Excerpt from "Knight's Fork" by Rowena Cherry

"Here's the scheme as I grasp it, Sir." Grievous said. "Oh, my Lord! What the…?"

The man's posture stiffened. Fear leaked from his pores. "You've got a tiger loose in here, Sir," he said in a strangled whisper.

"I've two. They're my sister's. I could hardly smuggle two tigers aboard the Trajant. They'd eat the crew while she sleeps and give the game away." In some amusement, Tarrant-Arragon watched Grievous's light-blue gaze zigzag, as the Englishman tried to locate the second tiger.

Alph was couchant under the dining table, quietly amusing himself with an unopened container of wine that he'd hooked from the table onto the carpeted floor. Tarrant-Arragon had last seen Bey-ta investigating the suite's guest restroom where it sounded as if he had found something less sophisticated to drink.

"You're quite safe, Grievous. Relax and you won't smell so much like prey. Do continue to give me your understanding of my scheme."

Grievous blinked rapidly. "Right you are, Sir. For whatever reason, 'Rhett has a bee in his bonnet about going to Earth in a hurry. So you're making his trip possible before he thinks better of it. Am I doing all right? I don't still smell tasty, do I, Sir?"

Tarrant-Arragon pushed off the seat and strolled to the table, where he opened a new wine and poured a glass for himself and Grievous, and slopped a small quantity into a bowl to keep Alph happy.

"You are doing well so far." He handed Grievous the wine and stood over the man while he took his first swig. "Moreover…?"

"Moreover, Sir—thank you kindly—moreover, what 'Rhett doesn't know is that you're giving him a one-way ticket. In keeping with the jolly splendid legal precedent of 'Give a dog a bad name and hang him for it.'"

"A favorite precept of mine," Tarrant-Arragon agreed, and raised a toast to various vindictive mantras. "Not dissimilar to 'Be done by as you did.' But preemptive."

The bouquet of the wine had improved Grievous's body odor.

"Yes, Sir! 'Rhett won't realize that he's got your sister aboard as a stowaway until he's too far on his way for it to save her reputation, or his, if he turns back. He'll find that he can't come back, because all the Worlds will think he's guilty as sin of running off with her. As in the Greek legend of Helen of Troy, he'll be in the position of having done a bunk with a King's wife."

Tarrant-Arragon grinned. "My disgraceful mother's tarot cards are so very inspirational."
"That would be inspiring, Sir. Not inspirational."

"Why would that be?" Tarrant-Arragon enquired silkily.

"Well, Sir." Grievous flushed. "Your grand scheme isn't exactly moral, is it? It's bad enough that they've been sneaking around having a fling. You're making sure they go the whole stinking hog and shack up together. I dare say it has occurred to you that that poor bastard, the cuckolded King of Volnoth, might declare war on the Saurians, since 'Rhett is now thought to be a sort of Saurian Prince."

"That would be convenient for me, wouldn't it, Grievous? It would clarify King Viz-Igerd's diplomatic loyalties quite neatly."

Grievous snorted. "So, you're wrecking a marriage that might or might not be on the rocks for political clarity? Bloody Henry! You're a right Royal rotter, you know it?"

"I do know, Grievous." Tarrant-Arragon threw back his head and laughed. "I rely on your discretion…."

KNIGHT'S FORK, October 2008