“I recently found out that fifty-fifty can also mean fifty-fifty and maybe can also mean maybe not.” B. E. S.

Besh walked slowly along the wall of the waiting room. The large portraits in their heavy ornate frames were not really interesting, but they were something to look at while he waited. He vaguely wondered who they had been. Then, he decided he didn’t really care. In truth, he worried how he might appear to David. The intervening years had taken their pound of flesh. He suddenly felt shorter, dumpier, and lighter in the hair department. Oh, well.

The door opened behind him and Besh turned to look. Half of the over-tall ornate door had been folded back. In the open space stood Beasley and a tall older man. Beasley handed over a work tablet and waited for it to be signed. When he received it again, he turned smartly and walked away. The old man stepped into the room, putting considerable weight on the ornate cane in his left hand. The man was haggard. His hair was white, his neatly trimmed beard also white. Was this David, Besh wondered?

He pulled the door to and turned to look at Besh. He saw a short man with thinning hair and a small dark mustache. While the man seemed strange to him, the colorful bag hanging from his shoulder quickened the beat of his heart.

“Besh,” he asked tentatively?

Besh spread his arms and said with a smile, “Such as I am.”

“Besh,” cried the King and stepped forward!

Walking past the fancy sofa and coffee table, Besh fell into the King’s tight embrace. It was his friend, after all. A little worse for the wear but no less earnest in his emotional displays. The King called his name several times, hugging him, it seemed, tighter on each occasion. Then, he held Besh at arm’s length to study his face. His smile was broad and his eyes wide. Besh knew they had a lot of catching up to do.

Ensconced in the waiting room like pearls in an oyster, Besh and David spent a full hour in happy recollections when a knock came at the door. At the King’s call, the door was pushed open and Besh could see Beasley looking in uncertainly. He straightened his ruffled clothing and smoothed over his hair.

“Well, Beasley,” said the King, evidently annoyed, “come in.”

“Sire,” said the young man, stepping into the room and pulling the door closed behind himself, “I really hate to trouble you but there is a problem.”

He paused deferentially. The King stood and asked, “So, are you going to tell me?”

“It is about your friend,” said Beasley, afraid, and paused again.

“I do wish you’d tell the whole story,” said the King. “You know, all at once.”

“Right. Well, it’s about your friend’s friend,” said the young man. “He’s caused a terrible scene in the secretarial office. Our guard has subdued him and placed him in a cell but, quite frankly, sir, I think he is on the verge of busting out.”

David turned to Besh with an official glance. He didn’t often bring the house down but when he did, he was at a loss as to why. The Captain had seemed solid enough. Drawing a blank, all Besh could manage was to spread his hands in a lame gesture of apology. As Beasley backed toward the door, the King snapped his fingers, pointing at the young man. Beasley froze in place.

David said to Besh, “I cannot imagine you running with the Badgers and I cannot fathom the instability of your friend but, I am not predisposed to such disturbances in my palace. If he is a danger in any way, he will be put down.”

“David,” said Besh, staying the King with an uplifted hand, “I know this man. He is not like this. Something serious must have happened to set him off.”

“Whatever, Besh,” answered the King. “He is your friend. Run with Beasley, here, speak with your friend before I must act.”

“I will,” Besh replied. “Just give me a little time.”

Besh and Beasley left the waiting room at a trot. The Royal Secretary to the King led Besh to an unremarkable service elevator. Placing his thumb to the scanner, Beasley gained instant access and shepherded Besh inside. The doors slid shut with a flutter of the ceiling lights and the young man pressed the lowest call button on the control. Besh felt his inside rise up as the elevator swiftly descended and fall as the elevator came to a quick stop.

Beasley led Besh down a bright hallway that smelled of disinfectant. Beyond a door was another bright hallway but the second hallway ended in a hub of offices each with a large window. Palace guards congregated at the dungeon door, looking through the heavy glass viewport. Five uniformed guardsmen parted when the King’s secretary called out.

“At the King’s command,” Beasley called. He stopped at the door, ready to open it for Besh, and said, “Your friend scares me.”

Besh could hear the pounding from beyond the heavy metal door. He recognized the Captain’s voice but not all of the swear words at the Captain’s disposal. Sam was pissed. Even knowing the man, Besh felt a slight trepidation at the prospect of facing the Captain’s ire. Besh tugged at his belt and gave the young man a nod. He entered the dungeon in the full blast of the Captain’s rage.

Having come to the end of his swear words, the Captain vented his rage with loud howls of fury. He beat against the cell bars with the metal frame of his cot. It was bent and misshapen and it was at the point where it should simply fall apart. Besh eased forward and peered into the cell. There was a second large man in the far end of the cell who stood quietly in the corner unwilling to gain the Captain’s attention.

“Captain,” called Besh. “Captain, it’s me. Besh.”

The Captain dropped the abused frame and gripped the cell bars, pressing his face into the freedom just beyond. “Besh,” he cried out! He strained to see in the shadowy corner by the door. “Besh, Come here, man. Don’t be afraid.”

Taking a tentative step toward the cell, Besh answered, “There are veteran soldiers on the other side of this door who are afraid. The King is unhappy. I am concerned.”

Sam slid down the bars to his knees. Leaning his forehead into the cool iron bar, he bemoaned his sorry fate. “Besh,” he said in a sad voice, “they took my girl.”

Besh was both surprised and confused. He stepped in front of the cell door and saw a proud Captain reduced to tears. “They took the Harbinger?” The incredulity in his voice brought the Captain’s reddened eyes up to blink hard.

He said, “I was one degree off-vector behind Merlin but I corrected that. I told them. Besh, they impounded my ship.”

Besh knelt before the Captain, a feat performed at great cost, and spoke softly. “Did you hurt anyone? What did you do,” Besh asked?

