Children of the Knight - Michael J. Bowler (best books to read non fiction .txt) 📗

Chapter 3:
That Is Who You Are

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 the gold circlet that Arthur’d given him 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. 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.

“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 grinned. “I been busy. No time for 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 class.”

She laughed, and they resumed their walk toward her classroom. “You’re right, Lance. I guess I just miss seeing you.”

“Ms. McMullen, can I ask you something?”

“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. He wore a DC skater shirt and jeans. The shirt had short sleeves that revealed the musculature of his arms.

“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 appeared to catch her off guard, and she almost did a double take. “Why do you ask?”

“Please, Ms. McMullen, it be important.”

“Well, of course, there are some,” she began cautiously. “Not everyone gets along at any jobsite. Why are you asking?”

“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.”

“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?”

“It would help if I knew what you were talking about, what you mean by depend on.”

Lance 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.

“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 be of greater import than the parts.”

“Yes, that’s right. But why are you talking like—”

Lance was on his feet and out the door before she could finish. “Thanks, Ms. McMullen.”

As he sprinted across campus, the bell peeled, signaling the end of class. Lance knew he’d confused Ms. McMullin with his questions, but he was grateful for her answers.

When he returned to Arthur’s lair, Lance 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.

“It was good. I learned something important.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed? Would thou care to share it?”

“Yeah. Can I work with these guys for a while?”

“Are you certain?”

Lance bit his lower lip, forcing down his doubts and fears. He could do this. “Yeah.”

“Very well. I shalt attend the archery practice. The lads seem 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 sneered. “Look, it’s the pretty beaner boy.”

Lance’s anger swelled, but he pushed it back. He’d started this, 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.”

Mark was clearly caught off guard by the apology. He and Jack exchanged a cautious look. The three boys sized each other up, and then Mark said, “Yeah, well, sorry about the beaner stuff. 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, 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 at the bulging arm muscles.

He felt himself blush, 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.

Jack flexed his right arm and pointed to Lance’s flowing hair. “Trade ya?”

All three boys cracked up, and Lance felt the air between them feel suddenly clean and relaxed. They were just three lost boys who needed Arthur, and each other. This was a new beginning for all 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, which 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 ignored the comment. “Let’s eat, and we’ll practice more later.”

He instructed Mark and Jack to go ahead, and he’d catch up. 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—“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 with their eyes that they liked him like that, and both scared him. They scared him because?

Don’t go there, Lance!

Suddenly he wasn’t very hungry.

I need another workout!

Usually when these memories 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 the 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.

And he introduced to them the code of chivalry.

“What’s chivalry, Arthur?” Mark asked, his