He first made his way toward his mother’s room and immediately felt foolish. If she had finally come home, it wasn’t likely she would sleep among the ashes of her charred bed.
He crept downstairs and found that Aunt Laura had already woken up and was reading in an armchair in the living room. She noticed him coming, removed her reading glasses, and closed the book.
Rich's expectant expression projected the question on his lips. Aunt Laura shook her head, unable to meet Rich's gaze, "No, I'm sorry, Richy. She didn't come home last night. No one has seen her."
Rich's face fell. "It's just like my dad. What if she's hurt or in trouble?"
Laura's face reflected tender concern. "Let's not jump to conclusions. She hasn't been gone that long, and she wasn't flying an assignment over Eastern Europe."
Rich's eyebrows shot up. "My father was a pilot? How come no one ever told me that? They always told me he went missing in Iraq."
Laura shook her head and let out a sigh, her face collapsing into a much-older version of herself. "I'm sorry, Rich. It kind of slipped out. I promised your mother not to talk about the details. Really, if it were up to me, I would tell you everything I know. But I fear it's not a lot. Try to understand."
But he didn't understand. Not at all.
"Aunt Laura, why is this all so secret? Was my father in the CIA or something?"
She shook her head. "Please, Rich, I feel bad already. Let me make you some breakfast. I think I'll let the girls sleep a bit longer. My little angels somehow become demons if you wake them before nine, which is something the public school system can't seem to understand."
Rich managed a weak smile to humor her, and she bustled away to make some breakfast. Usually, this would have cheered him up considerably, but today, he could barely even think about eating. He moped at the dining room table, lost in thought so deep that not even the smell of cinnamon rolls could yank him out of it.
If his aunt knew something, what about other people in his family? He had to find out. Finding his father would probably meet all the requirements he needed to earn his armor.
Laura returned with a plate of steaming food—cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a glass of orange juice. He thanked her and nibbled politely at his food, knowing that he would regret it later if he neglected eating now.
His aunt continued talking as if their previous conversation had never happened. “How about your friend—what’s his name? Aaron? Wouldn’t he like some breakfast? You have a big day in front of you.”
Rich flinched, nearly choking on a bite of eggs. How does she know about him? “Yeah, probably. I’ll go see if he’s awake.”
He stood and ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He peeked in the room and saw that Aaron was still sleeping. Rich rolled his eyes. Someone hundreds of years old probably tired easily, but that didn’t make his job any easier. Rich walked over to the side of the bed and stood there, unsure what to do.
He cleared his throat. No movement. He cleared it again, louder, and still nothing. Finally, he reached out and shook Aaron’s arm. “Aaron, Aaron, wake up. My aunt made breakfast, and I would guess it’s better than anything those knights were serving you.”
Aaron stirred, but didn’t wake up. Rich could feel himself losing patience. “We need to get ready!”
Aaron rolled over, opened his eyes, and grimaced as he stretched. “What do they make these beds out of? They’re amazing!”
Rich reached down and snatched the pillow from under Aaron’s head. “Yes, they’re amazing, and you’ll get to sleep in one every night from now on, but right now it’s time to get up.”
Aaron only scowled and pulled the sheet over his head. “Go away. I’m not hungry.”
Rich ripped the comforter off the bed. “Come on. I don’t know what you had to do in your time, but here, we have this thing called school, run by people who get really cranky if you don’t show up.”
Aaron sat up groggily, blinking his eyes. “School? I’ve seen enough of that to know it’s no good. What will we have to do at your school?”
Rich shrugged. “We pretty much sit around in little desks set up in rows and listen to people lecture us for hours on end.”
“In my day, we called something like that ‘prison.’”
Rich sighed. “That’s not too far from the truth. Fewer beatings and chains, perhaps. And no one ever gets taken to the rack.” He shook his head, dismissing the image of him and his fellow students chained to their desks. “In any case, come on. I’ll give you something to wear.”
Rich selected a pair of old jeans and a faded sweatshirt with a sports logo on it. The clothes were a size or two too big for Aaron, but looked okay with a belt. Rich led the bleary-eyed boy downstairs, and they both sat around the dining room table.
Aunt Laura had made up a second plate for Aaron, piled even more generously than Rich’s. His sleepiness forgotten, Aaron dug in, barely pausing to sneak in breaths. All the while, Aunt Laura beamed, taking Aaron’s appetite as a personal compliment to her cooking.
Rich ate as well, mostly to be polite, and when he had finished, Laura whisked it away. Rich glanced over and, to his horror, found Aaron licking his plate clean. “Stop that,” he hissed. “We don’t do that here. It’s rude.” Just then, Laura turned around, and Rich’s stomach fell. However, instead of looking repulsed, her face glowed brighter than ever.
Aaron finished polishing the plate until it shone and handed it to Laura. “Thank you, ma’am. That was most gratifying.”
She nodded and continued to smile. “Oh, it was nothing—just something I whipped up. So, where did you say you were from, Aaron?”
“The kingdom of...” Rich shot him a warning glance. “Oh, I mean the country of Hungary. I live in a little village in the country. I learned English in school.”
