“Oh, shit!” muttered Raven as he adjusted himself on the large and very uncomfortable saddle.
“You’re surprised?” said his companion.
Raven sighed deeply. “Shouldn’t I be, Sancho?” he said. “That’s a windmill, I’m astride the ugliest horse I’ve ever seen, you seem to be a guy, and I’m Don Quixote, all set to grab my sword or my lance and charge the damned windmill.”
“Calm down, Eddie,” said Lisa, reaching over and laying what she hoped was a calming hand on his arm. “We know you’re not Don Quixote, and we know you’re not about to mistake a windmill for Matagoger.”
He frowned. “Matagoger?” he repeated.
“An ogre.” Suddenly she smiled. “Not to worry. Don Quixote never fought it in the book either.”
“I read the book in school but wasn’t really into it,” he admitted. “But I did see the musical, Man of La Mancha. Why aren’t you Aldonza or Dulcinea, whichever she really was?”
“Because I think you need a full-time guide and companion,” she replied. “And not to worry, I’ll look like a short, mustachioed, pudgy man to anyone we encounter.”
“If you’re the Mistress of Illusions, why not just remain the beautiful woman you are and tinker with their minds?”
“How do you know I didn’t tinker with yours instead?” she asked with an amused smile.
“Because you’re a woman back in Manhattan, and in Camelot and Sherwood Forest and everywhere else I’ve seen you. And if my mind isn’t the only one you tinkered with, I would anticipate every man we come across making a play for you.”
“Well, it’s good to see your brain’s still working,” she said.
“So what happens now?” asked Raven.
“Now we overcome whatever obstacles the Enemy throws in our way, and then return to Manhattan if we can.”
“If we can?” he repeated, frowning.
“Nothing’s as simple as it seems, Eddie,” she said. “Not for you.”
“You mentioned the Enemy,” said Raven. “Who is he?”
“What makes you think it’s a he?”
“Okay, who is he, she, or it?”
“The Enemy.”
“You’re driving me crazy!” he growled.
“Trust me, you’ll know everything you need to know when you finally do need it.”
“And this is another test?”
She grimaced and shook her head. “You’re not testing for a role or a position, Eddie. What you are was inevitable from the start. What’s happening now is that you’re being prepared for what lies ahead.”
“With Munchkins and white hunters and a crazy old man who goes to war with windmills?”
“When you were a Munchkin,” she said, “you learned how to function in a new body, how to manipulate events so you could meet the Wizard, and even how to manipulate him. When you were Alan Quatermain you learned how to stand up to a charging carnivore that was larger than you and wanted nothing more than to kill and eat you, and how to survive in a very unfamiliar and dangerous landscape. When you were Robin Hood, you learned how to escape from bondage with no weapons or tools. When you were . . .”
“Okay, I get the picture,” said Raven. “So do I wait for some new threat now?”
“You mean, stand out here in the sun, roasting in that rusty armor you’re wearing?” she responded. “You can if you want, but I think it would make more sense to find the nearest village and get some food and drink.” She paused, then smiled. “Unless you want to stand out here in the open. I think we can be reasonably sure the windmill won’t attack you.”
He sighed deeply. “Okay, let’s be going.” He tapped his ugly, underweight steed with the flat of his sword. “Come on, Secretariat.”
“His name’s Rocinante,” said Lisa.
“Just as well,” replied Raven. “Somehow he didn’t strike me as a Triple Crown winner.” He grimaced. “I have a feeling he’d have trouble outrunning a crippled turtle.”
“He’ll get you where you want to go,” she said. “Or would you rather walk miles across this barren landscape in your armor during the heat of the day?”
“Bear with me,” he said apologetically. “I’ve only been Don Quixote for maybe ninety seconds. I’m still adjusting to who and where—and what—I am.”
“I know, Eddie,” she said. “It’s just that you are being tested, and it’ll be difficult enough without doubting—or, worse yet, denigrating—who you are.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Raven. He looked across the bleak, barren landscape. “Okay, who attacks me next, and with what?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, Eddie,” she said. “Remember, this is all preparation. Telling you would be like giving you the answers to an exam.”
“And if I flunk the exam, I assume you have half a dozen replacements picked out?”
“No, Eddie,” she said. “We don’t.”
“And if I decide to play hooky or drop out, then what?”
Then that’s the end of everything.
He stared at her. “Your voice lost an octave or two.”
“I didn’t say anything, Eddie,” replied Lisa.
“But—”
“That was Rofocale, Eddie.”
“He’s listening?” said Raven, frowning.
“Yes.”
“And watching, too?”
“Are you surprised?” asked Lisa.
Raven considered it, and decided that he was annoyed as all hell, but not the least bit surprised now that he thought about it.
