Children of the Knight by Michael J. Bowler (book recommendations based on other books txt) 📖

“What’s ‘Camelot’?”

“Camelot be the name of my kingdom long ago, Enrique,” Arthur answered, handing the boy a bottle of water, which Enrique gulped with gusto.

“Is that where all this stuff came from?” Enrique asked after taking another swig.

Arthur frowned suddenly, the question once again catching him off guard.

“I suppose so,” he answered uncertainly, almost to himself. “When I did find myself here, in this time and place, all that you see had accompanied me.” He trailed off, lost in thought, struggling to remember.

Was Merlin responsible?

He’d awakened here, in this underground place, with the knowledge planted deep within him of his purpose, and the image of his First Knight at the forefront of his vision. He’d even found several books on the history of this country, the progeny of Britain. But who or what had set all of this into motion?

“I thought youse s’posed to come back to Britain or England or some other place,” Lance put in, “not America.”

“Do you not know the history of thine own country, Lance?”

The other boys laughed as Lance flushed red with embarrassment. “I don’t give a crap about history,” he sullenly retorted.

Now the boys laughed with him, nodding their agreement.

Arthur frowned in annoyance and confusion at Lance’s petulant attitude.

“Thy first lessons as future knights of the Round Table shall be in the use of chivalrous language. And in the elimination of ignorance.” He glared slightly at Lance, who looked away. “Britain be the sire of America. Merlin called me the once and future king because I had been destined to return when Britain did need me most. Tell me now, young Lance, what could be a greater need than the salvation of Britain’s best and most promising child?”

Lance looked up at the man, and their eyes met, but he gave no answer, and the other boys remained silent. Arthur slipped Excalibur easily into its sheath and announced to the boys at large, “Come, lads, it be time for food.”

As the boys cheered, Arthur glanced at Lance once again, but the boy refused to meet his gaze.

What had just happened?

Over the ensuing days and nights, these initial recruits fanned out to their various neighborhoods to seek new candidates for Arthur’s crusade. Runaways and homeless youth were targeted first, for obvious reasons—they had nothing else. But since most of the initial fifty boys had homes of their own, they sought out friends within their schools or communities, whether or not those friends were poor or rich. They pitched Arthur’s plan, and many of these joined up. Why not? It sounded like fun. And maybe, finally, the kids in this city would get the last word.

Some stayed the night within Arthur’s underground lair, while others preferred to visit only for meetings and weapons instruction. There were girls as well, though not as many as there were boys. Even the runaway girls, however, felt uncomfortable sleeping within the storm drains amongst numerous unfamiliar boys. Yet they’d show up each day for training, often surprising Arthur with their energy and vigorous attention to detail.

Lance instructed them in proper bow and arrow technique, as Arthur had instructed him: how to almost instantly whip an arrow from a quiver, fit it to the bow, and fire with strength and accuracy. He had become an expert marksman, which pleased Arthur immensely. He observed a number of the girls obviously flirting with Lance during their training sessions, but the boy purposely pretended not to notice.

Such forwardness on the part of young ladies, as well as their willingness to fight, made him realize anew just how much times had changed since his day and age. Still, he looked on with a combination of hope and sadness as the ranks of his knightly “army” began to swell. So many disenfranchised youth, he’d noted as each day more and more appeared. How did such a once great country come to such a shameful place?

On one evening, Arthur and Llamrei set back out into the Hollywood area, sadly, a mecca for lost and abandoned kids. He had a small entourage following him, to fan out and bring in strays they found loitering on the streets. Lance, for once, did not accompany them. Little Chris had taken ill and would have no one but Lance care for him.

Arthur assured his First Knight that the boys he was taking could handle themselves, but Lance looked deeply troubled when Arthur rode off without him. Preoccupied with the growing number of children he’d begun to acquire, Arthur failed to notice Lance’s uncertain state of mind.

As the group sidled down a side street—mostly to keep Arthur and Llamrei out of sight—they rounded a corner, and Santa Monica Boulevard came into view ahead. It was late on a weeknight, and there was no heavy traffic. Arthur surveyed the boulevard before approaching. There were boys standing singly or in pairs, usually beside light posts or on corners, particularly in the vicinity of liquor stores. The situation struck Arthur as most peculiar. What would youngsters be doing so late at night in such an unsavory area?

His gaze finally settled on two such boys wearing tight wife beaters and very tight pants, one sturdy, muscular, and dark-haired, the other delicate, thin, and shaggy blond. Arthur eyed the blond one a moment. Had he seen this boy prior? And then he recalled. This was the youth he and Lance had witnessed purchasing drugs on Hollywood Boulevard. Arthur spurred Llamrei forward, his squires flanking him on either side. They quietly approached the two boys.

As they drew near, he heard the blond tell the other, “Looks like no business tonight, Jacky.”

“Yeah, which means nowhere to go unless Marcus lets us crash,” replied the dark-haired one.

Suddenly, both boys gasped, stepping back in startled fright when, out of the shadows, trotted Arthur on his horse, dressed in his tunic and cloak, and sporting an armor chest plate that gleamed brightly under the streetlights. His shield hung from the saddle at his left side, Excalibur in its sheath at his right. The boys recoiled.

