A Knyght Ther Was

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  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  A Knyght Ther Was

  _But the Knyght was a little less than Perfect, and his horse did not have a metabolism, and his "castle" was much more mobile--timewise!--than it had any business being!_

  by Robert F. Young

  _Illustrated by Leo Summers_

  _A Knyght ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the tyme that he first bigan To ryden out, he loved chivalrye, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye_

  --THE CANTERBURY TALES

  * * * * *

  I

  Mallory, who among other things was a time-thief, re-materialized thetime-space boat _Yore_ in the eastern section of a secluded valley inancient Britain and typed CASTLE, EARLY SIXTH-CENTURY on thelumillusion panel. Then he stepped over to the control-room telewindowand studied the three-dimensional screen. The hour was 8:00 p.m.; theseason, summer; the Year 542 A.D.

  Darkness was on hand, but there was a full moon rising and he couldsee trees not far away--oaks and beeches, mostly. Roving the eye ofthe camera, he saw more trees of the same species. The "castle ofYore" was safely ensconced in a forest. Satisfied, he turned away.

  If his calculations were correct, the castle of Carbonek stood in thenext valley to the south, and on a silver table in a chamber of thecastle stood the object of his quest.

  _If_ his calculations were correct.

  Mallory was not one to keep himself in suspense. Stepping into thesupply room, he stripped down to his undergarments and proceeded toget into the custom-built suit of armor which he had purchasedexpressly for the operation. Fortunately, while duplication of earlysixth-century design had been mandatory, there had been no need toduplicate early sixth-century materials, and sollerets, spurs,greaves, cuisses, breastplate, pauldrons, gorget, arm-coverings,gauntlets, helmet, and chain-mail vest had all been fashioned oflight-weight alloys that lent ten times as much protection at tentimes less poundage. The helmet was his particular pride and joy: inkeeping with the period-piece after which it had been patterned, itlooked like an upside-down metal wastepaper basket, but the one-waytransparency of the special alloy that had gone into its constructiongave him unrestricted vision, while two inbuilt audio-amplifiersperformed a corresponding service for his hearing.

  The outer surface of each piece had been burnished to a high degree,and he found himself a dazzling sight indeed when he looked into thesupply-room mirror. This effect was enhanced no end when he buckled onhis chrome-plated scabbard and red-hilted sword and hung hissnow-white shield around his neck. His polished spear, when he stoodit beside him, was almost anticlimactic. It shouldn't have been. Itwas a good three and one-half inches in diameter at the base, and itwas as tall as a young flagpole.

  As he stood there looking at his reflection, the red cross in thecenter of the shield took on the hue of freshly-shed blood. Theperiod-piece expert who had designed the shield had insisted on theillusion, saying that it made for greater authenticity, and Malloryhadn't argued with him. He was glad now that he hadn't. Raising thevisor of his helmet, he winked at himself and said, "I hereby christenye 'Sir Galahad'."

  Next, he bethought himself of his steed. Armor clanking, he left thesupply room and walked down the short passage to the rec-hall. Therec-hall occupied the entire forward section of the TSB and had beendesigned solely for the benefit of the time-tourists whom Malloryregularly conducted on past-tours as a cover-up for the illegalactivities which he pursued in between trips. In the present instance,however, the hall went quite well with the _Yore's_ lumillusionedexterior, possessing, with its gallery-like mezzanine, its long snacktable, and its imitation flagstone flooring, an early sixth-centuryaspect of its own--an aspect marred only slightly by the"anachronistic" telewindows inset at regular intervals along thewalls.

