Quests for Glory

by Soman Chainani

  “Lance?” he bellowed down the stairs.

  Still nothing.

  Tedros dragged the frayed mattress out of the bedroom and shoved it into the hall. Standing on its edge, he sheathed his sword and reached up for the hatch’s handle, but his fingers couldn’t catch it. He jumped a few times, but he still fell short. Finally, he took a running start, rebounded off the mattress, and grabbed hold of the hatch with both hands, yanking it open. He hung from the handle, kicking his legs midair as he muscled his hands onto the sides of the floor above him, pulling himself through—

  A heavy weight slammed him in the head.

  Before he could scream, it slammed him again.

  Gasping in shock, he felt cold hands seize him by the neck and drag the last of his body into the attic.

  Tedros wished he’d blacked out, so he didn’t have to feel this kind of pain, as if his head had been cracked open like an egg and the yolk set on fire. Curled up on the floor, he ran his hand down the back of his hair, expecting a mass of blood or brains, but instead found a swollen lump at the ridge of his skull.

  He pried open his eyes to watery slits and saw a blurred vision of Lady Gremlaine standing in an attic, her turban gone, her dark brown hair long and wild, her makeup spattered, and the shoulder of her lavender robes drenched in blood. There was terror in her eyes.

  Something else too.

  Madness, Tedros thought.

  His gaze moved to her hand.

  She was holding a hammer.

  The flat side was coated with black, scaly goo.

  “V-v-voices. I heard voices—” she stammered. “I didn’t know it was you. . . . You can’t be here—he’ll find you—”

  “Who will?” Tedros said, struggling to his knees. His head was throbbing so hard he couldn’t think.

  “His scims are l-l-looking for me. One already did this,” said Lady Gremlaine, touching her bloody shoulder. “I killed it and I hid, so they’d think I escaped. But now you’re here. . . . They’ll find me. . . . He’ll come back—”

  “The Snake?” Tedros steadied against the only window for support, the glass so dirty and stained he couldn’t see out of it. “Why is the Snake looking for you?”

  But Lady Gremlaine was haunted now, her gaze glassy and unfocused. “I read the papers. . . . I knew about the attacks . . . but I didn’t know it was all connected . . . not until he came for me. . . . I’d taken care of it. . . . It was in the past . . . buried and forgotten. . . .”

  Tedros’ heart stopped, his eyes locked on her. “He’s your son, isn’t he? The Snake is my father’s son. Is that why Excalibur is trapped in the stone?”

  Lady Gremlaine didn’t answer, looking everywhere but at him.

  “Can he pull Excalibur!” Tedros demanded.

  Tears spilled down his steward’s face. “I was so jealous . . . ,” she whispered. “That your mother would have his child and I wouldn’t . . . And then when I had my chance. . . .” She clutched her throat, choking out a sob. “I did something terrible. Before you were born. Something your father never knew. But I’d fixed it. . . . I’d made sure the boy would never be found. . . . He’d grow up never knowing who he was. . . . I told no one. How could he know! How could he find out! It’s impossible—” Her voice faltered and she folded into herself, dropping the hammer to the floor. “I told so many Lies to protect the Truth. . . .”

  “CAN HE PULL EXCALIBUR!” Tedros yelled.

  Lady Gremlaine looked up at him, her face ghost-white. She started to answer—

  The window shattered behind Tedros and he lunged to the ground as three scims crashed in and ripped through Lady Gremlaine’s chest. Tedros had no time to think or move to her dead body—the scims were already coming for him. He scrambled for the hatch on his knees, flinging it open and diving through just as the scims grazed his legs; he reached up and slammed the hatch shut, hearing the eels bash against the door, squealing violently, as Tedros free-fell onto the mattress below.

  Down the stairs he fled, slipping on newspapers and lampshades and pillow stuffing, trying to stay on his feet as he surged towards the front door—

  “Lance! Where are you!”

  I should have listened to him. . . . This was all a mistake. . . . They had to get to the horses, Tedros thought, bursting through the door. They had to ride to the Forest now—

  He stopped dead.

  Lancelot stood in the front yard, surrounded by a hundred scims, swirling around him like a moving cage. His sword had been stripped from him, held over his head by the scims, out of his reach.

  The knight’s face was pale, his lips trembling.

