by R. L. Stine
Sir Thomas went over to the purple puddle. He touched it with the toe of his boot.
“But Mardren imprisoned my sword inside his magic pendant,” he said. “Even though the pendant remained with me, I couldn’t use it. I could never retrieve the sword inside. Without its power I grew weaker and weaker. I knew I’d never be able to fight the wizard. But you did it for me, Mike.”
Sir Thomas laughed again. The sound made me feel warm. The way you feel laughing with a friend. “Because of your bravery, I will finally be free of this armor, which has been my prison and my tomb. But first…”
Sir Thomas poked his sword in my direction. He waved me closer. “Come here, boy. And kneel.”
“I don’t know, Mike….” Carly grabbed for my sleeve. I knew she still wasn’t sure I could trust him.
But I did trust him. I had a feeling I knew exactly what Sir Thomas wanted to do.
My chest swelled with pride. I went over to the knight. I knelt in front of him.
Sir Thomas raised the sword. He brought it down again, first on my right shoulder. Then on my left. “I, Sir Thomas Barlayne, do dub thee, Sir Michael of the… of the…” Sir Thomas struggled for the right title.
“How about Sir Michael of History’s Mysteries?” I suggested.
“Well said!” Sir Thomas chuckled. “I do dub thee Sir Michael of History’s Mysteries.”
Sir Thomas stepped back. He held his sword in front of him with both hands. He glanced at Carly. He looked at me. “I will always remember you, my friends,” he said. “Now I can rest.”
A blue fog rose all around Sir Thomas. It wasn’t anything like the purple smoke that smothered Mardren. This was a soft cloud. It hugged Sir Thomas like a favorite blanket. I heard him sigh.
When the cloud blew away, Sir Thomas was gone.
18
“So that’s the story. I’m really sorry, Dad. I know how much you wanted a haunted suit of armor. I didn’t mean to get rid of the ghost. It just sort of worked out that way.”
“That’s okay, Mike.” Dad ruffled my hair. “I understand what happened. You sure were brave.”
Dad put one arm around my shoulders. Carly was standing not too far away. He grabbed her, too. “You, too,” he added, laughing. “And just think, all that time we had a wizard in the museum and we didn’t even know it.”
Carly shivered. “He wasn’t a very nice wizard.”
“That’s for sure.” I wanted to shiver, too. But I figured Sir Michael of History’s Mysteries would never shiver in public.
Dad grinned. “Wait until I tell Uncle Basil. He’s the one who started all this. If he didn’t buy Sir Thomas’ suit of armor—”
“Mr. Conway!” Someone rapped on the front door and called inside. “Mr. Conway, it’s Stanley. From Stanley’s Moving and Storage.”
Stanley sounded as nervous today as he had the last time he came.
I glanced at Dad. Dad glanced at Carly. Carly stared at me. We all shrugged. Then we raced to the front porch.
When we reached the porch, we all screeched to a stop.
“What is it?” I looked at the huge, wooden crate that Stanley and his helper were lifting out of the van. It had red stamps all over it that said fragile. Stanley and the other guy carried the crate up the front steps. They set it down on the porch. “Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know.” Dad thanked the moving guys. They got back into their van as fast as they could. They were already halfway down Fear Street by the time Dad took out his crowbar.
He worked on the lid, loosening the nails and pushing it up.
Together, we lifted the cover off the crate. The whole box was packed with shredded paper.
“I don’t know….” Carly bit her lip. “I don’t think I like the looks of this. I’m sure not sticking my hand in there again.”
“I don’t like the looks of this, either.” Dad took a deep breath. “Well, here goes,” he said, and stuck his arm into the paper.
I held my breath.
I wondered what we’d see when Dad pulled his arm out again.
Would it be a helmet with fiery eyes peering out from it? Or a magical pendant filled with blue smoke? Or maybe that yucky purple snail, all slimy and smelly?
Dad pulled his hand out. He held a long white envelope.
“What’s this?” He frowned and stared at it. “Should we open it?” he asked us.
But before Carly and I could answer, he tore the envelope open. He pulled out a letter and unfolded it. “Looks like a note from your uncle Basil,” he said.
“It is?” Carly and I darted forward at the same time. I got to the letter first.
I snatched the letter out of Dad’s hands.
“What does it say?” Carly asked.
I looked down at the letter. I cleared my throat. “It says: ‘Dear Barnaby, Mike, and Carly. Well, here it is. The armor I promised you. Sorry it took so long to get to you. I don’t know if the legend is true, but the old guy who sold it to me says the armor is haunted. I hope so, don’t you? See you when I get back.’”
I blinked in surprise. “Does this mean what I think this means?”
“It means…” Dad made a face. His glasses jumped up his nose. “I think it means that wherever Sir Thomas’ suit of armor came from, it sure didn’t come from Uncle Basil.”
“Wow!” I flopped down on the edge of the crate.
“Yeah,” Dad said. “Wow!”
“Wait, there’s more!” Carly pointed at the letter.
“There’s a P.S. ‘Mike, there’s something extra special for you in the crate.’”
All the color drained out of Carly’s face. “Not another magic pendant!”
We all reached into the crate together. We felt around in the paper.
I found the package first. It was soft. It was wrapped in brown paper.
My heart thumping, I tore off the paper. Some sort of white material. A T-shirt.
I shook it out—and read what it said.
“My uncle went to England, and all I got was this dumb shirt.”
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