My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

The only thing I can remember from the journey from my house to Rudy's shop was that the car was laden with a fresh minty smell and that the driver didn't say a single word to me from point A to B.

Impeccable five-star customer service if you ask just about anyone, and I made sure to reward him as such—plus a hefty tip. Given how peachy the morning started off for me, you bet I'm feeling extra philanthropic today.

Rudy was there to meet me by the entrance, lazing on the left of a pair of rickety plastic chairs propped up against the entrance, soot-coated fingers hanging on the handle of a steaming mug. Going by the barren state of his lot and the shutters to his shop hanging only half-open, actual business hours were still a good while away.

He saw me approaching and stood up quick, the wrinkles forming on his kind expression bearing the signs of good news.

"Morning!" He greeted me with a hearty smile and a wheezy chuckle. "I see you didn't waste any time getting here. I don't usually expect customers until around 9."

"Told me to come as soon as possible," I said. "But waiting's no problem if I'm not allowed in yet. I'll just lap around the block a couple of times 'till you give the all clear."

"Like hell," Rudy said, lifting the shutters a little higher and ducking beneath them. "C'mon, in you go. Your ride's waiting for you."

I clambered on in. The vast quiet of the interior echoed with clicks as Rudy flicked on a couple of switches on the wall. The flicker of fluorescent lamps filled the shop with light and amidst all the heavy-looking equipment and vehicles in disrepair, I spotted my bike standing new and whole in a place for itself.

"Wow," I heard my voice slip out of me, beelining for a closer inspection. "It looks… it looks a little different… shinier think?"

The weathered handlebars were outfitted with a fresher grip. Grooves and nicks that used to line the windshield had all vanished. The paint gleamed, and the metal parts reflected. I held my breath, twisted the ignition, and felt my heart swell tenfold with the mighty rattle and roar of new life from the engine.

"Might've taken some liberties here or there," Rudy said. "Spruced up a few things, replaced some others… nothing too major. And before you ask—nope, at no extra cost either."

At this point, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face even if I tried welding it shut. "Seriously? You're joking."

"Had Derrick do all the refurbishments himself. He needed practice and your bike happened to be the perfect specimen… so we can just scrub it clean as a learning write-off. Win-win for both of us."

I revved the engine again, hearing its promises of speed never-before-reached heightened my urge to go blazing down the street with it right there and then. I honestly believed I'd never hear a sound from this bike again.

Hell, I still can't believe it.

"How'd you do it? Fix it?" I asked him, practically ready to kneel and prostrate myself before his apparent Godly skills.

He just chuckled again, shaking his head, and I thought that was just him downplaying his expertise—the modest, humble man he was. But no, that wasn't the case.

"I didn't fix your bike," he said. "Listen, I'm good. But I'm not that good."

Up until the time I woke up, that's exactly what I thought too. Given the underlying root of the problem, I didn't think anybody would be able to fix my bike. But then he told me it was fixed, and I thought maybe it had been a fluke—that maybe he whacked his wrench at it a couple of times and that was all it took to trump the enigma that was magic.

Now here he was saying that it wasn't a fluke. Stranger still, that he had no part in repairing it at all. So now I don't even know what to think anymore.

"One of your other employees?" I asked. "Derrick?"

"Definitely not Derrick. Though, I wish. That boy forgets more than he learns. I'd be long dead before he ever gets close to that point, but anyway—" he waved a hand, putting himself back on track. "—not an employee, but a friend. Actually, he was an employee once, a long time ago. He dropped by earlier to visit and he—"

A loud clatter from the entrance interrupted him. Someone had tried to fit under them, someone much too large and bulky to do so quietly. Glancing over, I expected to lay my eyes on a customer, an employee, or even perhaps my hero… instead it was Dad who emerged from the sun-bathed gap in the shutters.

"Michael!" Rudy shouted, beckoning him over. "Got your smokes? We were just talking about you!"

A friend? A former employee? Dad? All of a sudden, I was connecting dots I didn't even know existed.

"The shop around the corner's gone," Dad said, his usual low voice amplified in the ample space. "Didn't get a thing."

"The corner shop? You talking about that one? Shit, what decade are you still living in? That place's been closed for ten years." Rudy then turned back to me, his smile wide with fondness and reverence. It was like the old man before me had become a few decades younger. "Anyway, that's him. The man that fixed your bike. He's something else, let me tell you. And so if anyone's gonna charge you for repairs, it's gonna be him."

Before I could speak up and clarify the absolute obvious, Dad came up and beat me to the punch.

"Not charging anybody, not him especially," he said, noting my dumbfounded expression with the briefest look. "He's my son."

It was Rudy's turn to have some truck-sized revelations come barrelling through his senses. The old man whipped his head around between us both, and I could almost hear the brittle creak in his neck.

"Wait," Rudy stepped back from me, eyes wide as if only now seeing me for the first time. "Hold on, hold on, you're Michael's son?!"

"Yeah," I said.

"That right?" He continued to gape, to gawk, shaking his head in utter disbelief. "Is that right? That really so?"

"Rudy, I told you I had a son, didn't I?" Dad said to him. "And a daughter. You don't remember?"

"Oh, but you didn't think to mention that it was your son's bike you were fixing up?" Rudy said, circling me now like a vulture on the prowl. "Shit, now I'm starting to see the resemblance. He's a younger you! And that's really saying something, considering you didn't seem to age a day in your life since the last time we saw each other. Shit, how old are you supposed to be anyway?"

"Old," Dad answered. "I just don't look the part. So I've been told."

