“My flesh may flag and fumble, but my mind and soul still gambol.” B. E. S.

His first day back had presented him with challenges. All in all, Besh felt he had done very well. He had gone to the King with news of the supper promise. The King, pleased beyond words, swept his old friend up into an impromptu dance that ended in much hugging and shoulder slapping. Besh took the opportunity of the King’s happiness to secure palatial quarters for the Captain as well as having his trauler moved from civic impound to military impound. The King seemed open to the suggestion that lesser officials were using their positions for personal gain. Besh had no proof of it. It was just a feeling he had, but the King promised to look into it.

Besh excused himself with the King’s permission to arrange a special meal for the supper. Besh had just the thing in mind, he only needed to find another old friend. The hallways were labyrinthine, so much so that he was forced to stop at every intersection to ask for directions but it was a happy pre-quest adventure he had set for himself. He found the palace kitchen tucked away in the northern wing of the ground floor. Besh took a moment to relish that small victory before he entered the kitchen and asked for the King’s personal Chef.

Besh stepped into the open doorway of the Chef’s personal office and knocked. Rico looked up from a messy stack of forms, peering over the flat rims of his reading glasses. The pencil dropped from his hand as he sat back in his chair. Rico Ruiz was a short man like Besh, barely over five feet. Like Besh, he was thick around the middle and thin on top. He sported a small mustache that had prompted the pre-king David to refer to the two of them as twins.

“Damn,” said Rico, with a crooked smile. “I thought someone put the mirror in my door. Dios mio, you are the handsome doppelgänger.”

Besh said, “It’s good to see you finally got some gray.”

“It looks good on me. Right?” Rico laughed, stood, and embraced his old friend. He removed papers from the straight chair by his desk and said, “Sit. Sit.”

“So,” asked Besh, “How have you been?”

“You see the papers,” answered the Chef. “It never changes. They can never get enough of Chef Rico’s meals or signatures.”

“Speaking of meals,” said Besh, leaning forward to speak conspiratorially, “I am here to request a special meal for the King and Queen.”

“You mean together, in the same room,” Rico asked in sudden amazement?

Besh sat back in satisfaction at the quality of his news. “Yes,” he said. “I will be eating with them this evening and I want a particular meal for the occasion.”

“The King and the Queen back together. Damn. That’s news.” Rico stood and pulled Besh to his feet. “We need a drink.”

The kitchen was large, bright, and busy. The aromas of various foods were mouth-watering. A dozen cooks, dressed in immaculate white uniforms, stood a little taller as the Chef walked by. Rico led Besh to a dimmed break room tucked away in a corner near the walk-ins and switched on the lights.

“Come,” he called happily, “sit.” Then he stood in the kitchen and yelled, “Hazel! Bring beer! Rápido!”

Rico sat beside Besh and slapped his shoulder in high spirits. “We will celebrate, my friend. Yes,” he said with a broad smile. “News like this, we must share a drink.”

Hazel stopped in the doorway to wipe her hands on a stained white apron. Her skirt was black, her blouse was white with fine red trim. Her long bleached hair was tied behind her head in a bun and secured in a net. She looked between Rico and Besh and brightened at the sight of the new face. Smoothing the skirt around plump thighs, Hazel stepped forward with an extended hand.

“Oh, hi,” she said. “I’m Hazel.”

Besh stood and took Hazel’s hand, gave it a friendly pat, and said with a wink, “A classic name if ever I heard. They call me Besh.”

Hazel blushed. “Oh my,” she said. “It’s so nice to have a gentleman in the kitchen.”

“Stop flirting,” railed the Chef, “and bring beer. The good stuff.”

Leaving a smile for Besh, Hazel walked from the break room. Besh returned to his seat and commented, “She’s nice.”

“Never mind the waitress,” Rico redirected. “Tell me about the King and Queen. What brought them back together?”

Besh pulled a list from his shirt pocket and handed it across to Rico. “Well, I did,” said Besh. “They have asked a favor of me so, I asked for one in return. That’s all.”

“You dog,” Rico laughed, “what are you up to now?”

“Albert is missing,” Besh answered soberly. “I’ve been asked to find him.”

“No,” said the Chef, laying aside the unopened list. “Such a nice boy. What happened?”

“An argument,” Besh replied. “Over a love interest. You know the royal family better than I do. I need to pick your brain. Any information will help me in my quest.”

