a hand to Christine. “Thanks. Have a good night.” They stepped outside, and he pointed. “I parked down the block.”

The night had grown quieter and colder. If Aaron hadn’t met him, his loneliness might’ve overwhelmed him.

“You are generous to offer me hospitality.”

“You might want to reserve judgment on that,” Aaron said with a tight smile. When Griffin shot him a curious look, he added, “I’m just staying at a hotel right now.”

“Hotel…like a hostel ? The French word for an inn?”

Aaron stepped around to one side of a silver car. “You speak French, too?”

“Aye, I do,” Griffin said. He walked around to the other side of the car and got in.

After Aaron had done the same, he said, “But hotel is a French word, too. L’hotel ?”

Griffin shook his head. “Not in my time.”

They got in the car and Aaron pulled the car away from the curb. After a minute, Griffin asked, “May I ask why you stay at an inn? You said you lived in this city.”

“I do. But I’m rehabbing my condo. It’s a construction site right now.” As he merged onto a larger road, he said, “The hotel is actually near the museum.”

“I do not know whether I am glad or dismayed to hear that I will be so close to Emily.” As he stared at the signs and buildings rolling past them in the night, the shifting lights from other cars, his heart ached within him again. “My pride once led to my doom, and now, I wonder if it has done so a second time. Mayhap I am the biggest fool this world has ever known. Should I have taken the work, or at least endeavored to do so?”

“No,” Aaron said irritably. “It’s a crime.”

Griffin swiveled his head to regard Aaron. “I am sure ’tis not.”

Aaron cast an incredulous look in his direction. “Of course it is.”

“To playact, and ride horses, and pretend to do battle, for the amusement of anyone who pays?” Griffin shook his head. “They openly conduct their performances, and the Medieval Legends castle stands there for all to see.”

Aaron’s eyes widened. The car drifted to the right and something rumbled under the wheels. He quickly corrected his course.

“ That’s the job you two fought about? Medieval Legends ?”

“Aye…”

“Shit.” In a moment, he repeated, “Shit.” Then, in a louder tone, he said, “Call Brian.”

The ringing of a phone sounded through the car—three times, four. “Come on, pick up,” Aaron muttered. Then a voice said, “This is Brian. Leave a message.”

“Brian, it’s Aaron, I’m on speaker.” He spoke loudly, with a flexed jaw. “Don’t do anything else. Just call me back as soon as you can—I’m fine,” he added and touched a button on the steering wheel.

Griffin peered at Aaron. What accounted for this sudden shift in mood? Had he suddenly remembered something important?

“Hey, speaking of ale,” Aaron asked in a lighter tone that sounded a bit forced. “Do you want to stop and get some?”

“Aye, I do.” It would be even more welcome after the coffee. The cream and sugar had made it drinkable but not enjoyable. He needed an evening of drinking and talking with a friend.

After stopping at a liquor store, Aaron took them to his hotel. He led Griffin to a back entrance rather than going through the front lobby, and they took a large elevator up. When they got off on a high floor, Aaron held up a hand to detain Griffin and peered up and down the hallway before they walked down it to his chamber. He double bolted the door behind them. Despite Aaron’s dismissive words, his quarters at the hotel were more than a single room. One held a couch, a desk, and a large TV.

“Go ahead and get out of that armor, if you want to,” Aaron said, kicking off his shoes. He sat down at the desk, took his laptop computer out of his bag, and then tapped on the keyboard.

Griffin removed it all and piled it in the closet, which made him miss Emily, because she’d put the armor in her closet. Everything made him miss Emily. He left his linen tunic on but stripped off his hose and pulled on a pair of underwear he’d stuffed in the thin bag.

When he walked over, Aaron offered him a bottle of beer. Griffin sat down on the sofa and Aaron turned around in his desk chair.

“Bet it feels good to get out of that,” he said.

“Aye, it does,” Griffin said slowly. He took a swig of the ale and looked at the bottle. “Bitterly do I regret leaving the Medieval Legends, for meseems it was not so shameful a place as I believed.”

“Not shameful at all,” Aaron said. “I went there once with my nephew. It’s a good time.”

“But do the actors pretend to do vulgar acts?”

Aaron’s face screwed up with confusion. “What? No! It’s more like the King Arthur and the Round Table books.”

Oh.

“I would have greatly enjoyed such sport, and pleased Emily, too, had I not ruined everything again with my detestable pride.”

Aaron leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “It wasn’t just pride. You were also confused. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“There is a second day of trials tomorrow, but they will not want me back.”

“Why not? Did you even talk to the people in charge?”

Griffin shook his head.

“Then it’s no problem. I’ll take you.”

“But I was expected the day before.”

Aaron shrugged. “I’ll tell you what to say about that.”

So Aaron had more than some skill at lying. Perhaps that should’ve caused Griffin some alarm, but he could not deny that it was a useful talent.

“Gramercy for your kindness,” he said. “I must learn to ride the train and bus to get to where I want to go, and mayhap one day I will learn to drive a car, but I have no wish to risk getting lost on a day that might determine my destiny.”

Aaron opened his mouth as though to say something, then shut it again. Griffin took another drink. Should he visit her in her dreams tonight? Was that even something he could still do? But the last time he’d visited her like that, she hadn’t gotten any sleep, and tomorrow she would give a lecture to her fellow scholars. She wouldn’t thank him if she was weary. He’d been cast into a centuries-long hell for challenging an exhausted man; if nothing else, he’d learned the importance of being well rested.

If he ruined his chance to make amends, he’d carry that sorrow forever. That aside, no matter what, he wanted her to do well. He wanted her to conquer.

“All will be well,” he said, trying to encourage himself. “Emily has made a break with me, but perhaps when her ire cools, I will be able to tell her that I have gone to Medieval Legends, after all, and I have succeeded.”