The Camelot Kids

by Ben Zackheim

  The chatter in the hall was getting louder, closer. Simon had two options. He could try to explain himself, or he could put that window to good use. He lifted a trash pail and heaved it into the glass. It shattered, making Chester wince and back up, right as people started to gather behind him. That one moment of confusion bought Simon enough time to jump into the yard outside.

  Someone murdered Professor Tillman with a throwing knife. Who would want to kill a harmless guy like that? Simon didn’t see where the dagger came from but it definitely passed close to his head. Was it meant for him? If he asked Maille that question, she’d probably say yes.

  It struck Simon, as he walked quickly to the dense trees behind the school, that he was much calmer than he should be. Only a few days ago Simon was dodging bullies in a halfway house. Now he was in a forest in Scotland, running from a murder scene to meet a girl who was either a very clever nut or a witch. Or both. Maille was his last hope that anything would go his way. If she didn’t show or, more likely, if she was a fraud, he’d be out of options.

  He entered the darkness of Red’s secret path and headed north with a clear sense of purpose, and a backpack of food.

  After an hour, gray clouds moved in which made it tough for him to use the sun as a guide. He climbed a tree, settled on a thick branch and searched for a glow in the overcast sky. But all he saw were trees, endless trees, and distant mountains.

  He was lost. Instead of panicking, Simon’s thoughts wandered. He remembered a time when his father frantically tried to get him to come down from an oak tree in Central Park. The poor man literally pulled at his own hair in fear as Simon swung from branch to branch, laughing. His father was the least athletic guy in Manhattan, so there wasn’t anything he could do about it. It was a moment Simon would always remember. It was the moment when he understood that he could do things his heroes couldn’t. Of course, now he couldn’t even tell which way was north, but the memory offered him some hope.

  He spotted a small clearing nearby. Someone stood on the far edge of it, watching him.

  A hood shrouded his face in darkness.

  12

  Simon waited for him to make a move. It was possible the stranger hadn’t seen him.

  The figure pulled a bow from over his shoulder, laced it with an arrow, and shot it at Simon. In midair, the arrow’s tip burst into flame, as if the sun itself had ignited it. The arrow hit the tree near Simon’s head and set the trunk ablaze.

  Simon dropped from the branch, scrambled to his feet, and started running. He pushed his way through dense bushes and crowded trees, but the forest was working against him. He kept pushing forward, not knowing if the figure was on his tail.

  Simon ran right into Red, full force.

  He was so surprised he let out a high-pitched yelp that slashed its way through the foliage. Red’s scream was even louder. When he collected himself and tried to stand up, Simon pushed him back down.

  “Ow!” Red yelled. “What are you doing? Let go of me!”

  “Sssh! There’s someone out here chasing me.”

  “Yeah. Half the school, mate. What did you…”

  “No,” Simon whispered. “Someone else. It could be the guy who got Tillman. I don’t know.” But Simon had seen him before. The guy wore the same hooded cloak Simon had seen in New York. But how was that possible? A stranger from a New York City park turns up half a world away, when Simon is in dire straits in the middle of the creepy wilderness, and tries to kill him? It didn’t make any sense.

  Everything was quiet. Not even a breeze broke the stillness. When enough time had passed, Simon let himself believe that he’d lost the stranger.

  “What happened back there, Simon? Did you do something to Tillman?” Red whispered.

  “Of course not. Someone killed him with a knife.”

  “Really? He’s dead?”

  His teacher’s blank stare tormented Simon. “There was a lot of blood, so I guess so, yeah.”

  “What was it like? I mean to see a dead person.” The glint in Red’s eyes was odd. When he saw how Simon was looking at him, Red got his focus back. “Sorry. I always wondered, is all. So what are we going to do?”

  Simon fought elation at hearing that someone wanted to be with him, especially now. Most people would run for high ground when trouble this big came down. But here was Red, waiting for Simon to tell him what was next.

