Some of the sleeping boys in the nearest tunnel awoke from the commotion and gaped sleepily at the newcomers.
Mark lurched forward and blurted, “It was great, man! Arthur took out these two cops with that big-ass sword a his!”
He waved his skinny arms in imitation of Arthur’s movements, momentarily distracting Lance at the sight of the needle tracks.
Lance pulled his attention back to Arthur. “You killed ’em?”
Arthur shook his head and dismounted, deftly removing his chest plate and handing it to one of the boys who’d set out with him, then gazed at Lance with surprise. “Nay, Lance, thou dost know better.”
Lance looked away, feeling small and stupid. He did know better. Arthur’d never kill anyone, not less he really had to.
Now Jack stepped up beside Mark and gushed, “The cop shot ’im, and the bullet bounced off, just like a fuckin’ superhero! It was awesome, wasn’t it, Mark?” He threw his muscular arm around Mark and hugged him, and the shaggy blond nodded. Lance’s eyes went wide with horror, and a chill traveled up his back into his throat. Jack turned back to Arthur. “How much does that sword weigh, anyways?”
Arthur placed one gauntleted hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Enough, Jack. Thou shalt all have time to learn of our ways. Lavern, attend please.”
The small wiry black boy, bleary eyed from sleep, quickly shook himself awake and stepped forward to stand before Arthur. He’d decided living with Arthur was preferable to being slapped around by his mother every day. Besides, he was turning into an expert marksman, and that excited him.
“Yes, Arthur?” Lavern asked expectantly, looking a bit comical in the oversized tunic that dropped past his bony knees.
Arthur indicated the new boys with a wave of his hand. “Taketh our new recruits. Give them food and beds to rest their heads.”
Lance continued to gape at Jack’s arm draped around Mark. There was something about those two that unnerved him. Jack caught Lance staring and blew a kiss his way when Arthur’s back was turned. Lance bristled with indignation.
“Yes, sire,” agreed Lavern, and he turned to the newcomers. “Come wit’ me.”
As the new recruits, still buzzing with excitement, followed the small boy back into the tunnels behind the throne, Mark and Jack sauntered past Lance, who stepped forward to block them. He asked quietly, “You guys fags or what?”
Mark prickled instantly. “So what if we are, beaner!”
“Why?” Jack chimed in with a wink and a leer. “You one of us, pretty boy?”
Rage engulfed Lance, and he reared back to slug Jack, but his upraised fist was grabbed by Arthur’s hand and held in an iron grip. Lance could do nothing but fume.
“Mark, Jack, follow thy fellows,” Arthur instructed them. “We shalt talk when thou hast rested.”
Both Mark and Jack smirked at Lance as they purposely swished on past to catch up with the others. Arthur loosened his grip, and Lance yanked his hand away.
Arthur gazed at his First Knight with concern, but the boy refused to meet his eye. “Thou and I must needs speak, Lance.”
Lance roughly pulled away from Arthur and moved sullenly down one of the side tunnels. Arthur followed silently. They moved past several round tubs they’d bought at Home Depot that were used for bathing and entered a darker area deep within the tunnel, lit only by a single lantern.
There were some ancient-looking chairs strewn against the wall beneath the lantern, and Lance plopped himself down on one, ignoring Arthur, refusing to look at him. Arthur carefully sat on a chair beside Lance, but not too close. He vividly recalled the incident in the park and did not wish to frighten the boy.
He sighed, but his voice remained gentle. “Lance, thou shalt be my First Knight. It be up to thee above all others to set a right and proper example. Fighting amongst ourselves beeth the greatest of evils, for it—”
Lance jerked his head up and looked right at his king. “They’re queer, Arthur!”
“And?” Arthur asked softly.
“And what?” Lance retorted, eyes blazing. “We can’t have them here.”
“Have they not been cast aside by thy society, just as ye and these others?”
Lance squirmed and threw his skateboard across his lap. “Yeah, I guess. But what if they….”