“Of course, my friend. Anything,” said the Chef.

Hazel returned to the break room bearing a tray with two frosty, lidded steins. Conversation on pause, the men watched as Hazel set out napkins, coasters, and steins. Both men noticed the unsuccessful attempt to secretly slip a note under the coaster intended for Besh.

She said, “There we are, love,” and walked away with a spring in her step.

Besh imbibed the brew with relish and wiped the foam from his mustache. Rico had downed half the stein when he remembered and halted himself. He raised the stein and toasted the reunion of the King and Queen. Besh happily followed suit. Besh asked questions about the Prince. Rico scratched his head over the supper list. Happy memories flowed and Rico recalled.

“Oh yes,” he said. “It was the first night. I remember now. That damned tent. You know,” he said with a laugh, “I still have that thing.”

It was evening. Besh stood by the folding table in the garden. The Chef had set three folding canvas chairs. On the table sat a silver platter under a spotless polished Cloche cover. Fine crystal goblets and a sharp knife sat nearby. Rico had assured Besh of the accuracy of the meal items and made a happy retreat. The King would enter through one door and the Queen would enter through the other. Besh had only to wait.

The King entered, cane in hand. He wore a fine frilled shirt, fuller-bright. His pressed russet trousers bore a khaki seam along their length and his polished black boots hid beneath starched cuffs. He wore a tight ocher vest that sported a watch and fob. As he strode toward Besh, his light cape, black outside and blood-red within, rustled majestically. He took the outstretched hand of Besh in a firm grip while his face, washed and shaved, was brightened by the broad smile of expectation.

That expectation was rewarded when the Queen opened her door and stepped in. She walked forward trailing a night-blue gown. Her blouse, the same rich blue, was embroidered with designs of white and gold. Her shawl, a robin-blue with small black tassels, gave her over-all appearance a regal quality that fully matched her noble stride. Her brown hair, glistening, was tied back with a single white ribbon. She looked splendid.

David stepped forward, forgetting Besh. “My Queen,” said he with a short bow.

Elisabeth answered with a nod, “My King.” She turned to Besh with a smile reserved for allies and said, “Dear friend, it is so good to see you again. We must hear of your travels.”

Besh spread his arms and grinned. “You two,” he said, “look as good together as . . . as . . . love and loyalty.”

The Queen, turning to the simple table, said, “This seems curiously familiar.”

“I am perplexed,” agreed the King.

“Well, sit,” Besh invited with a flourish. “I’ll remind you.”

The King pulled a canvas chair and the Queen seated herself. Besh waited for the King to sit, then drew a box of matches from his trouser pocket and lit the single candle that adorned the folding table. While the Queen watched Besh with a patient smile, the King had eyes only for his Queen. Besh laid aside the spent match and cast a happy glance toward the couple before him, a King and a Queen, his dear friends.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” said Besh, seating himself. “Shall I tell you a tale?”

The King tore himself away from the vision that was Elisabeth and looked around to Besh. “A story,” he asked?

“Please do,” said the Queen.

“Some years ago,” Besh said, “a young couple sat beneath a sky much like the one above us now.”

The royal couple looked up through the overhead windows to observe the star-laden sky. Besh waited. When they returned their collective gaze to him, he said, “They were madly in love. They owned that sky but they gave it all away. A thousand souls had they brought with them to inhabit the new world. They sat at a folding table for supper. The couple held hands.”

Besh looked at the King and Queen. He could see the recollections rolling in like a tide. It cleansed the beach in a single pass and when it washed away, the old slate was clean once more, pristine. The King turned to the Queen with longing in his eyes and extended his hand. The Queen, with a quiet embarrassed laugh, was moved to give her dainty hand to the open palm of her husband.

Besh continued, “I could see how much in love they were. They were made for each other. I sat with them. We had worked hard all day to set up camp. We pitched our tent before the most beautiful mountains I had ever seen. In our happy reckless haste, our supply ship was the last to be unloaded so, a young Chef gathered what he could.”

Besh raised the polished lid from the platter. David gasped. Elisabeth covered her mouth and laughed sweetly. Upon the platter sat three items. In the center was half an onion. Half a pack of salted crackers sat beside it. Lastly, there was a bar of dark chocolate, opened and resealed.

The King exclaimed, “Besh! You rascal. I remember. Yes,” he laughed. “Onion sandwiches.”

