The Book Knights

by J. G. McKenney

  Merl looked hard into Arti’s eyes. “We can’t let Morgan write the future. The words must be yours.”

  He lifted his magnifying glass and returned his attention to Excalibri. “Now eat. You can’t begin your training on an empty stomach. Today, you’re going to familiarize yourself with Merrill’s pen,” said Merl. “Then we’ll see if you can write something with it.”

  Arti grudgingly gave in to Merl’s demands. She ate standing up, watching the old librarian grunt and groan and mumble to himself as he went back and forth from peering at the pen through the magnifying glass to leafing through the books piled around him. After taking her last sip of tea, Arti joined him in the U-shaped booth, shuffling into place behind the round table.

  To start, Merl had Arti repeatedly pick up Excalibri, hold it in the “writing position,” draw letters in the air, then set it down again. Although the pen fit Arti’s hand perfectly, manipulating it was more difficult than she anticipated. The closest thing to writing she had ever done involved scratching letters on a chalk board when she was teaching Gal, but using such a precise instrument was much more demanding. Arti’s hand was already cramped when Merl cleared away some of the books and pulled a piece of paper from a cabinet above the small refrigerator, pressing it down on the table in front of her.

  “Don’t do anything until I tell you.” He rubbed his chin nervously, the palm of his leather glove making a bristling sound. “I don’t know how this is going to work, so we may have to experiment. The one thing we can’t do is waste ink; all we have is what’s in the well. We might be able to get more from Vivian, but I’m not sure.”

  “What do you want me to write?” asked Arti.

  “That’s a good question.” He wet his lips and searched the texts on the table, finally selecting a small dog-eared notebook. Flipping from one bookmarked page to the next, he muttered incoherently until he found what he was looking for.

  “This is it.” He checked the book’s cover. “These are the notes I gathered in Parmell’s Great Hall twenty years ago.” He held the book up with one hand and aimed the magnifying glass at it with the other. “The collection it came from was to be purged, and I had to hurry to record it.” Merl’s icy blue eyes scanned the book’s page.

  “Yes, here we are: On the Wielding of Excalibri, from the memoir of Merrill of Astenga.” The old librarian cleared his throat. “Forged together in truth, the pen and the will are one.” He closed the book and set it on the table.

  “The pen and your will are one. That’s what Vivian said when she gave me Excalibri,” recalled Arti.”

  “She did? Hmmm,” mumbled Merl. “I wonder if she read Merrill’s memoir. It’s the only direct quotation from a Grail scribe that I’ve ever found. I’m sure the translation is accurate; all we have to do is figure out what it means.”

  Arti rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. So, what am I—” She stopped talking and squinted across the table at Merl. “Do you hear something?”

  Merl jerked his head sideways and listened. “A car.” He waved his hand at Arti. “Get down and don’t make a sound.”

  Wiggling his way out from behind the round table, Merl crouched to look out through the windshield of the driver’s compartment, just as a dark sedan came to a stop halfway between the garage and the Camel Lot’s main building. The car’s door opened, and a young woman with auburn hair tied back in a ponytail stepped from the vehicle. After looking around for a moment, she reached back into the car and removed something.

  “It’s a woman,” hissed Merl. “She appears to be alone.” He paused. “And she has a book!”

  Arti started to speak, but Merl pressed a finger to his lips for quiet, continuing his surveillance. The young woman kicked the car door closed and stood next the vehicle, holding the book out in front of her. A moment later, she started walking toward the garage and the motorhome within.

  “She…she’s coming this way,” stammered Merl. “I…I have to go out. I’ll get rid of her.” He looked frantically at the pen and ink well, and the pile of books on the table, and at Arti. There was no time to hide any of them. “Don’t make a sound.”

  Arti sprawled on the seat and listened, her heart pounding like a drum. She watched Merl open the motorhome’s narrow door and step outside; it closed with a ‘click’ behind him. Then she heard him address the stranger, impressed by his apparent calmness.

  “Can I help you, young lady?”

  After some hesitation, the stranger replied. She sounded quite nervous, if not a little frightened. “Um…I’m not sure. Who are you?”