Sam sat back and wiped his face with a shirt sleeve. “I wouldn’t do that,” he answered, taking a deep but tremulous breath. “I threw the desk through the window. I cornered the old fat woman and, yeah, I screamed at her, but that’s all. I swear.”

Besh asked, “Do you trust me, Captain? Can you give me a little time to go to the King? Maybe I can play my friend-of-the-King card.” Sam sighed and nodded, beaten.

Besh found David in the waiting room standing before the wall of portraits. He turned to acknowledge his friend’s entry and observed the dour face that gazed out into eternity. As Besh approached, he said, “Sometimes I actually wonder who these old men were. Well, at least they look royal.” He turned and asked, “What of your friend?”

“Sam Barker is an old war hero you released from prison.” The King seated himself and Besh followed, continuing, “He has served the King loyally for many years.”

“So why the sudden outburst,” asked David?

“It would appear that some lesser authority has impounded his ship, the Harbinger,” Besh said.

David leaned forward and placed his cane on the glass table. He remarked distantly, “I remember the Harbinger.”

“Well,” said Besh, “he was understandably distraught. He tossed the desk through the window and vented a little, but he’s a good man. Really. I would like to help him.”

David smiled. He leaned toward his friend and said in a confidential tone, “That is what you do. Come. Walk with me.”

He casually strolled through the upper hallways of the palace. Beside him was a tall man who leaned heavily on an ornate cane, favoring a leg that Besh, himself, had set. The man was dressed like any other man, pants, a long-sleeved white shirt with the cuffs rolled past the wrists and a comfortable pair of slippers. There was no crown on his friend’s head but there was a genuine reverence in all those who stopped, stepped aside, and bowed their heads at the King’s presence that filled Besh with a sense of great joy for his friend.

“Here’s the thing,” confided the King. “I argued with Albert and he ran away. I was not even speaking as his King, just a concerned father. Now, Elisabeth refuses to see me until his return. Here we are.”

They were met at an exit by two smartly dressed sentries who snapped to attention, holding pikes straight at their approach. David pushed against the door and Besh found himself following the King out into the bright afternoon sunshine. They walked along an upper balcony on the backside of the palace. Besh could see the snow-capped mountains thrusting up into the vault of a clear blue sky.

David continued speaking as they walked. “I have spent money my nation needs on trackers I can no longer count. Albert is nowhere to be found. This is a bad time for my son to be lost. There are tensions brewing between Camelot and Gravis Prime to the west. Badgers are everywhere. I fear a war is brewing.”

Besh asked, “What was the argument about, if I may ask?”

“A woman. A love interest,” was the curt answer as the King led Besh to the right and down a long flight of marble stairs. He continued, “You’ve always been so damned clever. That’s why I reached out. I’m desperate.”

“Could he have run off to marry,” Besh inquired.

David said, “I really wouldn’t mind so much but the woman has her roots in Nesmith, a known Badger lair. He may have fallen for common Badger rhetoric. You know, Besh, I can ill afford to have my kingdom divided.”

Besh said, “You’ll have to explain what a Badger is.”

“Anarchists,” railed the King. “Subversives. Agents of mayhem. They support Gravis Prime and seem hell-bent on world domination. I tell you, I am at my wit’s end. My military is asking for conscription and my ambassadors are filling my head with horror stories of pirates and hired mercenaries. Well, here we are.”

David had stopped before a door and placed his hand on the handle. He pressed his eyes closed and took a breath. When he looked up again, he told Besh, “Beyond this door is the hallway that leads past my wife’s quarters. Follow it and exit the far door. You will be in the royal garden. The Queen seeks your presence and, no doubt will plead with you to find our son. Please, please attend my instructions. Bring my son back to his mother and bring my wife back to me.”

Besh let the door close silently behind him. He stood still and held his breath. What a beautiful garden, he thought. The sun shone in brightly through large overhead windows. To his left was a broad meandering cobbled walk leading the eye through potted flowers, dwarf fruit trees, and stylish benches. Small yellow birds hid among branches heavy with ripening fruit. To his right was a solid wall, a tall trellis covered with Honeysuckle and Morning Glories. Near the door in the far side of the garden was a lone marble bench; Besh walked to it and sat.

Besh leaned into the green leaves and wandering honey bees to call softly, “Queen? M’lady? It’s me, Besh.”

“Besh,” came the voice of the Queen, a soft melodic sigh. “I am so very glad you have come. Please, do not be so formal. I am the same Elisabeth you knew before.”

Besh answered, “Elisabeth. Your voice is still musical. David tells me you are in great sorrow. How may I help?”

“Oh, Besh,” she sighed heavily. Her voice was so sad that Besh could imagine tears on her cheeks. “My son, my dear Albert; I miss him so much.”

“I will find Albert and bring him home,” Besh promised.

“Please, Besh,” the Queen implored. “Please bring my son back to me. Do not fail. I fear my heart shall break.”

“You know I’m not one to give up,” said Besh.

A sweet small laugh and a sniffing back of tears came from the other side of the flowers. Elisabeth asked, “Are you still looking for Cosmo Jack?”

“Always,” soothed Besh. “Be brave, my Queen. I will begin tomorrow but, for tonight, do an old friend a very big favor. Eat supper with me and David. He dies inside. I, too, am troubled that I may bring your son back to a broken family. Have supper with us. Let’s be the people we used to be. Will you do that for me?”

There was a brief pause, a nearly inaudible sigh. Besh had stumbled into both his promise and his plea with neither craft nor skill. He held his breath, awaiting the Queen’s reply. Then, it came, soft, sweet, and sad, the answer Besh wanted.

“Yes,” said the Queen. “Yes.”