Michael Thomas Jones Junior stretched as he got out of bed. He puffed his chest out and breathed in the cool crisp fall air. His belly itched slightly, and with a skritch skritch he answered its need, donned his slippers and housecoat, and went downstairs to get the Monday paper.

“Life is good” he thought, a delicious feeling of deep relaxation crept over him at the remembrance that his vacation officially started today and that he'd have a whole week to putter in the garden and sip Mai Tais on the deck.

He jumped back a bit in surprise as there came a sharp tapping upon the door, just as he had reached for the knob.

“I don't believe I'm expecting anyone, especially at this hour.” He puzzled a moment, placing his hand underneath his stubbled chin. “Perhaps it's the postman, come to deliver a package? Something from work maybe?”

There came another sharp knocking at this door, this one somewhat more insistent.

“I'd best find out what this is all about before they decide I'm not home,” he decided, and having undone the deadbolt, he opened the door.

He was, to say the least, somewhat surprised at the mustached man in a full set of knightly armor standing on his stoop. The morning sun reflected dazzingly off the raised visor of his helm as a barded white horse whiffled softly at the front gate.

“Can I...help you?”

“You can sir!” the Knight began, an ode of aristocracy creeping into his voice, “but more to the point m'lord, I suspect I can help you!”

“I'm sorry?”

The knight produced a red notepad from a leather pouch at his side. “Yes m'lord, it seems you have a level 3 princess infestation on your premises.”

“A what?”

The knight pointed upwards and Michael stepped out of his house, looking up at where he was pointing. Sure enough, a pink-frocked woman leaned out of his attic window, a diamond tiara perched atop her flowing blond locks. “Save me my noble knight! Smite that barbarian and ferry me away!”

“What? I'm no barbarian! Who are you? How did you get in my house?”

The knight interrupted his angered quizzical frustration with the raising of an chain coated hand. “Best not to dwell too much on it m'lord, with dragons so rare these days princesses are purposefully staging would-be kidnappings.”

“Why? What? But but...” Michael stuttered as a second knight rode into his front yard, trampling his petunias. This one somewhat malicious, clad from head to toe in stained black armor, a wickedly flanged mace clasped in his clawed gauntlets.

“Worry not fair maiden! I shall smite this foe!” He roared, a brutally villainous tone in his voice. He would enjoy the smiting, and Michael imagined that he, in fact, would not.

“Hold Sir Dracoverna! I was here first and am conversing with this lord.”

Michael was having a difficult time of it. “What? But? How? What do you want?
The silver-knight scribbled on this notepad with a feathered-quill before tearing off a sheet and offering it to Michael. “My rates are quite reasonable, a mere One-Hundred and Fifty dollars of your local currency and a promise that there will be no damages to yourself or your property.” He raised his hand in the face of Michael's protests, “I assure you sir, that's the most reasonable rate you'll find. Knights have been having a difficult time of it too these days, we're only able to find work as extras in movies, teaching horseback riding, and attending Renaissance fairs.

Michael looked from the black charger and it's villainous champion to the the princess in his window (who had decided now was a good time to start singing) before entering his house to fetch his chequebook. The silvered knight, “Sir Antoine des Livarne” as he introduced himself, was true to his word as he carried the musical maiden down the stairs, carefully navigating her gigantic dress to not even rub against any lamps or vases as he carried her away. With a bow and a salute he rode away down the street. The black knight having already vanished, leaving Michael's flower bed in shambles.

Michael bent down to pick up the paper, remembering his original quest. He wasn't quite sure what had happened, but he was seriously considering installing an alarm system. Maybe a moat.