The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp (29 page)

I'm not a fast runner to begin with, and hefting the Sword didn't make me any faster. The long wet grass pulled at my feet and I might have just gone in circles in the dark, but the floodlights helped; I kept looking over my shoulder and they kept getting smaller as I ran. I listened for the sound of Mogart's army coming after me, but there was no sound at all except my huffing and puffing and the
swish-swish
of the grass rubbing against the soles of my shoes as I ran.

I stumbled onto the edge of the paved road. If this was the same road we drove in on, then following it would take me back into the woods. I still couldn't hear any sound of pursuit and I was too tired to run any more, so I started walking. Fog and sweat flattened my hair and I kept having to wipe the moisture off my face. My shirt clung to my chest and I shivered. I could feel a bad cold coming on. For some reason, the scar on my thumb was throbbing to beat the band. Maybe because the Sword was near it.

I was still walking with no woods in sight, just rolling hills that disappeared into the fog, when I heard the car coming up the road behind me.

I ran to the side of the road and threw myself onto the ground, making myself as flat as a fat, bumbling simpleton can get. But I didn't get flat enough, because the car stopped and a voice called out softly, “Alfred! Alfred Kropp, get over here!”

I lifted my head. Mike was sitting behind the wheel, smiling, smacking, waving his hand urgently at me.

“Come on! We don't have much time . . .”

He was probably right about that and I didn't have much of a choice. I scrambled up the embankment to the car and dived into the backseat. Mike hit the gas and the Bentley's back wheels spun out, screeching on the wet pavement like a wounded animal.

“Boy Howdy!” Mike yelled. “That was close, huh? Took heavy casualties, but we kinda expected that goin' in, right? The main thing is we got the Sword. Got the Sword and saved the world, not bad for a night's work, huh?”

I leaned back, the Sword against my chest, still breathing heavily.

Mike said, “Pretty quick thinking back there, Al. You and Benny plan it that way, or was it all your idea?”

I didn't say anything. That didn't seem to matter to Mike. He kept talking.

“Darn it, dropped my cell back there in the fight. Well, everybody's on standby anyway. Me and Jeff have been together since Cairo—that wacky death-cult thing in the Valley of Kings. But, oh, jeez, enough about
that,
that's all classified. Anyway, I'm gonna miss that son of a gun and what a dingy-darn shame about Benny, huh? Heck of a guy.
Heck
of a guy. If I had my cell I'd call in a couple of Stealths and knock the living you-know-what out of that medieval madman, take out those thousand-year-old rocks with him. Small price to pay, don't ya think?”

“Did you kill him?” I asked.

He laughed. “What do you think, Al?”

“I don't think you did.” I sat up and pressed the tip of the blade against Mike's neck.

He didn't react, except his hands tightened slightly on the wheel.

“Stop the car, Mike.”

“Hey, Al. Ally boy. What the heck are you doing?”

“Stop the car, Mike.”

He slowed down and pulled to the side of the road.

“Okay, now what? Talk to me, Al. What's this all about?”

I wasn't sure. I was making this up as I went along. “Give me your gun. No, Mike, with your left hand. Keep the right on the wheel. Slowly, Mike.” I took the gun from over his left shoulder and slipped it under my belt.

“Okay,” I said. “Now put your left hand back on the wheel.”

“Al, I'm one of the good guys, remember?” His voice was calm enough, but he was working the gum hard. “Look, nobody's sorrier about Benny than me. That was a damn shame, but you were there, you saw—what did you want me to do about it?”

“You set him up.”

“Ah, come on, Al!”

“You planned it from the beginning. Mogart didn't want just the money. He wanted Bennacio too.”

Mike didn't have anything to say to that. He was watching me in the rearview mirror. I knew I was right when he didn't say anything.

“And you set up Mr. Samson and the rest of the knights in Spain. You tipped off Mogart they were coming.”

He shook his head, smiling now. “Why would I do that, Alfred?”

“Because you both knew the same thing: As long as the knights lived, they were the only hope of ever keeping the Sword safe. You both needed them out of the way. So you made them part of the deal.”

“Man, that's a pretty interesting theory, Al.”

“Mr. Samson trusted you to do the right thing,” I said. “He didn't have to tell you about the Sword and you double-crossed him. Bennacio knew you were double-crossing us tonight, but he didn't see how he had a choice. He took a vow, see . . . he gave his word . . .”

“Look, Al, no offense, I know you mean well and everything, but you're in this thing way over your head. Put down the Sword, pal. We'll talk about this on the plane, okay? Don't you want to go home?”

“I don't have a home anymore.”

“Really?” He whistled. “That's gotta be tough. I'm truly sorry to hear that, Al. Well, we could take you anywhere you want to go. Natalia is still at the château. You wanna see her? You got kind of a thing for her, don't you?”

I didn't say anything, but I could feel my face get hot. Mike Arnold noticed me blushing and smiled.

“Get out of the car,” I said.

“Al . . .”

I pushed on his neck with the tip of the Sword.

“Okay, I'm getting out.”

He opened his door and stepped onto the road. I got out and pointed the gun at his head.

