The Knight's Armor

by Paul Gamble

  Trudy grimaced. “What was all the hugging about, then?”

  “I just wanted us to be holding on to each other so we stopped at the same time. If you hadn’t realized what I was saying, you might have fallen farther than me and then we’d have gotten separated.”

  Trudy and Jack hung in the air for a while longer. Jack looked around him. “It’s at times like this that I wish I’d brought a packed lunch with me.”

  “Well, what do we do next?” asked Trudy. “Gravity might not be affecting us, but we can’t just hang here forever.”

  “Mmm, my planning hadn’t quite gotten that far,” Jack admitted.

  “Idiot,” Trudy sneered.

  Jack felt slightly put out. After all, he had just come up with a brilliant solution to their problem and felt that he deserved some credit. He was about to raise this point with Trudy when she started windmilling her arms.

  “Umm, what are you doing?”

  Trudy continued windmilling her arms and kicking her legs. “Swimming.” Trudy’s movements were slowly propelling her up the tunnel, as she pushed the air behind her. It wasn’t as quick as swimming in water, but she was gradually picking up pace and momentum.

  “Swimming without having to get your hair wet,” Jack mumbled to himself. “What’s not to like?”

  It was clearly going to take them substantially more time to make their way back up the tunnel than it had falling down. Falling was a much more efficient form of travel compared to air-swimming.

  “I’m … glad … we’ve … learned … this,” Jack puffed as he kicked his feet. “It … means … that … we … can … survive … bottomless pits.”47

  As usual Trudy wasn’t even breathing heavily, just scything through the air like an Olympic athlete. “I can’t imagine it’ll be a great deal of use to us. Remember, it only works with bottomless pits. Any pit with a bottom we’d just fall into and die.”48

  “Point … taken,” Jack agreed.

  Out of the corner of his eye Jack noticed that there was a hole in the wall. The electric cable from the barn above ran down the wall and disappeared into the hole. Rather than panting out any words, Jack pointed to it.

  Trudy thought for a minute. “Do you think my mother might be in there?” she asked in a very small voice.

  “Or it … might … be … a … clue,” Jack said, although to be honest he didn’t really care if it was a clue or not. He just wanted to sit down for five minutes and catch his breath. Jack and Trudy stopped swimming upward and moved horizontally toward the hole in the wall.

  * * *

  MINISTRY OF S.U.I.T.S HANDBOOK

  PERSONAL FITNESS

  ADVISED ACTIVITIES

  Given the strains and stresses of working for the Ministry, it is a good idea for all operatives to undertake some level of fitness training. Road running can be a good sport to undertake but is not recommended for Ministry operatives in Iceland and Northern Ireland, where the risk of hypothermia is clearly too high.

  Swimming is an alternative exercise you can undertake; however, Ministry agents in Australia are warned to be careful because there is a risk that you may be eaten by a shark or crocodile. Therefore, if you are swimming in Australia it is vital that you undertake some basic precautions. Like bringing along a friend, preferably one who looks tastier than you do.

  * * *

  18

  GOING UNDERGROUND

  The hole in the wall opened up into a large tunnel. Because the horizontal passageway had a floor, gravity reasserted itself and they both tumbled to the ground. It was difficult to see since they were only relying on the limited amount of light that was shining down from the red barn thousands of feet overhead. The wire from the pylon was pinned to the top of the tunnel, leading off into darkness. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything desperately interesting in here, given that we can’t actually see anything,” Jack said.

  Trudy was squinting into the darkness. “I think someone was already here and figured out that problem.” Trudy had found a wooden board on the wall that had several flashlights hanging off it. She took one, switched it on, and then handed it to Jack. “If there are flashlights then they clearly aren’t using the wire from the pylon for light … but what would they need electricity for this deep underground?”

  The passage was small and Jack and Trudy had to crouch as they moved along it. They waved their flashlights, but nothing seemed to be up ahead. As they went farther the passage seemed to get smaller and tighter, but Jack wasn’t sure if that was just in his imagination.

  With every step Jack expected to be attacked. In fact, it was more than that. He was sure that he was going to be attacked. It was just a matter of time. The suspense was killing him. He wondered what it would be that attacked him. He’d met giant moles underground before and didn’t relish the prospect of having to battle one again. Especially since the last time they had, it couldn’t really have been considered an unqualified victory.

  Eventually the tunnel opened up into a large cavern. Jack stood up straight and brushed some of the dirt off his school uniform. Trudy was looking around the cavern, amazed at what she saw. Jack felt that she was right to be amazed. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to see, but it certainly wasn’t this.

  The cavern they had walked into was the size of a church hall. All around the walls were suits of ancient armor. They were so old that many of them were little more than small pieces of rust held together by other small pieces of rust. One or two of them had clearly been well oiled before they had been left down here and were slightly more well preserved. However, that wasn’t the really interesting thing. What was really unusual49 was sitting in the center of the room. Unusual and yet very familiar at the same time.

  There was a large boulder about the size of a sofa. It was brownish-black in color and although it clearly wasn’t metal it seemed to glimmer. However, what made the stone especially unusual was that a sword was stuck right into the middle of it. The long metal cable from the pylon outside snaked down and was attached to the handle of the sword.

