Paladin_Pawn

by Michael D. Young

“Yep!” She plunged it into his arm. “It’s the last of your medication. The doctor says you’re out of immediate danger. Your aunt is here, and you’re being discharged shortly.” The nurse indicated a pile of clothing on the table next to him. “Your aunt brought these in for you.” She slapped a bandage on the injection site and turned to leave. “I’ll let you change, and I’ll be back in a few.”

  Rich rubbed his arm and stared in disbelief after the nurse. No one was naturally that perky. She was either a creature from another planet or had energy drinks for breakfast. He put on the clothes and attempted to walk around. His lightheadedness had gone and he felt almost back to normal, except for some gnawing hunger.

  True to her word, the cheery nurse returned a few minutes later with Laura. Rich’s aunt wrapped him in a big hug, as only a favorite aunt can, and led him toward the car.

  “So,” she began, “I completely understand if you don’t want to go to school today. It’s already started in any case, but you just let me know, dear.”

  Rich sat back in his seat of Laura’s minivan and thought. He only had two tasks left to complete, and a few days more to do them. He wouldn’t have Aaron’s help all day, and that bothered him.

  On the other hand, his nemesis wouldn’t be taking a day off, no matter what happened. He imagined the two patriarchs locked in constant combat and shuddered. He would have to do his part to stop this, even if he did feel terrible.

  “If we can have breakfast first, I can go back to school. It’s hard to catch up, especially with our new history dictator.”

  Laura chuckled. “That bad, huh? Okay. We’ll pick something up on the way there.”

  They drove to a small diner, and Laura ordered him a stack of pancakes with strawberries and cream. Rich devoured them as if he hadn’t eaten in days, and then sat back.

  “Wow, thanks—that was good. But still not as good as your breakfasts.”

  Laura patted him on the shoulder. “Like I always say, there’s never a day so bad that good food can’t make it better. Come on, let’s get you to school.”

  She dropped him off, doctor’s note in hand, and Rich made his way to the front office. They informed him that second hour was nearly over, and Rich groaned. His worries about getting behind in history had been the real thing. He kept a copy of the doctor’s note, just in case Mr. Bickmann decided to give him trouble later.

  He stood at the crossroads of the hallways and thought of the two tasks left to him—wisdom and sacrifice. He wrinkled his brow and wondered which one he should attempt next. Wisdom should be easy at school, and maybe it would be best to get the easy one out of the way while Aaron wasn’t around.

  His eyes scanned the walls, looking at poster after poster and hoping for inspiration. He saw ads for yearbook, rock concerts, clubs, and sporting events—and then he saw it. The school’s annual spelling bee, scheduled for the next day.

  “That will do it, right?” Rich mumbled. He prided himself at having an excellent memory and a knack for spelling things correctly. He’d won all the spelling bees in elementary school, but he hadn’t even thought about them recently. Hopefully, he still had the knack, and that left him free to focus on the sacrifice objective today.

  He continued down the hall with a grin. The spring in his step, however, immediately turned into a stumble when he glimpsed a familiar face coming at him—Joe, the bully who had pulverized his glasses earlier in the week. Rich ducked behind a row of lockers, instinctively slid his glasses off, and put them in his pants pocket.

  Instead of continuing toward him, Joe stepped into a classroom and slammed the door.

  Rich scratched his head. Joe had just ducked into Mr. Bickmann’s room. Rich couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think Joe even had that class this year.

  Rich’s curiosity got the better of him, and he crept to the door. Once there, he pressed his ear up against it and could barely make out voices inside.

  “I need to know that I can count on you,” Mr. Bickmann said. “Your performance the other day was less than satisfactory.”

  “I think I did what I set out to do, like I always do,” Joe replied. “You shouldn’t worry so much.”

  Rich shivered. Something told him they weren’t talking about a missing homework assignment.

  “Then tell me something to ease my mind. Think about the time constraints. It’s only a matter of days, and there’s no changing that! Either you start pulling your weight on this, or I’ll let her deal with you herself.”

  For once, Joe couldn’t come up with a witty comeback. Rich glanced down at his backpack and saw the glowing form of the hairpin. His breath caught in this throat. Was Mr. Bickmann really his nemesis? Or was the nemesis masquerading as Joe?

  Rich’s palms sweated, and he itched to crack open the door, if only an inch. But it was probably a bad idea to barge in on Mr. Bickmann, nemesis or not.

  They lowered their voices so Rich lost track of what they were saying. A moment later, he heard footsteps approaching, and he jumped back and found another spot down the hall. He breathed hard and tried to put himself together. Was he going crazy? Was his mind playing tricks on him?

  He shook his head and tried to forget what he had just heard. He needed to focus on completing his task for that day—sacrifice. He tried to imagine what that was, exactly.

  First, a picture of an old, bearded guy in robes killing a goat on an altar popped into his head, but Rich figured he wasn’t supposed to perform an Old Testament type of sacrifice. He thought about the word in sports, in chess, and a bunch of other definitions, but couldn’t quite see how he would do it. More than ever, he wished for Aaron back, with a really good explanation of what he’d been doing. Rich wasn’t going to take “It’s none of your business” for an answer.