  “I can’t let you get in trouble too, Red. You should go home.” He didn’t mean it, but he had to say it.

  “No way. I’m not going to let you get more lost than this.” Red studied the forest.

  “That bad, huh?” Simon grinned.

  “I’ve never been here.”

  “But I need to get to Loch Duich. Tonight. I’m meeting someone there who can help me.” He hoped.

  “Brilliant. Let’s do it. Better’n watching TV, am I right?”

  Simon thought how nice it would be to just sit back and veg out. He hadn’t done it since his folks were alive. He wasn’t about to bum Red out and tell him that, though. He didn’t want to say anything to wipe the kind smile off his friend’s face.

  After checking around for the hooded man, they moved down a steady slope. They emerged on Red’s path with some relief and walked in silence.

  The loch wasn’t far but the darkness made it a challenge. Since they’d decided that the roads would leave them too exposed, they maneuvered hilly terrain, with cliffs around every bend and craggy drops that threatened to be the end of them.

  Finally, the boys reached some high ground, allowing the moon to light their way. They stood on a mossy cliff overlooking the loch. The surrounding hills were rough and pitch-black against the moonlit sky. The water was still as glass and reflected the moon full force. The effect was eerie, as if there was a giant lying on its side with two moon eyes staring at them.

  “There’s the inn.” Red pointed to the only light in the whole area, a half-mile away, perched about a hundred yards above the loch’s surface.

  They hiked until they could see the lights of the inn directly above them. As far as Simon could tell the Inn was made of stone and hay. Ivy and flowers were beginning to bloom across its walls. Its windows glowed orange and the smell of cooked food flowed over him, reminding him of how hungry he was.

  Convinced that no one would spot them, the boys ran across the dirt road and scurried along the side of the Inn. Their target was close now. The hill behind the Inn would take them to Maille.

  They heard loud voices and laughter coming from inside. Maille had warned Simon to avoid any contact with the Inn’s customers. But what harm could come from taking a quick peek?

  “Lift me up,” Simon told Red. They’d stopped beneath two high windows. Red realized what his friend was up to. “Don’t worry. I just want to see who’s in there.”

  Red cupped his hands together. Simon stepped in. He knew Red wouldn’t be able to handle the weight for more than a few seconds so he was a little more careless than he should have been. Instead of easing his head level with the window, as he’d planned, Simon ended up kneeling on the outer windowsill, his hands and torso flat against the glass.

  There were about a dozen people milling about the flame-lit room, in various states of sobriety. Some were a lot taller than an average man, and some were the size of a child. A number of figures were dressed in robes, while others wore… armor? Was that a mace on one of the tables? They must be actors, Simon thought. They were probably making a movie nearby.

  He didn’t have time to ponder it for long. Half the patrons saw him, and ran for the door. Simon fell backwards.

  “Run!” he yelled.

  You didn’t have to tell Red to run twice. He was twenty yards away before Simon could find his feet.

  Simon tried to follow, but a couple of huge men jumped into his path. They both reached for him. He ducked under their arms. He saw an opening and rolled through the legs of the taller one. Two small people, around half the size of Simon, were unfortunate enough to
be on the wrong side of his escape. He ran over them.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, expecting to see a couple of crying toddlers. Instead, two small men with full beards glowered back. Simon turned and sprinted up a hill.

  Half-way up he heard an odd sound. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his attackers, hands on hips, belly laughing. The little ones waved at him. Simon slowed down and almost waved back, but thought better of it.

  “What was that all about?” Red said from right behind him. Simon jumped.

  “Will you please not do that?” Simon screamed.

  “Do what?”

  “Sneak up on me!”

  “When you get harassed as much as I do you learn to be quiet! Besides, if you were a little better at keeping yer head low, we wouldn’t have been chased by a bunch of punters with swords.”

  “They had swords?” Simon watched the men reenter the bar. Red was right. They were definitely carrying swords. “Sorry. I was curious.”

