The Camelot Kids

by Ben Zackheim

  “No idea.”

  That was great comfort. “You think it’s a giant or something?”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing as giants anymore.” Simon rolled his eyes. How was he supposed to keep track of what was real around here and what wasn’t? He almost told her about the giant in the park in New York City but stopped himself. He’d had his fill of Maille teases for the afternoon.

  Right in the middle of a clearing in the forest, they came upon a large grass hill. The sun barely broke through here, which made the hill look like a sleeping monster. It had sloping sides and hundreds of tree roots weaving through its grassy surface, like veins. The roots wound their way down the hill, and criss-crossed the path in front of the kids.

  The crashing sound wasn’t just a sound anymore. It had become as strong as a wind trying to knock Simon off his feet. Falling trees. That’s what it was. Something was knocking down trees. Indeed, Simon saw the tops of some nearby firs shaking violently.

  Maille, meanwhile, stood in front of the wall of tree roots. She lifted her arms and the roots slithered out from the dirt, climbed up the hill, and disappeared into the darkness of the woods. The tangled web had been hiding a cave entrance, which now stood open.

  “HELLO, SIR LANCELOT!” The booming voice seemed to come from everywhere in the dark forest. Caradoc peeked his big, ugly head around a particularly massive oak. He had a tree slung over his shoulder and a big smile on his face.

  “Hey, Caradoc. Uh, what are you doing here?” Simon asked.

  “The old man has me picking trees. May as well be pushing a round boulder up a hill. They grow back right when I pick ‘em. Look at this nonsense!” And to illustrate his point, he dropped the tree he was holding and pulled up a new one, roots and all. The dirt around the hole in the ground shook and a fresh tree sprouted up within seconds, fully grown.

  “Why’s he making you do that?” Simon asked.

  “Who knows? Ask him for me, would you?”

  “Let’s go, Simon,” Maille muttered. “That lip isn’t getting any smaller.”

  Simon waved at Caradoc and followed her into the darkness. Her wand’s tip flared up like a torch illuminating the cave. Its walls dripped with what Simon hoped was water, but the orange glow of the fire made it look like blood. The cavern roof enjoyed a special kind of decoration — gnarled tree roots that reminded Simon of a deformed skeleton. To make things even more unsettling, he swore he could see them moving.

  “Hey, Maille. What does Merlin want, anyway? Why does he want me in New Camelot?”

  “Could be anything.” She didn’t pause at all, so she was probably telling him the truth. Or what she thought was the truth. “I think he wants to bring you back to prop up the locals. They’ve been restless. He says they need a hero.”

  “Does it have to do with the Odders?”

  Maille stopped short and turned to him. “How do you know about them?”

  “The elf told me.”

  She let her guard down and sighed. “Yeah, could be. They’ve been a thorn in Merlin’s side for a while now. Maybe he wants you to lead them back into the human world. Lots of them seem to want that for some reason.” She turned and started to walk again. “I know just about everything that you know, Simon. You’ve met the man. He doesn’t part with secrets easily.”

  “Maybe. But I wonder what all this talk about an army is.”

  Again, she stopped in her tracks and turned toward Simon. “An army? Who said anything about an army?”

  “Hector. He said I’d be leading an army of soldiers, not friends.”

  “Oh that. That’s Hector being Hector. He’s a soldier’s soldier. Always ready for war. I wouldn’t put too much stock in it.”

  “Merlin told me that New Camelot is in danger. And you heard him when he said we couldn’t supervise Red because everyone has to train.”

  “It’s been that way for a thousand years, Simon.”

  He didn’t push it. Maybe he was just being paranoid. If she wasn’t worried, then maybe he shouldn’t be either.

  They stepped through a tiny hole and into a large cavern, about the size of a football field, lit by a legion of torches. Simon would have been impressed by the sheer size of the space, if he hadn’t been distracted by the furniture. He had to do a double take before his brain registered, yes, there’s furniture in this cave.

