by Adam Wallace
Now, with Sir Charge taking control, it seemed like they had that someone to lead them, instruct them, and help them with the mission. That mission may involve killing innocent people, eating their brains and maybe taking all their possessions and worldly goods, but after that things may change for the better. Maybe once they had power, Sir Charge would put that power to good use, to serve the people. After some more murmuring, the knights began to step forward.
‘Yo, like whatever, you know? Verily, thou art a gnarly leader, Sir Charge. Counteth me in,’ Sir Fing said.
‘As the cloud doth rise below the sun’s rays, truly thou convinceth an apple to be eaten,’ Sir Reel said dramatically.
‘I shall interpret thy ramblings as a yes,’ Sir Charge said, although he wasn’t actually sure what Sir Reel had said at all.
One by one they stepped forward, some accepting Sir Charge’s reasons while still staying seemingly noble. Sir Jiccal, for example, announced he would tend to any wounded humans. Unfortunately, his zombie side was taking over, and what he meant by tending to any wounded was that he would eat their flesh.
Sir Kewlar was also keen to eat, although for some reason he had a craving for brains, which he had never liked eating when he was alive.
Sir Pryse was a little shocked that he agreed to any of this, but he also stepped forward.
Sir Plyer had already gathered up twelve swords and six gross-looking zombie undead horses.
Sir Tification confirmed that there were now eight knights, including himself.
Sir Kemspect wasn’t sure what to do, so asked Sir Myse. Sir Myse’s thoughts were that it might not be a bad idea to retrieve the flower as that was their mission. Sir Kemspect was still a bit wary, but he liked the way Sir Myse thought.
Sir Lee grumbled that it was all just stupid and he wanted to have a nap and why did they have to dig him up, he was quite happy being dead, but he joined the others anyway.
Last was Sir Vyvor. Sir Vyvor did not want to kill innocent people. Sir Vyvor did indeed have a craving for human brains and flesh, and maybe a side salad, but he knew that it was wrong. He also knew that it was his mission to retrieve the Wilderene Flower and then to replant and protect it. He realised that he could use the help of the other knights, as alone he would stick out like an undead zombie skeleton knight with rotting flesh hanging out of his armour. And so Sir Vyvor joined the other knights. He would bide his time to do what was right.
Sir Charge smiled. It really was gross, but he continued to do it. Luckily, only other gross-looking undead people were around, so it didn’t bother them too much. Sir Charge surveyed his order.
‘We doth be a new order now, with new views and new ideals. As such, a new name must be chosen.’
‘Charlene?’ Sir Reel suggested. No-one agreed.
‘Knights of the Round Table?’ asked Sir Kewlar.
‘It has already been used, Dumbhead,’ was Sir Lee’s contribution.
‘Yo, we are black as, knights,’ said Sir Fing. ‘Verily, dudes, our name must reflect this.’
‘Black doth not reflect,’ Sir Lee grumbled.
‘’Tis true, black doth not reflect,’ Sir Tification confirmed. ‘Thy grumpy one is correct.’
But Sir Charge thought it was a great idea.
‘The Black Knights,’ he said. ‘A brilliant suggestion, Sir Fing, thou art commended. All hail the Black Knights and the power we shall achieve.’
‘ALL HAIL THE BLACK KNIGHTS!’ shouted the rest of the order, raising the goblets filled with blood that Sir Plyer had somehow gotten his hands on. They drank deeply and cheered. A new order had begun.
ete McGee’s first day of training did not go as planned. But we shall get to that shortly. First, let us go back to the good part of the day … the morning, before training started.
Mrs McGee had cooked up a cracking breakfast for her young knight to be. Scrambled eggs. Toasted bread. Mushrooms. Freshly squeezed oranges. The works. It was Pete’s favourite breakfast.
Everyone was excited, especially Mrs McGee. She could hardly believe it was happening, and that she was here for it. The smile hadn’t left her face all morning. Pete wouldn’t be quiet.
