1 Chapter 1

“We’re closed!” Harry Pettit shouted, although his words were drowned out by Rodolfo singing to Mimi of his life as a poet. Listening to La Bohèmewas Harry’s only concession to it being Christmas Eve. That and three large glasses of mulled wine.

In a quieter passage Harry heard the knocking again. “Can’t you read? The sign says closed until the twenty-seventh!” Who the hell needs a box of screws or a hammer on Christmas Eve? But the knocking at the door to the hardware shop continued.

Harry threw down his pen in disgust. No matter how long he stared at his accounts, he couldn’t make the things balance. And he didn’t think the mulled wine had anything to do with it. Give him a set of blueprints or even a rough sketch and he could instantly see what tools and materials were needed to complete the task, but figures were beyond him. “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” he yelled, getting to his feet and walking into the darkened shop.

The knocking ceased as Harry approached the door. He momentarily stopped in his tracks at what he saw through the window. A knight? He reached for the lock, turned the key, and drew back the bolt. “If this is trick or treat…you’re a couple of months too late.”

Harry couldn’t hear the knight’s response thanks to both the closed visor of the knight’s helmet and the rousing strains of the opera.

“Hang on.” Harry turned his head and yelled into the shop, “Alexa…volume three.” Turning back to his strangely-dressed visitor, he asked, “What did you say?”

“I saw your light was on and thought you might be able to help me.” The voice was muffled but understandable.

Harry then realised, too late, he’d just opened the door to a potential robber. “If you’re after the day’s takings you’re too late. I already took them to the bank’s night safe.” That wasn’t true; he had the money in a cashbox in the bottom drawer of his desk in the office.

“No, no.” The knight shook his head, causing the sound of metal scraping against metal. “I can’t get this sodding visor up. Could you help me?”

Harry felt his eyebrows rise. In the almost twenty years he’d owned Harry’s Hardware, he’d been asked for advice on some pretty weird subjects, but never to free a knight from his helmet. “Uh, you better come in I suppose.” Harry stepped back and gestured for the man to enter, which he did, remarkably quietly given how much hardware he was wearing.

“Thanks,” the man said, turning to face Harry.

“Uh, you’re welcome.” Harry closed the door and decided he ought to lock it as well. Turning back to his visitor, he asked, “Can’t you just lift the helmet off your head?”

“No, there’s a chin strap I need to undo, and I can’t get at it without lifting this bloody visor.” The man tried lifting said visor but it remained stubbornly closed.

Harry regarded the knight and his predicament. He guessed if helmets were designed to just lift off then they could come off in battle and…“Let’s have a look.”

Examining the helmet more closely, Harry saw it was well-made, probably fairly recently. Surely not many originals survived from medieval times or whenever men walked around with such things on their heads. Unfamiliar with such items, he wasn’t sure what the problem was. He regretted now not paying more attention during history at school.

“It’s not mine, the armour I mean,” the knight, or not-knight, said. “Toby leant it me so’s I could go to the fancy dress party at the Midland.”

Harry wasn’t really paying the man much attention; he was engrossed with the helmet and how it worked. And, much to his surprise, he was getting hard. He didn’t think he had a kinky bone in his body; all his sex so far, such as it was, had been strictly vanilla. But there was something about big strong knights riding on white chargers, slaying dragons, and throwing innocent virgins over their shoulders to…Harry shook his head. Maybe he shouldn’t have had that third glass

“Can you help me? I’m starting to feel claustrophobic in here.”

The man shifted, and Harry immediately thought he was about to keel over. “Here,” he took the knight’s arm, “come and sit down on this chair over here.” Once the man was settled, Harry asked, “Can I get you a glass of water or…” He realised, too late, the knight wouldn’t be able to drink it through the visor. “Sorry.”

The man must have seen the funny side because he chuckled.

Harry regarded the knight for a moment before trying to lift the visor. There was a little give but not much. He didn’t think a sharp tug would help, and it might hurt the guy.