Children of the Knight, Michael J. Bowler [classic book list txt] 📗

bright blue eyes fixed with wonder him.

“Chivalry,” Arthur began, “is a code of conduct which all of you shall swear to uphold should you choose to be knighted. Its primary focus be honor and serving the cause of right, protecting those who be defenseless in this world.”

“You mean like little kids?” Chris asked, sitting on the floor, as always, near Lance, who sat in a large wooden chair beside Arthur.

“Yes, Chris, like little kids.”

Chris pointed at Lance. “Then I nominate Lance for chivalry guy of the year!” He giggled delightedly, and Lance blushed.

“Here, here! We second that,” blurted Jack from across the chamber, and Mark nodded vigorously.

Now Lance looked like he wanted to sink into his chair.

Arthur chuckled, and good-natured laughter rippled through the group. “I shalt take thy suggestion under advisement, Chris,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, gazing at Lance with pride. Lance did not, however, meet his gaze.

“As thou should all by now know, Lance be my First Knight, and Liege Lord in my stead,” Arthur continued, his voice steady and serious. “Should there be a time I cannot lead, or shall be indisposed, Lance shalt assume command. Be there be any amongst you who choose to dispute this?”

“Yeah,” called out a female voice from the back. “I do.”

All heads turned to see a beautiful Latina girl stand and face Arthur. There was excited murmuring amongst the children, for no one had ever seen her before. She had long flowing hair that spilled halfway down her back, soft cheekbones, full lips presently curled into a sneer, and an athletic figure, at the moment clothed in a T-shirt and tight, hip-hugging jeans.

Enrique’s lower jaw dropped, and he elbowed Luis beside him, leaning in to whisper, “I just saw my future wife.”

“Not if I get with her first,” Luis replied, also gawking.

All eyes remained fixed on the girl, then turned to Arthur for his response.

For his part, Arthur held his composure and maintained the dignity he must if he was to command. He could not let on that she had caught him by surprise. He’d not noticed her presence.

When had she arrived?

“And thou art?” he asked calmly.

The girl tossed back her head and stood with hands on hips. “Name’s Reyna,” she said as all eyes flew back to her like flies to flypaper. “Heard about your little crew here and thought I’d check it out. See what you got going.”

Her last statement had the effect of a challenge, and all eyes returned to Arthur to gauge how he’d handle it. Lance, in particular, observed his king with keen interest.

Arthur sat very upright on his throne, one hand on Excalibur’s hilt, the other on his lap. “And your appraisal? Would thou join our cause?”

“Depends. You I could handle. You’re a man who seems to have it together. You dress kinda weird, but hey, this is LA, capital of weird.” Then she tossed a derisive sneer Lance’s way. “But you actually expect me to take orders from a boy younger and prettier than me?”

There were sniggers from the assemblage. Mark’s mouth dropped open in shock, and Jack viciously mad-dogged the girl.

“Yes, I do,” Arthur stated with finality.

All eyes returned to Reyna, who stood her ground as though she knew she could whip all these boys at once. Without another word, she snatched a bow and arrow from a startled Lavern, who’d been clasping the precious weapons ever since practice had ended. With a fluidity and grace not seen among any of the kids thus far, she slipped in the arrow, whipped the bow up to her shoulder, and aimed it right at the tunnel beside Arthur’s throne. She moved so fast no one even had a chance to breathe, let alone react. She sent the arrow flying.

Lance leaped to his feet, starting toward Arthur. But the arrow whizzed harmlessly past the king into a dark tunnel beyond. A thud and a sharp squeak emanated from the darkness, and then silence. From the sound, it was obvious that she’d killed a rat, and in the dark! Arthur was impressed, but kept his composure.

Reyna lowered the bow and turned her haughty face toward Lance.

Arthur spoke only one word: “Lance.”

Clearly rattled by the girl’s showy performance, and smarting from her insult, Lance took a moment to meet her mocking gaze before stepping down off the platform. Mark and Jack, in particular, eyed him expectantly. The crowd parted as Lance strode across the chamber to Reyna’s side and snatched the bow from her grasp. She laughed and let him have it. Glaring at her for a moment, he held his hand out to Lavern for another arrow. The small boy handed one over.

Without another word, he cocked the arrow, raised the bow, and fired in the same direction as Reyna. There was a slight sound from behind Arthur, then absolute silence.

Lance looked Arthur in the eye from across the chamber, and the king nodded. “Enrique, retrieve the dead rat, if you please.”

Enrique leapt to his feet and ran into the dark tunnel behind Arthur. In a moment he returned, carrying a dead rat.

“Hold it high for all to see,” Arthur instructed without looking. He’d trained Lance well enough. He knew what they would see.

A gasp rippled through the group as Enrique raised the dead rodent above his head. Reyna’s arrow clearly stuck out of its head. But Lance’s arrow stuck out of Reyna’s, having spilt the wood of her shaft as it struck home.

All eyes returned to Reyna and Lance, standing side by side in silence. Lance locked eyes with her. She smiled approvingly and nodded, giving him an appraising look.