‘I can’t believe it. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! A real knight is going to train me. Well, he’ll train me and I’ll have to clean his saddle and brush his horse and other stuff, and we’ll train at the castle as well, and today, for starters, all the trainees will train together. Even dork-head Larson Smithers will be there. But a real knight is going to show me what it takes to become like him. What discipline I need. What skills I need. Strength training. Marloynne, I am going to be buffed! I will take you down!’
Marloynne laughed and played along.
‘In your dreams, little man,’ he said. ‘However, I do look forward to hearing how well you clean up the horse’s poo!’
Mrs McGee clipped Marloynne over the ear for his language. Pete laughed, mission accomplished, and went back to his breakfast.
After the food was eaten, Marloynne and Ashlyn had to report to the castle for work. Marloynne turned serious before he left.
‘Good luck, Pete,’ he said, shaking the younger man’s hand. ‘I know how much this means to you, and therefore it means just as much to us. You are going to be brilliant. Just be yourself, and nothing can stand in your way.’
Pete thanked him. Ashlyn gave him a hug.
‘Have you got the tiger eye crystal?’ she asked. Pete patted his jacket pocket.
‘Of course, m’lady,’ he said smiling. ‘I do not leave home without it.’
Ashlyn smiled back.
‘I really hope it’s everything you’ve dreamed of Pete. I really do.’
Pete nodded, starting to get a bit emotional and also a bit nervous. Thoughts raced through his mind. What if it wasn’t great? What if he wasn’t meant to be a knight? What if he did have to clean up horse poo? That made him think of Horsey Horse Horse. He really needed to think of a better name for his steed. A great name. Pete decided he would ride his horse that evening and try to think of a name then. His thoughts were stopped by his mother’s voice.
‘Sir Pete?’
He looked around. Ashlyn had gone. She must have left while he was lost in thought. His mum was standing holding her son’s pack. She held it out and Pete slipped it over his shoulder. Mrs McGee hugged him close and then pulled away, her hands on his shoulders, examining him.
‘My young knight,’ she said proudly, tears in her eyes. ‘Thou art truly on thy path to greatness. Nothing will stop thee now.’
‘I thank thee, fair maiden,’ Pete replied, as always enjoying speaking like a knight with his mum. ‘Thy faith doth mean the world to this knight. It gives him strength.’
His mum nodded, hugged him again and then told him to go or he would be late. Pete’s eyes sparkled.
‘WOOO HOOOO!’ he cried, the kid in him shining through. ‘It’s time to rock this party.’
With that he started doing a dance on the spot, making it up as he went along, sending his mother into hysterics before she finally shooed him out the gate and on his way.
Arriving at the castle, Pete McGee was told that Sir Mountable had not yet shown up. It was Pete’s duty, he found out, to make sure that his mentor was present at the castle training sessions. This was not a good start. He had got to the castle just on time as it was. The other knights’ apprentices were watching him and sniggering. Larson Smithers pointed at the sundial and shook his head. It turned out Smithers had been selected as a second-year trainee to help out the new knights. Pete was given a note with Sir Mountable’s address. He turned on his heel and raced out of the castle grounds.
Sir Mountable’s house did not look enticing. It was, as they say, a renovator’s delight. It had potential. The lawn was overgrown and there were piles of rubbish everywhere. A single goat wandered around, looking bored. It glanced up as Pete walked past and then returned to chewing leftover food. Pete went up to the door, which looked a little shaky on its hinges. In fact, t
he whole house looked as though it might fall down if Pete knocked on the door, so instead he called out.
‘Hello? Sir Mountable? Are you there?’
There was no answer. He tried again.
‘SIR MOUNTABLE? IT’S PETE McGEE! YOUR TRAINEE KNIGHT! I’M HERE TO LEARN HOW TO BE GREAT!’
Again, no answer. Pete went back to the door.
There was a knocker in the shape of an eagle on the front. He decided to take the risk. He raised the knocker to knock and it simply pulled straight off the door, so he was left there holding a knocker. He sighed and used it to knock on the door. Gently. The good thing was that the house stayed standing. The bad thing was that there was no response.
Still holding the knocker, Pete walked around the house looking for a sign of life. He got it as he walked past an open window. From inside there was a groan and a thud. Pete glanced through the window and saw that an old man had fallen off the couch and was struggling to get up.