  The décor would have been better suited for a castle like Victor’s rather than an underground cavern. The clutter included cauldrons, wardrobes, tables (including an impressively long dining table covered in knickknacks) and even an old sewing table. Lying under everything was a Persian rug that ran smoothly over the bumpy ground, following the contours of the stalagmites perfectly. Hundreds of scrolls, large and small, leaned here and there. In the center of everything was a large pool of bubbling water with a thousand-candled chandelier hovering above it.

  But all of that was just a distraction from the true marvel. The most impressive sight of all was a stone cottage suspended high above their heads. Its small windows glowed with an eerie candlelight, making them ominous, like peering eyes. The pitched slate roof was home to a large family of sleeping seagulls. At first, Simon thought the cottage was floating. Then he noticed it was somehow held up by a winding cast iron staircase. The physics of the thing were all wrong. Simon worried that a loud noise could knock it over.

  “Is this where he lives?” Simon whispered.

  “This particular cavern is his lab. You should see the dining room.” Simon thought she was joking, but she didn’t give him that familiar sarcastic smile.

  They walked down some stairs that were carved into the slippery rock, being careful to keep their feet under them. The whole place was one big faucet. The drips echoed to an unsteady beat. But underneath that beat was a consistent sound, like the breathing of someone exercising.

  Maille and Simon spotted Merlin at the same time. He stood near the bubbling pool with his back to them. His large body was covered in a far-too-tight, one-piece workout suit. Simon really didn’t need to see this, but he couldn’t look away. In that moment, he realized that this man may have been old, but a couple thousand years of exercise had worked wonders.

  Merlin lifted two dumbbells, one in each hand. They both had the number “500” written in white letters on the ends. The wizard’s long beard waved back and forth as he lifted each hand over his head. The headphones explained why he was humming.

  Maille stopped. She held up her arms to stop Simon, too. “Oh, no.”

  Simon clenched his teeth and locked his knees. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sssh. Quiet. I need to listen.”

  They stood still. After ten seconds, Simon couldn’t take it any longer.

  “Why are we standing here, Maille? I don’t hear anything.”

  “That’s the problem. What happened to the dripping noises?”

  She was right. The only thing he heard now was Merlin’s breathing and horrific humming. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Merlin’s exercising. His Defenders are activated. Senile old man! I told him to… “

  And with that, Simon saw the dark ceiling fall toward them. It was as if a shadow were descending. The long black sheet of darkness crashed into the ground and broke into hundreds of pieces, releasing the water it had collected from the dripping ceiling. By the time the kids had wiped the water out of their eyes, the pitch-black shards had taken the shape of small shadow-men.

  With swords.

  Within two seconds, Maille and Simon were surrounded. Maille lifted her bat wand over her head, while Simon lifted his training sword in one hand and clenched a stone in the other.

  “Don’t they know you?” Simon asked, getting ready to throw the rock as hard as he could.

  “They don’t have brains to remember with. They show up whenever I interrupt the boss.”

  “So what do you usually do?”

  “Run.”

  Simon’s heart sank. No chance of that now.
The things were everywhere. They were even scurrying over the ceiling like bugs. A few of them moved in to attack and Maille swung her bat wand. The green light that swirled from the wand’s tip moved like a whip, lashing out at the closest shadow. It took a few steps back, scared. A moment passed in which no one and nothing moved. The Defenders whispered to each other in a low, static mutter.

  “I think they have more brains than you think,” Simon whispered.

  “Yeah, you may be right. MERLIN!”

  But Merlin couldn’t hear them. He started to do squats, which made Maille stick out her tongue and look away. The Defenders moved closer, this time in lockstep, swords raised. Maille swung the bat around her head again. The green light started to build in intensity with each roundabout. Simon gave the stone a strong grip and pulled it back.

  Right when she released her spell, Simon threw the stone and followed it up with a few swings of his training sword. The whole first line of offense fell back into the second line, knocking dozens of the shadows to the floor. Some broke into smaller pieces, which proceeded to meld together and reform.

