Children of the Knight (45 page)

Ryan met Arthur’s eyes. For a moment, his resolve faltered. What had he seen in those eyes? Sincerity? Truth? He shook the feeling loose. “Why? Why involve these kids?

Arthur’s intense gaze met the sergeant’s. “They were already involved, didst thou not know this?”

“What’s yer point?”

“That we doth be on the same side, thou and I.”

Ryan scoffed. “The same side?”

“Is not thy purpose to uphold justice?”

“My purpose is to uphold the law, which you’ve been ignoring,” Ryan retorted harshly.

Arthur nodded. “And from whom doth the law arise if not from the people? Are not these children people too? Methinks, Sergeant Ryan, that the
people
doth not agree with thine idea of justice.”

He raised a gauntleted hand and waved it over the heads of the cops and camera crews. Ryan turned, as did Gibson and many of the other officers. Surrounding the police in a perimeter were very angry local residents, armed with kitchen knives, baseball bats, broom handles, metal poles, and tools. This standoff had now become three layers deep.

“Hellfire!” Ryan cursed and marched back to Gibson, allowing Esteban and Darnell time for a quick high five before raising their swords once more to a defensive posture.

Ryan grabbed the bullhorn from Gibson and turned it toward the newcomers. “You people go back to yer homes. This is not yer business!”

“Ry, you gonna get us killed,” Gibson muttered, eyeing the angry crowd with more trepidation than he had Arthur’s crew.

One of the tiny little ladies, a wrinkled, white-haired grandmotherly type who’d given the knights food and water all day, and who everyone called “
abuelita
,” stepped forward, a wooden rolling pin clutched tightly in one gnarled fist.

“The hell it ain’t! King Arthur an’ his knights dun too much fer us to let you pigs try an’ bully ’em! So
you
better get the hell outta here ’fore we kick you out!”

Cheers erupted from the ring of angry locals and from the boys surrounding Arthur.

Ryan groaned, his ulcer attacking with a vengeance, and dropped down beside Gibson.

“
Now
we’re screwed,” Gibson confirmed in disgust.

Ryan shook his head in defeat. “Knew I shoulda retired after Rodney King.”

Knowing the time was right to affect their escape, Arthur glanced toward a tree flanking the road to where he knew Luis was hiding and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Up in the tree, Luis had an arrow cocked, its tip wrapped in a gasoline-soaked rag, and Enrique crouched beside him brandishing a lighter. Enrique whistled like a bird, and four other duos in strategic trees around the perimeter of the parlor did exactly the same. Simultaneously, five rags were lit by five different hands, and then five flaming arrows shot forth from the trees toward the police barricade.

The arrows struck gas tanks on the police cruisers farthest from the crowd and the cops. Arthur had been crystal clear in his directives—no matter their feelings toward cops,
no one
was to be hurt. To do so would destroy their crusade. The boys, some
very
reluctantly, agreed to the mandate.

Five cars around the outskirts of the standoff exploded into massive fireballs, shooting flames thirty feet skyward and drawing all eyes to the scene of the carnage even as everyone, cops and locals, dove for the ground in fear.

Pandemonium ensued as the smoke from the burning vehicles suddenly blanketed the entire area, choking everyone with noxious fumes and effectively hiding Arthur and his knights from view.

“Knights, away!” cried Arthur, and the mass exodus began. He deftly leapt atop Llamrei and yanked Lance up into the saddle behind him as the boys scrambled from their positions and pelted through the smoke, some dodging choking cops along the way, and headed for their waiting cars and trucks. Those on bikes leapt into action, wheeling in and out of crashed and flaming police cars, past the confused local residents, and out to the freedom beyond.

The organization and speed of the exodus was astounding, especially since this was the first time it had been attempted. The kids, however, had assured Arthur that they all had plenty of experience running from cops, and he had taken them at their word.

Arthur did not budge, determined that every one of his knights should escape unscathed. As the cops recovered themselves and raised their guns toward the fleeing children, the locals rose up and stood between the police and the retreating kids, blocking any shot they may have had. The camera operators and reporters ran here and there, fighting to capture as much of the mayhem as possible.

Their swords now sheathed, Arthur sat calmly, with Lance nervously fidgeting at his back, until he saw no more of his knights trapped anywhere within the perimeter. Ryan and Gibson were on their feet, coughing and choking like the rest, but trying to contain the out-of-control situation.

“Don’t shoot, for God’s sake, they’re civilians!” Gibson barked as the locals pressed in more tightly to make certain every cop was immobilized.

Ryan gazed around him in despair at the complete snafu his operation had become and then turned to look through the billowing smoke at Arthur, still seated on Llamrei, calm and confident. Ryan had to give it up to the guy—this hand was well played.

“Until our paths again cross, Sergeant Ryan,” Arthur said with a slight bow and then he spurred Llamrei into a fierce gallop, straight at the two men, almost dislodging Lance in the process. The boy gripped Arthur hard around the waist and clung for his life. The move was so sudden that Ryan and Gibson were forced to dive for the ground.