  Mallory's steed stood in a stall-like enclosure that was formed by thetourist-bar and one of the walls, and it was a splendid "beast"indeed--as splendid a one as the twenty-second century roboticsindustry was capable of creating. Originally, Mallory had planned onbringing a real horse with him, but as this would have necessitatedhis having to learn how to ride, he had decided against it. Thedecision had been a wise one: "Easy Money" looked more like a horsethan most real horses did, could travel twice as fast, and was as easyto ride and to maneuver as a golp jetney. It was light-brown in colorwith a white diamond on its forehead, it was equipped with a secretcroup-compartment and an inbuilt saddle, and its fetlock-lengthtrappings were made of genuine synthisilk threaded with gold. It woreno armor--it did not need to: weapons manufactured during the Age ofChivalry could no more penetrate its "hide" than a tooth pick could.

  _Come on, Easy Money_, Mallory encephalopathed. _You and I have alittle job to do._

  The rohorse emitted several realistic whinnies, backed out of its"stall", trotted smartly over to his side, and nuzzled his rightpauldron. Mallory mounted--not gracefully, it is true, but at leastwithout the aid of the winch he would have needed if his armor hadbeen manufactured in the sixth century--and inserted the red pommel ofhis spear in the stirrup socket. Then, activating the _Yore's_ lock,he rode across the imaginary drawbridge that spanned the mirage-moat,and set forth into the forest. As the "portcullis" closed behind him,symbolically bringing phase one of Operation Sangraal to a close, hethought of Jason Perfidion.

  * * * * *

  Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall fireplace inthe big balconied room, Perfidion said, "Mallory, you're wasting yourtime. Worse, you're wasting mine."

  The room climaxed a vertical series of slightly less sumptuouschambers known collectively as the Perfidion Tower, and the PerfidionTower stood with a score of balconied brothers on a blacktop island inthe exact center of Kansas' largest golp course. A short distance fromthe fraternal gathering stood yet another tower--the false tower intowhich Mallory had lumillusioned his TSB upon his arrival. On the GolpTerrace, as the blacktop island was called, everyone and everythingconformed--or else.

  The room itself was known to time-thieves as "Perfidion's Lair". And yetthere was nothing about Jason Perfidion--nothing physical, that is--thatsuggested the predator. He was Mallory's age--thirty-three--tall, dark ofhair, and strikingly handsome. He looked like--and was--a highlysuccessful businessman with a triplex on Get-Rich-Quick Street, and hegave the impression that he was as honest as the day was long. Just thesame, the predator was there, and if you were alert enough you couldsometimes glimpse it peering out through the smoky windowpanes of hiseyes.

  It wasn't peering out now, though. It was sleeping. However, it wasdue to wake up any second. "Then you're not interested in fencing theHoly Grail?" Mallory asked.

  Annoyance intensified the slight swarthiness of Perfidion's cheeks."Mallory, you know as well as I do that the Grail never reallyexisted, that it was nothing more than the mead-inspired daydream of abunch of quixotic knights. So go and get your hair cut and forgetabout it."

  "But suppose it _did_ exist," Mallory insisted. "Suppose, tomorrowafternoon at this time, I were to come in here and set it down on thisdesk here? How much could you get for it?"

  Perfidion laughed. "How much _couldn't_ I get for it! Why, withouteven stopping to think I can name you a dozen collectors who'd givetheir right arm for it."

  "I'm not interested in right arms,"
Mallory said. "I'm interested indollars. How many Kennedees could you get for it?"

  "A megamillion--maybe more. More than enough, certainly, to permit youto retire from time-lifting and to take up residence on Get-Rich-QuickStreet. But it doesn't exist, and it never did, so get out of here,Mallory, and stop squandering my valuable time."

  Mallory withdrew a small stereophoto from his breast pocket andtossed it on the desk. "Have a look at that first--then I'll go," hesaid.

  Perfidion picked up the photo. "An ordinary enough yellow bowl," hebegan, and stopped. Suddenly he gasped, and jabbed one of the manybuttons that patterned his desktop. Seconds later, a svelte blondewhom Mallory had never seen before stepped out of the lift tube. Likemost general-purpose secretaries, she wore a maximum of makeup and aminimum of clothing, and moved in an