  Jack had read enough stories about kings and queens to be able to have a good guess as to what he was looking at. He turned to Trudy. She seemed as amazed as he was.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Jack asked.

  Trudy responded slowly. “Possibly. Are you thinking that’s not just a sword in a stone. That’s THE sword in THE stone?”

  “Excalibur,” said Jack as he nodded. “That means it’s the sword that belonged to King Arthur.”

  When he was younger, Jack had loved hearing stories about King Arthur and his knights. How they had ridden around the country on massive white horses, hitting baddies with swords, helping the poor, and generally being good eggs. Although he couldn’t remember the details about all the stories, there was one that shouldered its way to the forefront of his mind. Arthur had been made the king after he completed the feat of pulling the sword Excalibur out of a stone. And now here it was right in front of them.

  “Why do you think they have the electrical line running into it?” Trudy asked.

  Jack screwed his eyes up tight and then did one of those things that children are advised to never do without supervision of an adult (and probably not even then). He quickly touched the blade of the sword and then jumped back. “Nothing—it isn’t electrified.”

  “Which means that the pylons maybe aren’t carrying electricity, then? Or at least not all of the time.”

  Neither Jack nor Trudy moved. “Try and pull the sword out of the stone,” Jack suggested to Trudy.

  “Why me?” Trudy was irked and punched Jack in the shoulder.

  Jack scowled at her. “Well, I think it should be you because I’m nursing a fairly serious shoulder injury here—I suspect you may just have bruised my rotator cuff.50 But quite apart from that I’m the one who is supposed to do the weird thinking. You’re the one who does the physical stuff.”

  Trudy shook her head. “You aren’t ge
tting me like that. If I pull that sword out of the stone, I might become queen.”

  Jack arched an eyebrow. He knew why he didn’t want to pull the sword out of the stone and potentially become king, but wondered what Trudy’s reasons were. “And that would be bad because…?”

  “Because queens have to be well behaved and shake people’s hands and go on visits to countries whose names they can’t pronounce. And they aren’t allowed to fight, say bad words, or throw rocks.”

  Jack nodded. He’d been thinking along similar lines. “Yes, and they have to wear very heavy, silly hats.”

  “Let’s take a closer look at it at least.” Trudy clambered up onto the stone and Jack followed her.

  The sword was truly beautiful. It was hard to tell exactly how big it was because the tip was buried deep into the stone, but Jack thought it was maybe two yards long. As they shone their flashlights on the blade it seemed to reflect different colors: purple, blue, dark green. It looked the way oil spilled on water did. The hilt51 of the sword seemed unusually thick and broad, but that may have been because it was covered in pink-and-white mother-of-pearl. The pommel on the sword was made of a large, shiny emerald.

  “This is the most beautiful sword I’ve ever seen,” Jack said.

  “Well, that’s pretty impressive,” said Trudy, “especially with your extensive experience of appraising swords.”

  “You know there is such a thing as being too sarcastic, Trudy.” Jack pouted. “Anyway, if you’re so smart, what now?”

  “Well, I really, really don’t want to be queen, so I say we just leave it.”

  Jack thought about this. “I don’t think we can do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. M pushed us down this pit expecting us to die. But he must have dug this pit looking for the sword. And there must be some reason that it’s connected to the electricity pylons.”

  “So what?”

  “Well, if Mr. M wants this sword, then I don’t want him to have it.”

  Trudy thought about this. “But at the end of the day it’s just a sword. A very pretty sword—but he must have hundreds of them if he’s producing that new fantasy movie that David’s auditioning for.”

  Jack contemplated the sword. “But this isn’t just any sword. This is a sword that turns people into kings. And kings control people. So maybe this sword will give Mr. M some kind of magical powers that allow him to control people’s minds.…” Jack realized something. “Maybe that’s what happened to me the other night! And if he can do that we could never stop him.”

  “Okay, so we take the sword with us.” Trudy folded her arms. “Now pull the sword out of the stone.”

  Jack was slightly miffed that he was going to have to be the one to try. He didn’t want to be king. But on the other hand he also thought that he probably didn’t want Trudy to be queen either. She’d become absolutely insufferable if he had to bow to her all the time and call her ma’am. “Right, get off the stone, then. Give me some space.”

  Trudy jumped down off the stone and Jack looked at the sword again. If he was going to be turned into a king, he needed to adopt a heroic stance. He put his feet shoulder-width apart. Then he decided to be even more heroic and placed them slightly farther apart. Then he decided that if he was going to be heroic, he may as well go whole hog and placed his feet as far apart as he could. At which stage he rather predictably52 slipped and fell off the stone.

  Trudy helped him up. “What were you doing?”

  “Sorry,” Jack groaned. “Just trying to look as heroic as I could. I may have overdone it slightly.” Jack scrambled back up on the stone. He approached the sword again and placed his feet a sensible distance apart. He looked at his hands and spat on them.

  “Now what are you doing?”53

  “Not sure,” admitted Jack. “I’ve seen people doing this in movies before they try to perform feats of strength.”

