Read Online Children of the Knight by Michael J. Bowler - Free Book Online

too smart. By middle school he’d taken to barely showing up at all, except he got As anyway. He’d find out the homework from some nerdy kid, get it all done, and have one of his friends turn it in. When it was test day, he’d show up, take the test, ace it, and not show up until the next one. How the hell useful was school anyway when he could get straight “As” just by doing that?
    No, the lure of the streets was far more compelling and exciting. He’d worked his way up the ladder, and there weren’t many kids his age out there who were smarter. That’s why he knew it fell to him to solve this mystery. He’d be back out on his next court date—juvy was too crowded to keep him very long for street fighting—and when he hit the streets he would find this tagger. He’d find the guy and fuck him up.
     

     
    T HEREwere now fifty boys, all sixteen years or younger within Arthur’s underground “castle,” practicing the use of his various weapons. These kids were those Arthur and Lance had encountered during their nightly excursions, as well as a number of MTS students recruited by Lance. They wore protective armor of varying types, including helms to guard against head injuries, and sparred with one another under Arthur’s watchful eye. Some fired arrows at makeshift targets, missing most shots and laughing at their awkwardness, while the majority of boys parried at one another with the swords, attempting to dance around their opponent to get in the “fatal” thrust.
    Arthur moved among them with confidence and ease, adjusting this one’s bow arm or that one’s stance, showing another how to hold a shield and a sword simultaneously. He stopped to observe Lance and Enrique, a sixteen-year-old from MTS, having at each other with broadswords. Arthur nodded approvingly at Lance’s great improvement in the use of the weapon. His small size still made hefting the weighty sword difficult, but he held his own against the bigger and stronger Enrique. Chris sat on the sidelines near Lance, obviously not wanting to stray too far from the boy who had rescued him. Lance and Enrique paused to rest, panting and sweaty, Lance’s flowing brown hair pasted to his face as though glued.
    “Excellent, Lance,” Arthur commended the boy. “And thee, as well, Enrique. Ye remindeth me of the youthful vigor of the first Camelot.”
    “What’s ‘Camelot’?” Enrique asked through gasps for air.
    “Camelot beeth the name of mine kingdom long ago, Enrique,” Arthur answered, handing the boy a bottle of water, which Enrique hastily gulped. Arthur did not, however, hand one to Lance, and that irked the younger boy.
    “Is that where all this stuff came from?” Enrique asked after taking another swig.
    Arthur frowned suddenly, the question once again catching him off guard. “I suppose so,” he answered uncertainly, almost to himself. “When I didst find myself here, in this time and place, all that you see had accompanied me.” He trailed off, lost in thought, struggling to remember.
    Was Merlin responsible , he wondered? He’d awakened here, in this underground place, with the knowledge planted deep within him of his purpose, and the image of his First Knight at the forefront of his vision. He’d even found several books on the history of this country, the progeny of Britain. But who or what had set all of this into motion?
    “So how come yer here, anyways?” Lance asked, cutting into Arthur’s musings. “I thought youse s’posed to come back to Britain or England or some other place, not America.”
    Arthur looked askance at Lance in annoyance. “Dost thou not know the history of thine own country, Lance?”
    The other boys laughed as Lance flushed red with embarrassment. And his pride rose to the surface. He hated being embarrassed, especially in front of other kids. “I don’t give a shit about history,” he sullenly retorted.
    Now the boys laughed with him, not at him. That gave Lance a good feeling,