Children of the Knight (14 page)

T
HAT
same evening as Jenny finished dinner and prepared for her nightly paper-grading ritual, she turned on the local news just to make sure the city was still there. Nowadays, with all the stupid decisions made by all levels of government, sometimes she wondered if the world really
was
coming to an end like all those idiot prognosticators kept saying.

Her thirty-two-inch flat screen powered up, and she set it to channel seven because she liked their anchors better than the other stations’. As she bussed her dinner dishes into the tiny kitchen of her small one-bedroom apartment in Torrance, she heard the first story being announced.

The local anchor intoned solemnly as though announcing an appearance by God himself, “Our lead story tonight is a strange one, as I’m sure you’ve been hearing all day. Has the legendary King Arthur returned from the dead, and does he at this moment roam the streets of Los Angeles collecting children? Here’s our own Helen Schaeffer with the details.”

On hearing the name “King Arthur,” Jenny quickly dumped her dishes into the messy sink and hurried into her living room just as young, vivacious Helen appeared on camera with the words “Live from Santa Monica Blvd” plastered dramatically across the bottom of the screen.

On the screen, Helen indicated the busy thoroughfare behind her. “As you can see, it’s an ordinary evening here on Santa Monica Boulevard near West Hollywood. But last night was anything but ordinary, as you’ll see from this amazing cell phone video captured by a local passerby.”

The scene cut to a video with rather poor audio of Arthur’s encounter with the two police officers. Because the audio was so poor, the TV station had put up subtitles for the exchanged dialogue. Stunned into amazement, Jenny slid down into her easy chair and gaped at the almost surreal footage unfolding before her. So caught up in the drama, she audibly gasped when the bullet bounced off Arthur’s armor. The tape came to an end, and Helen reappeared.

“As of this moment, King Arthur has continued to elude the police. According to authorities, he is wanted for “questioning,” only, which must be the understatement of the year. This is Helen Schaeffer reporting for—”

Jenny waved her remote and clicked off the set. King Arthur? Obviously some nut, she knew, and yet…. Wasn’t it just last month, or maybe the month before, that Lance had questioned her about King Arthur? Was he real? Wasn’t that one of Lance’s questions? She’d thought it odd at the time, but then Lance could be an odd kid. Now with this news story…. Could there be a connection?

She ran her hand through her wavy blonde hair, absently realizing that she needed to wash it. She also needed to talk with Lance as soon as possible. But how, since he never came to school? That newswoman said something about this King Arthur collecting children… could that explain why certain kids at MTS had been missing these past few weeks? Lance was the key, she knew.
I’ve got to find him.
These thoughts weaving their way through her head, Jenny set about listlessly grading her essays and preparing for the next day’s classes.

W
ITHIN
the Hollenbeck Police Station, Ryan sat pensively gazing at the TV, studying a freeze-framed image of Arthur from that cell phone video. It was evening, and the gang detail section was quiet. Too quiet, Ryan knew. There had been no more “tagging” for the past month or so and no major gang incidents. The calm before the storm, he suspected. Gibson entered and tossed a report on Ryan’s desk. The older man glanced up at his partner, gnawed pencil dangling from his lips.

“You
still
looking at that tape?” he asked. “You must have it memorized by now.”

Ryan leaned back in his swivel chair and held up a drawing of the A tag against the freeze-framed video image on the screen. The frozen video frame was blurred, but clear enough to reveal Arthur’s shield emblazoned with the same symbol.

“He’s our tagger, Gib.”

Startled, Gibson leaned forward for a closer look, snatching the picture from Ryan and examining it against the monitor. “Well, I’ll be damned! How the hell’d you make that connection?”

Ryan took back the paper and set it down next to some Internet printouts. These printouts showed various shields emblazoned with heraldic symbols of one kind or another. “Did a little Internet search. I remembered from college about knights and how they always had a crest on their shields. Shit, I was really into that stuff back then when I was young and stupid. You know, knight on a horse riding into South Central and cleaning it up for all the good people?”

Gibson nodded, loosening his dark blue tie, and rolling up another chair to sit beside his partner. “Yeah, I know the feeling. So what do you suppose this guy is up to? He’s gotta know he’ll have every gangbanger in the city gunning for him if he keeps putting that up on their turf.”

“All forty-one thousand?” Ryan asked with a crooked smile, which only accentuated the deep frown lines on his craggy face.

“You know what I mean,” Gibson replied with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, I know,” said Ryan. “Anything on that dagger?”

Gibson picked up the file folder and flipped it open. Within were various photos of the knife Arthur had used against the rookie cop. “Pretty weird, Ry. The lab did all the usual tests.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So they think it’s from England,” Gibson continued in that tone of voice game show hosts use when they’re about to reveal what’s behind door number one.

“So what’s the punch line?”

“Near as they can tell without carbon dating, England of the fifth or sixth century, or thereabouts.”

Ryan dropped forward in his chair. “Don’t bullshit me, Gib! I’m so not in the mood.”

Gibson leaned forward, his tired features dead serious, and handed Ryan the report. “I’m not. It’s all in here.” He tapped the report with one index finger.

Ryan gazed at the report a moment, and then looked his partner in the eye. “I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on, but I think you and I have an all-nighter to pull with Mr. Internet. We need to find out everything there is to know about King Arthur.”

Gibson’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a lot of information, Ry.”

Ryan tossed the report onto his desk and pointed at the next desk. “And there’s an awful lot of cyberspace right there on your computer, partner. Let’s get cracking.”

With a heavy sigh, Gibson removed his dark blue sport coat and hung it carefully on the back of his swivel chair. As he further loosened his tie and began rolling up his sleeves, he noted that Ryan was already on his desktop searching for websites. Man, he hated when Ryan got like this. Sighing again, he rolled the chair over to his own immaculately organized desk and set to work.

T
HE
episode with Reyna had excited the boys more than usual. Some of the older ones, like Enrique and Luis, could talk of nothing else but “who she’s gonna like better, me or your fool ass?” while the youngsters were all excited that Lance had bested her. “We don’t need no girl anyways” was a common refrain amongst them.

It had taken Arthur and Lance much longer than usual to settle the in-house sleepers for the night. Speculation ran in whispers among the supposedly sleeping boys about what the morrow would bring, and would she be back, and would she want to join, and how did she learn to shoot like that? Finally, silence punctuated by the ever-present dripping of water and the occasional echoing whinny from Llamrei wafting in from her tunnel, settled over the main hall.

Arthur and Lance sat side by side on the platform in front of the king’s throne, legs outstretched before them, enjoying a bit of downtime after such a tumultuous evening.

Lance pushed his hair back from his eyes and looked at Arthur. He’d removed his circlet, and his lengthening hair framed his soft features like twin waterfalls. “Can I ask you something, Arthur?”

Arthur turned his head toward the boy. “Of course. What is it ye wish to know?

“What was it like when you’s a kid? You know,
way
back in the day?” Lance offered that engaging smile and Arthur easily returned it, even as memories of the past momentarily welled up in his mind.

“My childhood was magical, thanks to Merlin. But lonely, as well. There beeth only my foster brother, Kay, to play with, at least until Merlin came to tutor us.”