Arthur eyed his protégé appraisingly. There was more to Lance’s anger, he realized. As with all anger, it began with fear. But what was the boy afraid of?
“If they what?” he asked gently.
Lance just shook his head. How could he explain when he didn’t even want to face it? “They said I was one of ’em, Arthur! You can’t let guys dis you like that on these streets.”
Arthur nodded. “Perhaps not. But saying a thing doth not make it the truth.”
Lance shook his head. “I know what our goal is, Arthur, and I want so much to be like you, but I don’t think I can….” His voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper. “I don’t know if I can work with them.”
Arthur bent his head so he could look into Lance’s eyes. “They be lost children, Lance, like unto these others we have found. To reject them, to forbid them our love and fellowship shalt make us no better than those whom we oppose. Doth thou understand?”
“I do,” Lance stated quietly, squirming. “I just don’t know….”
“Lance,” Arthur began, his voice firm, yet understanding, “thou art my chosen one, thou art my First Knight, he who shalt command in my stead. Doth you mean to say thou canst not share our ideals and goals with all who need us? These boys be different in one way, yes, but they beest human first and foremost. Like you and I and all these others, they art children of God and thus deserve our love and fealty. I truly need thee, my Lance, by my side. More than ye canst know. May I count upon thy service, not just to me, but to all who find themselves in need?”
Lance looked at Arthur, and knew he couldn’t say no. This man meant so much to him. He could do it. He would do it. He’d just avoid the… those guys… as much as possible. He pushed his hair back from his eyes and smiled. “Yes, sire.”
Arthur relaxed into a grin of satisfaction and gratitude. “Good. Now tell me, how many lost ones have we recruited, including those who merely join us by day?”
Lance frowned. “Not counting… you know, them you brought tonight, near doscientos. Entiende?”
Arthur’s face revealed that he understood. He’d always been quick to learn new languages, and this Spanish didst seem easier than most. He sighed and shook his head, his voice filled with sadness. “Two hundred. How wasteful humanity hath become.”
Lance merely nodded in agreement as both remained side by side in silence, gazing into the darkness of the tunnel, contemplating the future.
Chapter 3
THE following morning as Arthur began his training with the new arrivals, Lance decided to go to school. He hadn’t been there in… actually, he couldn’t recall how many days. Or was it weeks? But he needed some distance between himself and the new kids. He’d caught those same two, the blond and the buff one, eyeing him this morning, sizing him up, as though trying to make a decision about him. That creeped him out, big time. He’d felt they could see right into his heart and soul, and that made him feel exposed. He hated that feeling. It made him feel like they could see… his secret! Just thinking of it pulled his heart into his throat with fear.
So he put on his old skater clothes, wrapped his favorite circlet around his head to restrain the hair, then hopped on a bus and went to MTS. He needed to talk to Ms. McMullen.
He spotted her during Nutrition, crossing the war-torn campus, struggling under a load of books as she darted between kids and around caution tape in equal proportions. Lance ran up beside her.
“I’ll take them for you, Ms. McMullen,” he offered with a smile, and she grinned with relief as she handed them over gratefully.
“Thank you, Lance. Where have you been?”
Despite his troubled state of mind, he did not fail to notice how
easily he was able to carry the heavy load. Before Arthur, he’d have been fighting just to hold this many books, let alone walk with them. He was stronger!
He just grinned at her. “I been busy. No time fer school.”
Jenny frowned, tossing her blonde hair away from her eyes. “How are you ever going to learn to read and write better if you don’t come to school?”
Lance threw her that knowing look she’d seen on occasion. “Ms. McMullen, you’re a good teacher, and you know I already read and write better than anyone in the class.”
Jenny stopped a moment and gazed into those beautiful green eyes. He was right. She did know that. So why was she spewing the same old platitudes about coming to school when she knew he probably didn’t need it?
She laughed, and they resumed their walk toward her classroom. Of course it had to be on the opposite side of campus from the library, which precipitated the long walk burdened by all those books. “You’re right, Lance. I guess I just miss having you in class.”
