Children of the Knight (24 page)

Now the gangsters erupted with excitement. Fighting was what they knew and loved. Jaime slapped Esteban on the back. “Show ’im what ya got, dawg!”

Esteban eyed Lance appraisingly, knowing he couldn’t back down, but wondering if he hadn’t stepped in it by opening his mouth. Too late now. “You got it,” he said and got to his feet, sauntered over to the weapons rack, and casually perused the armaments.

There was silence as he hefted several large swords, testing their weight and the feel of each hilt in his grip. Everyone watched with breathless anticipation. Lance glanced nervously at Reyna, and she blew him a kiss, which made him smile.

Esteban turned and saw the gesture, and it annoyed him. Reyna turned to look his way and tossed him a mocking smirk. That irritated Esteban even more. This hot chick thought a fucking little pretty boy could whoop his ass? Fuck that! He snatched a heavy, sturdy, two-handed broadsword, gripped it tautly, the muscles of his thick forearms rippling with power, and stepped to the center of the crowd.

Everyone pressed back as far as they could, leaving a center circle for the two combatants. Lance stepped carefully down from the platform to face off against the much larger, much stronger and intimidating Esteban. “Sure you don’t want any armor for protection?” Lance asked sincerely, noting the boy’s exposed, and
really
buff
, arms.

But Esteban took that as an insult and bristled with indignation. “I got more armor in these muscles, kid, than you could ever wear! Let’s go at it.”

The two boys circled one another like cats, each sizing up the other’s strengths and weaknesses, each looking for an opening to strike. Esteban swung first, and hard, hoping to use his sheer might to knock the sword out of Lance’s grip or even drive the smaller boy to the ground. But Lance easily danced to one side. The weight of Esteban’s sword threw him forward. He stumbled and nearly lost his balance.

Cursing, he recovered his footing and turned just as Lance swung downward with his weapon. Esteban raised his sword in time to block the blow, but the impact of iron against iron sent thrumming vibrations from his hands all the way up his arms.

Shit, the kid was stronger than he looked!

Esteban stumbled back and then used all his strength to push against Lance, causing the smaller boy to fall back several feet. Lance almost lost his footing, but weeks of training with Arthur paid off. Esteban took a wild swing at Lance. The smaller boy easily ducked, and the blade sailed harmlessly over his head. Seizing the advantage, Lance pushed forward and rammed his shoulder into Esteban’s rock-hard chest, causing the bigger boy to stagger backward, pinwheeling with his arms, and almost losing his grip on the enormous sword.

Each time Lance scored a victory, the original group cheered. Each time Esteban gained the advantage, the gangsters whooped. Arthur watched this with a calm he didn’t feel. These gang members were no strangers to killing. Violence was how they’d grown up. He knew Esteban, or any of these kids, would likely kill Lance or one of the others without hesitation. The outcome of this one-on-one fight might make or break his entire crusade, he realized, as he said a silent prayer for Lance’s deliverance.

Esteban screamed and charged Lance, swinging downward as hard as he could with his sword. This time the smaller boy did not dance away, but deftly swung his sword up and around to easily deflect the powerful blow. Esteban’s blade struck the concrete floor, missing Lance completely and setting his rippling forearms afire with thrumming pain.

By now, Lance was sweating, but not as much as Esteban, he was pleased to note. Despite his circlet, sweaty hair dangled before his tight, focused face, drifting in and out of his field of vision. He ignored it.

The combatants circled one another again, but neither made a move.

Then Esteban swung, and Lance easily parried. Esteban swung again, harder this time. And again Lance parried, deflecting the blade harmlessly. Again and again Esteban swung his sword hard, thinking that sheer might would win the day. Accustomed to winning by strength alone, he underestimated the smaller boy. What Lance lacked in physical size, he more than made up in technique, and easily and calmly parried Esteban’s every thrust, every swing, and every lunge.

Dripping with sweat, his wifebeater soaked through, Esteban finally lost his cool. His muscles were tired, and he wanted to end this shit now! Eyes bulging, mouth twisted with rage, he ran straight at Lance, blade pointing out, thinking the boy would turn and run.

