Dawn of the Zombie Knights

by Adam Wallace

  King Rayon met them at the castle gates.

  ‘Pete McGee. It seems you have a knight at last.’

  Sir Mountable bowed low.

  ‘Your Majesty. I apologise for my tardiness.’

  The King nodded.

  ‘You are here now, and that is good. You two may begin early. We are wrestling today, young McGee. Are you ready for that?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  Pete was ready for anything. Bring it on! He was here with his knight and there was nothing anyone could do about that.

  Training was in the main hall. Initially, each knight took their squire for personal training. They discussed wrestling tactics and techniques. They showed moves. They showed defences and offences, and they worked on grappling and throwing.

  Almost all the knights did this.

  Sir Mountable sat with Pete and asked him again why he wanted to become a knight. Pete stared. He had already given an answer to that question, and a good one at that.

  ‘I already told you,’ he said. ‘Remember?’

  Sir Mountable nodded and stroked his beard, but didn’t reply. He simply turned and looked over at the other knights and their trainees. When Pete realised that he wasn’t going to get any help, he warmed up by himself. He did sit-ups; he jogged around the hall; he tried to do a one-armed chin-up but basically just hung there, straining so much he looked like he was a little bit constipated.

  Sir Nayme, King Rayon’s top knight and chief of squire training, blew a whistle. Everyone gathered in the centre of the hall. Sir Mountable stayed where he was and drank some water out of the bottle he had brought along.

  ‘Trainee knights,’ Sir Nayme said in his deep voice. It was a voice you could hear from some distance away, although Sir Nayme never seemed to speak loudly. His voice just carried.

  ‘You will pair up and you will scrimmage for three rounds. A single whistle signifies the beginning of each round. A double whistle signifies the end of each round. At the conclusion of the third and final round I will blow the whistle three times.’

  Pete started to look around to see who he could partner, but the decision was made for him. Larson Smithers raced over and stood by his side.

  ‘I would like to pair up with McGee, Sir,’ Smithers said in a voice all jolly and full of crapola. ‘It’s his first day here as a real trainee, and he is just my bestest friend in the whole wide world. He is the reason I signed up to assist with the trainee training. Please Sir, may we wrestle so I can look after him?’

  Sir Nayme, obviously not familiar with LIES, ALL LIES, nodded.

  ‘Very well, Smithers, but do not go easy on him, just because you are such close friends. I expect you to try your hardest.’

  Larson Smithers smiled an extremely evil smile, staring straight at Pete McGee as he replied.

  ‘Oh don’t worry, Sir. I will go as hard as I possibly can. How will he improve if I make it easy for him?’

  Sir Nayme nodded and patted sucky Smithers on the shoulder before walking off to check on the other pairs, leaving Pete and his arch enemy alone.

  ‘You’re going down, McGee,’ Smithers said, his voice back to normal. ‘I’m gonna flatten you like a, well, like a, umm, like something that’s really flat. And dumb.’

  Pete ignored him, although he tried to keep eye contact so as to appear tough and brave. Inside he wondered what was going to happen. He soon found out.The whistle blew. Smithers hooked Pete’s arm and flipped him onto the ground. Pete landed with a thud. He stood up but before he could get any focus, Smithers did a dive-tackle, knocking three quarters of the wind out of him. He drove Pete onto the training mat, which knocked out the remaining quarter of wind. Then he rolled Pete over and twisted his arm behind his back. Pete cried out, the arm pushed to breaking point, stabbing pains running through it from his shoulder down.

  ‘Yield, McGee,’ Smithers sneered. ‘Give up.’

  ‘Never,’ Pete said through gritted teeth. ‘And you can never make me.’

  Smithers pushed the arm a little further, more pain surging through it. It seemed there was nothing Pete could do. He tried to kick, but that was no good. He squirmed and tried to wriggle free, but that just hurt his arm more. Sir Mountable was no help. Pete could see him from his prone position, and all Sir Mountable was doing was drinking a whole heap of water and calling out the stupidest encouragement ever.

  ‘Get up, boy!’

  ‘I don’t think you’re winning, my little squire.’

  ‘Three horses.’

  Pete didn’t know what that last one even meant, but he did know he was hugely relieved when he heard Sir Nayme’s whistle blow twice. Smithers let go of his arm and stood up.

  ‘One round down, McGee. You’ll never last three rounds, let alone the rest of the training.’

  Pete stood up, shaking his arm. He stared straight at Smithers.