“Oh, a farm boy, eh? That must be where you worked up your healthy appetite.” She glanced down at her watch, and her eyes opened wide with surprise. “Oh, good heavens, you’ve only got five minutes! Off you go. I’ll clean up.”
In a whirl of backpacks and jackets, they scuttled out the door and into the cold morning air. Rich shivered and turned to Aaron. "So, what are we supposed to do? What ‘great deeds’ could I possibly do at school?"
Aaron raised his thick eyebrows. "You’d be surprised. There is good to be done everywhere. That is the first rule of being a paladin. It matters more that you go out into the world with the intent to do good than where you end up going. The world is full of suffering, and if you look hard enough, you'll always be able to find some and snuff it out."
Rich breathed out. "But I can't help anyone. Look at me! I can't even help myself. After what happened yesterday, I barely want to show my face in public, especially in my emergency glasses."
As soon as they walked through the front doors of the school building, he immediately wished he had thought to bring a paper bag to cover his head. His entrance was greeted by a handful of jeers and mocking glances. One person even thought it would be funny to recreate the event by throwing wadded-up pieces of colored paper masquerading as balloons.
Rich unconsciously touched his face, wondering if he had developed a new zit on the end of his nose. He turned and shot a glance at Aaron. “How could the news have traveled so fast?” he moaned. “It’s impossible!”
Aaron shook his head. “Don’t think it only happens in your time. I remember once when I rode a donkey into the center of town during a festival...”
Rich glowered at Aaron. “I don’t want to hear about it!” He sighed and studied his shoes as he walked. He suddenly looked up and stopped an inch from a girl’s face. They both jumped out of the way a split second before colliding. �
��Whoa! Sorry, I’m—”
A startled Angela smiled back at him. “Slow down, balloon brain. No harm done.” Rich smiled nervously, and Angela’s smile vanished. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m sure you’ve had enough of that already. It seems like everyone knows, huh? Stupid Facebook.”
Rich nodded, but didn’t say anything. Angela quickly changed the subject. “Did you hear about Mr. Fransen? I guess he got in a pretty bad motorcycle accident last night. They don’t think he’ll be back to school this semester.”
Rich barely suppressed a chuckle as he imagined Mr. Fransen on a motorcycle. The teacher looked like he would be more at home on a tandem bicycle or in a Model T Ford. Rich then checked the date in his head, making sure it wasn’t April 1st. Nope, not even close.
“Really? Like, he was riding the motorcycle?”
Angela nodded. “Yeah. Weird, huh?”
“Do they have anyone to replace him yet?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? But we’re about to find out.” They fell in step and made their way toward their first-hour history class. “So, you must be Aaron. Hi, I’m Angela. How do you like it here?”
Rich leaned forward, not sure if he had heard right. Aaron nodded, his hair bouncing wildly around his head. “Oh, yes. The food is especially groovy.”
Rich covered his face with one hand. “Aaron,” he said softly, “I told you not to use that word. Come on—we need to stop by my locker.” Angela smiled and waved good-bye, leaving them alone. “How does everyone knows you already? It’s creeping me out!”
Aaron yawned and looked around. “It’s one of the paladin gifts I possess. Everyone gains some sort of gift when training—mine convinces everyone that they know me. It’s useful. I never really was one for small talk.”
They turned down the hall, and Rich pointed. “Class is that way.”
Aaron looked puzzled. “But you told that maiden we were going to visit your locker.”
“Don’t call her a maiden! You sound like Shakespeare. I told her that so I could get you alone to ask you that question. It would have bothered me all day if I hadn’t.”
Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “You lied to her. Don’t tell me that’s a habit.”
Rich rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a lie! It was just a... just...”
“A convenient bending of the truth? Do not fool yourself, Rich. You lied to her, and that is not a good quality in a paladin. You must be truthful at all times, even when it isn’t convenient.”
Without a word, Rich took a detour to his locker to keep himself from being a liar and swung the door open with such force that it banged against the one next to it. He let out a gasp as a torrent of white packing peanuts flowed out of the locker and spread out like a puddle on the floor. From behind him, a group of boys roared with laughter and pointed at the mess. Rich made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder to see Joe glaring back at him.
Grinding his teeth, Rich plunged his hand into the locker and fumbled for a book he needed. He snatched the book and then tried again to slam the locker door. The peanuts jammed it back open. He swung again and met the same results. Finally, he reared back and flung his entire body weight against the door and succeeding in cramming it shut. Little bits of white peanuts jutted out from the edges, and Rich doubted he would be making friends with the janitor anytime soon. He turned and motioned to Aaron to follow him. “What do janitors get paid for, anyway?”
Rich opened the door and thought they had the wrong class. Instead of the usual din of people chatting, laughing, and throwing things at each other, the room was completely silent. All the students sat ramrod straight in their desks, quietly studying their history books. The two of them took their seats and copied the behavior of their classmates.