  Rich looked down the hallway in both directions and decided that the coast was clear. He slipped down the hallway and found his next class, which was already in progress. He stepped in and handed the teacher a note, and the teacher then directed him to his seat. As he walked down the aisle, however, he noticed people staring at him strangely. He tried to smile back and wave, but the other students kept their eyes fixed on him as if he were wearing a neon sign.

  The teacher cleared his throat. “Ahem. Yes, Rich is coming in late. I’m sure he’s got a good reason that he can tell you all about later. But now, can we get back to the topic at hand?”

  Most of the students returned their gaze to the board and only shot looks in Rich’s direction occasionally. He drummed his fingers nervously on the desk. With the strange events of the last few days, they could be whispering about any number of things. However, Rich had a sinking feeling that he knew what it was—word had spread about his encounter with Spike.

  The teacher wrapped up his lecture and asked them to take out a piece of paper for a pop quiz. Everyone groaned, but quickly obeyed. Rich had his paper and pencil out and ready, though he could hardly concentrate on schoolwork.

  Just before the quiz began, Rich noticed the person next him rummaging through the pockets of his backpack. The boy’s face grew frantic, and he checked his pants pockets as a last resort. Nothing. He turned to Rich. “Hey, could I borrow a pencil? I’ve already lost two the teacher gave me this week, and I don’t want to ask again.”

  Rich looked down at his own pencil and realized it was his only one. If he gave it up, he’d miss the quiz completely. Rich reached out and handed the pencil to him. “Here. Good luck.”

  The boy grinned and shot Rich a thumbs-up. “Thanks!”

  Rich knew it was a long shot, but maybe his pencil and his grade would be a good-enough sacrifice to finish his task. The cage holding the pawn piece around his neck glowed faintly and felt warm. However, it was nothing like the
times when he had completed the other tasks, and he knew that in this case, his actions had not been enough.

  It was like being thrown a rubber duck when he was expecting a life preserver. Now it was Rich’s turn to panic. He jabbed his hand into his backpack and found the only other writing implement in there—a neon pink highlighter. His mom had bought it for him, and he’d forgotten to replace it with a better color. He sighed and started numbering his quiz, sighing deeply. Perhaps sacrificing his manliness would be enough.

  He did the best he could with the highlighter and passed his test forward with a groan. He had thought about remaining anonymous, but if he did that, the teacher would hold it up for the class to see and ask whose it was.

  The bell rang, but no one jumped up. Rich stood and left while many sets of eyes watched his progress. He felt a shudder run down his spine. This was getting a little too creepy.

  His next class didn’t go much better. No one spoke to him or glanced his way. Even the teacher left him mostly alone. He left quickly after class and kept his head down. If only he had someone to talk to.

  Just then, Angela appeared from around a corner and walked toward him. He reacted without a second thought, leaping through the nearest door and slamming it hard behind him. He found himself face-to-face with Mrs. Larsen, an art teacher and the coach of the cheerleading squad.

  She was about Rich’s height, with long, straight black hair and dark eyes. She carried a cup of coffee and wore a puzzled expression. “You do know this is the teacher’s lounge, right?”

  Rich reddened and grinned sheepishly. He hadn’t shifted his brain into gear before slamming on the gas. A thousand crazy excuses tumbled through his head, and none of them stuck. Though it hurt to admit it, he decided on the truth.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know. I ducked in here to avoid someone.”

  Mrs. Larsen grinned good-naturedly. “A girl, maybe? Someone on my squad?”

  Rich shook his head. “No, she’s not. Can you give me about thirty seconds in here? I’d like to keep my head, if that’s okay.”

  Mrs. Larsen considered him for a moment. “Well, now that you’ve discovered the secret location of our hideout, I guess I’ll have to keep you here for questioning.”

  She adopted a stern expression, and it took Rich a moment to figure out that she was joking.

  “So,” Mrs. Larsen asked, “do you know anyone on my squad?”

  Rich nodded and smiled broadly, despite his nervousness. “Yes, just one. Her name’s Mallory. I bet she’s pretty good.”

  “Oh, yes, Mallory. She’s such a cute girl. Very talented. She’s really integrated well with the rest of the squad this year.”

  Rich cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t she mention?” Mrs. Larsen asked. “She just moved here from... from... Well, for the life of me, I can’t remember. California, maybe?” She shrugged, dismissing it.

  “Have you seen her today?” Rich asked. “She... I was hanging out with her last night, and she left suddenly. I wanted to see if something was wrong.”

  Mrs. Larsen shook her head. “I don’t have her in any of my classes, so I wouldn’t know until our practice after school. You’re welcome to drop by.”

  “I might do that. Thanks.” They stood in silence for a long moment. “The person I was avoiding is probably gone, and I’ll be late for class if I don’t go, so... thanks.”

  Mrs. Larsen waved and smiled again. “What was your name?”

  “Hein—” He caught himself. “Just Rich.”

  “Heinrich, huh? Are you German?”

  Rich sighed, wishing he had been more careful. “Sort of. My grandparents are Austrian. And I got stuck with a funny-sounding name.”