  It was the first time Tedros had ever seen Sir Lancelot afraid.

  Slowly the scims congealed into the Snake, his green mask glinting in the last of daylight, the scims on his body slithering and hissing. He took hold of Lancelot’s sword and held it to the knight’s neck.

  The Snake raised his eyes to Tedros.

  “Hello, Brother,” he said.

  Tedros couldn’t breathe. “Listen to me. It’s me you want. Not him. Please . . . let’s finish this once and for all.”

  “This?” The Snake glared hatefully at the king. “This is just the beginning.”

  He slashed Lancelot’s throat.

  “No!” Tedros screamed.

  The Snake fractured into scims and flew away, letting the knight’s bloody sword clink to the street.

  Tedros sprinted to Lancelot, catching him as he fell. Blood gushed from the knight’s neck. Tedros ripped off Lance’s shirt to seal the wound, the knight’s blood soaking through Tedros’ black coat.

  “I’m . . . fine . . . ,” Lance wheezed. “I’ll . . . live. . . .”

  “Why you—” Tedros sobbed, holding the knight in his arms. “Why not me—it’s me he wants—”

  Overhead, glowing sparks flew into the sky and Tedros whirled to see them coming from the next street.

  He recognized the glow colors: Hester’s . . . Dot’s. . . .

  Then more.

  Sophie’s . . .

  Agatha’s.

  Lancelot saw it too.

  “Go,” the knight whispered. “He’ll . . . hurt her. . . .”

  “No, I won’t leave you,” Tedros fought. “I’ll find help—I’ll get you home—”

  Lancelot smiled peacefully. “I’ll be here . . . right here when you return. . . .”

  “No—please—”

  “Kill him, Tedros . . . for me. For Camelot.”

  Tedros hugged Lancelot with all his might, unable to let go. “This is my fault. I should have never brought you here.”

  “Our story brought us here for a reason. Agatha needs you, Tedros. Like Gwen needed me,” the knight whispered.

  Tedros choked up.

  “Go,” said Lancelot. “Before it’s too late.”

  With a cry, Tedros released him and ran into the streets, trying not to look back.

  He’ll live . . . , he told himself, smearing tears. He’ll live. . . .

  But inside, the young king knew the truth.

  25

  AGATHA

  Date Night in Sherwood Forest

  Agatha stood at the edge of a high, domed treehouse, lit by blue and purple lanterns, gazing out at the labyrinth of other colorfully lit treehouses, connected to hers via bridges, swings, and ropes. She could see into each of these houses, watching her fellow crew members rest after Sir Lancelot’s and Lady Gremlaine’s burials, either taking naps, quietly talking, or slipping in to shower in the private barrels that hung off each house. But Agatha just stood there, unable to move or even cry, having shed all her tears at the funeral.

  It was only seven o’clock, a full night ahead.

  And yet, it felt like an ending.

  “Not quite a castle, I’m afraid,” said a voice below her.

  Agatha glanced down at a shadow climbing the tree, wearing a green coat and a brown cap speared with a green feather. He paused on the branch below the door and looked up at her, his fac
e coming into the light.

  “But still . . . it’s home,” said the man.

  He was as old as Sophie’s father, but he had a baby face, with clean-shaven pink skin, save a red-brown tuft beneath his lip that matched his mop of wavy hair.

  “Better than a castle, to be honest,” said Agatha, holding down a fresh wave of tears. “Especially when we’re about to go back to that castle with a Good man gone.”

  “Might seem that way, but men like Sir Lancelot never really are gone,” said the stranger. “He’s a legend. And legends grow bigger with time. Or at least that’s what I tell myself these days whenever I meet young ones like you who have no idea who I am.”

  “Even the dimmest Readers know who Robin Hood is,” Agatha said, forcing a smile.

  “And even the dimmest heroes know The Tale of Sophie and Agatha,” said Robin Hood. “Though I do wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

  Agatha felt the stone lid on her emotions crumble. She smeared at her wet eyes. “Guinevere . . . What will she do . . .”

  From his rucksack, Robin pulled a metal flask. “Gold-leaf tea. Cures every ailment, including a crap day and crap days to come,” he said, holding it out. “Dot just helped me make a fresh brew. Made with real gold that I rob from rich, miserable people who don’t even know what gold is good for.”

