Mal and Tyler were going to be doing something for the day, and they didn’t want Knight along. It was going to be very special for them both, Tyler assured Knight. Then he giggled.
Knight wasn’t so sure.
He found his way to a group of fighters from the West who were practicing in their own area, so he asked to join them. Since working more with his cat, he was able to dodge and avoid blows that would have normally gotten him injured. The armor felt like nothing on him, as he twisted and turned away from a flailing sword or poleaxe. And he was fast on recovery, dashing in under a person’s defense and striking at his heart.
After fighting for an hour, they rested, and talked about how fighting was different in the East than the West. Knight had no allegiance to anyone, as he thought, though when he came to world-wide events like this, he gravitated toward the East or at least Aethelmarc.
On the way back to the Den, he passed by Atlantia. He stopped, looked at the gates. A man was milling about inside, and he saw Knight. “Hello,” the man said with a smile. “Are you looking for anyone?”
“Caitlyn Brooke,” said Knight, without even thinking. “She has a little girl.”
“That’s her SCA name? Sorry, I don’t know her.”
Knight smiled, “That’s a’right. I’m glad she’s not here.”
The man watched Knight walk way, saying, “Mmmm, okay?”
He took a shower, got into a new tunic, and wandered. He went into a class on women and fighting. He went to another class on the art of Renaissance flirting. He thought Mal would get a kick out of that. Knight was only three men who attended, and one of them was gay. The other one wouldn’t stop blushing. Knight failed, by meeting the women’s eyes and calling their bluffs.
“Are you going to the Cotillion tonight?” the gay man asked Knight.
“Cotillion?”
The man looked Knight up and down. “You would look fan-tastic in a kilt.”
“I’ll haveta check wi’ my partner,” he said.
He started toward Herald’s Point, when he heard, “Knight!” Most of the men turned around to see who was yelling, and Knight saw that it was Tyler. “Knight!” He slowed down and panted, leaning on his knees. “Knight…Malcolm…has something…at the tent.”
“A’right,” he said, and went to the tent. He walked in, and hanging from the ceiling was a black velvet doublet with gold trim, with hose and soft boots. A white baldric was over the shoulder.
Knight frowned, removing the baldric. He wasn’t a master at arms or a knight, so he couldn’t wear the white belt. Maybe Mal didn’t know. He looked up at the doublet – not his period, but he would play in Mal’s for now. Then he went outside and helped prepare dinner.
After smoking and drinking about eight pints of beer, Tyler arrived. “Knight, get dressed – Malcolm’s ready for you.”
“Fuck,” Knight said, as he tipped his chair forward putting all four legs on the ground. “Now he wants me. Can’tya see I’m tipped an’ relaxed?”
“I’ll help you get into the clothes,” he said, glancing at Brock.
“Go, I gotta see this,” said Brock.
“Bah,” Knight grabbed the glass of stout and went to the tent. Inside, Tyler helped get him undressed, and then into the clothes. Knight did not slosh any beer. Stepping into the boots – which he found he liked very much – he stepped out of the tent with a “Ta-da!”
Tyler tied and picked his way around the velvet doublet as men and women of the small court in the Den applauded. Knight set down the glass and turned to Tyler. “Well, where the hell is he?”
“This way,” Tyler said, and started leading Knight up toward the northern part of camp. When Tyler stopped before some tiki lamps, Knight saw that many people had gathered in the courtyard. He paused before going in. Then he looked at the sign, “Fashion Cotillion, sponsored by the Blue Feather Clan.”
The Blue Feathers were the lesbian and gay community of the SCA. He walked in, and was assaulted by beauty and gentility, men in women’s gowns and women in men’s doublets. Many of the more butch men were in kilts. A few bears gave Knight a once-over, and Knight glared right back at them.
Knight rubbed the wrist where Mal’s bracelet was on as he negotiated through the crowd. Someone came by with a glass of wine, and he took it, bolting it back, setting the empty on a table with others. He looked around, trying to find Mal in the mess.
Then he saw him. He wore a jaunty gray hat with some blue peacock feathers arching over it. He wore a simple satin dove gray doublet the glided and caught the light. A small light blue cape was strapped across his shoulders, edged in lace. His collar was edged in lace. His doublet was edged in lace. His sleeves were edged in lace. His hose was white, tapering down to knee-high soft boots tied with a garter at the knee, also lacy.
He looked too fragile to touch.
“Mal?” Knight asked quietly, as if his voice would disturb the vision before him.
Mal turned lazy eyes to Knight, and assessed him up and down arrogantly. “Who,” he said, “are you?” then he winked.
Knight smiled, then hid it with a bow of his head. “The Black Knight, m’Lord.”
“I’ve heard of you,” said the woman Mal was speaking to. “You’ve defeated my partner once or twice.”
“Possibly, m’lady,” he looked to Malcolm. “You are…?”