Lance just smirked, ducked under the blade, and swung the flat of his own sword against Esteban’s shin, causing the bigger boy to cry out in pain, stumble, and crash hard to the concrete. He lost his slippery grip, and the broadsword clattered along the ground to land at Reyna’s feet. Exhausted as he was, his shin throbbing with pain, Esteban rolled to try and regain his feet—and found the point of Lance’s sword at his throat.

Lance breathed heavily, but Esteban panted like a dog after a two-mile run. The two boys gazed intently at one another. Just as with Reyna, Lance knew this to be make-or-break time for him. His gaze never wavered.

Finally, after several tense, silent seconds, Esteban broke eye contact and looked away. “You win,” he mumbled in humiliation. He couldn’t help glancing up at Reyna, but instead of that mocking grin he saw a look of approval in her eyes.

Lance pulled back his sword. “Still think I’m girly?”

Esteban shook his head, spraying droplets of sweat all over the ground. “No.”

Lance turned and fixed a challenging gaze upon the other gang members. “Anybody else wanna take me on?”

One by one, they shook their heads and looked away, embarrassed and hating that feeling. Shit, they could all shoot a gun, but one-on-one fighting like that? No way!

Lance swept his fiery green eyes over the assemblage and settled on the panting Esteban. “Got any problem with me being First Knight?”

Esteban turned his gaze in amazement up at the smaller boy who’d just kicked his ass in front of his homies. “Anybody who fights like you—hell, no!”

Lance grinned and extended a hand. Esteban flicked his gaze over to Jaime and the other homeboys, hoping he wouldn’t see that he’d fallen in their eyes. But they nodded to him in understanding, and agreement, so he turned to look at Lance, and stuck out his hand.

Lance pulled the bigger boy easily to his feet, and Esteban limped to a chair to massage his bruised shin.

Darnell shook his head in amazement. “You gonna teach us all to fight like that?” he asked Lance.

The smaller boy nodded. “Starting right now.”

And so it came to pass that Lance earned the respect of the gang members in the only true way they understood, through strength and force.

Arthur clapped Lance solidly on the shoulder and smiled in approval. No words were needed. Mark and Jack grinned at Lance, and even Reyna flashed him a thumbs-up sign, which made him drop his eyes and grin foolishly.

For the remainder of that afternoon, Arthur and Lance and those with sword-fighting experience, coached the gangsters who sought to learn the use of these weapons, while Reyna and Lavern worked with the archers. As usual, Enrique and Luis tried to outshoot each other for Reyna’s benefit.

But her eyes kept drifting, despite her best efforts at self-control, toward the swordsmen whenever Esteban wielded a weapon. He was awkward and still limped after his battle with Lance, but he was strong and quick, and she loved the way his muscles undulated when he swung at a dummy target. Not that she’d ever tell
him
that, of course.

Finally, after nightfall, the gang members drifted back to their ’hoods, and she bade them good night. “It’s late, Reyna,” Enrique implored, turning on the charm. “You should stay here tonight. We’ll stay too.”

She just laughed. “Yeah, and have to sleep with both eyes open? Hell no! ’Night, Arthur,” she called as she disappeared down the tunnel with a wave of her bow and a fling of her ponytail.

Disappointed, Enrique and Luis followed. Sometimes they stayed overnight, but usually went back home so their moms wouldn’t worry too much.

Esteban smiled inwardly at the look of disappointment on their faces as he and his homies returned their swords to the armory and prepared to leave. He knew Reyna had been checking him out earlier. He had that
jaina
wrapped up—
just take it slow and cool
.

After telling Arthur they would return tomorrow, he paused to exchange a look of deep respect with Lance. They gazed at one another a long moment.

“
Carnal
,” Esteban said with a nod, and Lance broke into a smile. They were equals now. Esteban tossed him that crooked grin before turning with his entourage to leave.

Suddenly, it was just the usual homeless kids who always stayed the night, and Lance felt an immense sense of relief. Another day, another test passed. His secret was still safe, the looming shadows of his past kept at bay once again by another small step forward. But for how much longer? The house of cards that he
really
was would fall one of these days, and then what would become of him?