Oh no, Pete thought. It must be Sir Mountable’s father. The knight must be here looking after him, and now the old fellow has fallen and can’t get up. That part was true. The old man’s arms were waving slowly in the air, making him look like a bug stuck on its back. He was in a nightshirt and long johns. Although he may not have wanted Pete to see him like that, Pete felt as though he had no choice but to help. He slung his pack through the window and climbed through after it.
Pete bent down to help the old man up and was almost overwhelmed by the smell of what he assumed was ale. He had smelt it before, in the town square, so he was sure that was what it was. Pete reeled back, took a huge breath, leant in and used all his strength to haul the old man up so that he was sitting on the floor with his back to the couch. Exhausted, Pete sat on a chair opposite, letting his breath out slowly.
‘Sir?’ he asked quietly. ‘Can you please direct me to your son?’
The old man opened his eyes. They were blood-shot and watery. He stroked his grey beard, which stuck out in all directions, as did his wispy hair. He looked at Pete and grunted, his eyes darkening as he considered the question.
‘Ugh? Son? I have no son. Be gone. How did you enter my home anyway?’
The old man’s voice was deep but croaky, sounding like a lion with a cold. Pete pointed to the window.
‘Ah, of course,’ the old man said. ‘I never remember to lock it.’
He looked closer at Pete.
‘Why do you seek a son of mine? What is the name of the one you seek?’
‘Sir Mountable,’ Pete answered, wondering if he was even at the right place. He wondered this even more when the old man, with a lot of effort and a lot more groaning, stood up. He coughed and held his head before speaking.
‘Well, m’boy, you’ve got him. Sir Mountable at your service,’ he said, bowing low before walking into the kitchen, still coughing. Pete’s jaw almost hit the ground. Someone, either this old guy or the King, was playing a joke on him. Surely this couldn’t be his mentor knight. As he looked around the room though, he started to believe.
Leaning against a wall in the corner … a knight’s suit of armour.
On top of the dining table … a knight’s broadsword, albeit a rusty one.
On the kitchen bench, with some dead flowers sticking out of it … a knight’s helmet.
On the floor in the lounge, upside down with fruit in it … a knight’s shield.
On the wall … a certificate certifying that Sir Mountable had indeed become a knight.
Pete stood and went into the kitchen, where the possible Sir Mountable cracked three eggs straight into a mug, crumbled up some wheat into the eggs, mixed it all up and drank it down. He leaned against the bench, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked at Pete.
‘Best thing after a night of ale,’ he said, his voice a little less croaky. ‘Now. What is it you want from me?’
Pete was feeling his courage and hopes seep away. It wasn’t easy to even say the words.
‘You are to be my mentor,’ he said. ‘I was accepted by the King to train as a knight. I am to be your squire.’
Sir Mountable stroked his beard. ‘I apologise,’ he said. ‘I truly do, young man. I did receive a message from the King saying that I was to be at the castle some day …’
‘Today,’ Pete interrupted. The man nodded.
‘Perhaps. Still, I believed it to be a joke of some sort,’ he said, his voice dying off, his eyes looking at something Pete was unable to see. He decided that it was time to make things happen.
‘Look,’ he said, standing up. ‘I am going to become a knight. If you will not help me, I will find someone who will.’
‘Is that so?’ The old man’s eyes showed their first real sign of life, and it gave Pete some hope. ‘I am a tired old man, boy. What good can I be to you?’
‘King Rayon assigned me to you, and so you shall be the help that he knows you to be. He must have faith in you.’
‘Again, is that so?’ He looked at Pete’s jacket. ‘You have only one arm.’
Pete stared casually at his sewn-up sleeve, and then did a shocked double-take.
‘I what? Oh no. My arm. It’s gone. It’s gone! !
NOOOOOOOOO!’
He fell to his knees.
‘It must have been … no, it couldn’t have, but how else? Yes. Let this be a lesson to you, old man. Never ever tease a lion by waving a large piece of meat under its nose. Those things move fast! This is a tragedy, but I thank you for bringing it to my attention.’
