The Life and Medieval Times of Kit Sweetly Read online

  THE LIFE AND

  (MEDIEVAL)

  TIMES

  OF

  KIT

  SWEETLY

  JAMIE PACTON

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  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  Dedication

  FOR ADAM,

  who walks with me through worlds imagined and real.

  1

  THE RED KNIGHT ONLY FIGHTS ON WEDNESDAYS, FRIDAYS, and Saturdays. Much to the everlasting chagrin of my boss, King Richard the Bold, aka Len Schwartz.

  Tonight’s Friday, and the Red Knight, my older brother, Chris, is running late. Again.

  “Please, please, please let me fight.” I pace across Len’s tiny office, my skirts swishing. “I know all the moves, and I’ve been practicing. For years!”

  “You’re a Serving Wench!” snaps Len, not looking up from the—I shit you not—golden chalice he insists on drinking coffee from. “We’ve talked about this before. You serve the guests. Let the real actors take care of the story.”

  “Serving Wench” is my official job title, not just some sexist slur Len’s throwing out. Well, it is sexist. But also correct in a history-is-painful-to-the-modern-feminist kind of way. When I applied, I had to list on the application what experiences I had that qualified me “to Wench.”

  Sigh.

  Len shuffles through a pile of papers—schedules, bills, a stack of flyers from the Castle Corporate group festooned with Gothic script and lots of exclamation points—then shoves the flyers in my direction. “Hand these out to the other Wenches, will you? Corporate wants all of us thinking about how to get more butts into seats for the shows.”

  Snatching the flyers from him, I bang my hand on Len’s desk and lean in close. I even drop into my best medieval English accent. “But I’m a real actor too! I’ve done drama for years. I go to forensic tournaments—”

  “Yes, yes,” Len says, and sighs. “I’ve seen your résumé every week since you started working here freshman year. You were in The Crucible and The Secret Garden.”

  “At the university,” I snap.

  “Whatever,” says Len. “You’re not fighting as the Red Knight. Women weren’t knights in the Middle Ages. They didn’t save the day then—”

  “Wrong! What about Joan of Arc? Matilda of Canossa? Khawlah bint al-Azwar? Brienne of Tarth? Or even Arya Stark? She killed the Night King, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  Len takes another swig of coffee. Some of it runs down his chin and disappears into the hipster-musician beard that hangs past his collarbones. Gross.

  “What about company policy, Kit?”

  “It’s the twenty-first century, Len.”

  “Not in here it isn’t. And you know the Castle has a very strict hierarchy. Squires become Knights. You’re not trained as a Squire—”

  “Because you won’t let me!”

  “Irrelevant. Plus, Brienne and Arya are fictional.”

  I inhale sharply, counting to ten in my head as I search for patience. Getting angry at a guy like Len only makes him think he’s won an argument. Of course I know Brienne and Arya are fictional. And Len knows I know because I’m the one who got him hooked on Game of Thrones in the first place. But even with the GoT ladies being made up, the other women were real. And badasses. They would’ve laughed if a guy like Len tried to stop them from fighting.

  “Don’t you think,” I say through clenched teeth, “we should take every chance to show people what the Middle Ages were really like?”

  This is a favorite soapbox of mine. History books have gotten the Middle Ages wrong for so long. And white supremacist groups have run with it. They’ve gleefully painted the Middle Ages as this world where everybody sticks to gender roles, white men in the West are heroes, and everyone else are bad guys to be conquered, subjugated, or killed. All in the name of God and country of course.

  Ridiculous. Dangerous. And totally unnecessary at a place like the Castle.

  Len rubs the space between his overgrown eyebrows, really digging his fingers into his skull. As if he could somehow make me disappear if he massages hard enough.

  “Kit,” he says in a weary voice. “While I appreciate your efforts, this place is a fantasy. It’s more theme park than history lesson. We’ve got male Knights! A Princess! Serving Wenches! Horses! Turkey legs! Everybody has a job, and certain jobs are not open to everybody.”