  Maille wound up for another go but the Defenders were too close now. Her swinging bat was starting to strike them as they moved in. Simon was punching and swinging as best he could, but the Defenders just split into pieces and re-formed as smaller jerks with swords. He knew he couldn’t keep it up for much longer.

  He took a pebble in his right hand, felt for the right grip, and released it at Merlin’s head.

  Bullseye.

  As the kids were about to succumb to the onslaught, the shadows faded away instantly, drowned out by an unseen light. There was no sign of them anywhere. Merlin, now facing them, wiped the sweat from his brow, then squeezed his beard like a wet towel.

  “About time!” Maille yelled.

  “I told you to be here at 2pm,” Merlin said, frowning.

  “Simon needs a Healing spell. Your goons almost took us out!”

  “Goons? The Defenders? Oh, nonsense. I canceled that spell long ago.”

  “You forgot to cancel that spell long ago, you mean.”

  “Bah. Simon, come!” Merlin barked, while slipping on a robe. “Apprentice, stay here and, oh, I don’t know… clean up some scrolls or somesuch.”

  Simon couldn’t figure out how these two got along. Sometimes Maille was deferential, even fearful of Merlin. Then she’d sound like a scornful mother. He followed Merlin up the gravity-defying spiral staircase to the hovering cottage above. The wizard mumbled something about assistants and stubborn rashes as he pushed through a wide door and into a cozy den with a roaring fireplace. Just like in the cavern, there was a Persian rug under foot. Cushy chairs sat all about, and several huge piles of newspapers filled in the space. A couple of the piles continuously fell over and almost scattered across the floor, until an unseen force pushed them back up. This happened dozens of times while Simon was in the room, which made it hard to focus.

  Merlin gestured for him to sit in a big chair without even the slightest sign of comfort. It felt like sitting on a rock.

  “What are all the newspapers for?” Simon asked.

  “Staying on top of current events. Hard to do with what people call newspapers these days, though. Gossip. Tales of backstabbing, petty crimes… Bah! Trash! Your world is decaying.”

  “You sound like my dad.”

  “Do I, now? Wise man, your father, then.” The wizard took Simon’s chin in his hand and examined his swollen cheek.

  “Who won?” Merlin asked matter-of-factly.

  “No one, really. The mayor stopped the fight.”

  “The mayor? Hah! Is he still calling himself that? He’s seventeen hundred years younger than I am, and he’s twice as senile. Mayor, indeed. More like court jester. Did he use magic?”

  That was a loaded question. Simon couldn’t answer without either lying or getting the mayor in trouble. So he shrugged and hoped that was sufficient.

  “Well, he better not. I forbade it. What was the scuffle about?”

  “Some guys were arguing about my duel this morning.”

  “Ah! Marvelous! Yes, that will do fine. Quite a move you pulled off. Shoving an enemy into bystanders to win a fight! It should push any doubts you have about being Lancelot’s heir right out of that tiny head of yours.”

  “Not really.”

  “Is it customary for modern youth to be morons for prolonged stretches of time before they wise up?”

  “As far as the adults are concerned, yeah.” Merlin rummaged through a chest and pulled out a wand. He flicked it around, getting lost in thought.

  Simon saw an opening. “Red doesn’t belong in a prison,” he said. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s been a sleepwalker for a long time.”

  That got the wizard’s attention. “He said that?”

  “He wants to help us figure it out. He won’t be useful in a dungeon.”

  “You’d be surprised how useful people can be in a dungeon.”

  “I’ll be responsible for him. You can…”

  “Enough. My mind is made up, young man. That oddball will stay where he is until I get some answers. Don’t concern yourself too much. I anticipate answers will come sooner rather than later.”

  Merlin tapped Simon’s cheek with his wand.

  “Ouch!” Simon yelped. The skin burned and he couldn’t feel his tongue all of a sudden. “What’d ew do dat forth?”

  “It’s called healing, boy. Give it a minute. It’s no wonder the world is in peril, with such whiny children running around. You’re all soft now.” Merlin turned and fumbled around in a drawer for something. Simon wasn’t going to fight him on that point. Sometimes, he thought the same thing.