  ‘Thou art going down, Smi—’

  His brave words were cut off by a whistle, and then he couldn’t speak at all because Smithers had somehow got behind and had him in a headlock. Pete was finding it almost impossible to breathe. He waved his arm around, trying to break free. Then he realised something. He may only have one arm, but he had two legs. He stomped down on Smithers’ foot as hard as he could. The other boy cried out in shock and the headlock was released. Pete spun around smiling, but saw that all he had done was make Smithers mad.

  Ohhhh boy!

  The rest of that round and the entire next round was a blur of being thrown on the ground and headlocks and holds and everything else. Even though there was meant to be no hitting, Smithers got in sneaky punches to Pete’s ribs, and even kneed him a few times. Sir Mountable yelled out some more random things, and Pete began to suspect that it wasn’t water in the bottle at all.

  Finally the whistle blew three times, and with a final punch to Pete’s ribs, Larson Smithers stood up.

  ‘Go home, McGee … if you can make it!’

  Pete could barely move, let alone come up with a snappy comeback. He simply walked over to where all the trainee knights gathered with Sir Nayme. Smithers shook his head. Sir Mountable did a little dance as he started on his third bottle of ‘water’.

  ‘Trainees,’ Sir Nayme said. ‘Choose a different partner. We shall now practice the Arjayne throwing technique. Do you all understand this technique?’

  All the trainees nodded except Pete. Smithers spoke up.

  ‘Sir? Seeing as McGee knows nothing of this, and seeing as he is my bestest friend, can I teach it to him?’

  ‘You are a good friend indeed, Smithers. Yes. Teach him. Teach him well.’

  ‘Oh I will, Sir.’

  Pete groaned. His groan was warranted. For the next ten minutes he was thrown about a billion times, no exaggerisation. By the time the whistle blew three times, he was spent, but he was determined not to let Smithers win. It turned out Smithers won without doing anything.

  ‘Oh the little pixies sing a song,

  They sing it to me all day long.

  It’s a song so light and bright,

  They sing it to me day or night.’

  Sir Mountable was singing the pixie song. Smithers couldn’t stop laughing. Pete had had enough. He leapt onto Smithers and started hitting him with all his might. A roar went up from the other boys, but it stopped instantly. Pete didn’t know why, so he just kept hitting, Smithers trying to block the blows.

  Eventually, the reason for the lack of roaring was revealed, as a strong hand gripped Pete’s arm when it swung back for another punch. Pete was lifted to his feet, and stood face-to-face with King Rayon.

  ‘Pete McGee,’ the King said, his voice unusually hard as he let go of the young boy. ‘Attacking another knight, one of your own, is totally out of order. I believe it is time for you to leave knight-training. I apologise, but this is not something I can overlook, and you are no longer accepted here. Pick up your goods, leave, and please take Sir Mountable with you.’

  ‘So can I come back again tomorrow?’
Pete asked.

  King Rayon shook his head. Smithers was on his feet, rubbing his sore spots and glaring at Pete. His glare turned into a smile at the King’s next words.

  ‘No, young McGee. When I say you are no longer accepted here, I mean as a trainee knight. Your involvement is finished. It is over.’

  Pete didn’t move. It couldn’t be over that easily. It just couldn’t. He hadn’t quit. He hadn’t and he wasn’t going to. It just couldn’t be over that easily. This was his one chance.

  ‘McGee. That was an order from your King. Leave the grounds now.’

  Sir Nayme’s voice was like a dagger to his heart, but Pete continued to stare. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t yell or scream or cry. Unfortunately, Sir Mountable did some yelling for him.

  ‘Ohhh, Kingy man. Think you’re so tough. McGurk wants to be a knight knighty knighty knighty poo, why wontcha let him hey?’

  The King simply looked sad. The other boys, Smithers in particular, laughed, rolling on the ground. Pete was more embarrassed than he thought possible. Sir Mountable had even got his name wrong! The knight was now walking towards the King, holding out his arms for a hug. Pete walked over and pushed him away and to the door, stopping only to pick up his jacket and pack and to look one last time at the knight-training he was leaving forever.

  It was over.

  Wow. Not good! How will Pete become a knight now? How will he amount to anything after such a crushing blow? How will, how will, how will anything ever be right again?

  Hopefully there’s good news and more change to come. If not, we’re in trouble and you may as well go and read a book about vampires. I’ve heard there are a couple of those around at the moment …

  he walk back was slow, but that was, in a way, a good thing as it gave Pete time to think. He figured he had two choices. One was that he could give up the dream of being a knight and look for something else. Or he could get a job doing something boring. He could lay around the house, only going outside to feed Horsey Horse Horse, and blah blah blahdy blah. His thoughts on the matter stopped before he could get more depressed, as he had to help Sir Mountable up out of a ditch.