  “That’s unfair. And probably illegal.” I cross my arms.

  Len shrugs. “That’s life, kiddo. Take it up with corporate when they visit next month if you’re so worried about it.”

  “Maybe I will. When are they coming?”

  Len narrows his eyes at me. His voice takes on an edge. “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It. I mean it, Kit. They’re already gunning for reasons to close this branch. The last thing I need is for you to give them more ammunition.”

  I hold his gaze. As I do, a plan begins to form in the corners of my mind. I brandish the flyers at him. “What if I can fill seats?”

  He snorts. “Good luck with that. They’re looking for easy solutions like coupon nights or senior brunch Wednesdays. If you want to keep your job, you’ll keep your head down, work your shifts, and let it go.”

  “I can’t believe you’re being such a jerk.”

  Len stands up and adjusts the blue velvet cloak around his shoulders. Under the arena’s torches, it almost looks regal, but here under the fluorescents, I can see all the places where the velvet has worn thin. Company policy also requires us to buy our own costumes, and even the King can’t afford to replace his cloak more than once a year.

  “If you weren’t my niece, I’d fire you for talking to me like that. Now get back on the floor. You’ve got Eddy Jackson and his buddies in your section tonight. And the show’s starting soon.”

  Eddy Jackson is a former NFL player who loves the Castle with an inexplicable passion. He’s here at least once a month, and he always brings his kids or a bunch of his buddies (usually more former pro athletes). Having Eddy in my section means good tips, but that still doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up the idea of knighthood.

  Almost as if Len planned it, three loud trumpet bursts ring out from the speaker above our heads. That’s our cue to get into places because the show starts in twenty minutes.

  “We’re not done with this,” I say, shooting my uncle a look. “I’m gonna come up with a plan you can’t veto.”

  “Get over it, kid. You’ll be headed off to that fancy California college soon. I don’t know why you care so much about being a Knight.”

  I need the pay raise! I want to scream at him. So I can afford that fancy college. And also, is it so wrong that I want to save the day for once? Or at least spend a shift getting cheers, not beers? Even if all we do here is fake?

  “The California college just rejected me,” I mutter as I push open the heavy wooden door of Len’s office. “As did every other school so f
ar. I’m holding out hope for Marquette.”

  Len waves a hand. “You’ll get in somewhere. And you can always go to community college like Chris did.”

  I let out a frustrated noise, fighting my urge to punch Len in his smug face. It’s a super low blow to talk about my brother’s situation. When he’s not being the Red Knight, Chris juggles two other jobs and takes night classes at the community college. He put his life on hold because my dad—Len’s brother—walked out on us for good two years ago, cleaning out our college funds and leaving my mom with a mortgage payment and a bunch of bills.

  I scowl at Len. He knows all this, but he has less empathy than a concrete block. Len the Bold prides himself on his ability to “tell it like it is.”

  Jackass.

  A voice squawks through the walkie-talkie on Len’s desk, cutting me off. “WE’VE GOT A BIRTHDAY AT TABLE 4-GREEN. NEED TO GET A KNIGHTING CEREMONY ADDED ASAP.”

  Len picks up the walkie. “Go get ready, Kit. Mingle with the guests and call your brother. Tell him to get his ass backstage immediately or he’s fired.”

  2

  ONCE I’M IN THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE LEN’S OFFICE, I TAKE a deep breath to steady myself. My moment of calm is interrupted by another trumpet blast from the loudspeaker. Almost showtime.

  Right. Got to get rid of these flyers and find Chris. As I walk toward the employee bulletin board, I glance down at one, really reading its message for the first time.

  HEAR YE, HEAR YE!

  GOT A SUGGESTION FOR GETTING MORE PEOPLE TO THE CASTLE?

