Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
“Hey Bon!”
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
“Oi, Bon!!”
“Yeah…?”
“You awake?”
“Christ, I am now.”
“Where the hell you been?”
“Asleep, Aengus, ye wee fucker. I’m exhausted.”
“Why areya… dressed like that?”
“Like what?”
“The wig, the skirt, and that.”
“Oh yeah. I’m in-cog-neato.”
“In-cog-what-o?”
“Neat-o. I’m hidin’ out.”
“Who from?”
“The Emper’r’s daughter. Long story.”
“I guess it must be. She’s been dead these twenty years. Did you spend the whole armistice hidin’ out asleep in a Chinese opium den just because of one of your romantic misunderstandings?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
“I guess not, but I don’t remember you doin’ it in drag before.”
“I was hoping maybe the clientele here wouldn’t be tempted to molest a sleeping blonde.”
“You’d have found yourself woefully wrong, if not for the opium.”
“Christ, this pillow’s vile.”
“Twenty years’ accumulated drool might do that.”
“Let’s duck out the back. I may have trouble settlin’ me tab.”
“Don’t wanna fight yer way out?”
“Naw, my legs are too stiff at the moment. Let’s find a pint, then figure out where to go.”
“I got an idea, Bon.”
“Yeah?”
“Remember that war back home?”
“What, Charles the Mad and King Richard’s wee tiff? Sure. I’d half a mind to call it the 70-Year War.”
“Well, it’s back and it’s got a new name now.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Want in on it?”
“Hell no. Why would I?”
“There’s someone you might wanna meet.”
“Oh yeah? What kinda bloke would I want to meet in the middle of a war?”
“Not a bloke.”
“Really.”
“Young lass. French.”
“Oh, really.”
“Aye. Devout, too.”
“Sounds like work.”
“Not for you. That’s why I was sent to fetch you.”
“Sent? By who?”
“None other than King Henry.”
“Pull the other one. You’re tellin’ me you were dispatched to a Chinese opium den by King Fucking Henry the Fourth to fetch me…”
“Not Fourth.”
“What, Fifth? Was I asleep that long?”
“Longer. He’s Henry the Sixth.”
“Christ. I need a piss.”
“She’s a mere slip of a lass, and the King thinks she’s in league with the devil. But she’s actually a devout Catholic who loves her country.”
“What, loves France? Madwoman.”
“Maybe. But His Majestry needs someone who can charm the pants off young ladies, and when I heard that, I knew who to dig up.”
“Where do I meet her?”
“Near Orleans. In a garden. Underneath an old apple tree.”