  “Why do ew need me? Why am I innewcameloth?”

  “Well, you’re here sooner than I would have liked, but even I can’t defy Fate,” Merlin answered. He left Simon to ponder what that could mean. “But I’m happy to say, tonight is the night you’ll be reunited with Arthur. You two have a lot of bridges to mend. HA! Come!”

  Arthur? King Arthur?

  Merlin left the room so swiftly that Simon couldn’t keep up.

  “How’s the cheek?” the wizard asked. The swelling was already gone. “I thought so,” the wizard finished before Simon could say anything.

  They walked into a room packed with clothes. Rich-colored cloth hung from bars, draped over the furniture and sat in neat piles around the floor. Merlin went shuffling through some especially bright and tacky shirts. He pulled one loose and ran around the room, yanking more pieces from their perches and throwing them at Simon. By the time Merlin was done, Simon was draped in a rainbow of silk and velvet.

  “Try those on.”

  “What for?”

  “You need to be dressed to receive a king!”

  Simon slipped off his light armor. It was a relief to be free of its weight. He tried on the outfits. Did the bottoms match the tops? Was the pattern on the pants too much for the socks? All these questions (which he never had an answer for) popped up. His mom was good at this. Simon almost asked Merlin for help, but then noticed that the old man was decked out in a robe that didn’t even match itself.

  So Simon chose the simplest pieces he could find. A white shirt and black pants.

  Merlin sized him up and then hollered, “Maille!”

  Simon glared at Merlin, who flicked his eyebrows up and down excitedly. Simon’s stomach clenched. The idea that Maille was about to see him in this outfit terrified him. He was set to put his armor back on, but Merlin waved his wand.

  Simon stood straight, still as a stone. He couldn’t move, trapped in Merlin’s latest inappropriate spell. He heard her footsteps plodding up the stairs… down the hall… right at the door. She was going to laugh and he’d never hear the end of it. The door opened and Maille peeked in.

  “What do you want n…” She stopped short when she saw Simon. The stern expression on her face softened.

  Merlin let the spell go and Simon could move again
. He did his best not to fidget.

  “Stupid, huh?” If he had to look like an idiot, he might as well sound like one too.

  She smiled. “You look great, Simon. This for the ball tonight?” Merlin nodded, quite satisfied with himself. “Lovely job.”

  “It’s very important to leave a favorable impression, young man.” Merlin said. “Now let’s get you to the castle.”

  With that, Merlin raised his wand straight up. Mist flew from the tip and filled the room.

  When it cleared, Simon and Maille were standing hand-in-hand, in a crowd of people. Maille was decked out in a ball dress, a matching black and white affair. Her bat was still on her back, but it was snuggled into a classy sheathe, adorned with gems. Fit for a ball.

  They realized they were holding hands and let go.

  “Terrific. He sent us Seven Hour Air. Classy guy,” Maille said, brushing off her dress.

  Simon was dumbfounded. They’d been in Merlin’s cave a second ago.

  “When he uses his wand to transport you, he might make it instantaneous, or he might deliver you several days later,” Maille explained. “It’s a whim thing. From the looks of it, he sent us a few hours into the future. The ball is about to begin.”

  Merlin had stolen several hours of his life on a lark. Simon assumed he was trying to send him a message of some kind. Possibly, ‘Don’t mess with me, I am the all-powerful Merlin.’ Possibly, ‘I’m a big, old jerk.’

  He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It wasn’t as if he were going to dance or anything. If Maille thought he was going to dance, she had another think coming. He repeated that in his head seven times.

  “Come on.” Simon tugged on her sleeve.

  “I didn’t know you were so anxious to dance.” She smiled and Simon noticed that she looked pretty. That was unexpected.

  “No way. I just want to get this over with.”

  “And see Arthur’s heir,” Maille whispered.

  “You think it’s really him?”

  “Ssh. It’s Merlin’s big surprise this evening. Yeah, if Merlin says it’s him, it’s him. He doesn’t mess around when it comes to Camelot.”

  “What’s this ball for, anyway?”