Children of the Knight (12 page)

Lance looked at Arthur, and knew he couldn’t say no. This man meant so much to him. He could do it. He
would
do it. He’d just avoid the… those guys… as much as possible. He pushed his hair back from his eyes and smiled. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur relaxed into a grin of satisfaction and gratitude. “Good. Now tell me, how many lost ones have we recruited, including those who merely join us by day?”

Lance frowned. “Not counting… you know, them you brought tonight, near
doscientos. Entiende
?”

Arthur’s face revealed that he understood. He’d always been quick to learn new languages, and this Spanish didst seem easier than most. He sighed and shook his head, his voice filled with sadness. “Two hundred. How wasteful humanity hath become.”

Lance merely nodded in agreement as both remained side by side in silence, gazing into the darkness of the tunnel, contemplating the future.

Chapter 3

T
HE
following morning as Arthur began his training with the new arrivals, Lance decided to go to school. He hadn’t been there in… actually, he couldn’t recall how many days. Or was it weeks? But he needed some distance between himself and the new kids. He’d caught those same two, the blond and the buff one, eyeing him this morning, sizing him up, as though trying to make a decision about him. That creeped him out,
big
time. He’d felt they could see right into his heart and soul, and that made him feel exposed. He
hated
that feeling. It made him feel like they could see… his secret! Just thinking of it pulled his heart into his throat with fear.

So he put on his old skater clothes, wrapped his favorite circlet around his head to restrain the hair, then hopped on a bus and went to MTS. He needed to talk to Ms. McMullen.

He spotted her during Nutrition, crossing the war-torn campus, struggling under a load of books as she darted between kids and around caution tape in equal proportions. Lance ran up beside her.

“I’ll take them for you, Ms. McMullen,” he offered with a smile, and she grinned with relief as she handed them over gratefully.

“Thank you, Lance. Where have you been?”

Despite his troubled state of mind, he did not fail to notice how easily he was able to carry the heavy load. Before Arthur, he’d have been fighting just to hold this many books, let alone walk with them. He
was
stronger!

He just grinned at her. “I been busy. No time fer school.”

Jenny frowned, tossing her blonde hair away from her eyes. “How are you ever going to learn to read and write better if you don’t come to school?”

Lance threw her that knowing look she’d seen on occasion. “Ms. McMullen, you’re a good teacher, and you know I already read and write better than anyone in the class.”

Jenny stopped a moment and gazed into those beautiful green eyes. He was right. She
did
know that. So why was she spewing the same old platitudes about coming to school when she knew he probably didn’t need it?

She laughed, and they resumed their walk toward her classroom. Of course it had to be on the opposite side of campus from the library, which precipitated the long walk burdened by all those books. “You’re right, Lance. I guess I just miss having you in class.”

Lance blushed again. Man, that was becoming a bad habit. “Ms. McMullen, can I ask you something?”

Jenny nodded. “Of course, but let’s get these books into my room before they crush you.” She fished keys out of her pocket to open the classroom door.

“Don’t worry about me, Ms. McMullen. I’ve gotten a lot stronger.”

As they entered the room, she pointed to a desk for him to deposit the books, observing him as he did so. As usual, he wore one of those DC skater shirts and jeans. The shirt had short sleeves, and she noticed the musculature of his fore and upper arms. He
did
look bigger than before. “I can see that, Lance. Have you been working out?”

Lance nodded. “A lot.” He threw up his arms in a mock flex pose and grinned, causing her to laugh.

“So, what did you want to ask me?” she inquired, seating herself on the corner of her desk.

He sat on the nearest desk and gazed up at her, considering how to phrase his question. “Are there teachers here you don’t like?”

His question completely caught her off guard, and she almost did a double take. “Why do you ask?”

“Please, Ms. McMullen, it doth be important.”

His earnest expression and odd choice of words further confused her. “Well, of course, there
are
some,” she began cautiously. “Not everyone gets along at any jobsite. Why are you asking?”

Lance shook his head. “I’m not trying to find out who you think is a butthole, Ms. McMullen,” he said, causing her to smile, “I already know who is. I guess I just need to know how to work with somebody I don’t like.”

Jenny felt her body relax. “Oh, is that all. Well, you could simply avoid them.”

“What if I can’t?” he insisted. “What if I gotta work straight up with them, what if we gotta, like, depend on each other?”

Jenny considered a moment, uncertain how to respond. “It would help if I knew what you were talking about, what you mean by
depend on
.”