He stood up again and grinned at Sir Mountable. The old man grunted and moved away from the bench to sit at the table.
‘Not many one-armed knights around when I was a lad.’
Pete blushed, but was on a roll.
‘Perhaps not, but perhaps there were not many roads either, and perhaps not many carriages. Perhaps when you were at the round table with King Arthur you couldn’t see the one-armed knights. Perhaps you are so old that when you were a lad, one-armed knights were dinosaurs and cavemen.’
A pause. Pete felt he’d gone too far, but the old man simply stared at him.
‘You have heart, boy, I will say that for you. It is a rare quality, and one I have not seen for some time. Not since … well, not for some time. Dinosaurs and King Arthur indeed! Right then. I will help you. I will help you because I like your spirit. However, I will not help you today. I have things to do that cannot wait. You must train by yourself, but be here tomorrow morning with your timetable. Then we shall see what we can do together, an old man and a one-armed boy. This should be fun.’
And with that he stood up, walked back over to the couch and lay down with his back to Pete, whose jaw dropped again. He ran over and shook the man he now believed, although not totally, was Sir Mountable.
‘No no no no no!’ he said urgently. ‘Today. Training starts today. You and me at the castle.’
‘Tomorrow or nothing boy,’ came the reply. ‘That is my final offer. Take it or leave it.’
Pete took it. He didn’t feel as though he could do anything else. He picked up his pack, climbed back out the window, dodged the goat as it tried to butt his butt, and then trudged back to the castle, wondering how this day could get any worse.
hen Pete McGee returned to the castle lawn, the other trainees and their knights were going through some simple exercises. Nothing major, but definitely two-people drills. Pete dropped his pack on the floor.
The session was being taken by King Rayon himself, who sighed when he saw the boy arrive alone. Leaving the rest of the group to continue with the exercise, he walked over to Pete, whose shoulders were slumped.
‘Your mentor?’ the King asked, an eyebrow raised.
Pete looked at him, holding back the urge to do a disgusted face.
‘Some mentor,’ he said, unable to totally restrain himself. ‘He was still asleep, and I think he may have been a little, you know, hungover.’
King Rayon nodded and stroked his chin.
‘Your journey will not
necessarily be the easiest, Pete McGee, for a number of reasons. However, you must do all that the others do. Therefore it is your responsibility, if your mentor knight does not wish to appear, to make him appear. As you have not done so, you must suffer the appropriate punishment: ten laps of the grounds.’
A snicker made Pete turn his head, where he saw Larson Smithers giggling at him. Smithers went to say something but was cut off by a glare from the King.
‘You are here to help, Smithers. Please do so.’
Smithers bowed in apology. Pete rolled his eyes and started to run. Luckily it was a nice day, a little overcast perhaps, but at least it wasn’t … two laps into his run, it started to rain. Pete groaned and pressed on, his clothes becoming heavier as they soaked through. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. It wasn’t a huge distance around the castle grounds, but it was far enough, and doing it ten times was a killer.
After the fifth lap Pete’s legs felt like lead, but he willed himself on. Time and time again he almost stopped, but he wouldn’t be defeated on his first day. Not more than once anyway.
So he ran.
By the eighth lap it was more a shuffle than a run, but he kept going. The rain had stopped, and the other trainee knights and their mentors were watching, their session complete.
On the ninth lap Pete McGee shuffled past Larson Smithers, who stuck out a foot as though to trip Pete. Pete dodged it, but in doing so lost his balance. His legs felt so weak from the run he was not able to adjust quickly enough. He fell to the ground and when he tried to get up again, it just wasn’t happening. His legs had gone to jelly. He tried to stand but couldn’t. He started to crawl, but King Rayon stepped in and helped him to his feet, speaking softly as he did so.
‘That is far enough, young McGee. Quite far enough.’
And with that he led Pete back to the castle, where he was given food and drink and a warm bath to soak in. As he lay in the water, Pete reflected on his day and did a quick rundown of events.
Sir Mountable was a drunk who had said he would work with Pete but didn’t seem reliable.
Pete had missed the first training session.