  WE WANT TO HEAR IT! EMAIL US YOUR THOUGHTS, PLANS, DREAMS, AND SCHEMES BY APRIL 1ST. WE’LL CONTACT YOU SHORTLY AFTER THAT IF WE THINK YOU’RE ON TO SOMETHING. IF WE USE YOUR IDEA AT THE CASTLE, YOU’LL GET A CASH BONUS!

  There’s a generic email address at the bottom of the flyer, but no more details on what kinds of ideas they’re looking for or how much the bonus might be.

  Shoving the flyer into my pocket, I make a list in my head, because that’s how I process things.

  • April first is in two days, so I don’t have much time.

  • I need the cash. No matter how much it is, I could definitely use it for something.

  • And I have an idea—maybe not a totally fleshed-out idea, but at least I know what needs to change around here.

  • What I don’t know is how to translate it into getting more people to our shows.

  I mean, let’s face it. I can’t just tell the Castle higher-ups: “Hey, you should let anyone who wants to be a Knight try out. And also, maybe, let’s do a little bit more to educate people about the truth of the Middle Ages.”

  I can hear them laughing at me already. What I need to do is something stronger. Something more concrete. Something that will show them this idea will translate to both audience excitement and raising the bottom line.

  But who knows what that even looks like?

  Wheels turning, I pin one of the flyers up on the employee bulletin board alongside a schedule for Knight training sessions, a bunch of notices from people looking for roommates, and a photo-heavy sheet of paper from someone trying to sell their old costumes. I drop the rest of the flyers onto the table under the bulletin board and look for my phone. Time to find my brother before Len can fire him.

  My phone’s not in my skirt pocket, meaning I must’ve left it in the employee lockers. They’re on the far side of the basement. If I’m going to call Chris, it’ll be much faster to find my best friend Layla, who always has her phone on her.

  Cooks and dishwashers stream past me as I navigate the long hallway from Len’s office. Shields, swords, capes, and other props line the corridor. A roar of noise swells as I pass by a door that swings open to the Great Hall. For a second I see the mob: crown-wearing guests moving in packs, taking pictures, buying souvenirs, and dragging wide-eyed kids toward the performers who are contractually bound to smile for the cameras. The door slams shut, blocking out the noise. Layla’s out there somewhere, and I hope I don’t have to wade through that mess to find her.

  “Hey, look out!” I shout as a Squire in the Green Knight’s colors nearly plows over me. He’s carrying a pile of shields, weapons, and a messenger bag.

  “Sorry, Kit,” he calls out, shooting me a grin. It’s Eric Taylor, man of two first names, who was a year ahead of me in school. “I thought Wenches weren’t supposed to use this hall.”

  I scowl at him. “I thought Squires were supposed to be picking up horse poop.”

  As Len mentioned, the official way to become a Knight is to work through the ranks and earn a place after being a Squire. Eric Taylor wants nothing more than to be a Knight and have his picture on the Castle website. He’s even started growing his red hair out in anticipation of his knighthood. But he’s got a long way to go, and right now it looks like he’s wearing a Halloween mullet wig made from a red panda.

  Eric scoffs. “That’s just during the show. But you know that, right? Because I heard you were asking Len to be a Knight.”

  “How in the world do you know that?” My mouth falls open. “I literally just left his office. Do you have it bugged?”

  “Word travels fast in the Castle,” says Eric. “Jessica heard Len telling the MC that you—”

  “Forget it,” I say. I don’t have the headspace for the Castle rumor mill right now.

  “Let me be the second one to tell you,” says Eric. “You’ll never be a Knight. I’m up next for the role, and you know they won’t go out of order.”

  “Get out of my way,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m suddenly more determined than ever to become a Knight, if for no reason other than to knock the self-satisfied grin off Eric’s face.

  Eric steps aside, giving me a mock bow. “If you see Layla,” he calls out to me, “tell her my offer is going to expire soon.”