  “And do you feel any stronger?” inquired Trudy.

  “Not really, I … I just feel like I have spit on my hands.” Jack decided he didn’t want to get slobber all over the beautiful sword and so wiped his hands on his trousers. Then without further ado he gripped the sword and pulled with all of his might.

  Rather unsurprisingly, nothing happened.

  “Try harder,” Trudy encouraged him.

  “I can’t,” Jack said. “That was literally all of my might.”

  Trudy looked unimpressed. Following a very brief moment’s hesitation she leapt up on top of the stone and shoved Jack off. “When I am queen I’m going to make your life miserable, you know that?”

  Jack nodded silently. Trudy grabbed the handle and pulled, her biceps bulging. She pulled and pulled again. The sword didn’t budge as much as an inch.

  “HA!” laughed Jack. “That’ll teach you! I knew it wasn’t that easy.…”

  Trudy glowered at him from her position on the stone. “You do realize that I don’t need a sword or a crown to make your life miserable and filled with bruises.”

  Jack stopped laughing immediately and put on his serious face. “Point taken. Maybe you should give it another try? I mean, you are fairly awesome.”

  Trudy tried again but with no luck. For a moment Jack thought she might actually move it, but her hands, sweaty with the strain, slipped from the handle. She fell backward and crashed into Jack, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

  Trudy sprang back to her feet, but Jack remained motionless. “Aren’t you getting up?”

  From his position on the floor Jack had noticed something on the ceiling. “There’s a camera up there. Someone’s watching us.”

  Trudy shrugged. “Let them watch. There’s nothing they can do to stop us.”

  “Yeah, that’s the thing—I rather suspect that the camera’s there precisely so they can watch us and then do something to stop us.”

  “Like what?”

  There was a slow, screeching, grinding sound. Jack and Trudy looked behind them. “We really should have been expecting this from the start.”

  * * *

  MINISTRY OF S.U.I.T.S HANDBOOK

  LEGENDARY KNIGHTS

  THE PINK KNIGHT

  You will have heard stories of legendary knights and how they defeated all their foes in battle. However, few people have heard of the greatest of them all—the Pink Knight.

  Generally speaking, as knights got older they got more experienced and therefore became more effective at fighting. However, the problem was that their suits of armor also got older and began to get more and more rusty. Their shoulder and knee joints began to seize up at bad moments, meaning that they could miss a crucial sword thrust or vital dodge during combat. Therefore, eventually even the most experienced knights died, thwarted by rusty and stiff armor.

  Of course, after a knight died, the bards and troubadours would immediately begin writing songs about all the heroic deeds that they had done.

  But there was one very clever knight who figured out how to deal with the problem of rusty armor. He realized that if he wanted to be the best knight ever he needed to ensure that his armor would be kept as good as new. From observing how metal decayed he realized that rusting occurred due to the effects of both air and water combined. Therefore, if he protected his armor from the air and rain with a coat of paint, it would remain good as new. After making this realization, he took an afternoon off jousting practice one day and painted his entire suit from top to toe in a particularly garish shade of pink.

  As his armor never rusted, he was able to move more quickly than the other knights. Every year that went past allowed him to learn more about fighting techniques and so he quickly became the best knight in the land, vanquishing armies, saving maidens, and explaining to dragons that their services were not needed in this particular kingdom and requesting that they move on immediately.

  You may ask why no one has ever heard of the Pink Knight, and the answer is simple. Although he was the bravest and best of knights, bards refused to write songs about p
eople in the Middle Ages until after they were dead. This was partly because they didn’t want to give a knight a swollen head, but also because the laws surrounding “image” and merchandising rights in the Middle Ages were very tough—and bards didn’t want to have to pay royalties and image licensing fees to the people they were writing about.

  In the end, the Pink Knight got so good at fighting that even when he came back to the castle after a battle there wasn’t so much as a scratch on him. This made the other knights in the castle suspicious and they began to believe that the Pink Knight was just making up stories and wasn’t really fighting people at all.

  Interestingly enough, this is not only the reason why you have never heard of the Pink Knight but also why people began to consider pink to one of the less “manly” colors. Anyone who knows the true story of the Pink Knight knows that it is the bravest color of all.

  * * *

  19

  THE UNEXPECTED EXPECTED

  The suits of armor that were standing around the walls had started shuffling, their metal joints making creaking and squeaking noises as they did so. Trudy jumped down from the boulder and stood beside Jack. “Any thoughts on what’s going to happen next?” she asked.

  “Currently I’m just hoping that they’re friendly,” said Jack, showing that sometimes optimism could triumph over experience.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”54

  “Of course, we could always run away preemptively.”

  Trudy scanned the approaching suits of armor. “Okay—let’s try that; I suspect we weren’t going to get the sword out of the stone anyway.”

  Jack and Trudy started heading for the tunnel out of the room, but one of the suits of armor quickly blocked it.

  “Is there another exit?”

  Jack looked around the room. “I don’t think so. We’re trapped.”

  Trudy took up a fighting stance. “Well, I’m not going down without a fight. Time for The Speed.”