by Mari Mancusi
“No, no, you don’t do them by hand!”
Arthur looked up from the soap suds and his eyes fell on a tall, black-haired boy around his own age heading over to him. “I don’t?” he asked.
“Please. You’d be here all night,” the boy scoffed. “Come ’mere, I’ll show you the washer.” He grabbed Arthur’s bin of dishes and carried it over to one of the large metal machines. Arthur watched, fascinated, as he pulled open a door and stacked the dishes inside. “Now just close the door and hit start,” he instructed, pressing a big red button just above the door. A moment later the machine roared to life, causing Arthur to take a wary step backward.
“The machine washes dishes?” he asked, fascinated.
The boy laughed. “Of course. Honestly, it’s just a big, glorified dishwasher—same as you have at home,” he said. “Give it ten minutes and it’ll have those suckers shiny and new. I'm Lucas, by the way,” he introduced himself.
“Arthur. And you are a dishwasher, too?” It was exciting to meet someone who worked the same job as he did back home.
“Nah. I’m too busy with football to have an afterschool job,” Lucas explained. “But my uncle trains the knights, so I know the drill. Tonight I'm just here looking for my stepbrother. He didn't show up for dinner and isn't answering his cell so Mom's freaking out.” He rolled his eyes. “I tried to tell her he probably just came here to catch a show—my uncle hooks him up with free tickets and Stu loves this place like crazy. So she told me to come get him. He shrugged. “Want to help me look?”
Arthur nodded, though he admittedly only understood about a quarter of what Lucas had just said in his strange accent. But he didn't want to be rude. “I will help,” he agreed. Anything to earn his keep.
“Cool,” Lucas pronounced, though in Arthur's humble opinion the room was actually quite warm. In any case, he dutifully followed Lucas out into the main jousting hall. “He's got brown hair and glasses,” Lucas told him. “He'll be by himself most likely. Unless he has a blond girl with him. That'd be Sophie.”
Arthur's eyes widened. “Sophie?” he repeated, his heart beating fast. But she was still with Merlin, right? Or maybe she was back. Maybe she could help him get home. He had to find her!
“Yeah. Blond curly hair. Blue eyes. Kind of cute, though a bit on the bossy side. Not sure what my brother sees in her,” Lucas said with a laugh.
Excited, Arthur scanned the room for a glimpse of Sophie, his eyes involuntarily stopping over the jousting field. The knights were currently competing in some kind of game of skill, attempting to free a circlet hanging from a length of cloth as they rode by on horseback, using only their lances.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Lucas said again. The boy was evidently obsessed with the room's temperature. “Stu is dying to become a knight someday. It's not really my thing, to be honest. But I suppose the knights do get all the girls.”
“They do back home, too,” Arthur agreed, wondering for a moment about Guinevere and how she was making out at the tournament. Was Agravaine bothering her again? He hated that he wasn't there to protect her. Not that his princess wasn't able to save herself.
“Where's home?” Lucas asked curiously.
Arthur shook his head while his mind raced for an acceptable answer. Obviously mentioning time travel was out. “I'm here from a faraway land called Britain,” he replied at last, praying there was still an island known as Britain in the twenty-first century.
“Oh, are you like a foreign exchange student? I guess I should have figured that from your English accent,” Lucas replied. “Well, let me know if you need any info on the good old U.S. of A. I'm happy to help.” He slapped him on the back. “Now I'm going to go take the top two rows. You walk around the bottom two, okay? Wave to me if you see someone that looks like my stepbrother.”
Arthur nodded and the boys split up. As he walked the rows, peering at the audience, he couldn't help but glance at the action on the field. The tournament was still going strong—the blue knight had just been knocked off his horse by the green knight and his squire had tossed him a sword. Still on his mount, the green knight swung a dangerous-looking mace as he galloped toward his opponent.
Arthur watched, enraptured, forgetting he was supposed to be looking for Lucas's brother. There was nothing more exciting than a joust.
