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

a loud thunk.

Jack groaned in agony, but he didn’t cry out. He merely glared at his assailant with defiant fury.

“No!” screamed Lance. “Don’t hurt him! I’m sorry, okay.”

R. exchanged a look with the small Asian. “I knew he’d get it eventually.” He smiled, reminding Lance of a rattlesnake coiling to strike.

Lance gazed at Jack, who looked dazed and muddled, blood trickling from a cut on his lip, purple bruise already blooming on his cheek, and his heart ached for his friend. He knew R.—Jack didn’t—and he knew they were in real danger.

“What do you want, R.?” Lance asked warily.

“That’s Mr. R. to you, Pretty Boy.” If a voice could replicate ice, this one was it.

Lance eyed the young Asian in front of Jack, and added, “Sorry, Mr. R.”

“That’s much better, Pretty Boy,” R. continued, his voice cold and smooth. “You’ve been getting far too uppity since joining that crazy man. A child should respect his elders, don’t you agree, Mr. L.?”

The Mr. L. guy nodded silently, his cold, dead brown eyes fixed on Lance, making him squirm like a bug pinned to a table.

“Arthur’s not crazy,” Lance said, but kept his tone neutral, conversational.

He didn’t want Jack getting hurt because of him.

“No? What else would you call a man who thinks children should have the rights of adults, hmm?”

Lance remained silent. He didn’t know what to say, and feared arousing the man’s anger even more.

R. eyed him with amusement. “Do I frighten you, Pretty Boy?”

“No,” Lance lied, lowering his eyes and glancing over at Jack, who looked furious. He flicked his gaze at the older boy—a warning: don’t do anything stupid!

“No?” R. repeated in mock shock. “Then you’re dumber than I thought, because you should be. You know comic books?”

The question caught Lance off guard. “Yeah.”

“Do you know Lex Luthor?”

Lance nodded.

“Not the pantywaist from those movies,” R. went on, obviously enjoying himself, “No, the portrayal in the comics. He ruled his city with an iron fist, just as I rule Los Angeles. Only I’m much more deadly. Let’s just say I make Lex Luthor look like Mother Teresa.”

Lance nodded, pretending to understand the comparison, even though he hadn’t the slightest idea who Mother Teresa was.

R. stood and stepped toward the two boys, standing in between them. He gazed a moment in contempt at Jack and then turned to Lance.

“This is my city, Pretty Boy,” R. said with emphasis. “Do you really think I’m going to allow some nutjob with a sword to take it from me? Especially with an army of children?”

He laughed, and Lance’s blood ran cold. It was the most frightening sound he’d ever heard.

“Your Arthur is a bigger fool than all the other bleeding hearts who think they can give this country back to the people. This country belongs to the rich and powerful, to men like me who will do anything to get what we want. You really think right can overcome might? Only a child would think that. Might, when one has no scruples about its use, will always crush right, my pretty little friend, because right is weak, and it’s weak because it has scruples. You getting the picture here?”

Lance nodded. The man was crazy; that was the picture he was getting, crazy and deadly. But could he also be correct about might and right? That question drifted briefly through his troubled brain. Arthur and his knights would never resort to hurting people to achieve their goals, but this man, and others like him, wouldn’t even hesitate. Did that mean Arthur’s crusade was doomed to fail? He didn’t even want to go there.

Ra. looked from Lance to Jack and shook his head in disgust. Then he spat in Jack’s upturned face, the spittle dribbling from the boy’s left eye down his bruised cheek.

Jack reared his head back in fury. “The hell?”

R. nodded to the young Asian, who delivered another crushing blow to Jack’s midsection. He doubled over again as the air spewed from his lungs, and he coughed and gagged, fighting to regain his breath.

“Please!” Lance begged, tears leaping unbidden to his eyes. “Leave him alone! Please. Hit me instead. I’m the one you always wanted anyway.”

“Once upon I time, I believed you could be of use to me, Pretty Boy. Not now. Not since you’ve acquired your boyfriend over here.”

The blood drained from Lance’s face, and he nearly cussed the man out. Control, Lance, he whispered to himself, control. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my best friend.”

R. smiled wickedly. “My sources tell me you’ve been quite chummy with this disgusting faggot, and that makes you no better.”

“He’s not a faggot,” Lance said evenly, struggling to maintain control. “A faggot is a stick of wood. He’s a boy, and he’s my friend.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Pretty Boy. A stick of wood is worth more than all the faggots in the world. If I had my way, I’d line ’em all up and shoot them! So don’t push your luck, if you want your boyfriend to live.”

The chilling, matter-of-fact tone of voice terrified Lance. This man meant what he said, and had a reputation for no mercy toward anyone.

R. adjusted the lapels on his fancy suit and ran one hand through his slicked back hair, composing himself. “Now then, Pretty Boy, here’s the deal. I’m going to crush your King Arthur and his infantile movement, and you’re going to help me.”

Lance shook his head vehemently. “Never.”

R. leaned in and planted his face right in front of Lance’s, causing him to squirm. “You really believe that man cares about you?”

“Arthur loves me.”

Does he?

“Like all adults, he loves what you children can do for him. You’re nothing more than a tool, a means to an end for him.”

