Sir Gawain and the Green Thumb

By Beka Gremikova

“This baby’s got zip!” The salesman leaned against the bright green lawnmower, flashing me a brilliant smile. “Gringolet here will cut your mowing time in half, Sir Gawain. You’ll be the Green Thumb of Camelot.”

I’d just been promoted into the Green Thumbs—otherwise known as the Knights of the Front Lawn—a prestigious circle of gardeners tasked with making Camelot’s gardens as beautiful as possible. And I wanted my introduction into the ranks to make such a big to-do that I’d be appointed Head Gardener of Avalon one day.

“I’ll take him!” I couldn’t wait to see Lancelot’s face when he saw this contraption. I clambered onto the leather seat, admiring the crisp emerald paint. Gringolet was shinier than a new suit of armor—or even Excalibur, fresh from Lady Nimuë herself!

I paid the salesman and drove Gringolet through the city right up to the castle. Decorative hedges, flowerbeds, and saplings filled the huge front lawn.

Merlin waited for me at the gate, his Head Gardener robes embroidered with pictures of trees and flowers. He looked like a walking advertisement for the forest of Brocéliande. His eyes fell on the mower and bugged. “What in the Stone is that?”

“This is Gringolet.” I patted the hood. “Sharpest blades in Camelot.”

“Gawain!” Merlin’s face mottled like overripe broccoli, the usual reaction when he got mad. Just another perk of being a Head Gardener to go along with his literal green thumb.

“What?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the steering wheel. “Merlin, other nations are going to think Camelot’s run by stodgy old men when they see us using push-mowers!” Well, Merlin was a stodgy old man, to be honest, but King Arthur was still in his prime. “And they may not want to trade with us!” I didn’t know if this was true, but it sounded true.

Merlin’s lips thinned, and he pinched his brow. “Fine, Gawain, try it out. But for goodness’ sake, be careful of the saplings!” He poked his green thumb at the young trees—reminiscent of sticklike squires—that fought for dominion of the front garden. “King Arthur rather values his… shrubbery, and there are some very expensive, foreign trees around! We haven’t had the chance to tag them all just yet.”

“And it took me months to plant them after the Questing Beast destroyed our last batch,” Lancelot added, passing by with his arms full of sod. His gaze fell on Gringolet, and his jaw dropped. “Is that—”

“An experiment only,” Merlin interrupted, waving his hand in Lancelot’s face. “Don’t get your hopes up.” As Lancelot sighed and continued down the path, Merlin muttered, “Ugh. Knights and their shiny toys.” He shook his head. “All right, Gawain, get to it.”

The afternoon started off like a dream. Gringolet cut grass as though he’d been born with the strength of a thousand push-mowers. I guided him around trees and flowerbeds, reveling in his rumbling strength as he chopped blade after blade. First lawn, Camelot—next, Avalawn!

Then, under the rumbling of Gringolet, I heard and felt the faintest, most gruesome snap, accompanied by that slight bump where there shouldn’t have been a bump.

I brought Gringolet to a halt and leapt off. Behind me lay the remains of a sapling, its trunk and branches snapped by blades as sharp as the Questing Beast’s fangs. The young, tender leaves seemed to glower at me.

I blinked back a swarm of black spots. Calm down. Maybe this isn’t one of the king’s prized saplings!

Nearby, Ragnelle, one of Camelot’s many hedge-witches, pruned a hedgerow. I ran over to her, tugging on her sleeve.

Sighing, she lowered her shears. “Yes, Gawain?”

“You’re a hedge-witch, so you’re like a plant doctor, right? You know, hedge-witch, witch doctor?” Somewhere in my mind, it made sense.

She stared at me. “I don’t heal plants, if that’s what you’re asking.” She raised her shears, snipping them threateningly. “Plants cower in fear whenever I walk by.”

I rolled my eyes and dragged her over to the fallen sapling. “What kind of tree is this?”

She pursed her lips, ran her finger over a leaf, and inspected the soft gray bark. Then she sat back on her heels, shaking her head. “Only you would run over a nimuë sapling.”

Why’d that name sound familiar? Nimuë …

Nimuë!

I groaned. “You don’t mean…”

She stood, patting my shoulder. “A celebration gift to the king and queen from the Lady of the Lake herself. One of the most expensive trees in Camelot. There are only three planted on the castle grounds, you know.”

And I’d just destroyed one of them!

“Maybe nobody will notice!” I hurried after her as she returned to her hedgerow, as if Ragnelle with her pruning shears could protect me from—

“Gawain!” Merlin appeared, his thin, haggard face as vivid as a bursting pea-pod.

Ragnelle’s lips twitched, the traitor.

I swallowed. “Yes, Merlin?”

He shot a finger behind him, toward Gringolet and the fallen sapling. “No more,” he said in a strangled voice. “When I came to tag the last nimuë sapling—” He covered his face. “Do you know what I found?”

“Absolute destruction and utter disrespect for Nimuë’s gift to the king and queen,” Ragnelle said, cheerfully unhelpful.

I glared at her.

“And King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were with me!” Merlin hissed, grabbing my tunic. “I thought Arthur was going to set Morgan le Fay after me!”

“She gets things done,” Ragnelle commented.

“Push-mowers only from now on,” Merlin screeched. “And instead of jailing you as you deserve, you destructive little cretin, the king has decided you shall plant one hundred oak saplings. And I’m confiscating this beast.” Merlin waved his hand, and Gringolet rumbled off on his own. Merlin followed behind, muttering about society’s inability to tree-hug.

Ragnelle grinned at me. “Thanks, Gawain! If you hadn’t gotten into trouble, I was next on the tree-planting list.”

So much for being a Green Thumb.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Beka Gremikova writes and dreams from the Ottawa Valley, Ontario, Canada. An avid explorer of folklore and myth, she loves twisting both well-known and little-known fairytales. Her writing has been included in Bingeworthy, A Kind of Death from Uncommon Universes Press and the Faces to the Sun collection edited by S.J. Blasko. When she’s not travelling, writing, drawing, or watching anime, she can be found curled up in a corner with a mystery novel.

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