A Knight in Central Park (8 page)

The young man was Tom Hicks, one of Joe’s students from last semester. Joe told them not to bother, but Louise was back before he could decline, fitting him with a black cloak and a small hat trimmed with an ostrich plume.

Next, Tom pinned a soft-hooded cap with a mid-length veil to Alexandra’s head. “Wonderful,” Alexandra said excitedly.

Joe smiled at her enthusiasm, lifting the crook of his arm for her to take hold of.

Within the gates the role-playing adventure was in full force. Men were dressed in cotton hose with pleated coats of wool and embroidered doublets. Many women wore conical headdresses with long lacey veils and elaborate dresses worn mostly by the wealthier classes in the late fifteenth century.

Alexandra laughed when one of the town criers grabbed her hand and fell on bended knee, begging for her hand in marriage. Joe abruptly stole her hand back, informing the young man that she was already accounted for before dragging her off.

“If I had to guess,” she teased, “I would say you were jealous.”

Joe noticed an intense interest in her eyes and quickly dropped her hand.

“’Tis something I said?”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea...about me, about us.”

Her snort caught him off guard. “You have naught to worry about, Sir Joe, for you hold no appeal for me. You have the manners of a-of an eel,” she finished bluntly.

He smiled.

“’Twas not a compliment.”

“No, I didn’t think it was. I’ve been called a lot of things in my lifetime, but never once have I been compared to an eel. You have certainly put me in my place.”

She looked annoyed. Joe had to fight the urge to lean down and kiss her, but only to prove he’d caught her in another lie since her obvious awareness of him was plain to see. But then again, kissing her would only lead her on.

Glancing at his watch, he decided to get back to the matter at hand. “How long do you think it’ll take Richard to find us?”

She started off again, saying over her shoulder, “Verily he and his men are at the farm at this moment, bent on destruction and mayhem, just as they were the day I left.”

He had to hand it to her. Not once had she wavered when it came to her story of being from another time. “So, what do you suggest we do?”

“We find a quiet place,” she said matter-of-factly. “And then we wait.”

Joe’s plans entailed waiting no more than an hour or two, but it was clear Alexandra had pinned her every hope on this one meeting.

It wasn’t long before they exited the fairgrounds and found a quiet spot within the park. Every few minutes, Alexandra would look about. Then she would glance up at the moon and begin twiddling her thumbs again. Clearly, she believed Richard would make an appearance.

Two hours turned to three, and three hours became four.

Most of the booths had been packed away and the crowds had thinned until there were only a few stragglers left wandering the park. Joe tried to untie the cape from around his neck, but the thick cloth was knotted tight.

They stood together beneath one of the many trees in Central Park, not too far from the safety of the fairgrounds. The moon was full and bright and the chill of the wintry night numbed his fingers and toes. While Alexandra shuffled through her bag of goods for the hundredth time, Joe questioned his sanity. The strain of the last few days had taken its toll. His eyelids felt seriously heavy.

Somebody’s dog had been barking for fifteen minutes straight, maybe longer. His temples throbbed, and he knew he couldn’t take much more of this tortuous waiting.

A cold wind whipped at Alexandra’s hair. Tree branches flailed wildly about like too many arms on a dancing puppet.

Joe picked up his briefcase, then glanced at his watch. “We’ve been out here for some time now. I don’t think Richard is coming.”

Alexandra had taken the veiled hat off long ago. Standing before him with her hair flying about, she looked small and helpless. The sadness in her eyes pulled at something deep inside of him. He reached out his free arm. Without further coaxing, she stepped close within the warmth he offered and pressed her head against his chest. He wrapped his arm about her and rubbed the cold from her back. “Everything will work out. I promise. We’ll find you a place to stay.”

She tilted her head upward. Her forehead brushed against his chin. “Please. We shan’t give up yet.” She retrieved the stones from her pocket and gazed at them, willing them to do her bidding. Joe put his hand over hers, surprised by the warmth he found there.

He felt her shiver.

Her eyes widened with excitement. “’Tis happening!”