The blue knight struck the green and managed to dismount him and now they were both on the ground, circling each other with catlike grace. The audience was on their feet, screaming their heads off in support of their respective knights.
Arthur leaned against the low wall that separated the spectators from the lists, his heart pounding with excitement. The two knights seemed very evenly matched. Who would win?
The blue knight’s sword crashed into the green knight’s shield and sparks flew at the impact. The green knight fell backwards, dropping his mace. The blue knight took his advantage and a split second later the tip of his sword was at the green knight’s throat.
The crowd went wild.
The knight set down his sword and approached the dais, bowing low to his master. Lord Medieval rose from his throne and declared him victor of the evening. Everyone cheered.
But suddenly, to Arthur’s horror, the green knight rose to his feet, grabbed the discarded sword and unceremoniously drove it into the blue knight’s back.
Arthur gasped along with the crowd at this display of treachery. The blue knight staggered for a moment, his expression shocked and horrified as he fell to the sand. He did not rise.
What had once been a friendly tournament had now become a murder scene. The blue knight’s men took the field, armed with maces, swords, and poles. But the green knight dispatched them quickly—slaying each and every one of them where they stood.
Arthur steamed with fury. He couldn’t let the evil knight get away with this. But what could he do?
It was then he noticed movement from the blue knight. His heart fluttered with excitement; the man was attempting to stagger to his feet. Arthur looked around, praying someone would notice and help him. Give him a weapon to defend himself before the green knight realized he lived. But no one came. They were all on the field. Dead.
It was up to Arthur. The only trained squire left in the place.
Without regard to his own safety, he leapt the barrier, grabbing the nearest sword from the sidelines and diving onto the field. The green knight turned to face him, a shocked look on his ugly face, but Arthur nimbly dodged him and headed straight for his victim. Another knight tried to stop him, but he darted away. Finally he reached the blue knight and thrust the sword in his direction.
“Use this!” he cried, panting heavily from his run. “Defend us from the evil that plagues this hall.”
Arthur waited for the knight to take the sword. To smite his enemy where he stood.
“Dude, what are you doing?” the knight hissed instead.
Arthur cocked his head in confusion. What? He tried again to give the sword to the knight. “Take it. He will kill you otherwise!”
The knight awkwardly took the sword, an uncertain expression on his face. “Um,” he stammered. “Hey, Luke, did George change the choreography and forget to tell me again?”
To Arthur’s shock, the green knight pulled off his helmet and dropped his sword. “No, of course not,” he replied, shooting Arthur an annoyed look. “Man, they really need to start background checking the dishwashers. Keep us from getting these guys with delusions of knighthood.”
“No, no!” Arthur protested, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “I am no knight. I simply meant to help right a wrong as any good squire would do for his master…”
“Whatever, dork,” the blue knight replied, rolling his eyes. “Hey, can we get some bouncers out here?” he shouted toward the sidelines. “Get The Cable Guy off stage?”
Arthur squared his shoulders, staring down the approaching men. “I apologize,” he said, bowing his head low. “I did not mean to overstep my bounds.”
&nb
sp; But it did no good and a moment later Arthur found himself tackled by three burly guards and yanked unceremoniously off the tiltyard. He could hear the audience booing as they dragged him down a hall and tossed him head-first out the back of the castle and into a big pile of smelly mud.
“And don’t come back!” they cried, before slamming the heavy castle door closed behind them.
Bruised and still confused, Arthur picked himself out of the mud and brushed himself off best he could, his mind spinning as he tried to figure out what had just happened. He’d only meant to help. To bring justice to the great hall. Did this world not value honor? Did they not live by the code of chivalry?
He swallowed down the lump in his throat as he surveyed his surroundings. A trash-strewn alleyway, surrounded by chain fences. The temperature had dropped and his hunger had grown. And now he had no bed and no food. And no prospects of finding any in the near future, either.