Ryan looked upward as Arthur’s horse muscled itself up and over them like an enormous white dove. The horse sailed clear over the men and the car before landing lithely on the other side. Both men jumped to their feet, Gibson pulling his gun and pointing it at the retreating horse and rider.

Ryan reached out and shoved Gibson’s hand down. “You crazy? He’s got a kid on the back!”

Gibson glared angrily at Ryan as Arthur disappeared through the smoke and out of sight. Then Gibson stalked over to the driver’s side of their car as Ryan simply gazed in amazement at the disappearing horse. Gibson reached into the car and snatched up the radio.

“This is Sergeant Gibson! King Arthur is heading for First Street, due west. He’s on horseback, and he’s got a kid with him.”

The dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio. “Did you say he was on horseback?”

“That’s what I said!” Gibson repeated furiously. Man, he hated being made a fool of. “Be careful of the kid, but get his ass!”

He threw the radio mic back into the car and glared over the roof at Ryan, who continued to stare at the spot in the smoke where Arthur had disappeared. He ignored Gibson completely, so astonished was he at the turn of events. How had one man done so much damage to the established order of the city in so little time?

He barely even noticed the news vans screeching out of the area in pursuit of the king. It didn’t matter, he knew. He and Gibson would hear from the mayor on this one.
Better refill that ulcer medicine.

A
S
A
RTHUR
and Lance galloped furiously out of the neighborhood into the heavy traffic along First Street, astonished drivers actually stopped talking or texting on their cell phones to pause and gape in wonder at the sight. Shrieking police sirens moving in their direction alerted Arthur that they were under pursuit.

He glanced quickly over his shoulder and spied four police cars roaring into traffic from two different side streets and weaving erratically among the same startled drivers, who attempted to get out of the way. Some, however, made it a point to block the oncoming cops since, they’d apparently decided, a guy on horseback had to be worth helping.

Arthur spurred Llamrei on to an even faster gallop, deftly maneuvering between cars and trucks to put a little distance between him and his pursuers. While riding between automobiles was obviously new to him, he’d been an outstanding horseman in his previous life and knew well how to dodge the enemy.

Clinging tightly to Arthur’s back, Lance kept glancing nervously over his shoulder, eyeing the flashing red lights and wondering how they could possibly get away. “You want me to shoot at ’em?” he called to Arthur. He had his bow and arrows, after all.

“Nay,” Arthur replied without turning his head. “Merely retain thy grip.”

Lance didn’t have to be told twice about that. Yeah, he’d been on this horse plenty of times, but never when they were fleeing for their lives, never when Llamrei was going
this
fast! As the horse pounded along the pavement and the wind whipped hair into his face and threatened to dislodge him, he decided this was
much
crazier than skating.

Arthur weaved and zigzagged through the heavy late-afternoon rush-hour traffic, grateful for the sheer number of cars to help block their pursuers. Ahead, he spotted what Lance had told him was a freeway, an enormous concrete road passing above the one they were riding on. He spurred Llamrei, and they passed beneath the gigantic overpass.

On the freeway above them, people had actually stopped their cars along the shoulder to gawk at the strange sight. Some were even out of their cars cheering as horse and riders passed underneath. Many had their cell phones out, snapping pictures or shooting video. One teenaged boy flipped the middle finger at the police cars that followed.

As Arthur approached a street called Pecan, he suddenly spotted two more police vehicles heading straight for them. He quickly yanked the reins to the left and aimed Llamrei down the much smaller, less trafficked street. Without the threat of oncoming cars, he steered Llamrei straight down the centerline. To their right was a large expanse of grass and some buildings, with people, both old and young, out strolling or playing games. They stopped to gawk as Arthur and Lance flew past on a streak of white.

The first street Arthur saw approaching was Third, so he whipped Llamrei to the right and galloped full tilt past the Spanish-style Dolores Mission Catholic Church, where a wedding was in progress. The bride and groom and their families, standing on the steps of the famous landmark, turned to casually observe the horse and riders galloping past, followed shortly thereafter by a string of flashing, blaring police cars. Everyone stood stock still, hands filled with rice. They waited for the road to clear, for the show to end, and then the rice throwing happily began. Just another day in LA.

Arthur pelted down Third Street, dodging light traffic, not having any idea where he was headed or how to elude the pursuing police cars. They
had
to hide—that was their only option. But where to hide a two thousand-pound horse and two riders?

“Doth ye have thy cell phone?” Arthur shouted against the wind.

“Yeah,” Lance called back, releasing his right hand from Arthur’s back and cautiously slipping the smartphone from his pocket. He gripped the king tautly with his left hand and fought for balance as the up and down bouncing motion threatened to dislodge him. “What now?”

“Use your Internet wizard to locate where we doth be and what may be near to us!” Arthur called back, the wind practically yanking his voice away. “We need a place to hide.”