King's War: The Knights of Breton Court 3

by Maurice Broaddus

  "Kids?" Percy fixed his heavy-lidded eyes on Lott, filled with determination, pride, and a distinct lack of fear.

  "All right, but you stay behind me. Looks like its only interested in guarding the stairs. So whatever we want has got to be up there."

  "You going to fight it?"

  Lott studied the sheen of muscles rippling along the creature's flank, the sharpness of the claws, and the sharp downward arc of its huge beak – itself larger than his head. "Um, no."

  He scanned the room quickly for a weapon. It had been stripped of everything of value. Not even a door remained. Nor any grates for any of the vents. He pulled at the trim at the doorway until a section gave way. Filled with a stiffness, Lott's muscles still ached from his recent attacks. He hefted it, getting a feel for its weight. Holding it out like a lance, he checked around the corner. The creature had ceased its pacing, waiting in a half-crouch like cats were wont to do, waiting for them to make a move. Impenetrable patience in its eyes.

  "New plan," Lott said. "I'll distract it while you all run up the stairs. It's so large, it can't follow us up."

  Lott charged the mosaic beast, jousting with the stretch of door trim. Percy took Had by the hand and immediately pressed against the wall to follow its perimeter toward the stairwell. The creature sprang toward them, drawn by their movement, but Lott crashed into its side at full speed. The feathers around its head raised in shock and fury as it turned to him. He backed away from where the boys crept around. It snapped at him, its huge beak opening to reveal a dark pink maw. Fluttering in an unfelt breeze, its wings spread in a flare as the boys scampered behind it. It pounced at Lott, propelled by its powerful rear cat legs, its clawed talons skittering with a thunderous clickclick-click against the hardwood floors.

  Lott lunged out of its way, barely avoiding a swipe which would have sent his entrails spilling out against the wall like a dashed pumpkin. Scrabbling against a litter of bones, he slipped on the thick paste that might have been its urine. The boys disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell. Lott dashed to the left then to the right, seeking to juke his way past it, but each move was met with the creature cutting off any path toward the stairs. It toyed with him now, its head cocked at a curious angle as if deciding whether to plunge its beak into his eye sockets or reduce him to a crimson smear with its claws.

  Claws raked across his shoulders, producing scarlet stripes. Thrown off balance, he stumbled about and whirled at the sound of a terrible screech. It hurtled through the air. Lott pivoted away from the lethal talons, barely avoiding the scrape of chitin against the wood floor. Lott shouted, hoping to startle it, threw the piece of wood at it, then broke to his right in a full-out dash toward the stairwell. Hit in the face, the creature flapped its wings again, the powerful breeze knocking Lott off balance as it hooked its claws onto his face. It lifted him into the air, the susurrus of his screams seeming to please it. Opting not to crush his skull on the spot, it flung him across the room. Lott slammed against it, falling to the ground like limp meat, his fall broken only by landing in a pile of its excrement. Its horrible tail wrapped around his leg, drawing him toward it, squeezing him to the point where he could no longer feel. The rest of the creature's body turned to inspect him. It reared back, preparing to dive its beak directly into his chest.

  With a snarl, Kay leapt from the shadows, landing on the creature's back. He tore into the scruff of the beast's neck, his jaws clamping down on its thick cords of muscle. The creature let loose a screech. Lott grabbed the nail-studded piece of wood and swung it into the side of the beast's head. The head jerked and it toppled though it raked a claw through the air, catching Kay in his side. He winced, his flesh opened in red gashes. Fearing the creature might renew its assault, Lott sprang between it and Kay, poised to club it again, but the creature didn't stir. Its chest rose and fell. Lott glanced at Kay then, filled with rage, turned back to the creature to smash its skull in. He stood there, rooted to the spot, its still form beneath him. Releasing the spear of wood, he scooped up Kay and climbed up into the waiting darkness of the stairs.

  The shadows steepened with every step, closing in on him with a pressing closeness. It seemed to swirl and congeal, eddies of darkness, shadows within shadows.

  "Percy?" Lott cried out. The darkness swallowed his words. "Had?"

  Kay, bundled in his arms, lightened. Immaterial, as if dissolving in the umbra fog. Lott's heart quickened. Every muscle in his arms and legs throbbed with ache. He mentally traced each gash as each wound throbbed. The quiet times only made him reflect on his pain.

  The dark grew deeper still. Lott inched along the stairwell. Traumatized and numb. Disembodied, he was a lost soul cast adrift in an obsidian sea. Bruises of metal and insulation underneath electrical boxes and tentacles of wires tripped him as he skulked. His hand pressed against the wall, like a blind man in a labyrinth, searching for anything which allowed him to believe he was still real. Paint flaked from the walls beneath his touch. The distinct smell of cat piss filled his nostrils. Somewhere in the distance, he swore he heard someone humming "Jesus Loves the Little Children".

  "Percy?"