He trudged back down the street and toward the field where he’d first landed in the future. Maybe it was best to make camp there for the night. After all, Merlin had always told him that if he were lost, his best bet was to stay where he was so people could find him.
But as he arrived back at the field, the rain began to fall. He sighed. His luck, it seemed, refused to turn.
Eventually he managed to find an overhang in the doorway of a large building just up the hill from the field and crawled beneath it. At least here he'd be dry. Hugging his legs to his chest he leaned his head against the brick wall, praying tomorrow would be a better day.
Chapter 15
“Your brother, m’lady!” The young priestess’s slippered feet echoed against the stone floor as she burst into Morgan LeFay’s solar without remembering to knock. Her light gray eyes flickered with excitement as she hastily bowed to her mistress. “The spring has revealed him to us at long last.”
“What?” Morgan looked up from her weaving. “Are you certain?” she asked, her voice trembling. Goddess help the girl if she were playing at something.
But the maiden looked completely serious. Excited, even, to be the one blessed to bear such big news. “Aye, lady. Alys checked twice. There can be no doubt.”
“Show me. Quickly!”
The maiden turned and Morgan followed her down the stone hallway, trying to still her pounding heart. She had been waiting for this moment for nearly fourteen years and had begun to believe it would never come to pass. Still, every day, without fail, she instructed her women to consult the sacred spring, praying the goddess would reveal Arthur’s whereabouts to her. Had the Blessed Mother finally heard her cries for revenge?
They stepped into the courtyard. Morgan’s dwelling had been constructed around the sacred spring to protect it from others seeking to use its gifts for lesser purposes. The garden surrounding the spring overflowed with colorful flowers and lush vines—the blessed waters offering bountiful life to that which surrounded them. Three maidens stood circling the spring, hands clasped as they chanted in low voices, securing the vision until Morgan could see it for herself.
The sorceress swallowed hard as she approached the water, blinking twice before daring to peer down into its depths.
She drew in a breath. Her brother. There could be no mistaking him. Even though the last time she had seen him, he was but a babe in her arms.
Morgan cackled. “Ah, Merlin, you thought you could hide him from me until it was too late,” she murmured, dipping her fingers into the cool waters. “But I have found your precious prince at long last.”
She’d never forget the cold, winter day that the wicked magician had swept into Tintagel, her mother’s castle in Cornwell. Morgan had only been nine years old at the time, a mere child herself, but had often served as Arthur's caretaker. Her mother, Queen Igrainne, was too busy with her new husband, High King Uther Pendragon, whom she married after Morgan's father was slain in battle.
Morgan didn’t mind taking care of her baby brother; in fact, she quite enjoyed it. Singing him songs, rocking him to sleep, playing silly games. That night she’d been feeding Arthur some ground-up herbs mixed with milk and barley. The wise woman of the nearby village had brought them to her earlier in the day, promising they would make the boy grow strong and healthy and shield him from any sickness.
Unfortunately, all the herbs in the world could not protect young Arthur from the evil Merlin, who showed up that night in a puff of black smoke and demanded Morgan hand over the boy, claiming King Uther had traded him before he was even conceived in exchange for Igrainne’s favor.
“But he is my brother,” she’d argued meekly, frightened by the wild, white-bearded man who towered over her menacingly.
“Aye,” Merlin had replied, his voice deep and threatening. “But your brother has a larger destiny than this. He will grow to rule all of England, uniting the tribes and ushering in a new era of peace for this battle-torn land.”
She looked down at the white-skinned babe in her arms. He smiled happily, gurgling and blowing a bubble. It was hard to imagine such a little child growing up to become a great king.
“Mayhap you speak true,” she said, forcing herself to be strong. To fight for her family. “But he is yet a babe, who has not lived through his first summer. Destiny can wait until he is grown. For now, he should be allowed to stay with his family who loves him.”
“Nay.” Merlin looked down at her. “I must prepare him while he is still young. Give me the child.”
