A Knight in Central Park(87)

Joe shifted his attention back to Alexandra. An animated smile lit up her face as she spotted Garrett and Mary.

Gasps from the crowd drew Joe’s attention. Two men were shoving and pushing their way through the masses. The hooded man was making his move, heading straight for King Henry. Sebastiano was just about to close in on the assassin when King Henry’s protectors stopped him in his pursuit, setting their blades to his throat.

The king’s men failed to see what was happening.

Joe didn’t stop to think, he just jumped, leaped off of the stage like a madman and landed smack on top of the killer who managed to break Joe’s fall quite nicely.

Joe and the assassin rolled across the floor, taking an innocent Duke with them, the Duchess screaming as her husband was sucked into the middle of the chaos. People parted like the Red Sea, and then someone managed to pull the Duke to safety. Chairs and benches were broken as they went. Joe felt a scorching pain as he was knocked into a wall, pinned there long enough for them both to catch their breath.

The man’s hood fell back and his vulgar smile revealed a row of discolored teeth, his breath like rotted meat. Before the man broke free, Joe slammed his foot into his gut, pushing him backwards and giving himself enough time to get to his feet.

Joe saw blood on his shirt, but he had no time to worry about whose blood it might be. He staggered slightly before someone at his side helped him keep his balance. It was Garrett. A spasm of horror crossed the boy’s features.

Joe spun around.

The assassin was coming for him, his repulsive face lit with bitter triumph as he held his dagger outward, ready to lunge it into Joe’s heart.

He felt sad that it had to end this way.

“Take this you rat infested scum,” Garrett said as he raised a hand and sprayed pepper spray squarely into the man’s eyes. The man’s dagger dropped to his side, giving Joe time to lay a hard and fast fist on the man’s face, sending him staggering backwards and into the hands of the king’s guards.

Another of the king’s men stepped forward and Joe recognized him immediately as Udolf. “’Tis the man in tights who wishes the king harm,” Udolf called out.

“He lies!” Alexandra cried from the stage. “The man who calls himself your protector is the very man who paid this killer to take your life.”

“She speaks the truth,” Sebastiano chorused, still held back by too many strong arms. “I am one of many sent to find you and warn you of the impending danger. ’Twould seem Perkin Warbeck is up to his old tricks again. He has escaped prison and has raised a small army of rebels.”

The king laughed at hearing Warbeck’s name, as if the man who plotted his murder was merely a thorn in his side. King Henry snapped his fingers. “Release the young man. Allow him to bring me the message he speaks of.”

Sebastiano jerked his arms free, smoothed his hair back, then pulled the rolled parchment from his satchel. He unwrinkled it as best he could before handing it to His Majesty. Sebastiano fell gently to bended knee, waiting with bowed head for the king to read the scroll.

His Majesty looked up when he was done. “What have you to say to this?” the king asked Udolf, who now stood pale and rigid before him.

“Surely you do not believe a mere goliard over your own protector?”

“Your Majesty,” Sebastiano cut in, “I beseech you to check the birthing records of this so-called protector and his malevolent companion, George. You will find that they are related to the earl of Warwick, son of the duke of Clarence.”

“And what of them?” the king questioned, waving toward Joe and Garrett. “What is their place in all of this?”

“’Tis a long story, Your Majesty, but I can well assure you that this man who plays the lovesick troubadour is as brave and chivalrous as the men I served in London. His name is Sir Joe McFarland, otherwise known as the Black Knight.”

The crowd murmured and gossiped, delighted to have witnessed such an exciting event, especially now that the king was safe.

“He is humble, too,” Sebastiano went on, “for he believes himself to be naught more than a simple scholar from afar.”

The king lifted a brow at Sebastiano. “And in payment for his protection and brave deed you suggest...”

Sebastiano was impressed by the King’s receptiveness.

“Sire,” another man called, interrupting the exchange.

“What is it, Sir Richard?” the king asked impatiently.