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

he realized he’d be a senior now, and Lance a sophomore.

The social pecking order of most high schools would’ve made associating with a sophomore out of the question, unless the sophomore was a fellow jock. But within the chivalric order of the Round Table those social standings, which almost overpowered and smothered kids in the “real” world, blurred and lost all meaning. Here they were equals, even the jocks and the nerds and the queer boys. Here they were family. Despite his despair over Mark, Jack really liked his new family and almost felt sorry for those kids out in the “real” world.

Mark had begun working with Lance and Jack on a daily basis and, in an effort to distract all three of them from their personal demons, Jack coached both boys on the fine art of “gun building through the use of heavy objects.” The long hours and exhausting work mostly kept their jittery emotions in check and softened the individual pain each of them felt.

Despite all their inner struggles, the three boys still had lots of fun together. Mark and Lance often rolled their eyes at one another when Jack would show off by lifting some crazy-ass heavy weight, and then they’d take him down in a two- man tackle that set them all to laughing, which felt both buoyant and cathartic. Lance realized once again how good it was to have friends, even though those friendships had opened him up to real hurt and vulnerability.

He so desperately yearned to tell Mark he loved him for keeping his secret, for not even telling Jack when he easily could have. He felt Mark deserved those words, maybe even needed them to help with his sadness, except Lance had never spoken those words in his entire life. Not to anyone. And he wasn’t even sure he knew how. He also didn’t even know if a boy was allowed to say them to another boy without being… that way. So he just let Mark be, the words unsaid, and would later come to hate himself for that decision.

On the whole, Arthur’s crusade was succeeding beyond his wildest dreams. With each new interview, the king reiterated his views on justice and fairness, how these children that society deemed worthless had more than proven their worth and then some, each and every day.

Reporters clamored to interview Lance at every turn, recognizing the boy’s looks and charm were a sure ratings-grabber. And they were. His face showed up on nearly every broadcast, if only as a backdrop. Within a matter of days, Lance’s face, silky brown hair, and crown-like circlet around his brow had become the national symbol for Arthur’s new Camelot.

Being smart, Lance knew the media fawned over him because of his looks, and he desperately didn’t want the crusade to be all about him. It was so much more important than that. So he made a point of dragging other kids on camera with him, often Mark and Jack because they worked together, to accentuate Arthur’s point that every child had value and should be nurtured, not abused, and should be given more rights by the government to make sure they weren’t abused by adults.

Being kids first and knights second, they also loved to clown for the cameras. When one lady reporter told Lance he was cute, he mischievously pulled Jack on camera and yanked up the older boy’s shirt. “Yeah, but Jack’s got the abs,” he announced, “and guns like M16s!”

Jack grabbed Lance in a headlock, both boys wrestling and laughing, all caught on camera, all for the enjoyment of the people.

And the people were smitten.

It seemed almost every day Helen told Arthur and Lance they’d gotten tons of calls and e-mails from people who wanted to adopt Lance or Mark or Jack or this one or that one, even the aloof Esteban.

As was usually the case with human nature, suddenly the people woke up and took notice of the lost children who’d been in their midst the whole time, simply because their plight had become so visible and inspiring.

But how long would it be, Lance wondered, before they forgot again and went back to their own little lives? He wasn’t so young that he hadn’t seen that happen before.

He asked Helen almost daily if either Mark or Jack’s parents had contacted the station, wanting to get in touch with their sons, and it shattered his heart every time she said no.

Reyna, ever the showboater, loved to preen before the cameras whenever possible, showing off her bow and arrows, her fancy hairstyles, her designer tunics she’d ordered online, which to her credit, she had toned down of late, probably, Lance had observed, to fit in better with Esteban and his simple street style.

For his part, Esteban would not allow himself to be dragged on camera. He loved helping people—he never known how much he liked it until Arthur’s crusade, had never even considered how good something so simple could make him feel. But he didn’t like the media attention and, despite his handsome good looks and poster-boy physique, he steadfastly resisted being photographed or taped.

One time when he had a television camera shoved in his face while he and Reyna were fixing a broken window, Reyna goaded him into speaking because it was Helen, after all.

Slick as he might have been talking with the homies in the old days, and always smooth with the females, until Reyna, anyway, Esteban felt tongue-tied looking into that creepy camera eye that always seemed to be mad-dogging him. Still, he managed to give perhaps the most important message yet, and it came from the heart.

“I been banging all my life,” he told Helen in a deep, flat voice, “’cause there weren’t nuthin’ else in my ’hood ta do or be. Everybody had me pegged. He’s a gangster, he’s a criminal, he’s gonna do life or die in the streets. I heard that at home, in school, from the cops, and the dumbass judges when I’d go to juvy. But nobody ever give me another choice, not till Arthur. Now I got a choice, now suddenly I am somebody, somebody with a camera stuck in my face asking me questions. But you wanna know something, Lady Helen? I was somebody when I was a gangster too. Just nobody but Arthur could see that, or give me a chance to prove it.”

