“Can you get them started?” I ask. “I’ll split the tips with you. I’m going to run back to the stables and make sure Chris is here.”
“No problem at all,” says Layla. She’s been angling to move up from cashier to Wench for months, so taking my section is a great way to show Len she can do it.
Before I can thank her, a pimply Page wearing a frumpy velvet tunic and—poor thing—ancient tights that are a sort of hazing for the Pages runs up to the desk.
“Kit,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “Fight. In the stables. Your brother and the Green Knight. They’re gonna kill each other… .”
4
I DUCK INTO THE EMPLOYEE HALLWAY THAT CIRCLES THE Great Hall and race toward the stables. Bits of sawdust and sand cover the floor. The rich, earthy smell of horses fills the corridor. When I burst into the indoor stable yard behind the castle, I’m stunned. We’re so close to showtime that everyone should be lined up near the door, but chaos reigns. Grooms, Squires, and backstage hands have formed a ring around two Knights who circle each other. Over the heads of the crowd, I see flashes of red and green cloth. My brother’s long brown hair swings like a fan around him as he ducks a punch thrown by the Green Knight and spins away. Although they’re fighting for real, some of their stage training still makes its way into the battle.
Sensing the furious energy of the crowd, the horses paw at the ground of their stalls and make nervous noises. Some of them are saddled, but most of them still need to be dressed for the show. The Blue, Yellow, and Black-and-White Knights stand at the edge of the ring in costume, but the Purple one still has on his Chuck Taylors. The Master of the Horse leads a gorgeous gray stallion away from the chaos, heading into the arena to do the horse-tricks part of the evening.
“Get your brother under control,” he hisses as he passes me, nodding his head back toward the ring where Chris and Dalton—the Green Knight—throw punches.
“I’ll try my best,” I say, pushing my way through the circle of onlookers. The smell of BO assaults me as I squeeze between two particularly large stable hands, both of them sporting ponytails longer than my forearm.
Right as I arrive at the front of the crowd, Chris pushes Dalton to the ground. The Green Knight scrambles to his feet and throws a handful of sand up at Chris. Then, while Chris is blinded, Dalton punches him in the face.
Chris stumbles backward, clutching his cheek.
“Not fair!” I shout, breaking into the ring and running to Chris. “You can’t do that!”
“Chivalry’s dead, Kit,” says Dalton, sneering at me. “We can fight however we’d like.”
“Your words, douchebag,” says Chris, wiping his eyes. A bruise rises on his cheek. “Let me kill him, Kit.”
With pleasure. But that’s a sure way to get fired.
“No, you will not.” I drag Chris away from the center of the ring. “Jessica’s not worth it, and you have to get into the real arena soon.”
“Walking away from a fight,” shouts Dalton behind us. “Typical! This is why she broke up with you. Because you’re afraid to stand up for yourself.”
Chris whips around, breaking free from my grasp. I’m strong after my years of training with Chris, but he does blacksmithing as a hobby. I don’t stand a chance as Hurricane Chris whips past me.
He’s on Dalton in a moment, tackling him down to the sand. He sits on his chest.
“She. Did. Not. Say. That.” Chris marks each of his words with a punch.
Dalton squirms beneath him, turning away from each of the punches. His white-blond hair is filthy from the sand, and I pray Chris rolls him into the pile of manure a few feet away.
Before the fight can escalate, Jessica’s voice breaks through the crowd. The soft British accent she uses in the show is replaced by her usual grinding South Side of Chicago drawl.
“Get off of him, Chris!” she shouts, stepping into the circle with her white silk skirts held high in her hands. She shoves Chris off Dalton, and he falls to the sand. “I did say that, and I said that you’re too worried about your own self to think of me.”
“Baby, that’s not true at all,” says Chris, standing up.
“Get away from me!” snaps Jessica. “We’re over. We’ve been over for a long time. Don’t talk to me again. Don’t call me, and don’t try to beat up my new boyfriend.”
“He wasn’t beating me up,” says Dalton. He stands up and wraps his arms around Jessica. She leans into him and they kiss, a long, sloppy number that makes the Pop Tart I shoved into my face before my shift threaten to come up. Chris turns away from them.
“Everybody back to work,” shouts Len over the stable intercom. He’s probably in the royal box, but news of the fight must’ve reached him already. “Showtime in five minutes.”
We’re already running behind, and the crowd scatters. I grab Chris’s arm and lead him into a corner at the back of the stable.
“You okay?” I ask. His face is sweaty and his hands shake as he runs them through his hair.
He takes a deep shuddering breath. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “She doesn’t have to rub it in, you know? And Dalton is vile. If she wanted to date someone else at the Castle, fine. But Dalton? C’mon.”
“He’s a troll. But you can’t let them get to you. You’ll find a better girlfriend. You’re incredible.”
Chris looks up at me, and for a moment, he looks much older than nineteen. Dark circles ring his eyes and his body slumps into the wall.
“I don’t know about incredible. All I am right now is exhausted,” he admits. “Between this job, the one at the coffee shop, the Uber driving, plus school, and now Jessica, I don’t have much left in me.”
“Have you been sleeping?”
He shakes his head. “Maybe an hour or two every night for the past week. My anxiety’s been terrible and I just lay there awake, trying to see a way ahead for all of us.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you fight out there tonight,” I say. “Make you a deal: You do the initial scenes where you have to ride around and play the games, I’ll do the fighting scenes.”
Chris looks at me, and a yawn splits his face. He knows how badly I want to be a Knight. And how much we could use the money. “Len tell you no again?”
I nod and make a face. “Company policy, blah, blah, blah …”
“He’s a dinosaur,” says Chris. He gives me a lopsided grin. “You remember the moves? How to use the jousting pole to catch the rings? All the fighting stances? Think you could do it?”
I nod, excitement coiling in my belly. Chris and I have gone through the moves so many times, I could do them in my sleep. He’s a few inches taller than me and definitely buffer, but with all the pads and armor on, it won’t be too noticeable.
“Then, fuck it. You can do the entire show,” says Chris. “Ride out in the helmet for the whole thing.”
Except for my curls, our hair is about the same length and same shade of reddish brown. And since my boobs are reluctant A cups at best, that won’t be a deal breaker.
“This could work. But how do we make the switch?”