He grimaced again. “Still adjusting,” he muttered.
They rode in silence across the flat, dusty landscape, and within about twenty minutes came to a small wooded area surrounding a small pond. There was a ramshackle building in among the trees, and he turned to Lisa. “A bar?”
“Better still,” she said. “An inn, in case we don’t want to travel all through the night. And I’d hardly call it a restaurant, but we can get a meal there as long as we’re not too fussy.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Kind of.”
He stared at her, was about to ask what she meant, decided whatever she answered would just confuse him, and went back to riding in silence.
The horses sensed the water and headed directly toward it. When they reached it, Raven and Lisa dismounted while they drank, then led them to a small fenced area where they unsaddled and released them.
“One question,” said Raven as he and Lisa turned and began approaching the inn.
“What is it?”
“Will you look and sound like Sancho Panza to everyone in the inn, or like Lisa?”
And as the words left his mouth, she became almost a blur in front of him for a second or two, and when she came back into focus she was a short, pudgy, mustachioed man in some need of a shave and a haircut.
“Better?” she asked in a voice that seemed to fit her appearance.
“Not better at all,” he replied with a smile. “But certainly safer. Though I’m almost sorry I reminded you.”
She smiled. “I’ve looked like this to everyone but you since we got here,” she answered.
“Son of a bitch!” he muttered. “Am I ever going to learn the ground rules to this idiotic game?”
“It’s not a game, Eddie,” she said. “And you have two choices: learn them or die.”
“I’m trying.”
She lay a gnarled, hairy hand on his. “I know.”
He sighed, then grimaced. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go in and get something to drink.”
“You’re not hungry?”
“Let me see the condition of the food first,” he replied, and they both chuckled.
They walked up to the front door, and he reached out to open it for her, but she pulled his hand back and opened it herself. “I’m your squire,” she whispered.
He walked into the room, which consisted of a bar, three or four tables, and a door leading to what he assumed was the kitchen.
“A table for my master, the great Don Quixote!” hollered Lisa.
He wanted to signal her not to call any attention to themselves, but decided she knew the protocol a lot better than he did. Still, he did remember more than a decade after having to read the book in school that Don Quixote was a figure of ridicule, so he prepared himself for everything from insults to a challenge to a duel to the death.
“Ah!” said the bartender in amused tones. “A knight errant and his lackey!”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” growled Raven.
“Or what?” demanded the bartender.
“Or it won’t be in your head for long,” said Raven. “Now I want a table for my squire and myself.”
“Take whatever you want, O Great Knight,” said the bartender, clearly amused by Raven’s appearance. “Miguel!” he called to a man sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the room. “Grab the great knight’s squire and lead him to a proper table.”
“Don’t you lay a hand on her!” snapped Raven.
“And then do the same for the blind knight.”
“Blind?” demanded Raven. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mighty few women serve as squires,” said the bartender with a chuckle, “and even fewer sport a bushy black mustache.”
“I misspoke,” said Raven.
“Then he’s not a girl?” said Miguel with a chuckle.
“Whatever he is, keep your hands to yourself or spend the next thirty years wishing you had.”
“Bold talk for a madman in rusted armor,” said Miguel.
“Don’t put it to the test,” said Raven. “I’ve had a rough week.”
Miguel grinned, offered a deep bow, and led the way to a table near a large window.
“That’ll do,” said Raven. “Now scram.”
Miguel frowned. “What is ‘scram’?”
“Go away.”
Miguel seemed to be considering taking a swing at Raven, decided not to harass a paying customer, and walked back to his own table.
Raven was about to pull out a chair for Lisa when he felt her hand on his wrist.
“Allow me, my master,” she said, pulling the chair for him.
He grimaced, nodded his thanks, and sat down. A moment later she sat down next to him.
“Well, Brave and Noble Knight, what’ll it be?” asked the bartender.
“I’d really like some coffee,” said Raven softly to Lisa, “but I can’t ask for it, can I?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she whispered.
“Well?” demanded the bartender.
“What do you recommend?” asked Raven.
“I recommend spending your money and getting drunk beyond belief!” replied the bartender with a laugh.
“Okay,” said Raven. “A glass of your best.”
“My best what?” was the reply. “Stout, ale, wine?”
“Stout,” said Raven promptly. He turned to Lisa, and lowered his voice. “It sounded closest to beer.”
She smiled.
The drink arrived, Raven took a taste, made a face, and put it down on the table.
“Well?” said the bartender?
“It’s wet, anyway,” replied Raven with a shrug.
“You gonna pay for it, or do I have to joust you for it?”
Lisa immediately tossed a couple of coins on the table. The bartender picked them up, bit into each of them, nodded his approval, put them in his pocket, and went back to the bar.