He glanced about the park. He was suddenly alert, prepared for the worst, ready for anything.

Anything but this...

The dog stopped barking. No sirens or rustling of tree branches sounded, just an eerie, stifling silence. He blinked, tried to regain focus.

The myriad trees scattered about the park appeared suddenly as vague outlines. Alexandra’s face became obscured and indistinct.

Joe’s chest tightened. The hollow feeling inside of him deviated from anything he’d experienced before.

“Stay close,” she said. “And whatever you do, do not let go of my hand.”

J
oe hung from the thickest branch of a tree like a broken kite, tangled and helpless. His legs swayed from the awkwardness of his landing. Grunting, he straddled the branch, grabbed a higher limb and pulled himself to an upright position.

As he took in his surroundings, his breath caught in his throat.

It was the lighter part of twilight. Moonlight reflected off a small manor, sitting amidst fields of wheat. A neglected barn with a thatched roof stood off to the side. A couple of cows grazed in the distance. He’d lived in the city for most of his life. Not once had he seen a cow grazing in Central park.

Where the hell was he?

Leaves crunched below, prompting Joe to look downward. Alexandra emerged from the dense thicket of brush, pulling twigs and leaves from her hair.

“There you are,” he called out. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Sir Joe!” she said when she finally spotted him through the tangle of branches. “What are you doing up there?”

He slapped at a mosquito. “Enjoying the scenery, what does it look like?”

“’Tis not the time for such things. Get down from there!”

“Easy for you to say.” He looked about, tried to find an easy way down, or any way down for that matter.

“Two more stones are missing,” she said. She uncurled her fingers, revealing one stone. “’Twould seem each time I travel through time a stone disappears. Two people this time...two stones.”

“There’s no way those rocks brought us through time.”

“Mayhap you can explain why you are stuck in a tree. And where do you suppose all of your students disappeared to?”

A horse neighed.

Joe jerked about. Between the old barn and the manor was a large horse, saddled and ready to go. Firewood and an old cart leaned against the side of the barn. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

“Hurry down,” Alexandra called in a panicked whisper. “’Tis Richard’s man, Harig, who rides that beast. My grandfather could very well still be inside.”

Before Joe could reply, the door to the manor flew open, nearly falling from its hinges. The man he assumed to be Harig stepped outside. What Harig lost in height he made up in width, his shoulders as wide as a small building. Harig held high a well-lit torch, illuminating the plates of armor covering his chest.

Joe gawked in disbelief.

Harig’s booted feet shook the weathered planks of the porch, armor clanking with each step he took. The giant paused to peer into the darkness, sniffing the air as if he could smell their presence.

Joe waited for him to say “fee fi fo fum”, but an eerie silence surrounded him instead. This was insane!

“Do something!” Alexandra cried low under her breath.

“What do you want me to do?” Joe asked in a panicked whisper. “Poke him in the eyes? Stab him with my nail clippers?” Joe eyed his briefcase, watching it wobble precariously on a weak, out-of-reach limb.

“What is your plan?” she asked.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” he said, reaching for the briefcase, trying desperately not to lose his balance. He leaned forward. The limb sagged. He stretched another half inch, his fingers almost touching the case.

The metal man peered across the fifty or so feet of gravely dirt that separated them, the gleam of his eyes a hazy yellow like some sort of wild animal. Suddenly a teenage boy, blindfolded and tied, hobbled out of the house.

The limb holding the briefcase snapped.

Joe lunged for it, grasping onto the handle of his briefcase before it crashed to the ground, his heart racing. He held the leather case tight to his chest.

Harig narrowed his eyes, then turned toward the boy.

From Joe’s bird’s eye view from the tree, the kid looked to be about twelve-years-old. His hands and feet were tied with thick twine. His small chin tipped upward at the sound of Harig’s deep voice, “You want to come along, do you?”

The boy stumbled backwards, obviously caught off guard. The kid must have thought Harig was long gone.

Joe opened his briefcase, shuffled through its contents. Perspiration gathered above his brow.

“What are you doing?” Alexandra asked. “Are you going to help my brother, or not?”