  "Good-working, conscientious thieves." With the strange acoustics of the stairwell, the voice boomed from everywhere at once. "Young and inexperienced. Wandering an unknown land, ravaged by war."

  "I don't understand."

  "You only pass if you speak true. You have three chances. Who are you?"

  "Lott."

  "Liar. You have never been the man you believed yourself to be."

  "But I…" Lott began.

  "What do you seek?"

  "I seek the grail."

  "Liar. You seek what we all seek. Forgiveness. Redemption."

  "I…"

  "Where were you when she needed you? When she needed you to be the man you claimed you were. Hoped you were. Where were you?"

  "I don't know. I was lost."

  "Ask the question," the voice commanded.

  "What question?" Lott asked.

  "Ask the question. The one you truly want to know the answer to."

  "Where is the grail?"

  "Liar. Will you ever be forgiven? By God. By your friends. By yourself. For you… darkness."

  The night swallowed Lott.

  Percy emerged onto the second floor. He leaned against the wall next to the stairwell, then slid down it until his butt hit the floor and he slumped against his knees. The darkness frightened him, the voice moreso. It troubled him, in a too-knowing sort of way, so he pushed the entire encounter out of his mind. Two bedrooms faced the front of the property and two bedrooms faced the rear, the large master suite before him. A barrel-vaulted ceiling towered above him. Had trundled out of the darkness of the stairwell, innocent eyes nonplussed, and squatted down beside Percy.

  "You hear the voice?"

  Had nodded.

  "It scare you?"

  Had shook his head.

  "Really? It scared me. A little. Kind of like a storm."

  Had cocked his head as if admiring or studying the movement of Percy's mouth.

  "It asked me secret things."

  Had stared at him with no recognition in his eyes.

  "Think we should wait for Kay? Or Lott."

  Had peered into the darkness, then shook his head no, as if he, too, knew secret things.

  "Okay." Percy scrambled to his feet and took Had by the hand. He checked each of the two rooms overlooking the backyard. Each room was empty. He walked past the door to the master suite to the other rooms. The two facing the front were identical. Both had huge walk-in closets and bathrooms with broken toilets. Both had a bedroll in the corner. And both had clear views of the winged lion statues.

  "Edward and Hugh," Percy said. "They look like an Edward and Hugh."

  Had smiled at him.

  Percy led them back to the master suite and turned the doorknob. Across the room was another door. Between them and that door was a man seated in a wicker chair. With a thin but muscular bu
ild, his jersey showed off the measure of his tattoos. Half of his body, like a living X-ray detailing his skeleton. Though his face was too thin, his eyes, hazel and glassy, were determined. He exuded power and fierceness. The man wasn't one to cross.

  "You a long way from home, hese." Black made no effort to move, just stood there as if entranced. His eyes fixed on the large boy, perhaps assessing him, perhaps dismissing him, perhaps not really seeing him.

  "Not really. I live just up the street," Percy said. Still holding his hand, Had slipped behind him.

  "You lost?" Black took their measure in a glance. If he perceived a threat, he didn't let on.

  "No. Just looking for something."

  "You 'just looking for something' in my house?" Black said. "You like Christopher Columbus and shit. 'Discovering' a land already occupied by people."

  "This is your house?" Percy gaped about in awe. "It's nice."

  "I stay here. You got to have a place to lay your head. No one knows that really. Only the people I trust most."

  "I don't know you."

  "I know. So when you say you up in my house 'just looking for something', guess that makes you a thief. We know how to handle thieves around here."

  "I'm no thief."

  "What are you looking for?"

  "A cup. It used to belong to a friend of mine. It had a… ring inside."

  "So now you calling me a thief?"

  "No," Percy said unblinking and unafraid. "I thought… I was told it might be here."

  "Who told you that?"

  "Another friend."

  "Your friend tells stories," Black said.

  "Yeah. He does that sometimes."

  "Why you want it back so bad? It valuable?"

  "I don't know. I was told it could help a friend. He's sick."

  "What's the matter with him?"

  "He was shot and now won't wake up."

  Calculations filled Black's eyes and he tugged at his glove. "You a friend of King's?"

  "Yeah."

  "That motherfucker needs to burn. Along with any motherfucker that stands with him." Black removed his glove and held it in front of his face, both admiring and loathing it. He glared at Percy, his anger prematurely exposed. Not solely anger, but despair. A huge void, the sheer immensity of the pain and loss, threatened to devour him where he stood if he didn't constantly tend to it. Which also fueled his anger.

  "Why?" Percy didn't move. The way the man held his hand out, he was afraid threat underscored the gesture.

  "Because of what happened to my sister."

  "Lyonessa."

  "Yeah. Someone's got to pay." Black reached out to him.

  "She was pretty." The tiny voice stopped them in their tracks.

  Percy turned. Had stepped out from behind him and met Black's gaze.