  Agatha took a big swig. “Tastes like . . . chocolate,” she sniffled.

  “Like I said: Dot helped me make it,” Robin sighed. “Mind if I come in? Marian insists she left an earring and better I find it than have her looking for it herself.”

  “By all means,” said Agatha, mustering composure as he swung through the door. “I can’t thank you enough for letting us stay here.”

  “We knew all about the Snake and that business at the Four Point, but there’s a reason I ain’t in the League of Thirteen. We Merry Men keep our noses out of other kingdoms’ affairs and they stay outta ours in return—especially since we’ve started raiding rich folks beyond Nottingham,” said Robin, scavenging near a wall decorated with newspaper clippings touting his various robberies and escapes. “But then I got the message from Dot via a crow with Camelot’s official ring around its neck. That got my attention. Oh look, found it—” He held up a pearl earring. “Actually, this ain’t hers,” he mumbled, and started searching inside leather quivers filled with arrows. “Sherwood Forest ain’t the most welcoming to strangers, especially a crew with a bunch of Nevers, but we’ll do anything for Camelot and for Dot. Camelot because King Arthur once saved us from a villain called the Green Knight. And Dot because . . . well, Dot’s like a daughter. Her dad will say that’s a lie. That I just used her to escape jail. But her dad’s about as fit to be a dad as I’m fit to be a husband. That’s what I tell Marian at least.” He winked at Agatha. “Jackpot!” He glided past her and picked a gold earring out of the gap between two wooden planks on a wall. “This is definitely it . . . maybe.”

  “Where will you and your men sleep tonight?” Agatha asked. “We’ve put you out of your houses—”

  “Ha! Don’t you worry about us. Pity the lad who sleeps too often in his own bed. We’ll go to the Arrow and see where the night takes us . . . ,” said Robin, smelling dirty shirts in the hamper until he found one clean enough to wear. He crumpled it into his pocket. “And don’t you worry about that Snake either. He’s still cooped up in the Sheriff’s magic catching sack and locked in a jail cell, while three of my men sit in front of that cell the whole night, armed with bows. Sheriff’s in the clinic—won’t be walkin’ for a few days—and with the Sheriff gone, it was easy to pay Bertie off to skip town. Dot has the only key to that jail and she’s here in the Forest, with zero chance to mess things up, because let’s face it: Dot has that capability. To keep her occupied, I arranged a date between her and the newest member of the Merry Men, who is clean as a whistle and about her age, so tonight she and the rest of you can kick back and relax. Then tomorrow, you and your lot will return to Camelot and argue with the other rulers of the Woods over who gets to cut off the reptile’s head.” He looked back at Agatha. “I’d go with one of the Never kings if I were you. Good at executions.”

  He jaunted towards the door. “I’m serious about kicking back, though. Go enjoy Sherwood Forest. Hell of a lot better than Nottingham. I’ll be at the Arrow if you need me—”

  “Robin?”

  “Mmm?” he said, turning.

  “You sure it’s safe here?” Agatha said, her eyes puffy and red, looking out at the open treehouses glowing in the middle of a dark Forest. “I know it is, of course. . . . It’s just after the last few days . . .”

  Robin Hood put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Trap nets exploded from every direction, swooping down between houses, along with snapping bear traps, booby-trapped tree trunks, ricocheting swords, and a hailstorm of arrows, slicing through the darkness and embedding in doors. Spooked crew members looked out their windows. Hort stirred from a nap.

  “False alarm!” Robin called.

  Everyone grumbled and went back to what they were doing.

  Robin smiled at Agatha. “Go. Enjoy the night. Sometimes when things get too dark, we need help remembering why life’s worth living.”

  “I don’t think I can,” Agatha rasped. “Not tonight.”

  “Don’t do it for you, pumpkin,” Robin said. “Do it for him.”

  Agatha followed his eyes out the window to the hill where she and the crew had just returned from, moonlight casting down on a row of graves . . .

  And a boy in a blood-soaked shirt, standing in front of the newest ones.

