In Shining Armour

by David Barber

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

The Mother Superior of the Convent of the Sisters of Hope waited until Helen was shown out. “She’s grown into a pert little minx, but I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

She turned to Sister Margaret. “What about the knight?”

“On a quest.”

The Mother Superior shrugged. “And?”

“A vow of silence, I think. Pledged to a Lady perhaps, until his return.” Sister Margaret gazed out the window, at a life not bounded by convent walls. “Some knights do that. For love.”

The horse played a game sometimes, guessing how long it would take humans to spot that the knight wasn’t one of them.

“And does he have a name?”

The questing knight had stood so aloof that Sister Margaret had been unable to ask.

“Perhaps we should do what Helen asked and tell the Mage,” she suggested instead. But the Mother Superior knew very well who had paid for it all.

“Send for Duke Robert,” she instructed.

* * *

The Duke rode into the courtyard at the head of his men, their steel-shod mounts loud on the cobblestones. Like his bodyguard, he wore a blue quilted jerkin, though his own was satin and embroidered with silver thread and collared with fur. He rested a gloved fist upon the enamelled pommel of his sword.

“You there,” he called to a novice sweeping the courtyard, then caught sight of Helen and was silenced. This is how it is in stories.

“Lady, your name must be Helen, for I was promised the most beautiful woman in the world and you are she.”

Duke Robert dismounted and bowed. A lock of his golden hair fell across his brow, and it was all Helen could do to stop herself brushing it back.

“And if you’re Duke Robert, I’ve made a big mistake.”

“Unhand her,” boomed a knight, leading his horse into the courtyard.

The Duke’s men rallied round their lord, ready to sell their lives dear.

The knight and the horse had discussed this before. Not every encounter need end in a bloodbath. In stories, unhorsing a foe often seemed enough, though the knight had its doubts.

Still, the machine drew its blade and carved a blurred warning in the air.

“Stop! Stop!” cried Helen. “I don’t want to be saved!”

* * *

Warned by Sister Margaret — his eyes and ears at the convent — the Mage arrived just in time. The Mother Superior overflowed with explanations, but the old man waved her aside.

“You were just a girl when I left you here,” he said to Helen. “You’ve turned out well.”

Helen was disappointed. She’d expected the Mage to dress in the traditional white coat and pens, as in fables. Also, there was something in his manner she couldn’t quite place.

“She is mine,” insisted Duke Robert. “You were well paid, and she is mine.” His gaze burned into Helen, and she was helpless. “I lost her once, I shall not lose her again.”

The Mage shrugged. “Your charisma won’t work on me, mate. I made you the way the old Duke asked, so of course I’ve got the antidote. Think your blokes would be half so loyal if they got a sniff of that?”

The Duke frowned. “Meddling will not end well for you.”

“Just don’t be around if you try,” the Mage snapped. “Mages can unleash plagues even after death. Especially after death.”

Satisfied, the Mage turned to the horse. “Ah, Equus sapiens.” The horse’s dark, liquid eye widened.

“Do they know you talk?” the Mage whispered, patting the horse’s neck. “I suppose you’ve got questions. Mind you, if the Duke and his men overheard, would the answers be worth the risk, hmm?”

It was a surprise when the knight spoke from deep in its helm, in its best human voice. “I heard a Mage once fashioned an animal that could talk. The only one of its kind.”

The Mage studied the knight before answering. “Funny, I heard there were two, one a chestnut stallion, a bit like yours here, and a palomino mare. And thanks to gene magic, any offspring of the two would talk as well.”

Helen smiled her most captivating smile, the one that never failed. “And where might such a palomino be found?”

“It would find the edge of my blade,” announced Duke Robert, to the approval of his men. “They are unnatural and against all law.”

The Mage nodded. “Too true, Duke Robert. But the Inland Sea is too far away to concern us. Doesn’t explain why they were made in the first place though, does it? Perhaps the mare could say.”

“The oddest thing,” Helen realised. “I have no effect on you.”

“What kind of Mage would be taken in by his own creature, eh?”

He took out a cut-glass spray-bottle, the sort found on the dressing table of Ladies. “Antisense. One breath and I’m immune to both of you. For a bit.”

“Use it to be yourselves,” he added, offhand. “But don’t blame me if you find Duke Robert and Lady Helen are nothing special after all.”

“I think he was daring me to talk,” said the horse afterwards.

Helen brimmed with excitement. “Duke Robert is taking me to his castle. We are to be wed. I see now it was always the obvious solution. Isn’t he handsome?”

The knight did not answer, but the horse began explaining his new plan.

“To the Inland Sea, you say?” Helen waved at her fiancé across the courtyard.

* * *

The knight and the horse were on the road to the Inland Sea. The horse was enthusiastic.

“A talking palomino mare!”

The machine was trudging slower and slower.

“I was disappointed by the Mage,” continued the horse brightly. “He enjoyed toying with us too much. Perhaps he was just the means of my creation, not the reason for it. If you see the distinction.”

The knight had fought a dragon, helped a distressed damsel and gone on a quest, but all that was history, and it did not know what to do next. Or why it should do it. Perhaps it would stand and wait for something to happen. It could wait until dust heaped about it and weeds grew...

The horse interrupted. “What else did the Mage say?”

“He said my sort were a mistake, killing machines at best.”

“Well, you are a killing machine, and a good one. But not just a killing machine.”

“He said my sort were flawed; while flesh tells its own story, machines have to borrow theirs.”

“Mine would make a good story,” the horse acknowledged. “The Horse’s Tale.”

“The Mage was wrong about machines and stories. I keep an event-log.”

“Oh, a story’s more than a series of events. That’s just real life. A story needs a plot, it has characters. You have to set things up so they make sense at the end. Unless there’s a sequel. And someone learns a lesson.” For a moment the horse faltered, wondering what the lesson had been and who had learned it.

“Anyway, I’ve no way of writing it.” The horse glanced down at his hooves.

“I could record it,” said the knight. “I make notes. I keep your remarks in horse-sense. How to behave more human-like in the man file. I started a Helen folder for clues about women.”

“You record things I say?”

“Yes.”

“I’m touched.”

There was silence. They weren’t even ambling now.

“That story, with the round furniture,” said the horse. “I bet someone always explains about the quest.”

The knight checked its memory.

“You could do the action scenes in my tale, and the technical stuff. Continuity, transitions and so forth. You’d be good at that.”

“Is that what the Mage meant?” asked the Knight.

“Hmm,” said the horse.

What could be more enthralling than a story? No one would switch themselves off in the middle of that. At least until they found the palomino. Then who knew? Perhaps the horse would sing.

“You’ll have to start a story file. There’s lots of stuff you need to know. It’s like learning to ride a horse. That’s a simile, by the way.”

Without realising, they had picked up the pace and were eating up the miles.

“And that’s a metaphor,” said the horse.