  "She was pretty." Had stared straight ahead, not really focused on Black. His shoulders stiff, as if warding back a shiver. "And nice. She played with me."

  Black peered down at the round-faced boy, oddly captivated by his sweet face. There was an innocence, a purity, about him which reminded him of his sister. He lowered his arm. Had approached him. Then, before Black could react, Had took his hand.

  Black cried out, his voice choked and grievous, more in fear for the boy than any pain himself. But he stared at him. No burning. No raised flesh.

  "I don't understand." Black tried backing away from Had, but the boy kept pace with him, not releasing his hand. Black fell back into his seat. Had stood next to him, still holding his hand. A tear trailed down his face.

  "She was pretty," he said as if letting the memory of her wash over him. Not just the memory of her, but the pain of her absence, the tragedy of her death. The guilt of Black's life. All of it, the pain and hurt of Black. All of it.

  Had nodded at Percy as if shooing him along. Percy backed away from them, again with the overwhelming sensation that he was intruding on something personal. Something sacred. He fumbled for the knob of the other door, which gave way without complaint in his grasp.

  Another set of stairs greeted him. A tight spiral of steps which seemed to go up quite a ways. Percy almost got dizzy simply from the view up. He took the first one, testing it to see if it or the delicate frame could take his weight. Then the next. The structure didn't buckle or sway. Rather than risk vertigo staring to see how far he had left or down to check how far he'd gone, Percy kept his eye simply on the next step.

  Time became meaningless to him. He knew he ascended a tower. He kept climbing, pausing every so often to rest. Sweat soaked through his red shirt, giving it the appearance of a blood-drenched rag. Finally he came to a landing and collapsed in a heap.

  "It's such a waste," a clown said. Her face, white with paint grease, had a scar dividing the side of her face. When she closed her eyes, her lids completed the image of a cross over each eye. When she moved, she glided about the floor with the swivel-hipped body language of a dancer.

  "It's all such a waste."

  Percy scrambled to his feet, steadying himself on the banister. The room had a sacredness to it. A quiet retreat hidden from the rest of the world. And she was beautiful. A princess.

  "What is?" Percy asked.

  "The fighting. The killing."

  "It makes me sad, too."

  "You've come for the cup," La Payasa said.

  "Yeah."

  "Is it yours?"

  "No."

  "Then why should I give it to you?"

  "It's important," Percy said.

  "Why?"

  "It can help my friend."

  "King." Her eyes fixed on him as if gazing into the innermost parts of his soul. "Is that the only reason?"

  "Yeah." Percy ran out of words. He didn't know what else to say, how else to plead his case. Words tumbled out of his mouth. "The cup had a ring in it…"

  "Go on."

  "A long time ago, my mom…" Percy hesitated. The memory and words came hard to Percy. But he spoke of his mother and her long losing battle with drugs. How she tried to be a mother in her own way. And he tried to be an obedient son, despite her trying to school him in things he knew were wrong. Which was how he ended up breaking into Rhianna's room one night and almost stealing that ring. Instead, moved by how pretty she was, he put the ring back. But it always hurt his heart how close he came to betraying her. Which was why he believed he owed it to her to find the ring.

  "You are a great fool," La Payasa said in a soft, soothing voice. She pulled a ring from her left hand and placed it in his palm. Then curled his fingers around it. "I don't know if any of the people around you deserve you."

  "Why are you here?" Percy asked.

  "In this house?"

  "With him."

  "Oh, Black. Growing up. The police raided our house three, four times a year. They'd gather the children in a room, all of us terrified, not knowing what was going on. The police were supposed to be our friend. We were supposed to trust them. They were supposed to protect us. They were supposed to lock up bad people. Yet here they were, herding us about like cattle, all of them glaring down their noses at us, with that expression on their faces like we shouldn't be there. They reduced the house to a mess. I never learned to trust them. Handcuffing all of the adults, lining them up on the curb like they were on sale. And most times, the police would leave with nothing. Sometimes they'd take my father in, but he'd be back within a few hours. It was like some game he and the police played. With us caught up in it. Me? I hated the invasion. I hated the police. And I hated my father."

  "I never knew my father. Met him once, I think."

  "Mine never protected me. I never had my own bed. Always a bunch of us crammed into a room. Into a bed. Me and my cousins. We slept on opposite ends of the same bed. His crusty feet jammed into my face."

  Percy smiled. It reminded him of home with his brothers and sisters. But the smile faded with the pursed lips of La Payasa and the sadness they held back.

  "Every night for a year, he touched me," she said. "Tou
ched me in private places."

  Percy reflected on uncomfortable moments with his mother.

  "There was never any…"

  Percy shifted noisily.

  "Only touching."

  "So that's why you're here?" Percy asked, still confused.

  "It takes a certain kind of self-loathing to be here. Maybe you know what it's like. You feel isolated. Apart. Trapped. The whole experience made me feel so different. As if everyone could see my shame. So I never wanted to feel weak or alone again."