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cut it out or she’ll come after you with a can opener.”
    The second knight, now identified as Benny, sat up and pulled off his helmet. His beard was wild and bushy, and his mustache hung down over his lips. His thick reddish orange hair stuck up in tufts. His face, like Anderson’s, was red. “My apologies, milady,” he said between gasps. “I haven’t seen this smarmy bastard in three months.”
    I crossed my arms and waited as the two struggled to their feet. “If you have a dispute to settle, then take it outside. This is not Bosworth Field.” I grimaced as I looked at the overturned rack and scattered books.
    Anderson draped his arm over Benny’s shoulder. “You’ll have to forgive Sir Kenneth of Gweek. He can be overly exuberant.”
    “So I noticed,” I said, unappeased.
    “I’m sorry if I alarmed you,” Benny said as he righted the rack and began to gather up books. Each time he bent over, his armor creaked. “My company sent me overseas, and I just got back yesterday. Duke Pumpernickel here is my best friend. It was just my little way of letting him know I was back.”
    Anderson kicked Benny’s backside, but without enough force to knock him down. “Benny’s a crude, lice-ridden Viking. He should be locked up, but not in a petting zoo. He spits and slobbers, and is capable of biting off some little tyke’s finger.”
    “Perhaps, but I do not sweat like a pig, and stink like a sty.”
    “Ah, but the vile miasma of your breath has put many a comely wench on the floor.”
    “Or on my bed, her lips moist and her eyes glittering with lust. Speaking of such, how is the Duchess of Glenbarrens? Did she pine in my absence?”
    “I’m sure she would have if she’d noticed it.” Anderson laughed, but with an edge of hostility. “Why don’t you come over later and tell us about your trip?”
    “Lanya’s already invited me to dinner,” said Benny. “She called this morning to make sure I was back and willing to participate in the demo. She wanted me to surprise you, so she had to cut short the call when you blundered in.” He put the last of the paperbacks on the rack and nodded at me. “My apologies, milady. I would be delighted if you would allow me to make it up to you in a more intimate setting. My abode is humble, but I can offer a bottle of wine, candles, a simple meal-”
    “Sorry, but I’m not available,” I said.
    Anderson thumped his fellow warrior. “C’mon, Benny. Let’s go beat each other’s brains out. Loser supplies the wine tonight.”
    Benny gave me a forlorn look as he waited while Anderson put on his helmet, and then followed him outside. I took a moment to catch my breath. A bull in a china shop could not rival what had seemed like a herd of buffalos in a bookstore. That, along with Edward Cobbinwood’s extraordinary compulsion to confide in me, was more than enough to give me the stirrings of a headache. I wished I could close the bookstore for the rest of the day, but I couldn’t lock the door until the wires were unplugged and the sound system removed—or brought inside to be stashed in a corner until the next debacle. And then the next, and so forth until the weekend of the Renaissance Fair arrived.
    I went into the office and started searching through desk drawers for a bottle of aspirin. Ignoring the withered corpses of moths and beetles, I finally found the bottle, poured myself a cup of coffee, gulped down a couple of tablets, and settled down in the chair, resigned to wait. From the portico, I could hear Edward’s voice and the appreciative laughter and bouts of applause from what sounded like a decent-sized crowd of spectators. The specter of blood and violence would undoubtedly draw even more of them. I could only hope I would not be held accountable if traffic backed up in both directions.
    And I could only hope that Edward Cobbinwood was not the product of a relationship in which Carlton had engaged before he met me. Carlton had lived in California