Lance blushed again. Man, that was becoming a bad habit. “Ms. McMullen, can I ask you something?”
Jenny nodded. “Of course, but let’s get these books into my room before they crush you.” She fished keys out of her pocket to open the classroom door.
“Don’t worry about me, Ms. McMullen. I’ve gotten a lot stronger.”
As they entered the room, she pointed to a desk for him to deposit the books, observing him as he did so. As usual, he wore one of those DC skater shirts and jeans. The shirt had short sleeves, and she noticed the musculature of his fore and upper arms. He did look bigger than before. “I can see that, Lance. Have you been working out?”
Lance nodded. “A lot.” He threw up his arms in a mock flex pose and grinned, causing her to laugh.
“So, what did you want to ask me?” she inquired, seating herself on the corner of her desk.
He sat on the nearest desk and gazed up at her, considering how to phrase his question. “Are there teachers here you don’t like?”
His question completely caught her off guard, and she almost did a double take. “Why do you ask?”
“Please, Ms. McMullen, it doth be important.”
His earnest expression and odd choice of words further confused her. “Well, of course, there are some,” she began cautiously. “Not everyone gets along at any jobsite. Why are you asking?”
Lance shook his head. “I’m not trying to find out who you think is a butthole, Ms. McMullen,” he said, causing her to smile, “I already know who is. I guess I just need to know how to work with somebody I don’t like.”
Jenny felt her body relax. “Oh, is that all. Well, you could simply avoid them.”
“What if I can’t?” he insisted. “What if I gotta work straight up with them, what if we gotta, like, depend on each other?”
Jenny considered a moment, uncertain how to respond. “It would help if I knew what you were talking about, what you mean by depend on.”
Lance just looked down. He had no problem lying on the streets—that’s how you survived. But he liked this lady. He didn’t want to lie to her. So he said nothing and waited.
Jenny sighed, knowing she’d get no more information out of him. “Well, I guess, if what you’re working to accomplish is important enough, you can overlook anything about anyone.”
He looked up at her, light dawning in his almond-shaped eyes. “You mean, like in math—the whole doth be of greater import than the parts.”
Jenny almost chuckled at his formal, ancient phraseology. “Yes, that’s right. But why are you talking like—”
But Lance was on his feet and out the door before she could finish. “Thanks, Ms. McMullen,” she heard waft in through the open doorway. And then he was gone with a swish of brown hair. The bell peeled at that moment, and she scurried to the door to welcome her next class, yet her mind kept returning to Lance. Something was happening with that boy. But what was it?
WHEN Lance got back to Arthur’s lair, he found Mark and Jack, along with other newcomers, hard at work, sweating profusely in their chain mail shirts as they swung and hacked at each other with short-handled swords. Arthur stood off to one side, observing the training and stepping in with advice when needed. Lance walked up and stood beside him.
“How was thy schooling, today?” he asked.
Lance smiled nervously. “It was good. I learned something important.”
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed? Wouldst thou care to share it?”
Lance nodded. “Yeah. Let me work with these guys for a while.”
Arthur gazed at him as Lance anxiously fiddled with his hair. “Be thou certain?”
Lance nodded again, biting his lower lip, forcing down his doubts and fears. He could do this. “Yeah.”
Arthur nodded approvingly. “Very well. I shalt attend the archery practice. The lads seemeth to hit everything but the target.”
He grinned, and Lance returned it. Then Arthur moved off into the tunnel designated for the archers.
Lance sucked in a deep breath, held it a moment, and released. His heart raced, and his hands trembled a little as he stepped toward the two boys.
You can do this, Lance…. You can do this….
Panting and heaving, Mark and Jack ceased their aimless hacking at one another as Lance approached. Mark instantly sneered. “Look, it’s the pretty beaner boy.”
Lance’s anger swelled, but he pushed it back. He’d started it, after all. Forcing control on himself, he smiled that lovely smile that always seemed to charm his teachers. “I guess I deserve that. I’m uh, I’m sorry about, you know, calling you guys fags and stuff.”