"No, you definitely do not," Rudy threw me a quick smirk. "You got some good genes on you, kid. Gonna be looking just as fine as your old man when you're his age.

Yeah, in like a couple hundred or so years give or take.

"You know, I was probably around your age when I first met your father," He said, continuing to just observe me. "How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-five as of this morning, actually," I said.

"This morning? It's your birthday today?" Rudy let out a little gasp. "The surprises just keep on coming! Happy birthday! Damn, what a way to start!"

"You're telling me."

"It's no wonder you're in town," Rudy said, swiveling around toward Dad. "Here to celebrate your boy's special day?"

"I heard from your mother you were having trouble with your bike," Dad said, stepping a little closer. "Had a hunch it might be here, so I came to check for myself."

"And got it up and running like it was no problem at all!" Rudy exclaimed, giving my shoulder a little jovial nudge. "Best dad ever, huh?"

I had so many things I wanted to say, to ask. But within present company, all I could do was share the same cheery smile and laugh. And just one look at Dad, the way we met each other stares, it was clear as day to me I wasn't the only one here holding back their tongue.

Thankfully, right at that moment, Rudy's pocket began to rumble and ring. He fished out his phone, squinted at his screen, and promptly deflated like a balloon, his smile shriveling with a sigh.

"Trouble?" Dad inquired.

"Just business," Rudy waved him off. "A car won't start again. Derrick's client. Important client. Gonna have to send him back again. I swear, that boy…"

"We all make mistakes, Rudy," Dad said.

"Yeah, don't I know it," He muttered. "Welp, I'm gonna need to make some calls. If you would excuse me…"

The both of us stared as Rudy walked off, watched, waited for the moment he was out of earshot, and the second he was—it was Dad who turned to address me first.

"How's it feel?" He asked, flicking a quick finger at my bike. "Better?"

"As opposed to what? Dead and rusting?" I gave the handle another rev, feeling the intensity of it coursing through my arm. "It's like it's brand new."

"Good. I'm glad."

And that was that. As if that was all he wanted to know from me and nothing else. I half-expected him to start walking off into the sunrise like the ending to some western.

Or perhaps he was just waiting for me to continue. In which case…

"So, you were a mechanic here?"

"A long time ago," he said.

"How long ago?" I continued on. "Before becoming a farmer? After joining the mob?"

"Before all of that. Like I said, a long time ago. When your mother and I first got here."

"Why keep that a secret?"

"It was never a secret," he said. "It was just never relevant."

In the same vein Kronocia wasn't, I suppose. Like his secret mob ties weren't. All essentially nonexistent until I inadvertently stumbled upon them, that is. At least this one turned out for the better. So that's something.

"Mom said the reason my bike won't work is because I tainted it with her magic—my magic," I said. "She made it sound like it was unsalvageable."

"Usually is," he said, laying a hand on my bike. "But I have plenty of experience picking up after her. This is nothing new. Just be more careful."

"For good measure, why not just teach me what you did? Seems like it'd be a convenient skill to have."

"Can't," he simply said. "Your magic's not meant for that."

I wasn't exactly sure how I was supposed to interpret that. Not meant for what? Cleansing? Fixing? Saving? He meant nothing by it, I'm sure. I just wish I did the same.

"How's Samantha?" Dad asked.

"Fine," I said at first, before quickly remembering what she had told me yesterday. "Sammy mentioned you were acting weird lately."

"Weird?" He pondered for a moment. "I'm weird?"

In more ways than I could ever describe, Dad. But of course, I'm not gonna say that.

"That night over at Amanda's…" I slowly said, trying to be tactful. "...I hope you're feeling okay after that."

"You mean Asteria."

Well, there goes tact.

"After seeing that, I don't know… maybe… maybe you might be regretting a couple of things," I said. "Are you?"

"Your mother said the same thing."

"She did?"

"Not like you did, not upfront," he elaborated further. "But I knew what she meant. You know how she is."

Yes, I do indeed.

"So what did you tell her?"

"Nothing yet," He paused, breathed, and I felt his presence, the usual unwavering strength in his demeanor slightly falter. "Not until I'm sure."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I'm still in the middle of sorting it out," he told me, meeting my eyes again, a hint of vulnerability exposed in his steely gaze. "And I need your help to do that."

"My help?" I repeated.

"Yes."

My mind was whirling, but it was all just empty air, empty thoughts. Just a big swirl of nothing because I hadn't the foggiest clue how I was supposed to help him in any way... or if I even could. Nevertheless, I wasn't about to reject him.

"I'm listening."

And in the brief instant before he even spoke, I was already filling his mouth with all sorts of requests he might ask. Maybe he'd want to see a bit more of Asteria, or perhaps he just wanted an ear, my ear, to hear him out. He's always kept to himself, maybe he just wanted to ramble—lay it all out there for the world to hear.

"What's her name again?" Dad asked, his gaze straining slightly at the edge of recollection. "Your girlfriend..."

Was I right?

"You mean Amanda?" I asked.

"No," he shook his head. "The other one."

"Ash?"

Again, I got it wrong. "Not her. Not the Matriach either."

And at the sound of that, the correct answer shot up at the tip of my tongue immediately. At the same time, I felt a tug in my gut pulling down, pulling heavily—a bad feeling basically.

"Irene..." I said a little quieter.

"Yes, her," Dad nodded back. "You mentioned before she wasn't interested in meeting me, if I remember."

"That hasn't changed, Dad," I reminded him.

"Well, I'm interested," He told me. "Do you think you could make it happen?"