“No!” Morgan scrambled to her feet. “You shan’t take him.” She ran from the room, clutching Arthur to her chest. Frightened at the sudden movement, the baby let out a large wail, making it impossible for Morgan to hide him from the fast approaching magician.
Her black hair came unbound from its plaiting and sweat broke out on her forehead, but still she ran through the twisting castle passageways, her slippered feet padding against the stone floors as she desperately sought a guard or some other member of the court to help save her brother from the evil man determined to take him away.
Finally she burst into the great hall, where King Uther and her mother sat on their thrones, holding hands and listening to the court harpist as they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. They looked over in surprise at her sudden intrusion. She sucked in a breath and approached, Arthur still howling in her arms, easily drowning out the music.
“What is the meaning of this, Morgan?” her mother asked, looking annoyed at the interruption. “And why is the child wailing so?”
“It is Merlin,” she managed to reply, much of her breath still trapped in her throat. “He has come to take Arthur away.”
At the magician’s name, a shadow of fear flickered across her mother’s face. But Uther placed a large hand on her knee, calming her as he was known to do. “You know, he has right to the child,” he reminded his lady in a gentle voice, effectively confirming Morgan’s greatest fear. “You should let him take the baby.”
“Mother,” she pleaded. “Don’t let him do this! Don’t let him give my brother—your son—away to this man! He must carry on my father's blood and become Duke of Cornwell. He is the only one left!” She thought of her wonderful, kind father. Of his big burly beard and loud belly laugh. There wasn't a day that went by when she didn't miss him so.
But her mother had just turned her head, refusing to meet her daughter's desperate eyes. It was Uther who spoke instead.
“Silly girl,” he scolded her. “Do you really think Arthur is the son of a mere duke? Look at him! He clearly has Pendragon blood running through his veins. And someday he will take over my throne, becoming high king of Britain!”
Morgan stared at him in shock. Could it be true? Could her mother have betrayed her father before he had died? And born a son to Uther?
“You killed my father!” she realized suddenly. “So you could marry my mother.” Suddenly it all seemed so clear . . . and so horrifying. She felt as if she'd be sick.
Uther smirked. “He fell in battle,” he said simply. “I can
assure you it was not by my hand.”
Maybe not. But it was by his order, Morgan knew that now for sure. And her mother—her mother had gone along with it all. Bearing a son to the monster who killed her husband. It was almost too horrible to think about.
Merlin burst into the great hall a moment later. Morgan stormed up to him, thrusting the baby into his arms. “Take him,” she commanded. “And do what you will with him. Kill him for all I care. I want nothing to do with this child born of sin.” Just looking at her once beloved brother now made her stomach turn. To know that Uther's poisonous Pendragon blood ran through his little veins. That her father's bloodline was gone forever.
“I promise you, Father,” she had whispered as she watched Merlin sweep the child away, “I will not rest until your murder has been avenged.”
And she hadn't. She'd worked for years to bring down Uther. To make him suffer as her father had. And now all that was left was his only son. The last of the Pendragon bloodline. Only through Arthur's death would her father finally find peace.
“Where is he?” she demanded of Alys, her head priestess. “Why does the spring reveal him to us now?” After taking the boy years ago, Merlin had him cloaked with thick magical spells so no one could find him and do him harm.
Alys squinted down into the waters, her serene eyes widening in shock. “Why,” she replied. “It appears he's traveled to the future . . . the twenty-first century, to be precise. Far enough, I suppose, to shed Merlin's protective veil.”
Morgan grinned widely, heart pounding. This was better than she could have even hoped for. He was far from Merlin's touch. Far from any protection. She could swoop down on him and kill him with no effort at all. It was almost too good to be true.
“Thank you, Alys,” she replied. Then she turned to the novices. “Ready my things. I shall leave immediately.”
“Don't worry, Father,” she murmured as she dipped a finger into the pool. “Soon you will have your revenge.”