Caught off guard by the apology, Mark’s sharp-tongued retort never materialized. Instead, he and Jack exchanged a surprised, cautious look. The three boys stared a moment at each other, and then Mark said, “Yeah, well, sorry about the beaner shit. I ain’t racist or nothing.” He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Mark.”
Lance extended his own hand, hoping his sweating palms wouldn’t be too obvious. “Lance,” he offered, and they shook. He found himself fascinated by Mark’s deep blue eyes. They looked like they went on forever.
Mark smiled and nodded, releasing Lance’s hand. “I know. Arthur’s been telling us you’re his second in command, that all us knights-in-training, as he called us, got to listen and follow you, ’specially when he ain’t around.”
Lance forced himself to meet Mark’s gaze. “And?”
Mark and Jack exchanged another quick look before both grinned. “We can hang with that.”
Now Jack stuck out his hand. “Especially with a guy as hella cute as you, Lance,” he gushed as they shook hands. “I’m Jack.” His grip was robust and powerful, and Lance gaped open-mouthed at the bulging arm muscles.
He felt himself blush again, but Jack just laughed good-naturedly. “He’s even cuter when he blushes. Man, Lance, I’d kill to have your hair, and I mean that. Mine sucks.” He ruffled a hand through his shaggy mop of black curls disdainfully, but Lance thought Jack’s hair looked pretty cool on him.
Despite his embarrassment, Lance had to laugh. “Yeah, well, I’d kill to have them guns you got,” he said, pointing to Jack’s sizable biceps and shaking his head with admiration.
Now Jack looked uncomfortable, as though his “guns” were the only thing anyone ever noticed about him, but he flexed his right arm anyway and pointed to Lance’s flowing hair. “Trade ya?”
All three boys cracked up, and the air between them suddenly felt fresh and clean and relaxed. They were just three lost boys who needed Arthur, and each other. This was a new beginning for each of them, and Lance felt good about himself and his actions. In fact, from that moment on, he felt certain he could work with any new kid Arthur’s crusade might bring in.
He sparred off and on with each of them in turn for the next hour, coaching them on proper swordplay as Arthur had coached him. Jack had a powerful swing—man that boy was strong! But Lance knew more about technique, w
hich saved him from landing on his butt quite a few times.
Often during their session, he caught one or both of them undressing him with their eyes, especially Mark, with those pools of deep blueness that seemed almost surreal. Each longing glance cast his way made Lance squirm, and when they broke for lunch he instructed them to refrain from any further comments about his looks because such behavior could lower his standing with the other kids.
“But you’re too hot to ignore!” Jack insisted, and Mark nodded his assent eagerly.
Lance just shook his head in embarrassed consternation. “All right, you guys, let’s eat, and we’ll practice more later on.”
He instructed Mark and Jack to go and have lunch, and he’d be along in a while. Despite the camaraderie he’d built up with those guys, he nonetheless felt himself trembling as they vanished down the food tunnel. What he was feeling confused him. He knew lots of girls thought he was cute—“Oh, your hair is sssooo beautiful, and those eyes are gorgeous!”—and now he was getting compliments from boys. Had there always been boys looking at him like that, and he’d just never noticed? You know there have, fool, you just pretended there weren’t. He honestly didn’t know how he felt about girls, or boys, eyeing him in that way. Both thought he was good-looking, both let him know by their eyes that they liked him like that, and both scared him. They scared him because? You know why.
Don’t go there, Lance!
Suddenly he wasn’t very hungry. I need another workout, he decided. Usually when these feelings overcame him, he’d skate them away. But that wasn’t an option right now. Off to the archery range. That’s what he’d do. And that’s where he went, avoiding Mark and Jack for the remainder of that day. But mostly, as he’d done so often throughout his life, he avoided himself.
THAT evening, about one hundred of Arthur’s followers were gathered around him in the great circular chamber, seated on pillows or blankets or on the ground. Arthur sat on his throne, listening to their personal stories, continually appalled by the treatment these children had received at the hands of adults who were supposed to protect them.
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