  Merl put on an air of authority. “I mean no offence, miss, but that was my question for you. And if you don’t mind me asking, what is that you’re holding behind your back?”

  “None of your business.” There was something eerily familiar in that assertive response. Arti was sure she’d heard the voice before. But where?

  “There’s no reason to get upset,” said Merl. “It’s just that it looks like a book, and I happen to know a thing or two about them.” His voice softened, “You can trust me.”

  Arti cringed. What was Merl thinking? If the stranger was a Corporation spy, they were done for. Why not just tell her everything and hand Excalibri and the Grail Tome over while he was at it? A long pause followed before the young woman spoke again.

  “Yes, it’s a book and it…brought me here. I know it sounds crazy. I…I’m sorry for bothering you.” The stranger’s voice faded as if she was leaving.

  “Please, may I look at it?” Merl was brimming with excitement, the same exhilaration Arti had sensed in him when he witnessed her pull the words from the tome. She strained to listen.

  “Oh, my,” said Merl. There was no hiding his ecstasy. “You are definitely in the right place, my dear. I’m Merl, and there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The motorhome’s door opened and Merl looked up at Arti from the bottom step, a hand raised to signal everything was alright, that the visitor was not a threat. With her back wedged into the corner of the booth, Arti stared out warily from behind the round table and the fortress of books.

  “It’s alright,” said Merl. “She’s a friend.” He arrived at the top of the landing and turned, waiting for his guest to enter.

  Arti ignored the declaration, her eyes locked on the door, scrutinizing each of the stranger’s features as she ascended the stairs: the auburn hair, the green eyes, the full lips. When the physical puzzle was complete and framed by memory, Arti screamed.

  “It’s her!” She gestured frantically at Merl, “Oh my god, it’s her!”

  Merl was confounded by Arti’s panic. “Calm down,” he demanded. “What are you talking about?” His face hardened, and he turned to the young woman. “What is she talking about?”

  Arti didn’t wait for the girl’s answer. “She’s the one from the vidads. She works for the Corporation. She’s a spy!”

  Merl’s eyes flashed at the book in his hand, wondering if it had been a clever deception. He stepped away from the young woman and reached for a knife on the counter.

  “Stop!” yelled Gwen, seeing Merl’s gloved hand close on the weapon’s handle. Keeping her eyes on the blade, she pleaded with Arti.

  “I’m not who you think I am.” She took a calming breath and lowered her voice. “Just…let me explain. Please.” Stepping slowly past Merl, she eased herself into the booth, hands up in surrender.

  “It’s a long story.”

  For the next two hours, Gwen told Arti and Merl everything. How as a slave to her parents’ ambition she had started modeling for the Corporation at the tender age of twelve. The day she entered the Archive and took the tiny book of letters. Her triumph in breaking its code, her re-birth as a reader—and the perilous lie she had lived to keep that secret.

  As compelling as Gwen’s story was, Arti was reluctant to believe it. How could she be sure the young woman was telling the truth? She seemed nothing like the person in the vidads, but it might just
be a clever act. A picture is worth a thousand words. Show, don’t tell. You are the Corporation. Arti could never forget that it was Gwen who spoke those awful words.

  “When I found out they were going to burn the Archive, nothing else mattered,” continued Gwen. “Those books are the only thing I’ve ever cared about.” She nodded at The Knights of Maren. “But it gave me hope and brought me here. I’m just not sure why.”

  Merl ran his finger over the tiny sword attached to the book’s cover. “I’ve read about the Finding Swords, but I always considered them the stuff of legend.” He held the book up for Arti and Gwen.

  “It is said the Knights of Maren had them tacked to a vambrace, one of their forearm guards. Having sworn fealty to the Order, those seeking their liege lord would speak the oath, and the sword would guide them to their leader. It’s how the knights came together in times of need.”

  “The oath? You mean the words I pulled from the tome?” asked Arti.

  Merl nodded, “Indeed.” He flipped open The Knights of Maren’s back cover. “Swear fealty and be called. And there’s the oath below. When Gwen read it, she was brought here. You are her liege lord, Arti, and,” he was beaming with delight, “she your knight.”