“That’s not true! He loves me. Check my phone. I bet you’ll find a grip of messages he sent.”

I hope!

R. nodded. “Mr. L.?”

Mr. L. plucked Lance’s cell phone off the desk, tossing it to R.

“This your phone?” He held it out to Lance.

Lance nodded, praying Arthur hadn’t given up on him, praying that Jack and Lady Jenny were right.

You should’ve responded to his other texts, fool!

R. opened the text messages and eyed them without expression.

There were ten messages from Arthur, all begging Lance to call him. The last one read: “My dear Lance, I truly think of thee as my son, and I love you more than anything. Return to me, please. I need you.”

R. subtly tapped the “Select All” key and then slipped his thumb over the word “Delete.” He shook his head, affecting a look of mock sadness. He held the phone out.

Lance’s heart sank. Nothing. No messages. Had he been forgotten after all? If so, R. might as well kill him now, because there was nothing left to live for. He lowered his head in sorrow. He wasn’t worthy, after all.

R. affected a look of pity. “What did I tell you, eh? Now that you see who your real father is, will you help me?”

Lance glared at him. “You’re not my father, and I’ll never help you!”

“As you wish.”

The young Asian hauled off and slugged Jack hard again to the face, this time to the other cheek. Jack’s head snapped over and he sagged a moment, looking like he might lose consciousness. But he still didn’t cry out.

“No!” Lance screamed, fighting and twisting against the rope binding him. More tears welled in his eyes as Jack’s head lolled to one side. His friend looked semiconscious.

“Well?” R. said, turning to drive his soulless gaze into Lance’s eyes.

Lance dropped his head in shame. “What do you want me to do?”

“No, Lance!” Jack rasped, spitting out blood in the process. “Don’t help him!”

Lance locked eyes with those of his best friend. “They’ll kill you if I don’t.”

And I can’t lose you, too!

“I don’t care!” Jack insisted, eyes burning with determination. “The needs of the whole company, remember?”

R. eyed the exchange curiously.

“I can’t let them keep hurting you.”

“A wise decision, Pretty Boy,” R. said with a smirk.

“My name is Sir Lance,” the boy responded in a clear, but nonchallenging voice.

R. laughed. “Oh yes, of course. He wants to be Sir Lance now, Mr. L. What do you think of that?”

Mr. L. just shrugged.

R. turned back to Lance. “Very well, then, Sir Lance.” The voice oozed sarcasm. “I happen to know that something big is going down tonight. What is it?”

That was news to Lance. He shook his head, mystified. “I don’ know.”

R. nodded to the young Asian, who raised his fist toward Jack yet again. Jack didn’t even flinch; just mad-dogged the guy.

“I’m not lying!” Lance called out, and the movement of the fist stopped. “I haven’t been there in a couple of days. I don’t know what’s going on.”

R. gazed long and hard at him. “I don’t believe you.”

He nodded again, and the young Asian prepared to strike Jack.

“He’s telling the truth!” Jack shouted before the fist could fall, eyes glaring with contempt at R.

R. waved the Asian away. “So, the faggot speaks. Tell me, faggot, why should I believe a disgusting pervert like you?”

Jack spit out more blood and returned his furious gaze to the man standing before him. “Because it’s true. Lance wasn’t there when Arthur made those plans, but I was.”

“Jack!” Lance shouted out in horror, knowing what his friend was trying to do. “Don’t worry about me.”

R. leaned closer to Jack. “So, queer boy, tell me what he’s planning.”

“Hell, no! You may as well kill me.”

“No, Jack!” screamed Lance, fighting and struggling against his bonds. “He will kill you! Please!”

Jack shook his head defiantly.

R. smirked. “Very well.”

Now he nodded to the other young Asian. With lightning speed, the man hauled off and pounded a sledgehammer fist into Lance’s gut before he even knew it was coming. He doubled over as pain ripped through him, the air pumped instantly from his lungs. Gasping for breath, he mentally thanked Jack for the incessant crunches the older boy had made him do, for he was sure they’d saved him from permanent damage.

“No!” Jack shrieked in anguish as Lance spluttered and fought to sit up straight. “Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him!”

“I love to hear faggots beg, don’t you, Mr. L.?”

Mr. L. didn’t answer, because it obviously wasn’t expected.

R. turned back to Jack. “Well?”

Lance met Jack’s eyes, and knew his friend would do anything to protect him, even betray the crusade.

“Arthur’s got a big operation going down against a bunch of crack houses and meth labs around town.”

R. lost his grin. “Which ones?”

“I don’t know.”

R. frowned.

“Really, I don’t! I was out looking for Lance when they settled on targets, and I’m not part of any team. I swear it. That’s all I know.” He glanced over at Lance, who stared back uncertainly.

R. paced a moment. “Okay, so we warn our people. What was Arthur planning to do after this operation?”

“I don’t know exactly, but he was gonna be at City Hall to call out the mayor on something. That’s everything I know.” Jack lowered his head in shame.

R. exchanged a silent look with L., and then rubbed his fingers across his chin, as though contemplating something. “I have heard a rumor that so long as Arthur holds Excalibur, he cannot be killed.”

Lance involuntarily flicked his gaze up to R. and then just as quickly