  I spin around, temper flaring. “Let me be the first to tell you,” I say, mocking his tone perfectly, “Layla will never go out with you!”

  Eric laughs and then—the slug!—winks at me. “We’ll see.”

  I grab for the closest thing, a foam chess piece shaped like a tower, and throw it at him. He laughs again as he dodges it and hurries away.

  Eric’s been trying to date Layla since we started working here three years ago. He’s slime incarnate, but I worry he’s starting to wear her down. Layla’s love life is suddenly as pressing as my brother’s truancy, so I push through one of the swinging doors, heading into the Great Hall.

  Noise assaults me at once—laughing tourists, people ordering beer, upbeat medieval-style music playing through the speakers, hawkers calling out for people to buy souvenirs. The Master Falconer skulks in a corner with a hooded bird on his wrist. Above me, the vaulted ceiling is painted with shields, crests, and medieval heraldry. The heraldry is all sound and fury, signifying nothing, which is exactly the opposite purpose of medieval shields and crests. It’s bothered me for years, but imagine Len’s reaction if I threw my heraldry book onto his desk and demanded we fix it.

  Yeah.

  I have a heraldry book.

  And no, not even the people at the Castle know. Some secrets are too much even for these premium geeks.

  I squeeze through a crowd that surrounds Wallace, the Castle juggler and official Fool. He’s got five multicolored balls in the air, and the crowd around him oohs and aahs as he throws them higher and spins around to catch them.

  “Gadsbudlikins, Lady Wench!” he says, spotting me. The balls stay in the air, a twisting rainbow of color. “You’re in quite a hurry for such a fopdoodling scobberlotcher!”

  Wallace prides himself on being able to swear like they did in the Middle Ages. Usually, I’d stay and spar with him for a few rounds, but today I’m in a hurry. I rack my brain for a quick something to say back to him.

  “I’m only racing to get past you, my dear muckspouting mumblecrust.” I curtsy as I say it.

  Wallace catches the balls and bows slightly to me. “Well played, Wench! Would you care to stay and exchange a few m
ore choice words?”

  I curtsy again at him. “Alas, my good Fool, I cannot.”

  “Go forth, and Godspeed!” He bows again and goes back to juggling.

  I grin as I walk through the Great Hall, taking it all in. Despite my argument with Len, I really love the Castle. Which is why I’ve not left it for another job, even after years of laboring within a deeply flawed system.

  The air smells like cheap beer, roasted meats, and too many bodies in too small a space. At least we get that part of the Middle Ages right. People back then loved their fairs and feasts, and despite being built on a foundation of illusion, here at the Castle we do a pretty good approximation of the loud, boisterous, excitement-in-the-air feeling those events must’ve held. In the Middle Ages, feasts, tournaments, and fairs were smelly, riotous, much-needed escapes for people whose lives were mostly toil, suffering, lice, and early death. So, when you got a break, you danced, laughed, and drank yourself stupid. You fought and did … other things.

  We’re a family-friendly place, so we (try to) limit the amount of drinks you can have, and as for the other things … well, the Castle staff does enough of those for all of us. But the giddy sense of abandon and fun we market, package, and sell at the Castle is one of my favorite parts of this job. So, despite the noise, my missing brother, and my need to find Layla and give her a come-to-Jesus about not ever dating Eric, I laugh in delight as I watch a tiny kid waving a light-up sword as he jumps up and down, looking for the King.

  For a moment, it’s ten years ago. I’m seven and clinging to my dad’s hand as he brings us here for the first time. His brother, Len, had just gotten a job at the Castle. Chris and I couldn’t wait to go. Back then, on the first night, it was just me, Dad, and Chris, all of us stunned by the epicness of the Castle. He bought a sword for Chris and a flower crown for me. I felt like a princess but secretly wanted a sword too.

  “Excuse me.” Someone touches my shoulder, dragging me back into the present. “Could you take a picture with us?”