“I’m glad one of us had some money,” said Raven. He paused. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait,” she replied.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
He frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m part of the test, Eddie,” she answered. “Not its creator.” She looked off to her left. “Maybe this guy can help.”
A small man—smaller even than Lisa—shambled across the room to them. He was dressed in rags and had a chain collar clasped around his throat.
“He looks familiar,” said Raven.
“You’re kidding!” said Lisa.
“No, I mean it.”
The man stopped at their table and stared at Raven. “I heard your man say that you were the famous knight-errant Don Quixote.”
Raven simply stared at him.
“Well, are you?”
“If I’m that famous, why don’t you recognize me without asking?” said Raven.
“I’ve been a galley slave for a decade,” said the man. “I’ve heard of you, of course, but I’ve never seen you until today.”
“Oh?” said Raven. “And what exactly have you heard?”
“Of your heroic exploits, of course.”
“Name two,” said Raven.
Lisa leaned over and whispered softly into his ear. “Why are you tormenting this poor man?”
“Because he’s not what he claims to be,” Raven whispered backed. “I’m waiting,” he said aloud.
“Noble knight, please do not ignore my supplication,” whined the man. “I am the unfortunate Ginés de Pasamonte, whose life began badly and has gotten worse day by day.”
“And you want it to get better?” asked Raven.
“Oh, yes, noble knight!”
“Then be out of here before I get to my feet, or I’ll find out just how well this sword works.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Surely the noble knight is kidding!” he said plaintively.
“You’ve got about ten seconds to find out,” said Raven, pushing his chair back from the table.
Ginés de Pasamonte turned and fled, and was out of the tavern in something under seven seconds.
“What was that all about?” demanded Lisa.
“Surely the Mistress of Illusions knows,” said Raven.
“I’m merely a participant, a player, in this test, Eddie,” she said.
“Didn’t you recognize him?” said Raven.
“Should I have?”
“Back in our twenty-first century, he’s Gene Pastore. He owns three sports franchises around the country, and as of last April he’s serving twenty-five to life for killing his partner after he was caught robbing him.”
“You know,” said Lisa, “I do remember it. I just never paid much attention to what he looked like.”
Raven looked across the room to the door leading to what he assumed was the kitchen.
“Here’s someone who’s a lot harder to forget,” he said with the hint of a smile, as an absolutely gorgeous young woman approached them.
“Kind knight,” said the woman, “I will not take up your valuable time. But I could not let you leave without expressing my gratitude.”
“Happily accepted,” said Raven. “May I ask what it is for, and from whom it is given?”
“I am Dulcinea,” she replied. “And, against my will, I was betrothed to Ginés de Pasamonte in exchange for his canceling my father’s debt to him. But now that you have shown him to be the coward everyone always suspected he was, I feel all bonds with him have been broken.”
“Happy to have been of service,” said Raven.
“Stay well, noble knight,” she said, turning and walking back to the kitchen.
“She’s quite beautiful,” remarked Raven.
“I’m sure you’re heartbroken that she didn’t burst into song,” said Lisa. She gestured to his stout. “You going to drink the rest of that?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Then let’s be on our way,” she said.
“What the hell,” he said, getting to his feet. “How many more people can we meet in a run-down tavern?”
They walked out the door, retrieved their horses, and began heading very slowly west.
“So did I pass?” he asked after a couple of minutes.
“So far so good, I imagine,” she replied.
“It’s not over?” he said. “This test, I mean.”
“If it was, we’d be back in Manhattan.”
They rode westward for another couple of miles, then came to a stream, dismounted, and allowed their horses to slake their thirsts.
“Whoops!” said Lisa.
“Whoops?” he repeated, frowning.
“Company.”
Raven looked ahead, and saw the sun glinting off an incredibly bright figure approaching them on horseback.
“Damn!” he muttered. “That’s almost blinding.”
“It’s just the way the sun’s hitting it.”
The figure got to within one hundred yards, and suddenly Raven chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” asked Lisa. “He’s close to seven feet tall, and that’s a hell of a lance he’s carrying.”
“I just remembered the book,” said Raven. “He’s the Knight of the Mirrors. I’m supposed to see myself—this ancient, feeble old man pretending to be a knight—and the sight brings me back to sanity . . . and just about kills me in the process.”
“Halt!” cried the Knight of the Mirrors, bringing his horse to a stop when they were within ten yards.
“Greetings,” said Raven. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” said the knight. “But I can do something for you.”
“Oh?”
The knight nodded his plumed head and helmet. “Come closer, Don Quixote de la Mancha.”
“You know my name,” said Raven wryly. “How comforting.”