  “Let’s just get going. Not much farther now.” Again, Simon was filled with gratitude that he had Red around. He wasn’t sure where he’d be without him.

  Jail, probably.

  WHEN THEY REACHED the summit above the Inn, Simon couldn’t go another step. He was exhausted. The adrenaline of running for his life all day had taken its toll.

  “How about here?” Simon asked.

  “Fine, I suppose.” Red stared at him a little strangely. “You look bloody awful.”

  “Thanks. Let’s light a fire.”

  “I can do that.” Red helped gather brush. They had a hell of a time finding dry stuff.

  At one point Simon caught Red going through his bag.

  “What do you need?” He tried to not sound suspicious.

  Red pulled out a bag of marshmallows. “Let’s roast ‘em for dinner,” he said with a grin.

  They managed to pull together enough wood for a small fire. Simon hoped the flame would guide Maille to them.

  But she didn’t come. To pass the time, Red told ghost stories until they were petrified of every sound they heard. Simon got crankier as time went on, until Red apparently decided it was best if he lay down and slept.

  With Red’s snoring as company, Simon fumed.

  How could he have been so stupid as to believe Maille, or whatever her name was? He saw the whole mess for what it was — she was a creepy nut-job with well-honed stalking skills who played to his paranoia and delusions of grandeur. He was never Lancelot’s descendant. He was never in danger. Until tonight. Now he was a murder suspect.

  Simon watched the sun rise with a major chip on his shoulder. Scotland was a cruel country where cruel people did cruel things. Nothing could make him like this place. Not even the beautiful land itself.

  Then he saw it. Something was watching him from the top of a nearby hill.

  It looked like the statue outside his bedroom at Victor’s.

  It looked like a gargoyle.

  Its glowing red eyes glared at him as it crept across the green ground sideways, stalking. The monster’s stone skin made a scraping sound, like rocks in a sack, with every step it took.

  “Red.” Simon shook him awake.

  “Zznot nonono…” Red replied.

  “Red. What is that?”

  Of course Simon knew what it was. But he could be wrong. Scotland could have creatures he’d never heard of before — creatures that happened to look a lot like gargoyles.

  Red shook the sleep from his eyes and wasted no time in screaming at the top of his lungs.

  Simon guessed that meant it was a gargoyle.

  They ran. Its unfolding wings made a sound like a ton of pebbles being dumped on the ground. A screech that was even higher-pitched than Red’s shot through their ears. Simon glanced over his shoulder to see it launch into the sky faster than any bird he’d ever seen.

  It circled them.

  The hairs on the back of Simon’s neck tingled as he waited for the beast to strike from above.

  Then the ground started to shake, as if a series of small explosions was drawing nearer.

  It wasn’t immediately clear to Simon what he was seeing ahead of him. First, he spotted a messy tuft of gray hair rise over the peak of the hill above, followed by the scariest eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that shone lime green. Whatever the thing was, he stood about fifteen feet high. His gray skin was like leather and his two lower fangs were the size of a grown man’s forearm. The teeth stuck out from behind his lower lip and ended on either side of his eyes in razor-sharp spikes.

  The new monster opened his mouth and let out a horrifying roar. The gargoyle howled back. The two boys stopped. They were stuck in the middle.

  The monsters were focused on each other. Simon hoped they could slip away if a fight started up. But the morning fog was settling in, and fast. Any second now, they’d be covered in mist.

  “Red,” Simon whispered. The boy with red ears was too busy watching his life flash before his eyes to hear anything. “Red! The fog is coming in. If they go at each other, run. Okay?”

  Red nodded once.

  The only problem was that there wasn’t any time for them to escape because it wasn’t much of a fight. The gargoyle swooped down at the boys, its claws outstretched. But the giant leapt into the air, covering twenty yards in a split second, and his massive fist slammed the gargoyle in the face, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

  When Red and Simon wiped the sand out of their eyes they couldn’t even see their noses.

  The morning mist had overtaken them.