  “A knight?” Gwen scoffed. “I don’t know anything about being a knight. What am I supposed to do?”

  Arti beat Merl to the answer, knowing his explanation would go on forever.

  “We have to take something from Morgan Fay. A very powerful book.” She patted its tattered twin resting beneath Excalibri and the ink well.

  “The Grail Tome,” said Gwen.

  “That’s right,” said Arti, wondering how she knew. “It’s identical to this one, except it’s got all its pages. Long story short, I have to write the last page and save the world.” Seeing the skeptical look on Gwen’s face, Arti added sarcastically, “Hey, a little sword brought you here. Don’t judge.”

  Merl waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Gwen, you said that Fay was going to burn the Archive. When?”

  “Corporation Night.” Her brow wrinkled with worry. “They’re planning a vidlink special. The CEO’s going to perform the Lighting herself. The whole country will be watching.”

  “Hmmm, interesting.” Merl bridged his gloved fingers and squinted in thought. “Why keep the Archive for twenty-five years? Then burn it?”

  “I was told it was to celebrate the Corporation’s twenty-fifth anniversary,” said Gwen. “The dawn of a new era.”

  “The dawn of a new era?” grumbled Merl. “Sounds ominous. But what could it—”

  “Timing,” said Arti. “It’s all about timing.” Gwen and Merl looked at her, puzzled.

  “Don’t you see?” said Arti. “Fay doesn’t want to wait. Every time a book is burned, The History gets closer to its final page, right? What if destroying the Archive is enough to take her right to the end?”

  “Yes,” said Merl. “A collection of the greatest books ever written. That could do it.” Color drained from the old librarian’s face. “That means the fate of the world will be written on Corporation Night.” He sighed, “Just five days from now.”

  “Getting the book wouldn’t be easy, no matter how much time we had,” said Gwen. “I’ve worked at the castle for years; it’s impossible to come and go without being seen. We’ll have to pass right by Incendi headquarters to get up to Fay’s office—that’s if the book’s even there. If we’re caught,” Mordred’s image flashed in her mind, “we’re dead.”

  “The book will be there; I’m sure of it,” said Merl. “Morgan will be watching it closely, especially now that she knows the Challenger exists.” He nodded at Arti. “I doubt she’d let anything draw her attention from it.” The old librarian rubbed his chin, wondering if they’d ever have an opportunity to snatch the tome. Then it came to him.

  “The Lighting. That will be our chance. Morgan won’t burn the Archive inside the castle. She’ll—”

  “Do it outside,” finished Gwen. “On the clifftop.” Her eyes met his. “That’s where it’s going to happen.”

  “She’ll have to leave the Grail Tome alone,” concluded Arti, “and that’s when we can take it.”

  Gwen frowned and shook her head. “It still won’t be easy.”

  “No, it won’t,” agreed Merl. “It will have to be well thought out. And although I remember the castle well, I’m sure the interior has changed a great deal over the years. Do you think you can provide us with a detailed floor plan?”

  “I think so,” said Gwen. “But I’ll need something to make it out of.”

  Arti placed her hand on one of Merl’s notebooks. “Would these covers do?” She looked up at Merl to see if he would approve. “It’s for a good cause.”

  “I guess so,” said the old librarian. “It’s what’s in the books that’s valuable. And while Gwen is working on that, you will be practicing with Excalibri.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Merl, noticing Gwen still wore her frown. “I know we’re asking a lot of you. It will be dangerous, there’s no denying it. If you don’t feel—”

  “It’s not that,” said Gwen. “I’ll do whatever I can to help get the book from Fay. It’s the Archive.” She shook her head, “I can’t let it burn. I won’t.”

  “I have no intention of letting it burn,” said Merl, his brow wrinkled in thought. “I just hope my idea works.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The man was far too thin for his height, and he wore layers of tattered clothing and a tired grey face much older than his years. He knew the shiny stack of coins on the desk would feed his family for a month, with a little extra left over for a night of whiskey and forgetting. He shuffled his feet anxiously, anticipating his reward.