“Crap!” exclaimed the muscular one.

Arthur reigned in Llamrei and gazed down reassuringly at the two boys. “Do not fear me, lads, for I have come to help thee.”

The long-haired blond leaned closer to his friend and whispered, “Great, another freako. What’ll we do, Jack?”

The dark-haired one rose to his full height, easily six feet, and thrust out his sizable chest. “Just hang tight, ole Jacky’s got it covered.” Then he looked at Arthur with as much courage as he could muster. “So, big guy, you lookin’ for some action tonight?”

Arthur scrunched up his face in confusion. “Action?”

“Yeah, you know, you pay us money, and we do whatever you want.”

Arthur eyed both boys appraisingly. Then he looked around the street at the other boys lounging indolently by light posts and corners. All eyes were upon him. And suddenly Arthur understood what was happening here. His eyes widened in horror. “This be thy work, selling thy most private parts to strangers?”

Now the delicate-featured blond spoke up, stepping in front of his much bigger friend boldly. “Our privates is all we got, mister, if we wanna eat.”

Arthur’s boys kept their hands at their blades, in case trouble erupted.

The king frowned at the blond, whose soft features and striking blue eyes displayed pain, rather than anger. “If you didst not spend thy money on drugs, young one, you may not have to degrade thyself in this way.”

The boy leapt back a step, clearly shocked, and he and Jack exchanged a quick look of surprise. “He’s a cop!”

Jack shook his head. “Dressed like that? Hell, he’s just got your number.”

Jack stretched out his friend’s bare arm to draw the boy’s attention to the rows of needle marks, tracks that revealed his serious addiction. The blond yanked his arm away and glared up at Arthur, while Jack nervously eyed Arthur’s armed followers.

Arthur opened his hands to demonstrate his nonthreatening intent. “Now tell me, lads, how art thou called?”

Jack scrunched up his face. “Huh? Oh, our names?”

Arthur nodded, and the two boys exchanged a look before deciding. The blond spoke first. “I’m Mark.”

“Jack,” the other added uncertainly.

Arthur gazed at them sympathetically. “Mark and Jack, do you enjoy this empty and fruitless life you lead?”

Jack snorted with disgust. “Lettin’ these creeps have at us every night? You kiddin’ me? Hell, no, man!”

Mark nodded sadly, his shaggy blond hair falling in front of his eyes. “We don’t got nobody ’cept each other.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Arthur sat high in the saddle. “If you wish, ye shall have me and mine from this moment forward. There be food and shelter and a way of life far more noble and worthy than that which has been thrust upon thee.”

“Who the hell are you, anyways?” Jack asked, keeping himself between Arthur and Mark.

“I am King Arthur. Have thou heard of me?”

Mark and Jack exchanged another look of disbelief.

“Yeah, in made-up stories, when I’s a little kid,” Mark snorted. “My mom used to read ’em to me. But they’s just stories, man.”

Arthur tilted his head and eyed the boys earnestly. “They be true stories, lad. I am seeking youths with whom to rebuild my Round Table. If thy life does not please thee, come and join me on my quest for justice and peace.”

Mark and Jack exchanged yet another look, this one of bewilderment. Arthur’s sincerity obviously touched them both.

“You messing with us?” Jack asked, his brows knitted with confusion.

“A knight always speaks the truth, lad. It be his solemn oath,” Arthur assured them. The boys in his entourage nodded, confirming Arthur’s words. “Now, there be others like you in this area?”

Mark and Jack looked at Arthur uncertainly, and both spread their arms wide, taking in the whole of the street.

Deep within Arthur’s underground lair, those children with nowhere to go, or whose homes were worse than the streets, had elected to stay the night. Arthur possessed numerous bedrolls and blankets, and the children quickly adapted to the dripping, echoing sounds that permeated the drain system. The damp, rotting smell took more getting used to, but it was still better than what they’d left behind. Most were fast asleep. A few practiced their sparring under lantern light but did it quietly so as not to disturb the sleepers. Some were busily hanging wet clothing on several makeshift clotheslines strung from wall to wall across the tunnels.

Lance and Chris sat off to one side. The small boy, clothed in a billowy tunic three sizes too big and equally large leather pants tied around his waist with a leather drawstring, now had his blond hair washed and combed, and he was clean and comfortable. He sneezed, and Lance handed the boy some tissue.

“Thanks, Lance,” he snuffled. “Thanks for staying with me. I know you wanted to go with Arthur.”

Lance nodded, watching the swordplay, but not really seeing it. “It’s cool, Chris.”

“You’re the best, Lance,” replied the smaller boy, snuggling up against him as though afraid to let him go. Lance squirmed with discomfort. He knew Chris saw him as a hero, but he was a loner. He didn’t like being close to people, and he hated having people touching him. Even little kids like Chris. Getting close to people always ended up… hurting.

What he’d just told Chris was not the truth, however. He had accepted Arthur’s request to be First Knight, and he knew that meant he was in charge whenever Arthur was not present. But did it mean that now he’d not go