Holding Court by K.C. Held

I am, but all he says is, “You’re right, Your Majesty. There’s no sign of a body in there.”
    King Henry looks pissed. “Mistress Verity, please report to the Great Wardrobe to turn in your costume. And get that arm taken care of. When you are finished please come to my study.”
    “Yes, sir,” I say.
    “I will deal with this,” he says to Grayson and Drew, then he reaches out and yanks the ax out of the armored glove. “In the meantime, this passageway is off-limits. Understood?”
    We all nod, and King Henry waves the ax at us. “Off with you now. And not a word of this to anyone.”
    Everyone nods again, but if King Henry thinks no one’s going to hear about my dead body hallucination, he’s crazier than the Mad Maid of Kent.

    A s I round the corner to the Great Wardrobe I run smack into Floyd “the Keeper” Bean.
    “Well, hullo, Mistress Verity,” he says, “or should I say, Sister Elizabeth?”
    “Uh, hi,” I say and try to step around him.
    “I hear you’re the new psychic nun. Have you a premonition for the Keeper?”
    “What? No. Sorry. Listen, I need to get changed and—”
    “Why so hot and bothered, Sister?”
    Um, ew. “You know, you’re really good at that leering thing. Is that part of your character description or is that your own personal touch? It’s very charming in an I’m-a-voyeuristic-taxidermist-loner kind of way,” I say because it’s much easier to be irritated by Floyd at the moment than it is to think about the dead body I may or may not have just imagined.
    “Ah, a feisty one. I like it.”
    Oh, please. “Yeah, well, don’t get too attached. I’m probably about to get fired. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I push past him and make a break for the door of the Great Wardrobe.
    “I’ll be watching you, Sister. That’s the Keeper’s job, you know,” Floyd calls after me as I duck through the door.
    Geoffrey looks up as I enter the shop. “Is everything all right out there?” he asks, “I thought I heard some sort of commotion in the hallway.”
    “Yeah, I, uh, I thought I saw something but it was nothing. Everything’s fine.” I grab my clothes from my cubby and make a beeline for one of the dressing rooms.
    “What did you think you saw?” Geoffrey asks as he follows me over to the dressing room.
    “I wish I knew,” I say as I pull the curtain shut in his face.
    I wrestle with the pins holding on my veil, then strip off the rest of my Maid of Kent outfit and pull on my polka-dot dress, careful not to get any blood on my clothes. When I come back out Geoffrey is still standing right outside the dressing room.
    “Uh, hi,” I say.
    “You’re bleeding.”
    “Yeah, do you have any Band-Aids?”
    Geoffrey retrieves a first aid kit from one of the cupboards and hands it to me. “Blood is very difficult to remove from linen,” he says.
    “Yeah, sorry about that.” I hand him the wad of nun clothes. “Hopefully it’s only on the sleeve of the nightgown thingy and not the dress, too.”
    “Habit.”
    “Pardon?”
    “It’s called a habit. The garment worn by the Holy Maid of Kent. There’s the habit, and attached to that is the scapular. Underneath it you wear a shift and on your head you wear a wimple and a veil.”
    “Good to know,” I say, but he just stands there looking down at the wad of clothes in his arms while I clean the blood off my arm and slap a giant Band-Aid on my elbow.
    “King Henry is very particular about these things. Everything must be historically accurate down to the smallest detail.”
    “Yeah, well, right now King Henry is waiting for me in his study, so I’d better get a move on.”
    “Yes, of course. Mustn’t keep His Majesty waiting. You know what happens to those who displease Henry VIII.” He smiles, so I’m pretty sure it’s meant as a joke, but I’m too fresh from my dead body experience to find it the least bit amusing.
    As I’m climbing the stairs to the second floor, I think about the fact that King