  Mrs. Larsen straightened and looked him in the eye. “Listen, Rich, your heritage is not something to be ashamed of. You should look into your ancestors someday. I bet they’re more interesting than you think.”

  Rich nodded and smiled, wishing he could tell her how right she was. He thought of Aaron, his grandmother, the other knights, and the two patriarchs fighting day after day, neither of them winning or losing.

  Yes, “interesting” would be the word.

  Chapter 14: Very Special Delivery

  Rich walked into the lunchroom and for once, he didn’t feel at all like eating. He knew, though, that he’d pass out if he didn’t have something, so he shuffled through the line and barely noticed what the lunchroom workers slopped onto his tray. He turned and looked around the room for a place to sit. The usual lack of options—Joe sat at one table, Nadia at another, and Angela at another. He didn’t feel like talking to any of them.

  He sighed. He didn’t have many friends in this place to begin with, and it seemed he wasn’t likely to gain any others soon. The students in the lunchroom looked at him funny just as the others had done, swerving around him like a boulder in the middle of a stream. However, as he thought about it, a strange idea occurred to him.

  He approached the nearest table and stood there silently. He adopted a stern expression and cleared his throat. The nearest two students glanced over their shoulders in annoyance, and then opened their eyes wide when they saw who it was. They parted to either side and left a generous space for Rich. He took the seat and began to pick at his lunch.

  He was halfway through the white glob of goo that supposed to be mashed potatoes when he heard another person clearing her throat just as he had a few minutes before. He tensed, fearing he recognized the voice. Before he could muster up the courage to turn around, the boy next to him stood to create a place for the newcomer.

  She sat down hard and fixed her gaze on Rich. He stared back at Nadia’s round, serious face and nearly missed his mouth with the next bite of food. Her cheeks flushed, and her brow furrowed.

  “Hi, Rich,” Nadia said as if confessing something embarrassing. “How’s it going?”

  Rich wondered for a moment how truthful he felt like being. While he was supposed to be honest as a knight in training, the real answer might be too much for her. He settled on “Fine” and took another bite of his potatoes.

  He chewed slowly and rinsed the bite down with a swig of chocolate milk. “So, is this another water balloon attack? ’Cause you know, I don’t think I got creamed enough the first time around. But you could at least save it for after school.”

  She shook her head and wrinkled her forehead even more. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that...”

  “You think I’m a space alien? Join the club. You and half the school. Hey, we could make it official and have meetings and badges and stuff like that. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Rich smiled in spite of himself. Normally, witty remarks came to him about three days after the fact, and it was nice to beat that for a change.

  “No, I don’t think you’re an alien.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to thank you for what you did in the gym the other day. I’m sure you wanted to hide my inhaler or break it or something. I’m... I’m just really glad you didn’t.”

  Rich’s temporary gift of speech left him completely.

  “Uh, thanks. It was nothing. I used to have asthma when I was younger, and I know how scary it is when you can’t breathe.”

  “Don’t expect an invitation to my birthday party, but I’ll try to keep out of your way. No more balloon raids. Deal?”

  Rich smiled and shook her hand. “Deal.”

  Nadia turned to go, but Rich stopped her. “You don’t happen to know any way that I could, you know, save Joe’s life too? I can’t afford to get new glasses every time he wakes up on the angry side of the bed.”

  Nadia shrugged. “Nope. You’re on your own there. Don’t k
now much about him.”

  Rich sighed. “Thanks anyway.”

  Nadia left, and Rich found that he couldn’t choke down another bite. He rose and dumped his leftovers in the nearest trashcan. As he crossed the room, he saw a long table decorated with colorful signs. Along the length of it lay various baked goods from cupcakes to scones and cookies. The signs announced that it was a fundraiser for the ninth grade trip to Washington D.C.

  Maybe this task required a monetary sacrifice.

  He reached into his pocket and took out the rest of his money, gripping it tight in his fist to keep it from being seen. It was supposed to pay for lunch for the next three days.

  He opened his hand over one of the collection jars and let the money clink to the bottom of the jar. The nearest girl beamed in delight. “Wow, that was a lot. What would you like to eat?”

  Rich shook his head. “I’m not hungry. Just think of me while you’re touring the White House.”

  The girl was about to say more, but Rich turned and walked away too quickly for her to respond. He headed straight for the exit. The pawn hadn’t glowed with the pleasant heat that indicated a job well done. He noticed it grow a little warmer, but not even close to being enough. He cursed his luck. He still hadn’t accomplished his goal, and he was going to go hungry for the next few days. That was, unless...

  His mind flashed on a new scene and he saw himself in tattered clothing, patrolling the cafeteria like it was the snowy streets of London at the turn of the century. He rubbed his hands together at the thought of all those students with their crisp bills and shiny coins.

  No. He shook his head to get rid of the thought. He wasn’t about to steal other people’s lunch money.

  For the rest of the day, he tried frantically to make a sacrifice good enough for the amulet. He held open doors, gave away just about everything in his backpack, helped a freshman pick up his dropped books, and even chose the least athletic people to be on his kickball team. Each time, he felt a warm, pleasant feeling, but nothing pushed his accomplishments over the edge.