Children of the Knight (9 page)

He glanced around the dayroom, careful never to give the impression he was staring at anyone. He was seated in a cheap-ass plastic chair at one of the several metal tables used for meals. About thirty other boys, aged fifteen to seventeen, wearing county-issued pants and white T-shirts, sat at the other tables. Some were writing letters while others played cards, arm wrestled, or watched the basketball game on TV.

He had quietly moved among them ever since he’d gotten here, even talking with the black kids, normally against the gang code. But he needed to know what they knew about this tagger-guy, and all their stories struck a similar chord. Same MO as in his ’hood—the guy had tagged up their markings with that crazy “A” thing, but no one even caught a glimpse of him.

Esteban had always been smart in school, maybe too smart. By middle school he’d taken to barely showing up at all, except he got As anyway. He’d find out the homework from some nerdy kid, get it all done, and have one of his friends turn it in. When it was test day, he’d show up, take the test, ace it, and not show up until the next one. How the hell useful was school anyway when he could get straight “As” just by doing that?

No, the lure of the streets was far more compelling and exciting. He’d worked his way up the ladder, and there weren’t many kids his age out there who were smarter. That’s why he knew it fell to him to solve this mystery. He’d be back out on his next court date—juvy was too crowded to keep him very long for street fighting—and when he hit the streets he
would
find this tagger. He’d find the guy and fuck him up.

T
HERE
were now fifty boys, all sixteen years or younger within Arthur’s underground “castle,” practicing the use of his various weapons. These kids were those Arthur and Lance had encountered during their nightly excursions, as well as a number of MTS students recruited by Lance. They wore protective armor of varying types, including helms to guard against head injuries, and sparred with one another under Arthur’s watchful eye. Some fired arrows at makeshift targets, missing most shots and laughing at their awkwardness, while the majority of boys parried at one another with the swords, attempting to dance around their opponent to get in the “fatal” thrust.

Arthur moved among them with confidence and ease, adjusting this one’s bow arm or that one’s stance, showing another how to hold a shield and a sword simultaneously. He stopped to observe Lance and Enrique, a sixteen-year-old from MTS, having at each other with broadswords. Arthur nodded approvingly at Lance’s great improvement in the use of the weapon. His small size still made hefting the weighty sword difficult, but he held his own against the bigger and stronger Enrique. Chris sat on the sidelines near Lance, obviously not wanting to stray too far from the boy who had rescued him. Lance and Enrique paused to rest, panting and sweaty, Lance’s flowing brown hair pasted to his face as though glued.

“Excellent, Lance,” Arthur commended the boy. “And thee, as well, Enrique. Ye remindeth me of the youthful vigor of the first Camelot.”

“What’s ‘Camelot’?” Enrique asked through gasps for air.

“Camelot beeth the name of mine kingdom long ago, Enrique,” Arthur answered, handing the boy a bottle of water, which Enrique hastily gulped. Arthur did not, however, hand one to Lance, and that irked the younger boy.

“Is that where all this stuff came from?” Enrique asked after taking another swig.

Arthur frowned suddenly, the question once again catching him off guard. “I suppose so,” he answered uncertainly, almost to himself. “When I didst find myself here, in this time and place, all that you see had accompanied me.” He trailed off, lost in thought, struggling to remember.

Was Merlin responsible
, he wondered? He’d awakened here, in this underground place, with the knowledge planted deep within him of his purpose, and the image of his First Knight at the forefront of his vision. He’d even found several books on the history of this country, the progeny of Britain. But who or what had set all of this into motion?

“So how come yer here, anyways?” Lance asked, cutting into Arthur’s musings. “I thought youse s’posed to come back to Britain or England or some other place, not America.”

Arthur looked askance at Lance in annoyance. “Dost thou not know the history of thine own country, Lance?”

The other boys laughed as Lance flushed red with embarrassment. And his pride rose to the surface. He
hated
being embarrassed, especially in front of other kids. “I don’t give a shit about history,” he sullenly retorted.

Now the boys laughed
with
him, not at him. That gave Lance a good feeling, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

Arthur frowned in annoyance and confusion at Lance’s petulant attitude.

“Thy first lessons as future knights of the Round Table shalt be in the use of chivalrous language. And in the elimination of ignorance.” He glared slightly at Lance, who looked quickly away. “Britain be the sire of America, Lance. Merlin called me the once and future king because I had been destined to return when Britain didst need me most. Tell me now, young Lance, what could be a greater need than the salvation of Britain’s best and most promising child?”

Lance looked up at the man, and their eyes met, but he had no answer, and the other boys remained silent. Arthur slipped Excalibur easily into its sheath and announced to the boys at large, “Come, lads, it doth be time for food.”

As the boys cheered, Arthur glanced at Lance once again, but the boy refused to meet his gaze.
What had just happened
, he wondered?

O
VER
the ensuing days and nights, these initial recruits fanned out to their various neighborhoods to seek new candidates for Arthur’s crusade. Runaways and homeless youth were targeted first, for obvious reasons—they had nothing else. But since most of the initial fifty boys had homes of their own, they sought out friends within their schools or communities, whether or not those friends were poor or rich. They pitched Arthur’s plan, and many of these others felt eager to join up. Why not? It sounded like fun. And maybe, finally, the kids in this city would get the last word.

Some stayed the night within Arthur’s underground lair, whilst others preferred to visit only for meetings and weapons instruction. There were girls as well, though not as many as there were boys. Even the runaway girls, however, felt uncomfortable sleeping within the storm drains amongst numerous unfamiliar boys. Yet they’d show up each day for training, often surprising Arthur with their energy and vigorous attention to detail.

Lance instructed them in proper bow and arrow technique, as Arthur had instructed him: how to almost instantly whip an arrow from a quiver, fit it to the bow, and fire with strength and accuracy. He had become an expert marksman in just a few weeks, which pleased Arthur immensely. He observed a number of the girls obviously flirting with Lance during their training sessions, but the boy purposely pretended not to notice.

Such forwardness on the part of young ladies, as well as their willingness to fight, made him realize anew just how much times had changed since his day and age. Still, he looked on with a combination of hope and sadness as the ranks of his knightly “army” began to swell. So many disenfranchised youth, he’d noted as each day more and more appeared. How didst such a once great country come to such a shameful place?

On one evening, Arthur and Llamrei set back out into the Hollywood area, sadly, a mecca for lost and abandoned kids. He had a small entourage following him, to fan out and bring in strays they found loitering on the streets. Lance, for once, did not accompany them. Little Chris had taken ill and would have no one but Lance care for him.

Arthur assured his First Knight that the boys he was taking could handle themselves, but Lance had looked deeply troubled when Arthur rode off without him. Preoccupied with the growing number of children he’d begun to acquire, Arthur failed to notice Lance’s uncertain state of mind.

As the group casually moved along the side streets, mostly to keep Arthur and Llamrei out of sight, they rounded a corner, and Santa Monica Boulevard came into view ahead. It was late on a weeknight, and there was less traffic than usual. Arthur surveyed the boulevard before approaching. There were boys standing singly or in pairs, usually beside light posts or on corners, particularly in the vicinity of liquor stores. The situation struck Arthur as most peculiar. What would youngsters be doing so late at night in such an unsavory area?