  Big Billy Johnson sat back in his squeaky leather chair and thumped his boots down hard on the worn desktop. He had the oak bureau’s legs cut off to allow him to recline in such a fashion, refusing the limitations of a tiny stature. But no one dared call the undisputed King of Old Tintagel small. Not if they wished to see another sunrise.

  In stark contrast to the concrete and metal of the arena, Big Billy’s office atop the Cauldron was richly adorned with finely carved moldings, inlaid cabinetry, and plush furniture. The most prominent feature of the large room was also its most valuable—at least to Big Billy. His library covered one expansive wall, its burgeoning shelves of books filling the space from floor to ceiling.

  Every business transaction that took place on the island had to first cross Big Billy’s stunted desk and receive his approval. If money changed hands south of the Coin Canal, it was with Big Billy’s blessing—and a fee for his “protective services.” Any threats to his domain were met with quick and forceful rebuke. Having received a report of one such trespass, he was determined to answer it.

  “Now listen, Rory, my boy. You only get paid if you answer all my questions. Little Donny here says you’ve news of a crossin’ at the West Bridge.”

  Big Billy nodded at the giant of a man standing next to him. A thick red scar ran from Donnie’s forehead to his chin, crossing one cloudy eye and a corner of his thin-lipped mouth. He was more like a son to Billy than an employee, intensely devoted and loyal.

  “He says you told him it was a squad o’ Flames.” Billy’s eyes narrowed. “Give me the goods, Rory. Everythin’ you know.”

  Answering the command, words rushed from the thin man’s mouth. “Yes, sir. It was yesterday, in the afternoon. I was near the West Bridge. A big black sedan crossed, turnin’ east on Canal Street. They was drivin’ fast, and I couldn’t see through the dark glass, so I had my son track ‘em. Runs like the wind, he does. As luck would have it, the car didn’t go far. It parked on Market Street, and four Flames in their blacks got out. They went into the back of the old school, so my boy waited to see what they was up to.” The man paused, afraid he had been too long-winded.

  Intrigued, Big Billy pulled his legs off the desk. “Go ahead, Rory. What did the boy see?”

  The man licked his lips
, encouraged by Big Billy’s interest. The stack of coins was almost in his pocket; he could taste the first sip of whiskey.

  “A camper truck shows up, and two kids get out. My son said one was a local girl named Gal Hadd, maybe eleven or twelve, and another he didn’t know, a bit older. They went into the school, too. A couple minutes later they come a runnin’ out with a Flame hot on their heels. The older girl got to the truck, but the Flame caught the Hadd girl.” The man was careful with his words. “My son says he hit her real hard, maybe even killed her. The truck pulled away before the Flame could get to the other one.”

  “Who was drivin’ the truck?” asked Big Billy.

  “My lad said it was an old man.” He laughed, “But you know kids, they think anyone north of thirty’s over the hill.”

  Big Billy looked up at the ceiling, trying to picture the scene in his mind. “A strange turn, to be sure. Is that it?”

  “No, sir. It gets even stranger.” The thin man’s brow furrowed. “I’m only tellin’ you what my son told me, and I know it sounds crazy, but—”

  “It’s okay, Rory. Just get to it.”

  “A white car, one of them sporty import deals, comes racin’ down the street. Before it even comes to a stop, out flies a fella and kicks the Flame for a loop. My son said he would never have believed it ‘less he saw it with his own eyes. And he ain’t one to lie, sir, I swear. He said the fella took the Hadd girl and put her in the car, then drove away. And just as he’s leavin’, the Flame gets up like nothin’ happened. No worse for the wear.”

  Big Billy leaned toward the thin man. “Did your son ever see the fella in the white car before?”

  The thin man nodded slowly, convinced the reward was his. “Yes, sir. He said he saw him right here in the Cauldron. It was the fella from Ference, the one that fought The Mountain and won. The Poet.”

  The coins jingled in the thin man’s pocket as he was escorted to the door. Crossing the threshold, he turned and bowed to Big Billy. “Thank you, sir.”