“Get down on your stomach and fold your hands on the back of your head.”

“You're making a huge mistake here, Al. A heck of a boner . . .”

“Lay down, Mike. I'll shoot if you don't.”

“You think so? I'm sorry, Al, but I really don't think you can.”

He took a step toward me and the gun went off. We both jumped. Neither of us was expecting that. I couldn't even remember pulling the trigger.

“All righty then,” Mike said softly. He lay down.

“Hands on the back of your head,” I told him.

He laced his fingers behind his head.

“Where do you think you're gonna go, Alfred? You can't get out of the country, and what are you goin' to do with the Sword? Take over the world? Donate it to the Smithsonian? You're not thinking this through, kid.”

“Good-bye, Mike,” I said, and I climbed into the car and drove off. I kept looking in the rearview mirror, but I never saw Mike get up.

44

The steering wheel was on the wrong side and I had trouble keeping the car on the road; the right wheels kept dropping off the road until I remembered I was supposed to be driving on the left side. That made it a little better, but it still felt funny. I knew I needed to ditch the car as soon as possible: A Bentley's a little too conspicuous for a getaway car.

I drove aimlessly through the English countryside, not even knowing what direction I was heading. I kept going until I came to a road that looked bigger and kept taking bigger roads until I came to a highway or whatever they're called in England, and after a few miles passed a sign that read: “London 40 miles.”

The traffic began to pick up as I got closer to the city. I drove with both hands on the wheel, my knuckles bone white, the Sword lying on the seat beside me. I couldn't stop yawning, and all I wanted to do was pull to the side of the road and go to sleep, but I kept driving.

The sun was rising by the time I reached the outskirts of London. I was definitely not driving into the heart of the city in a hot Bentley, so I pulled into the first hotel I saw in a place called Slough. I took off my jacket and wrapped the Sword in it, but that left the butt of the gun sticking up from my waistband in full view. I worried what to do about this and if the clerk would wonder why this fifteen-year-old kid was checking in without any bags or parents, and why I had a jacket in the shape of a large sword. But some things you can't do anything about, so I pushed the gun all the way down, into my underwear. The cold metal of the barrel pressed against my groin.

The hotel looked old, as if it had been something else before it was a hotel, maybe a nobleman's country estate. The lobby was very small, and just felt old compared to the American hotels I had been in. The clerk didn't say anything about my sword-shaped jacket. He put me in a room on the third floor, and told me I'd have to take the stairs because there was no lift. He asked how long I'd be staying. I told him I was taking a walking tour of England and I'd leave when I was tired of walking. He didn't ask anything else. He didn't smile once, and I thought maybe he had bad teeth. I had read somewhere that's a problem in England.

In the stairwell, I took the gun out of my underwear and kind of tucked it under my arm. The hall was narrow and there were water stains on the baseboard. The paint job and carpet looked at least ten years old and smelled of mold. My room was at the end of the hall, next to the bathroom.

My bed was narrow, about six feet long, and shook a little when I sat on it. I was afraid it was going to break. I thought about calling the front desk and asking if they had rooms with bigger beds. I put the gun on the bedside table and laid the Sword down on the bed beside me. I took off my shoes, peeled off my wet socks, and lay down.

What was I going to do with the Sword now? Mike had a good point. They'd lock down the whole country and go door-to-door if they had to. They'd find the Bentley parked in the hotel parking lot, and I hadn't even used a fake name to check in.

I expected a knock on the door any second, but they probably wouldn't knock, just burst in with guns blazing, because after all, I had the Sword of Kings and might use it to take over the world.

I yawned. I needed sleep, but my instincts told me sleep should probably be the last thing on my to-do list. I pushed myself off the bed. On the wall next to the TV was a mirror. I looked at myself and decided I probably should take a shower, but that would mean leaving the room, and I didn't want to take the Sword with me into the shower or leave it in the room. I looked in the mirror and thought about Mogart calling me fat. I wasn't fat; I was just big. I had always been big and blocky, like one of those blocks at Stonehenge, wide and rectangular, the most boring shape next to a square there is.

I sat back on the bed and tried to figure out my next move. I couldn't stay here long—no more than a few hours. I should shower and brush my teeth and go, except I didn't have a toothbrush. I didn't have anything except the most powerful weapon on earth. I could declare myself the Emperor Kropp, King Alfred the First, Lord of the Earth, but right then all I wanted was a toothbrush.

If I made myself king, I could summon all the world's leaders to Slough and declare world peace. I could demand all the tanks and bombs and guns be melted down and turned into playground equipment. I could tell all the rich countries to feed the poor ones and outlaw war and tell them from now on every penny they used to spend on weapons they now had to spend on finding cures for diseases and making cars that burn clean fuel. I could demand the end to every evil under the sun. No more war or disease or famine. I could fulfill what Bennacio said was the reason the archangel gave the Sword to Arthur: I could unite mankind. I could finish what Arthur started. It might not bring Bennacio back, or Samson and the knights, or Uncle Farrell, or anyone who was lost because of me, but it might make up for what I had done. It might even make Natalia not hate me anymore.