Peace surrounded him at this late hour when everyone had gone down and Arthur had bade him good night. But peace was always tenuous at best. He’d done his job, the gangsters had accepted him, but did that make him worthy? No, he knew. His secret and that feeling of being forever dirty would always be in the way.

Despite the silence, despite the ever-present, almost soothing drip of water, peace skittered around and away from him. As always, Chris snuggled up to him, but Lance squirmed and turned and couldn’t get comfortable. Fleeting images, memories, fears, and doubts kept intruding.

Finally, he extricated himself carefully from the small boy’s embrace, slipped on his baggy tunic and boots, and padded softly out of the sleeping area into The Hub. A few battery-powered lanterns still burned through the night, turning the enormous chamber into a shadow-realm.

As he entered the shadowy Hub, he found he wasn’t alone. Mark rested against a wall gazing absently at Arthur’s silent, empty throne. Lance’s heart rate jumped, and he paused, considered turning back, but Mark noticed him, and Lance couldn’t bring himself to be rude anymore. So he approached and tentatively sat beside the shaggy-haired blond, supporting his back against the concrete wall.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, hoping the nervousness in his voice wasn’t too obvious.

Mark shook his head, untamed bangs flopping against his forehead. Then he eyed Lance with a lopsided grin that enlightened his soft features. “You sure kicked gangbanger ass today, Lance.”

Lance relaxed and smiled. “I don’t really like fighting much, you know, but with guys like that, I guess it’s all they understand.”

Mark nodded, bangs dropping in front of his eyes. “Yep, a good, old-fashioned ass-whooping. Remind me not to get you mad.”

Lance laughed, wrapping his arms around his upraised knees. “No worries. I’m a skater. I only whoop ass when I got to.”

Mark chuckled at that, and they sat a few moments in tenuous silence. The drip of water, an almost living presence within these dank, damp tunnels, was the only sound except their own breathing.

Then Lance looked at the other boy. “You still, like, craving the heroin?” he asked cautiously.

Mark nodded, flipping the blond mop off his forehead. “Sometimes, but not right now. When I do, I come out here and stare at the throne, and I think of Arthur, what he done for me, an’ I shake it loose. No more a that shit fer me.”

Lance nodded. Arthur had that effect on him too.

The two boys sat a moment in silence.

Mark turned his haunted blue eyes on Lance. “What was it like, Lance?”

“What was what like?”

“Spending time with Arthur, you know, just the two of you?” Lance looked puzzled a moment, and Mark smiled. “I mean, you had him all to yourself, right, ’fore the rest of us kids came along?”

Now Lance understood, and it freaked him out because that’s one of the things that’d been troubling him this night, another reason why he couldn’t sleep. Besides his haunted past, he’d also been reflecting back to those early days not so long ago when it was just him and Arthur and no one else, back before he always had to prove himself to this kid or that one.

How much he enjoyed the ease of those initial days, the closeness he’d felt with Arthur. He knew now how much he’d needed that closeness and wished more than anything it could be that way again. After all, Arthur knew his secret and had accepted him anyway. Not just accepted him,
embraced
him.
Trusted
him. Maybe even…. No, don’t go
that
far
.

“It was awesome,” he mused, smiling in spite of himself. “I like, showed him all around the city, taught him about cell phones and TV and trains and busses. Even got him on a swing at the park.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he laughed. “Man, that sounds great. You’re so lucky.”

Lance nodded. He
was
lucky, wasn’t he? Where would he be right now if he’d never met Arthur? On the streets? Looking for a safe place to sleep? Still hiding from himself? “He’s like nobody I ever knew before, you know?”

Mark nodded in agreement. “I know. All men ever want outta me is….” He stopped, let the thought trail off with a heavy, painful sigh. “Sometimes, Lance, I’d try to
pretend
they loved me, you know, just cuz I was so lonely.”

The sadness pooling in those oceans of blue stabbed Lance straight through the heart.

“I’m sorry, man” was all he could think to say, imagining how terrible it must’ve been out there, feeling again his own humiliation and self-loathing. “I know about the lonely part, for sure.”

He looked long and hard at Mark, whose gaze had locked once more on the throne, his mind somewhere far away, and made a decision. He’d thought about it for too long already. He wanted to know. No, he
needed
to know.

“Mark, can I ask you something?”