  Lancelot and Lady Gremlaine had been buried at sunset, when Sherwood Forest had the humid, heavy scent of a jungle. But now that it was dark, Agatha’s route back to the gravesite felt new, as if the Forest only came alive at night. Fairy girls in green dresses and fluorescing pink wings poked their heads out of tree holes, tittering: “That’s Sophie’s friend!” “Oooh, we love Sophie!” “Who’s Sophie?” “The one with pretty clothes!” “Didn’t Sophie kill fairies?” “I heard the Storian got that part wrong!” A trollcat bobbed his head out of branches to see what the commotion was about and sneezed, scattering the fairies. Agatha, meanwhile, almost stepped on a forest gnome, who was livid at first, then recognized her, chanting, “AGATA, AGATA,” and holding out a pint-sized notebook for her to autograph before his frumpy wife pulled him back into his hole.

  Agatha sighed, relieved that for once her fairy tale’s fame hadn’t resulted in sleazy tabloid headlines or someone trying to kill her. Two dragon birds, one red, one orange, breathed fire as she passed, scorching a mouse they’d caught, then chittered happily in her direction as they ate it. A family of sparklefrogs burped the Camelot anthem in salute and a fat mongoose leapt out of a log, mouth full of butterflies, and pipped, “Uma friend!”

  Slowly Agatha’s body relaxed in the thicket’s muggy warmth, the trauma of the last few hours melting away. Even in the most beautiful stretches of the Endless Woods, there was always an undercurrent of danger. But here in Sherwood Forest, Robin and his Merry Men had created their own magical Woods within the Woods, untouched by the politics of the Ever-Never world. In fact, given he was at once a thief, a philanderer, and a champion of the poor, Agatha wasn’t even sure if Robin himself was Good or Evil . . . and Robin probably liked it that way.

  As she approached the hill, Agatha glimpsed Tedros’ silhouette and felt a swell of love. Robin was right: no matter how much sadness or pain she felt, Tedros was feeling it a thousand times worse. Her prince needed her.

  She crested towards the gravesite, coming up behind Tedros—and stopped.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Without really knowing why, Agatha ducked behind a tree so she could overhear.

  “I used to make-believe I was Sir Lancelot when I was little,” Rhian was saying, barefoot and freshly bathed in a black cut-off shirt and beige breeches. “Riding alongside your father and slaying the Green Knight. Imagining that I was
standing before the people after a triumphant battle, exchanging gifts with the king. I ruined a lot of pillows jabbing at them with wooden spoons, pretending they were enemies of King Arthur. . . . I dreamed of serving Camelot one day, just like Sir Lancelot did.”

  “Lots of boys did. And still do,” said Tedros, his blood-spattered shirt unbuttoned in the heat. “Had a guard at the castle recently who dreamed of serving Camelot too . . . only to then betray it.”

  “Serving is much harder than the work of dreaming,” said Rhian. “I just wish my own service didn’t have to take the place of Sir Lancelot’s.”

  A few fairies settled in Tedros’ hair, clearly listening in. By their light, Agatha could see the new knight was taller than the king and darker in complexion, though not as pumped with muscle. Still, with his cropped hair, high forehead, and sculpted jaw, he seemed sturdier than Tedros. More intense.

  “You really think the Snake is your brother?” Rhian asked. “That he’s your father’s son?”

  “Lady Gremlaine never said it for sure. But she said she’d done something terrible, something she’d hidden from Arthur and the world,” said Tedros. “Plus, the Snake called me ‘Brother.’ He vowed he can pull Excalibur. And Lady Gremlaine never denied it. And yet, if he can pull Excalibur from the stone . . . that would mean he’s truly my father’s son. Would my father’s son try to kill his own brother? Would he really murder Lancelot? His father’s best friend and knight?”

  “A friend and knight who betrayed your father. A knight with your father’s price on his head,” said Rhian warily. “Maybe the Snake is taking revenge in your father’s name. If Dot hadn’t captured him, your mother might very well have been next.”

  Tedros stiffened. “All this time, I thought King Arthur’s son could never be a villain like the Snake. I never considered he could be a villain because he’s Arthur’s son.” He looked at Rhian. “So it is possible, then. The Snake might be Camelot’s real king.”

  “Don’t fear, sire. The Snake is in prison where he belongs. When you return, you will try your hand at Excalibur again. And this time, I’m sure it will give you the answer you deserve,” said Rhian warmly. “In the meantime, you have a kingdom to take care of. A wedding to plan.” He paused. “And a mother to be there for.”