Lance just looked down. He had no problem lying on the streets—that’s how you survived. But he liked this lady. He didn’t want to lie to her. So he said nothing and waited.

Jenny sighed, knowing she’d get no more information out of him. “Well, I guess, if what you’re working to accomplish is important enough, you can overlook anything about anyone.”

He looked up at her, light dawning in his almond-shaped eyes. “You mean, like in math—the whole doth be of greater import than the parts.”

Jenny almost chuckled at his formal, ancient phraseology. “Yes, that’s right. But why are you talking like—”

But Lance was on his feet and out the door before she could finish. “Thanks, Ms. McMullen,” she heard waft in through the open doorway. And then he was gone with a swish of brown hair. The bell peeled at that moment, and she scurried to the door to welcome her next class, yet her mind kept returning to Lance. Something was happening with that boy. But what was it?

W
HEN
Lance got back to Arthur’s lair, he found Mark and Jack, along with other newcomers, hard at work, sweating profusely in their chain mail shirts as they swung and hacked at each other with short-handled swords. Arthur stood off to one side, observing the training and stepping in with advice when needed. Lance walked up and stood beside him.

“How was thy schooling, today?” he asked.

Lance smiled nervously. “It was good. I learned something important.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed? Wouldst thou care to share it?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah. Let me work with these guys for a while.”

Arthur gazed at him as Lance anxiously fiddled with his hair. “Be thou certain?”

Lance nodded again, biting his lower lip, forcing down his doubts and fears. He could do this. “Yeah.”

Arthur nodded approvingly. “Very well. I shalt attend the archery practice. The lads seemeth to hit everything
but
the target.”

He grinned, and Lance returned it. Then Arthur moved off into the tunnel designated for the archers.

Lance sucked in a deep breath, held it a moment, and released. His heart raced, and his hands trembled a little as he stepped toward the two boys.

You can do this, Lance…. You can do this….

Panting and heaving, Mark and Jack ceased their aimless hacking at one another as Lance approached. Mark instantly sneered. “Look, it’s the pretty beaner boy.”

Lance’s anger swelled, but he pushed it back. He’d started it, after all. Forcing control on himself, he smiled that lovely smile that always seemed to charm his teachers. “I guess I deserve that. I’m uh, I’m sorry about, you know, calling you guys fags and stuff.”

Caught off guard by the apology, Mark’s sharp-tongued retort never materialized. Instead, he and Jack exchanged a surprised, cautious look. The three boys stared a moment at each other, and then Mark said, “Yeah, well, sorry about the beaner shit. I ain’t racist or nothing.” He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Mark.”

Lance extended his own hand, hoping his sweating palms wouldn’t be too obvious. “Lance,” he offered, and they shook. He found himself fascinated by Mark’s deep blue eyes. They looked like they went on forever.

Mark smiled and nodded, releasing Lance’s hand. “I know. Arthur’s been telling us you’re his second in command, that all us
knights-in-training
, as he called us, got to listen and follow you, ’specially when he ain’t around.”

Lance forced himself to meet Mark’s gaze. “And?”

Mark and Jack exchanged another quick look before both grinned. “We can hang with that.”

Now Jack stuck out his hand. “Especially with a guy as hella cute as you, Lance,” he gushed as they shook hands. “I’m Jack.” His grip was robust and powerful, and Lance gaped open-mouthed at the bulging arm muscles.

He felt himself blush again, but Jack just laughed good-naturedly. “He’s even cuter when he blushes. Man, Lance, I’d kill to have your hair, and I mean that. Mine sucks.” He ruffled a hand through his shaggy mop of black curls disdainfully, but Lance thought Jack’s hair looked pretty cool on him.

Despite his embarrassment, Lance had to laugh. “Yeah, well, I’d kill to have them guns you got,” he said, pointing to Jack’s sizable biceps and shaking his head with admiration.

Now Jack looked uncomfortable, as though his “guns” were the only thing anyone ever noticed about him, but he flexed his right arm anyway and pointed to Lance’s flowing hair. “Trade ya?”

All three boys cracked up, and the air between them suddenly felt fresh and clean and relaxed. They were just three lost boys who needed Arthur, and each other. This was a new beginning for each of them, and Lance felt good about himself and his actions. In fact, from that moment on, he felt certain he could work with any new kid Arthur’s crusade might bring in.

He sparred off and on with each of them in turn for the next hour, coaching them on proper swordplay as Arthur had coached him. Jack had a powerful swing—man that boy was strong! But Lance knew more about technique, which saved him from landing on his butt quite a few times.