“Never,” Lancelot told Vera when she’d asked. “We’ve never done anything like this, which, obviously, was madness.” He gestured at the growing crowd. Nearly everyone not actively watching nor participating in the joust had gathered for the inaugural Tournament of the People (that’s what Lancelot called it). He hopped up on the pit wall and shouted with impressive bravado. “Gather ‘round, good people of Camelot and travelers from hill and valley of our great kingdom!”
“Ooh, very nice,” Vera murmured from his side.
He glanced down at her in satisfaction. “Good, right?” he said quietly.
“Hear ye, now! I present to you a game not for the likes of those skilled on a horse nor with a sword: a game for all. A game that will test the skill of your eye at reading the face in front of you, a game that will tire your hands and excite your hearts.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “A game that, ultimately, can only be determined by fate.”
“All right, get on with it,” Vera said.
Obligingly, he did. In the same dramatic manner, he told the game’s rules: that they’d play “matches” of three games for each opponent, and he added rules that Vera hadn’t taught him. “You must show your selection on the fourth slap of your hand. You’ll receive one in-good-faith warning, but after that,” he pointed emphatically in the air and paused for a breath, “your opponent wins that game.” As he wrapped up, he reviewed the rules with the crowd’s help. “Is this paper?” Lancelot cried, holding his flat hand turned on its side with the fingers atop one another.
“No!” the crowd shouted in unison. Vera chortled into her hands.
“Is this paper?” He corrected his hand, flattening it out in front of him.
“Yes!” they cried.
Lancelot thrust his fist into the air and pronounced the tournament’s official start.
“Uh oh.” He hopped down from the wall.
“What?”
“Merlin,” he said, looking pointedly over Vera’s shoulder.
She heard him before she turned around to see him.
“What are you doing?” He held his face carefully taut, though a vein pulsed in his forehead.
“Playing a game,” Lancelot said, as if it were obvious. “Guinna taught me.”
Merlin pointed stiffly at the match playing out behind them. “That is not a game from our time, and you’ve taught everyone. You cannot do that. You can’t make up your own rules!”
“Oh, I see,” Vera said. “You’re the only one allowed to do that.”
He glowered at her as Lancelot, without so much as a glance in her direction, held his hand up to the side for a high five. Vera grinned and slapped it. Merlin visibly seethed.
“Aw, come now, Merlin. There’s no harm in it.” Lancelot gave Merlin’s shoulder a companionable squeeze. “I’ve actually got you slotted to play in the tournament, and you get a pass this round. What do you say? Automatically compete in round two?”
He huffed, fixing Vera with a disappointed shake of his head, but he gave up on arguing.
“Poor Merlin.” Lancelot sighed as the mage strode away. “Between the two of us, we’ll be the death of him. I’m sure of it.”
Vera might have felt guilty that they’d ganged up on him if she hadn’t just learned of his damn potions. He deserved more than a little social discomfort. But Merlin surprised her and actually showed up to play his round. When he won the first two games of three, taking the match, Vera thought she saw the flicker of a smile as the spectators cheered their mage on with pride.
Lancelot intervened during match disputes when someone threw their pick at the wrong time or hesitated too long. He kept it light and kept Vera laughing.
“Now, now, now, wait a minute!” He charged in as some folks in the crowd grew heated at perceived cheating. “We, the convened, have a duty, nay—a responsibility to uphold the honor of this prestigious tournament. Are we without compassion?”
They all chorused a resounding no.
“Nay! We are not. As was discussed, we will give one warning.” Lancelot turned to the accused party. “All right, a reminder, lad: rock, paper, scissors, and then show your choice.”
The jousting finished before the rock, paper, scissors tournament, and all the knights and soldiers came to cheer on whoever remained in the game, throwing their support behind who was most local to their towns. They cheered loudly at victory and groaned when defeat came.
Merlin was the clear crowd favorite and progressed all the way to the final match before he was beaten in the third bout by a sweet elderly woman from out of town. He laughed, something Vera had never seen, and hugged the woman in congratulations. Percival, the joust’s winner, rushed to Vera’s side and pushed his prize, a golden peacock statue, into her hands with a glance at the woman.
“Are you sure?” she had to yell to be heard over the roar of the crowd. He nodded.
