Sir Quirkles

By TJ Davis

Sir Quirkles was the laziest of King Arthur's knights, and this tale follows his strange journey to find a quest worth fighting for. With his unfortunate steed, Valentino, and his only friend, Sir Lanval, Quirkles must find out what it means to be a knight. It's Monty Python meets Game of Thrones in this dark comedy about the days of chivalry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TJ Davis
• Release date: Aug 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310564291

TJ Davis

TJ Davis is an international teacher from Minnesota. His published writing includes five collections of short stories, two novellas, and a travel memoir about his three years living in Myanmar. His short story “Itchy” finished in the top 16 of the Discovery Channel’s “How Stuff Works Halloween Fiction Contest.” His works have also been included in the Chicago Center of Literature and Photography and Moloko House. He currently lives in Sofia, Bulgaria.

Book preview

Sir Quirkles

by TJ Davis

Copyright 2015 TJ Davis

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Chapter 1

Sir Quirkles sat at the Round Table, moving the bloody mutton around his plate with a knife.

This is preposterous! You have been here for almost a year, and you have yet to go on a quest, Arthur bellowed from his side of the table. It was the Round Table, a symbol of equality and shared leadership, but Arthur always had his back closest to the fire. Sir Quirkles’ seat was nearest the door. The table was large enough to seat two score in the massive stone hall. Imagine how cold it was on the side opposite that massive hearth while winter still held dominion in early March.

He did save the children from the fire, Lancelot offered. For the story goes that it was this brave act that allowed Quirkles to become Sir Quirkles. However, Lancelot wasn’t standing up for Sir Quirkles’ sake. He just enjoyed being contrarian to Arthur. Queen Guinevere’s eyes slid from Arthur’s crown to Lancelot’s calloused hands and finally rested on Quirkles’ miserable expression. And what a morose expression it was! The Knights of the Round Table whispered predictions to one another of how Sir Quirkles might fare in this long overdue conversation.

Yes, the infamous fire back in his hometown. What was the name of your little hamlet? the bushy-browed Sir Gawain asked.

Hamlet, Sir Quirkles said.

Yes, that’s what I asked. What is the name of your hamlet? Gawain prodded.

'Tis Hamlet, Sir Gawain. The town’s name is Hamlet.

A hamlet named Hamlet? asked Dagonet, the king’s fool. Do the families there christen their father’s Father and name their daughters Daughter? The fool stepped away from his warm perch by the fire, seeking to add some levity to the tense situation. His colorful costume topsied and turvied through air thick with cooked meat odors. As he passed Sir Lancelot, he stopped and cupped Lancelot’s crotch. If you were from Hamlet, perhaps would still be called Lancelot, aye?

Lancelot was paralyzed for a moment, but he slowly wrapped his gigantic hand around the fool’s wrist and removed it from his midsection. His cyan eyes burrowed into Dagonet’s wide brown ones, which never ceased to twinkle their satire. Lancelot must have been squeezing because the fool yelped and tucked his hands under his neck. Sir Quirkles felt sorry for Dagonet’s pain. The fool had been one of the few members of the court to treat Quirkles like the more established knights. And though this meant being treated with equal derision, it was equality nonetheless. The fair-haired Quirkles was not enjoying these questions about his past. He liked Camelot very much, and he wished to stay as long as possible. King Arthur would not abide this. Knights should go on quests.

Sir Quirkles, my boy, Arthur addressed in his most fatherly tone before turning to Merlin, his trusted advisor. Is there not anyone waiting at court for the assistance of a knight?

I’m afraid not, your highness, Merlin replied. Your countrymen appear to be free from injustice. No one has come to Camelot to seek aid for weeks. The old, white-haired wizard was right, a rare derivation from his usual incompetence. For the life of them, none of the knights understood why Arthur put up with the ancient, longhaired, no-good, conniving, cruel, rapacious, and fetid-smelling Merlin. But none could deny that Merlin was the man responsible for Arthur being born. The story goes that the wily Merlin snuck Arthur’s father, Uther, into the castle of Tintagel to seduce the beautiful Igraine. It was there that Merlin disguised Uther as Igraine’s husband. The loyal wife, none the wiser, had enthusiastically embraced the imposter and conceived Arthur. That very night, Igraine’s actual husband was killed in battle, and Uther did what any honorable rapist would do: he married Igraine. Merlin’s price for assisting Uther was a strange one. He wanted to be the guardian of the boy that Uther sired during the clever ruse.

Well, there must be some way that you can help the kingdom, Sir Quirkles, Arthur said. Whom do you wish to serve?

I wish to serve you, sire, Sir Quirkles mumbled from across the table.

Well, I’m telling you to get out and do something. You’ve been here nine months, and everyone else has been on quests far and wide. Sir Galahad searched for the Holy Grail in Persia, my cousin Sir Gawain saved a small fishing village from a sea monster, Sir Lancelot caught three horse thieves and slew two of them—

All three, Lancelot corrected.

Even better! Arthur said, raising his hands in exasperation. He slammed his kingly elbows on the table and pointed a battle-worn finger at Sir Quirkles’ woefully unscarred face. You will leave today. I would figure out where you’re going if I were you. Merlin? Ready his horse.

It will be done! the snowy-haired sorcerer announced with flair. He threw some magic dust into the billowing fire, causing a popping explosion that filled the room with smoke. Yet even through the coughing smoke, everyone could see that Merlin had not actually disappeared but merely hobbled out the door during