Elisabeth took the chocolate bar in her hand, repeating history, and said, with a broad infectious smile, “I claim the chocolate.”

They laughed, they reminisced. Besh and David shared onion and crackers while Elisabeth nibbled the chocolate judiciously. Joy and laughter rose into the deepening night. Besh watched his friends draw closer, he could feel them relax. He watched as their eyes met time and again. He saw them reach out often to hold hands, to touch, to restore the connection they had lost. Besh was filled with a solid satisfaction.

Words and laughter had ebbed, there were happy sighs all around. Finally, the King placed his hands flat on the table and said to Besh. “I remember we had wine, yet, all I see are empty goblets.”

Besh answered with an easy smile, “Well, I’m glad you asked. We did have wine, a whole bottle. Rico brought us a second bottle but you said no. You took a marker and wrote on it. Then you handed it to me and asked me to save it for a special occasion. Do you remember what you wrote?”

David and Elisabeth looked into each other’s eyes trying to remember. They turned back to Besh and the King confessed, “I haven’t a clue.”

Reaching down, Besh grabbed the bottle of wine that had been sitting by his chair. He set it beyond the platter near the King. Producing a set of reading glasses from his vest pocket, the King raised the bottle to read the faded writing on its label. He was shocked. He looked between Besh and Elisabeth before setting the bottle down and placing a hand over his open mouth.

Elisabeth took up the bottle and read aloud, “If hope be lost and sorrows rain, then friends be brought and love sustain.”

Later that evening, Besh strolled from his bedroom into a spacious living area. The suite he had been given was, by any standard, choice. He tightened the belt of his bathrobe and slipped his feet into royal fuzzy slippers then. He opened the door, crossed the hall, and knocked on the door opposite to his. Sam opened the door and smiled to see the man that had set him free.

Besh said, “I have whiskey and a balcony with a view. Care to join me?”

The Captain donned a hasty shirt and followed Besh to a balcony that faced the ocean spaceport. The seats were plush and comforting. The evening air was cool. The portlights cycled through the prime colors of red, yellow, and blue. Beyond could be seen the austere lights of distant sea-going vessels. All was quiet. Besh handed Sam a tall shot glass filled to the brim with an amber quench. Sam sipped, sighed, and set the glass on the table between them. As Besh seated himself, the Captain spoke.

“My girl would be right there,” Sam said, pointing into the dark.

Besh looked into the light-studded void knowing there was nothing to see. He answered, “I was able to get your ship moved to military impound. Ship content is secure.”

“Yeah,” the Captain asked, turning to spear Besh with a scarred glance? “Thanks.”

Besh sipped whiskey and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. “Not a problem,” he said. “Just glad I could help. I guess, there will still be some process to go through but I think it’s more of a straightforward deal with the military. Right?”

Sam grumped, “It’s all tedious and time-consuming. The paperwork. Just thinking about it makes the back of my eyeballs itch.”

“Still in all,” mused Besh, “we should be able to appeal to the King.”

Sam looked up into the sky, spotting the lights of high orbit ships. He sighed and said, “After my little stunt, I’ll have to work the mines and donate a quart of blood to get back in his grace.”

Besh sat forward and turned to look at the Captain. “You know,” he said, “what would really get you back on his good side would be to field some special favor.”

“What do you mean,” asked the Captain?

“Something personally important to the King,” Besh replied with a crafty smile. “And I have just the thing. Albert is missing and the King has asked me to find him.”

“Really,” asked the Captain? “I had not heard.”

“I could really use your help,” said Besh, “and I think your support will put you back in the King’s good grace.”

Sam had taken up his whiskey and was holding it in his hands. He closed his eyes and gave a thoughtful grunt. As Besh paused to await the Captain’s reply, Sam took a deep breath and released it slowly. He asked quietly, “Where would we even look?”

“So, here’s the thing,” said Besh. “The King’s Chef, who knows the young Prince well, claims he showed interest in a horse over in South Breed. Beasley, the Prince’s friend, told me of a secret place near Port Arthur. So, south, first. Then, maybe across to the island of Abney.”

“Alright,” said the Captain.

“Of course,” said Besh, “I’ll need to speak more to the King. If you’re up for it, we can make a start of it tomorrow afternoon. I’ll get everything worked out, we’ll go find the Prince, and you can get your ship back.”

Sam threw back the remainder of his drink and turned to Besh with a broad smile. He quipped, “You had me at whiskey.”