“I’m having a few problems up here if you don’t mind. Just give me a moment.”

Frantically, he searched through the briefcase for a weapon. Anything. His pulse raced, blood pounding in his throat. A quick glance over his shoulder told him he didn’t have much time. Harig was dragging Alexandra’s little brother toward the horse. Damn.

An armored man. A horse with an age-old saddle. Handmade plows and a barn made partly of wattle and daub. How could this be?

Think, Joe, think.

How was he supposed to think with images of the cold steel of the sword tucked in the sheath at the Harig’s side? If this wasn’t some god-awful nightmare, then he was in trouble...big trouble. But he had little time to worry about how he came to be here. Dream or not, helping the boy was all that mattered.

Pushing papers aside, Joe took quick inventory of what he had to work with. He saw the brushed steel of the toilet plunger and realized Alexandra had something to do with the assortment of modern weaponry stuffed inside his briefcase. Not only had she taken apart the plunger and packed the steel handle, she had thrown in everything a cop might find on any punk in a New York subway. If he ever got out of this tree, he was going to hug her.

He jammed his pockets full, and then wedged the briefcase between two thick limbs. By the time he looked down again, Alexandra was throwing rocks at Harig’s backside.

Clank
.

The giant turned. “Who goes there?”

Joe’s face twisted into a grimace. He peered down at Alexandra. “Are you insane?”

“Somebody had to stop him.”

“That rock,” Joe said, pointing in the direction she threw it. A queasy feeling enveloped him. “Please tell me that wasn’t my transportation home.”

A wry smile curved her lips.

Forget the hug, he decided. He was going to strangle her!

Joe returned his attention to the boy who was now wriggling and kicking, trapped within Harig’s arms. But all that youthful flailing about failed to stop Harig from mounting his horse.

Joe moved to a lower limb.

Harig jerked on the reins and headed their way. A wave of prickling fear swam down Joe’s spine as the big man neared. Alexandra disappeared into the growing darkness.

Joe wondered if he was on a movie set. That made perfect sense. Movie people used Central Park as their backdrop all the time. But instead of film crews and equipment, he saw endless wheat fields and meandering cows.

His heart pumped spastically and his pulse roared in his ears. An absurd thought struck him. For one brief second, he’d thought maybe he’d truly come through time as Alexandra said they would; a time without electricity, a time when kings ruled and evil men named Harig wore armor and destroyed innocent lives.

But any sane, rational being knew that traveling through time was illogical. None of this made sense. Things like this did not happen. Period. He was a professor, a scientist. He observed facts and the relationships among those facts. Every day he dealt with theories and principles that attempted to explain how and why something happens or happened.

Nothing could explain this. Not in a million years could he make sense of what he was seeing with his own two eyes.

Harig steered the fidgety horse forward. “Show yourself,” he called out in a deep throaty voice, “or are you a cowardly one?”

Sticks and stones may break my bones.
Joe remained silent. Harig resembled an army tank with biceps as round as telephone poles. His armored chest looked like a steel-covered barrel. If Harig came any closer, Joe figured he’d have no choice but to jump. He tested a lower limb with his foot. The branch snapped.

Harig responded to the sound. As he passed the manor, he tossed a flaming torch onto the rooftop. Digging his heels into the horse’s flank, he headed for Joe. The kid thrashed about, hitting and kicking.

Joe rolled his eyes. Damn. He’d caught the man’s attention all right, and now his life was going to be cut short; very short, he thought upon seeing Harig’s sword at closer view.

Joe slid the BB gun from his pocket, checked to see if it was loaded. Laying low on the tree branch, he snaked slowly across the limb, looking for a better aim. The cape twisted about his arm, making every movement more difficult. The fabric, heavy and cumbersome, managed to get snagged on a branch. The gun dropped from his hands and disappeared into the weeds below.

As sure as the sun would set tomorrow, Joe was going to die. He wasn’t made for this sort of stuff. He was no Clint Eastwood. He was a dead man.

Harig was only a few feet away. Not only did Joe smell death, he saw it in Harig’s cold, lifeless eyes.