The Knight's Tale - Prologue. Prologue

The voice crackled on the speaker. "Last call for Qantas flight 93 from Melbourne to JFK in New York City, with a stop in Los Angeles. All passengers must now be boarded. The gate is now closing."

“Wait... I’m... coming!” A passenger dashed through the terminal and arrived at the boarding station breathless.

“Just catch your breath, sir. We’ll hold the gate for a minute. Are you booked on this flight?”

“I am... thanks... and my connecting flight... in from Perth... arrived late.”

“May I see your ticket and passport, please?”

As rapidly as possible, the gate attendant made sure everything was in order and escorted the passenger to the gate, which was being held open by a clearly annoyed flight attendant.

The passenger apologized. “I’m so sorry. Only, my connection was late.”

Looking briefly at his documents, the flight attendant nodded, “I understand... Mister Rolfe. Let’s just get you on board.”

With an apologetic grin, Charles Rolfe explained, “This is what I get for living out in the woof-woof.”

“I’m sure it’s a pretty area of Australia, sir.”

“Aye, it is, but also pretty bloody remote.”

The passenger was soon seated in the business class section on the upper deck of the Airbus 380, which rolled back from the terminal only two minutes late.

Rolfe’s seat, 12B, was on the left-hand aisle, just one row away from the lounge at the front of the plane. He turned to look at the men who would be his travel companions for the next 21 hours and 33 minutes, including the 50-minute layover in L.A.

The gentleman in the window seat turned and smiled at him. In an American accent he said, “You just about freakin’ made it, buddy.”

Nodding, Rolfe replied, “So I did, mate. How about you?”

“Oh, I was one of the first to board. That way, I got my glass of champagne and a couple of cookies before they cleared the cabin for take-off.”

“Damn, I could have used a drink and a bite to eat. I’ve been on a sodding plane from Perth for nearly four hours, and had to high-tail it through the whole damn airport – and I just made it as they were closing the fookin’ door.”

A guffaw from seat 12C to his right chimed in. Rolfe turned to look at a distinguished older gentleman with a bright smile.

“Sounds like you’ve had a right bugger of a day.” The accent was British. “I’m sure they’ll fit you up with a proper drink and meal as soon as we reach the top.”

Rolfe extended his hand across the aisle. “Charles Rolfe.” The Brit returned the gesture, “Harold Smith-Tawes.”

The man in 12A also extended his hand, and Rolfe turned to his left to take it. “And I’m Bill Martin. Pleased to meet you.” He leaned forward with a smile and waved at Smith-Tawes. “Pleased to meet you, too, Harold.”

After a few more pleasantries, the three settled back in their seats for the take-off and climb to cruising altitude at 35,000 feet. Soon, the flight attendants took their drink and dinner orders.

After the meal was cleared and another round of drinks provided, the flight crew dimmed the cabin lights.

Rolfe reclined his seat a bit and turned first to Martin and then to Smith-Tawes. “Well, it’s a long goddamned flight to L.A., mates. Care to chat?”

The three new friends exchanged details of their lives, homes, family, business.

As they talked, Bill Martin grinned and said, “Goddamn! What are the fucking odds that all three of us would be gay? And seated side-by-side!”

“I know that’s not on my ticket or passport – at least, it better not be!” Charles Rolfe replied.

“Oh, chaps, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, “Harold Smith-Tawes assured them.

“Pretty fucking amazing coincidence,” Martin said. Then they all fell silent.

Taking a long sip of his gin and tonic, Harold looked over toward the two men on his left. “It appears we’ve run out of small talk.”

The two men nodded in agreement.

With a sly grin, Smith-Tawes spoke, “Might I suggest we while away the dreary hours with a tall tale or two?”

“What do you mean?” Rolfe asked.

“Oh, just a story, or a fantasy, or a bit of porn we’ve heard or seen.”

Martin leaned forward, looking past Rolfe. “We’d have to keep it on the down-low, you know. Wouldn’t want the whole goddamn cabin listening in on the sordid details.”

“Quite so,” Harold replied. “Why don’t the three of us repair to the bar up front? It appears to be empty now, and it looks like most of our fellow passengers are trying to sleep.”

Agreeing, the other two men unbuckled their seat belts and all three crossed the short distance from the cabin into the lounge.

A flight attendant, whose name-tag identified him as Brent, was clearing some drinks glasses away.

“Last call, gentlemen. I’ll be heading to the rear cabin in a tick. What can I get you?”

They all ordered two drinks and Rolfe asked if they could sit in the lounge for a while.

“As long as the captain doesn’t turn the seat-belt light back on, mate, you can stay as long as you like.”

They settled into three comfortable swivel chairs around a low table.

When the attendant was gone, Bill said, “So who’ll go first?”

After a short silence, Harold Smith-Tawes spoke. “I have a tale to tell, but I won’t say if it’s true or not.”

“Is it spicy?” Bill asked hopefully.

“It gets there – by the end, and it’s very interesting along the way.”

“Then let’s have at it, old man.” Rolfe said eagerly.