“I’ll think about it,” she announced, and with a flounce was out of the chamber and gone into the darkness.

Still holding the rat, Enrique murmured, “I think I’m in love.”

Not a sound could be heard except the dripping of water somewhere off in the dark. The assemblage was stunned. Arthur met Lance’s gaze across the chamber, and grinned with pride. Lance grinned back.

That same evening as Jenny finished dinner and prepared for her nightly paper-grading ritual, she turned on the local news just to make sure the city was still there. Nowadays, with all the stupid decisions made at all levels of government, sometimes she wondered if the world really was coming to an end like all those idiot prognosticators kept saying.

Her thirty-two-inch flat screen powered up, and she set it to Channel 7 News because she liked their anchors. As she bussed her dinner dishes into the tiny kitchen of her one-bedroom apartment in Torrance, she heard the first story being announced.

The local anchor intoned solemnly as though announcing an appearance by God himself. “Our lead story tonight is a strange one, as I’m sure you’ve been hearing all day. Has the legendary King Arthur returned from the dead, and does he at this moment roam the streets of Los Angeles collecting children? Here’s our own Helen Schaeffer with the details.”

On hearing the name “King Arthur,” Jenny dumped her dishes into the messy sink and hurried to her living room just as Helen appeared on camera with the words “Live from Santa Monica Blvd” plastered dramatically across the bottom of the screen.

On the screen, Helen indicated the busy thoroughfare behind her. “As you can see, it’s an ordinary evening here on Santa Monica Boulevard near West Hollywood. But last night was anything but ordinary, as you’ll see from this amazing cell phone video captured by a local passerby.”

The scene cut to a video of a man on horseback, surrounded by boys, verbally sparring with two police officers. Because the audio was so poor, the TV station had put up subtitles for the exchanged dialogue. Stunned into amazement, Jenny slid down into her easy chair and gaped at the almost surreal footage unfolding before her. So caught up in the drama, she audibly gasped when the bullet bounced off the man’s armor. The tape came to an end, and Helen reappeared.

“As of this moment, King Arthur has continued to elude the police. According to authorities, he is wanted for “questioning,” only, which must be the understatement of the year. This is Helen Schaeffer reporting for—”

Jenny waved her remote and clicked off the set. King Arthur? Obviously some nut, she knew, and yet…. Wasn’t it just last month, or maybe the month before, that Lance had questioned her about King Arthur? Was he real? Wasn’t that one of Lance’s questions? She’d thought it odd at the time, but then Lance could be an odd kid. Now with this news story…. Could there be a connection?

She ran her hand through her wavy blonde hair, absently realizing that she needed to wash it. She also needed to talk with Lance as soon as possible. But how, since he never came to school? That newswoman said something about this King Arthur collecting children… could that explain why some kids at MTS had been missing these past few weeks? Lance was the key, she knew.

I’ve got to find him.

Within the Hollenbeck Police Station, Ryan sat pensively gazing at the TV, studying a freeze-framed image of Arthur from that cell phone video. It was evening, and the gang detail department was quiet. Too quiet, Ryan knew. There had been no more “tagging” for the past six weeks and no major gang incidents. The calm before the storm, he suspected. Gibson entered and tossed a report on Ryan’s desk. The older man glanced up at his partner, gnawed pencil dangling from his lips.

“You still looking at that tape?” he asked. “You must have it memorized by now.”

Ryan leaned back in his swivel chair and held up a drawing of the “A” tag against the freeze-framed video image on the screen. The frozen video frame was blurred, but clear enough to reveal Arthur’s shield emblazoned with the same symbol.

“He’s our tagger, Gib.”

Startled, Gibson leaned forward for a closer look, snatching the picture from Ryan and examining it against the monitor. “Well, I’ll be damned! How the hell’d you make that connection?”

Ryan took back the paper and set it down next to some Internet printouts. These printouts showed various shields emblazoned with heraldic symbols of one kind or another. “Did a little Internet search. I remembered from college about knights and how they always had a crest on their shields. Hell, I was really into that stuff back then when I was young and stupid. You know, knight on a horse riding into town and cleaning it up for all the good people?”

Gibson nodded, loosening his dark blue tie, and rolling up another chair to sit beside his partner. “Yeah, I know the feeling. So what do you suppose this guy is up to? He’s gotta know he’ll have every gangbanger in the city gunning for him if he keeps putting that up on their turf.”

“All forty-one thousand, give or take?” Ryan asked with a crooked smile, which only accentuated the deep frown lines on his craggy face.

“You know what I mean.”

“Anything on that dagger?”

Gibson picked up the file folder and flipped it open. Within were various photos of the knife Arthur had used against the rookie cop. “Pretty weird, Ry. The lab did all the usual tests.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So they think it’s from England,” Gibson continued in that tone of voice game show hosts use when they’re about to reveal what’s behind door number one.

“So what’s the punch line?”

“Near as they can tell without carbon dating, England of the sixth century, or thereabouts.”

“Don’t crap on me, Gib. I’m so not in the mood.”

Gibson leaned forward,