He turned back to the window. Helen waved the cameraman off and stepped over to Esteban.

“Thank you,” she said honestly, “for saying that. People need to hear it.”

Now that the camera was gone, Esteban flashed that handsome smile that almost melted Reyna’s heart, and Helen returned it with sincerity. She knew she wasn’t supposed to get personally involved in any story—second rule of journalism, the first being you never editorialized in a news story. But these kids and this man leading them and what they stood for—well, she’d never seen anything like it. And it was… exciting!

Of course, videos of Arthur and his “Knights of Mercy” as they’d been dubbed by one news station, had become an Internet staple. Footage of the standoff and escape from Round Table Pizza, tagged “Battle for the Round Table,” had gone viral within hours. Inside of a day, virtually every kid at every school had that video on his or her phone. This prompted them to view Arthur and Lance’s initial interviews, which got many teenagers nodding their heads in approval.

Local news ratings jumped as Arthur and his kids swept through Los Angeles on their Operation Clean-Up Tour, and the story quickly went national. Via the Internet, the story jumped international boundaries, and within a week King Arthur was the talk of the entire world. His crusade was so new, so hip, so exciting, and so unprecedented that it trumped all other news.

In their fourth week out, Arthur’s parade, followed by scores of television cameras, marched into the Watts area of Los Angeles, marked by the landmark Watts Towers, an unusual series of interconnected structures, two of which reached ninety-nine feet in height, and which had taken thirty-three years to complete.

Reyna, the only one of Arthur’s kids with a legitimate driver’s license, drove an enormous moving van, donated to the cause in a big media event by a prominent moving company. In this truck Arthur and his knights could haul most of the materials they would need for a one-day operation. Of course, Esteban rode shotgun with Reyna, not, as he told her, because he thought she was hot, but only to make sure she didn’t “crash the truck or something.” She smirked and tossed him that mocking laugh she’d perfected. He grinned and settled in for the ride.

Arthur seemed pleased that the two seemed inseparable. Of course, both being cool and hard, neither wanted to acknowledge how much each liked the other, but to everyone who saw them together, the attraction was obvious. Lance was happy for them. He just prayed they wouldn’t get into a huge fight and break up. He needed both of them.

As always, Lance marched at the head of the procession, excitedly waving the banner from side to side, Arthur following on Llamrei. An added element had become music, as those knights with the ability glommed onto donated instruments so they would have musical accompaniment. They usually played stuff they’d learned at school or at home, rousing marches that got the knights excited as they processed. Today they blasted the Star Wars theme from trumpets, drums, trombones, and flutes. The music brought residents streaming from apartments and storefronts to gather along the sidewalks and wave at the ebullient kids.

Grinning at these local residents who had pooled along the sidewalks and in the street, Lance suddenly looked ahead and sucked in a startled breath. He slowed and caught Arthur’s attention.

“Looks like trouble,” he said, a chill of fear creeping up his spine.

Arthur eyed the road ahead and then held up Excalibur, his signal for the company to halt. The music slowly died away as the massive moving van eased to a stop, and the vast parade of young knights ceased their forward movement. Reyna and Esteban squinted through the windshield of the truck, while those in back rubbernecked as best they could to see what was happening.

Ten black youths, most looking to be sixteen or older, led by Dwayne and Justin, blocked the street ahead of Lance, making entry into the area impossible. All wore baggy, sagging pants and muscle shirts, and glowered menacingly.

Dwayne wielded a shotgun, while many of the youths brandished handguns, knives, or pipes. Arthur’s archers, always near the front of the procession, instantly slipped arrows into their bows, and the foot soldiers drew their swords. Lance shifted the banner to his left hand and unsheathed his sword. They would fight if need be, despite the fact that the enemy had guns.

Arthur sat calmly on Llamrei and gazed down at Dwayne and Justin. “Good morning, lads,” he offered calmly. “I did tell thee, did I not, when first we met, that we should meet again?”

Dwayne spat angrily on the ground in front of Lance, who glowered back. “This be our turf, Jack, and we don’t want no honky king an’ his gang be comin’ in here!”

“Thou hast more powerful weapons, Dwayne, and could no doubt harm or even kill one of my knights. But my archers would have you all down before a second shot be fired.”

Justin eyed the archers, poised and ready. He clearly understood the danger.

Arthur went on, “You art woefully outnumbered, Dwayne. I wonder if thy fellows would rather die for a dirty, vermin-infested ’hood, or