“You think so, do you?” said the Knight of the Mirrors.
“Come closer still. I will not lay a finger—or a weapon—on you.”
“I know,” said Raven.
“Dismount, Don Quixote.”
“Happy to,” said Raven, getting off his horse.
The knight did the same, and approached Raven until they were less than three feet apart.
“It is time to learn the truth, Don Quixote. Look at the Knight of the Mirrors and tell me what you see.”
Raven stared into the brilliant reflecting armor. “Ah!” he said.
“Well?” demanded the knight.
“I need a shave,” said Raven. “I don’t suppose I could borrow a razor from you?”
The knight screamed, either in outrage or agony or both, and suddenly both he and his horse completely vanished.
“I figure I get an A-plus for that one,” said Raven to Lisa as he remounted his horse.
“Every incident prepares you for the ultimate test,” she said. “Though I will admit your prior knowledge, both of the book and the criminal, eased you through this one.”
“I’m not thrilled with the notion of being tested, especially given what I’m being tested for,” he said. “But as long as they aren’t any harder or more dangerous than these last few, I suppose things could be a lot worse.”
“Give it thirty seconds,” she said grimly. “They will be.”
And as the words left her mouth, a magnificent coal-black stallion thundered up, ridden by a huge armored man.
“Halt!” he cried. “Who goes there?”
“Enough bullshit,” muttered Raven. Aloud he said, “Eddie Raven. You got a problem with that?”
“Not as long as you and your squire pay tribute to cross my land,” came the answer.
“It’s pretty empty and pretty desolate,” said Raven. “What makes it your land?”
“Right of possession,” said the man. “Or do you plan to take it from me?”
“Not if I can avoid it,” said Raven. “Now why don’t you just let us pass in peace?”
“How would I make a living if I did not charge a tribute to those passing through my territory?”
“You got a deed to it, do you?” asked Raven, who was becoming more and more annoyed with Don Quixote’s milieu.
“Certainly not,” said the man. “I took it by the strength of my good right arm.”
“Who the hell are you anyway?” demanded Raven irritably.
“I am the Knight of the White Moon, of course,” came the answer.
“It’s more gold than white this time of year,” said Raven. “I don’t think your claim or your name would hold up in a court of law.”
“That’s it!” thundered the Knight of the White Moon. “I challenge you to a battle to the death!”
“And I claim the right to choose the weapons we use,” said Raven.
“Done!” cried the Knight.
Raven turned to Lisa. “You heard him, right?”
Lisa, still in her Sancho Panza guise, nodded her head.
“So what shall it be, ugly knight in rusted armor?” demanded the Knight of the White Moon. “Swords? Daggers? Both?”
“Neither,” answered Raven. “I choose fisticuffs.”
The Knight frowned. “Surely you jest!”
“Am I smiling?”
“That is unacceptable!”
Raven turned to Lisa. “The moment he pulls a weapon of any kind, ride off and spread the word to anyone who will listen that the Knight of the White Moon is a liar and a coward.”
The Knight held up a hand. “Wait!” he said with a note of desperation in his voice. “I accept your terms.”
“Good,” said Raven. “The battle is over when one of the combatants cannot get up.”
The Knight nodded his head.
“Did you box in college?” asked Lisa very softly.
“Even better,” replied Raven. “I grew up on the West Side of Manhattan.”
“Don’t joke, Eddie.”
“Am I smiling?” he replied. He turned to the knight. “Are you ready?”
“In a minute,” said the knight, removing his boots.
“Good idea,” said Raven, removing his boots, his helmet, and almost all his body armor except for his steel-reinforced gauntlets.
“Ready,” said the knight, striking forward.
Raven watched him for a moment and very subtly nodded his approval. The man may or may not have possessed normal quickness under normal circumstances, but even with his boots off his body armor slowed him down considerably.
Raven danced around, jabbing, faking, ducking, and when he saw an opening he swung a steel-covered fist and clipped the knight on the chin, knocking the startled man to the ground. He was up in a few seconds, but was too slow and awkward to catch or connect with Raven, who danced skillfully around his opponent, and then landed another heavy blow to the jaw. The knight collapsed in a heap.
“Had enough?” asked Raven.
The knight looked puzzled. “This is a fight to the death.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” said Raven. “Concede right now, promise no further hostilities, and we’ll be on our way.”
The knight looked puzzled, as if he’d never heard a similar proposition.
“You mean it, Don Quixote?”
“I do.”
The knight reached out his hand. “Then take my hand in eternal friendship.”
“Happy to,” said Raven.
As he stretched his arm out, he wondered how they were going to get back to Manhattan, and how Rofocale was doing, and half a hundred other things.
What he wasn’t prepared for was what happened next.