Then they got their first look at the teacher. He was a spindly man in a loose-fitting gray suit. He wore a purple tie and gold-rimmed glasses that magnified his blue eyes. His platinum hair looked like he had dedicated an entire bottle of extra-strength gel to it, and his face and hands were covered with dark splotches.
Someone sneezed loudly, and the teacher fixed the student with his withering gaze. The student sank low into his chair like a turtle retreating into its shell. The bell rang, and chalk scraped across the board as the new teacher wrote his name. The letters looked straight and precise, as if he had drawn each one individually with a ruler.
“Good day, class. I am Professor Bickmann. As many of you have undoubtedly heard, Mr. Fransen has been seriously injured and will not be returning to class. I will be instructing you for the rest of the semester.”
Rich had expected the voice to come out raspy and hoarse. Instead, it slid smoothly from the man’s mouth like an experienced radio host.
The teacher lifted up a copy of the history textbook in two fingers, as if holding something smelly and slimy. “It is obvious from the choice of curriculum that your education on this matter is somewhat lacking. I will seek to remedy that. This will require the utmost of your scholastic skills, and I want it clear that there will be no tomfoolery on my watch. Understood?”
The entire class nodded dumbly, though Rich was pretty sure that half of them had no idea what “tomfoolery” was, just that they would be avoiding it. Mr. Bickmann produced a black cloth sack from under the desk, bulging at the seams with the sharp corners of stacked books. Rich’s heart sank as the sack hit the desk with a menacing thunk.
The teacher reached one hand into the bag and withdrew a thick, dusty textbook, which had the words “Bickmann’s Comprehensive History of the World” embossed on the cover in faded gold lettering. He grinned ominously, as if he were a mad scientist revealing his latest insane creation. “You will form an orderly line, take one book, and return with it to your desk. Do not open them until instructed.”
The students did as they were told until a book that would rival the best unabridged dictionaries lay on top of each desk. Professor Bickmann’s smile grew even broader as he removed the final book in the bag, an even larger version with the words “Teacher’s Edition” scrawled below the title.
“Now, class, please open to page three hundred and seven, where we will begin our unit on World War II.”
Professor Bickmann began his lecture about the horror of concentration camps and the atrocities of the Nazis. The whole time, Rich tried to reconcile the silky voice with the ordinary exterior. How could such a pleasant voice come from such a hideous person? Rich could feel himself drifting off when a sudden movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was Aaron, his hand in the air.
Professor Bickmann abruptly stopped lecturing and glared at Aaron. “Yes, what is it?”
Aaron grunted, “This is how I get your attention in this country? Yes, well, you mentioned that you wanted to stay close to historical accuracy. That last paragraph simply wasn’t true.”
“Oh, and I suppose you know because you were there? Please. I have two doctorates.”
Aaron nodded his head vigorously, “Well, as a matter of fact, I—” Rich cut him off in a panic. “I’m sorry, Professor Bickmann. My friend’s an exchange student, and he’s a little confused. I’m sure what he means to say is that he’s read so many books about it that it’s like he was really there.”
The professor shot Rich a withering glare. “Did I give you permission to speak? Did I?”
Rich swallowed hard, unsure what to say. “Uh, no, sir, you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t,” he roared, his face reddening with anger. “How are we ever to learn anything if everyone speaks out of turn? Well, Mr. Witz, that’s the question you will be pondering in detention this afternoon!”
The class again went silent, and neither Rich nor Aaron dared to protest. Professor Bickmann’s c
omplexion returned to normal. “Where were we? Ah, yes. The German occupation of Poland.”
He assigned them a reading selection and sat rigid at his desk, surveying the students for any further signs of insolence. Rich stared down at the massive book on his desk. It suddenly changed form in his mind into a wicked ball and chain with rusty links. The professor became a burly prison guard, tossing a cat o’ nine tails from one hand to another. The tightly packed words rambled over the surface of the ball, and Rich had to squint to make them out.
After what seemed like ages, the bell rang, and the students trudged silently out of the room. They breathed a collective sigh of relief, like a tire with a hole letting out all its air at once.
Rich turned and found Aaron with a scowl fixed on his youthful face. “And this is supposed to be an enlightened society? I’ve never met such a ruffian.”
Rich nodded and rubbed his eyes. “It’s only second hour, and already I feel like I’m going to pass out.”
* * *
When the lunch bell finally rang, Rich was rubbing his temples and his eyes in turn. Blearily, he ushered Aaron into the lunchroom, purchased the lunch of the day, and located his usual seat. Rich sat at the end of a table in the back corner of the lunchroom, a good half table away from anyone else. It was as if someone had drawn up a quarantine zone that no one but the bravest dared enter. Aaron passed on the food, saying he wasn’t hungry after such a large breakfast.
Aaron took his place beside Rich with a grin. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around. “You’re in luck! How else would you have secured such a secluded spot in the dining hall?”
Rich raised his eyebrows and chuckled once. “That’s not really how it works. It’s not lucky—it’s the opposite.”
Aaron wrinkled his brow. “I don’t understand. I’ve observed you in your classes, and you are obviously intelligent and creative.”
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