  13

  Simon heard the giant’s heaving breath nearby. He tried to get a bead on Red, but it was no use. The fog was so thick he may as well have been covered in a white sheet. Simon didn’t dare call out for his friend.

  “Where are you, boy?” The giant’s voice was like a dog’s warning bark. Every word ended in a low growl. Wait a second — which boy was he looking for? Had he only seen one of them? Maybe it was Red he wanted. Maybe Simon could get away scot-free! Simon shook off the thought. He wasn’t about to leave his friend to be some monster’s lunch.

  But if Simon was going to get them out of this mess, he had to get some distance. Maybe he could find Red from higher ground, where the fog was thinner. So in the eerie silence, he grabbed his bag and hiked up the grassy hill, cringing with every cautious step. He had no idea if his tormentor could hear him, so every yard felt like the last one he’d ever travel. He kept expecting to see a large, clenched fist emerge from the fog, aimed at him this time, ending it all right then and there.

  After a minute of climbing, he realized he had no idea which direction he was facing. He’d come up a hill — that much was clear from the way his heart was pounding in his ears. But which way was which?

  “Your friend has run away and left you,” the rumbling voice taunted. It came from everywhere. Simon was in an expansive wilderness, but he felt like he was trapped in a box.

  Then he had an idea.

  He needed his sight back. If he couldn’t see clearly, then the only option was to change his surroundings. He may not have his vision, but gravity could guide him.

  He lay down on the wet grass, straightened himself out and rolled down the hill, just like he had in Central Park when he was younger. He was making a whole bunch of noise, with all the grunting and gasping and ouching, but it was his last hope anyway. He thought the ride would never end when he finally came to a sudden stop in the loch’s cold water.

  Perfect. It had been his plan to submerge himself so he could better see where he was going. Anything was preferable to that fog. He opened his eyes and, sure enough, he could see fine. He swam toward the deep. His plan was working!

  A loud splash behind him made him kick faster. A strong grip on his ankle yanked him back. In one fell swoop he was dangling upside down a dozen feet over the loch, staring the monster in the eyes.

  “Venture to guess that’s the end of that game,” the monster said. He was just as ugly up close as he w
as from a distance. Except up close he reeked too. He laughed, sending a torrent of boozy, bad breath into Simon’s face.

  “You have nothing to fear from me, little one, as long as you don’t try to get away. Understand?”

  “I can behave, if you’ll please let me down.” With one huge step they were back on land. Simon was lowered to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, freezing and wet. But he fell back to his butt, all the strength gone from his legs.

  “Come on. Get up,” the monster said. “We have some hiking to do and I need this fog.”

  “I can’t get my legs to work.”

  “How your people made it this long with your frailty is beyond me. Here. Take this.” Simon felt a large, smelly, furry thing hit his shoulders. It was a blanket. He wrapped it around him and got some warmth back.

  “Now start walking the way you’re facing.”

  “You can see me?”

  “Of course I can see you. Up here.”

  Simon looked up and saw the dim outline of a large head, backlit by the morning sun. So the grumbling voice seemed to surround him because it was coming from straight above! The monster let out a belly laugh that shook Simon to his core. Great, even Scotland’s imaginary creatures were jerks.

  “Let’s get a move on,” he said.

  They walked up a steady slope. Simon felt warmer, with the big blanket wrapped around him. All things considered, it could have been worse. He wasn’t lunch yet, and whatever this creature was, he wanted him around for some reason.

  As the fog faded, he took a second look at the blanket. It was actually a jacket. Its arms were as big as he was.

  Simon could see better now. If he wanted to, he could turn around and get another glimpse of the behemoth. Always curious, Simon took a deep breath to steel himself against his fear and turned around. The first thing he noticed was how long his arms were. They were as thick as two grown trees. His hands, the size of basketballs, scraped the grass as he walked, as if they were part of what kept that huge body balanced and upright. Simon caught the tail end of what could only be a worried expression on his captor’s face. But what did something his size need to worry about?