  They arrived at Sir Mountable’s house with dusk quickly approaching. Pete left Horsey Horse Horse in the front yard with the goat and went to open the door.

  ‘I can do it, boy,’ Sir Mountable mumbled. ‘I can do it just fine.’

  He pushed past Pete and opened the door, but before he walked in he turned around and stared directly into Pete’s eyes.

  ‘Why do you want to become a knight, boy?’

  Pete stared at him, his voice angry.

  ‘I told you already! Don’t you even listen?’

  The knight nodded, almost causing himself to overbalance. His voice, when he spoke, was amazingly strong and clear.

  ‘I heard a well-rehearsed list, boy. I heard a list about someone else being great, and how you like your mummy, and about wanting to prove that a disability won’t stop you. I heard about wanting respect. I heard about wanting people to like you, about wanting to impress others, to need others to have a good opinion of you. I have neither heard nor seen one thing of why you want to become, or should become, a knight. Now go. We are done here.’

  And in he walked.

  It was the last straw for Pete. He had been worn down. He had been worn down to the point where all he wanted to do was let out all the frustrations that had built up.

  So he did.

  He roared.

  He went inside the house, where Sir Mountable was already lying down on the couch. He went to the sink and filled a jug with water. He walked straight over to Sir Mountable and soaked him.

  ‘I want to be a knight because I have greatness in me.’

  He went and filled the jug again, Sir Mountable coughing and spluttering on the couch, sitting up now. Pete walked over and threw more water over him.

  ‘I want to be a knight because it fills every corner of my soul, because a knight gives of himself in order to help and protect others, and this is the greatest cause I can think of.’

  More walking, more water, more throwing of the water.

  ‘I want to be a knight because evil is bad and because good is, well, good. I want to be the best damn knight there has ever been. I want to be a knight that leaves a legacy to the world, unlike yourself.’

  He was breathing hard, lost for words now. Sir Mountable dried his face off on his sleeve and smiled.

  ‘Finally,’ he said. ‘I said when we first met that I thought you had heart. I say it again now, and I mean it. I have asked over and over why you want to become a knight because I need you to know it is not about being well thought of. What others think does not make you anything, for their thoughts can change in an instant. Their thoughts are out of your control.

  Greatness is in your deeds. It is in your actions. It is, as you said, in being selfless, in helping others, and in giving of yourself. But you must want this with every fibre in your body, because to become great takes dedication, and desire, and it will hurt, but it will be worth every second of pain. Now, I have one more question. Is it more important to have the title of a knight or to act like one?’

  Pete thought he would have a little fun, seeing as Sir Mountable seemed to be relaxing now.

  ‘Well, the title would be pretty impressive,’ he said with a smile. What happened next was a huge shock. Showing surprising speed, Sir Mountable leapt off the couch and grabbed Pete by the scruff of his shirt, lifting him slightly and pushing him against the wall. Sir Mountable was right in Pete’s face, the words cutting deep.

  ‘No, boy. Wrong answer. Did your words before mean nothing? Did you hear nothing of what I said? You do not become a knight to impress people. If, in reality, that is your reason, once you lose the title you have nothing. Nothing at all.

  You become a knight, a leader, by what you do. That way there is no title to lose, you have only your actions to live or die by. Did you need a title to retrieve the Wilderene Flower?’

  Pete didn’t even know Sir Mountable knew about that. He shook his head.

  ‘Correct, boy. Correct.’ Sir Mountable lowered Pete back to the ground and let him go, smoothing over the scrunched up top gently. His voice also softened.

  ‘Now. We have much work to do. My reasons for training you are my own, but I must let you know, training a knight after he has been banished is not a well-looked-upon action. Being trained as a knight after being banished is looked upon even less well. So if we are discovered we are both in trouble.

  We must therefore tell no-one of our training, aside from your family, and then only if you are sure they will not betray your trust. Are you still prepared to go through with this?’

  Pete nodded.

  ‘Do not go half-hearted on me, boy. If this is truly all you have dreamed of, I will need you to show it to me every second we are together, and every second we are not. Are you prepared to go through with this?’

  Pete, finally seeing some light at the end of the tunnel, stood up tall and even went as far as to punch Sir Mountable on the shoulder.

  ‘YES!’ he yelled. ‘I am ready to do this every step of the way and no-one, NO-ONE, will stop me.’

  ‘Good, boy, that is more of what I want to see … although I can tell we are going to have to work on your punching power. If I wasn’t looking I would simply have thought a mosquito bit my shoulder.’

  Pete smiled, glad to see Sir Mountable did have a sense of humour after all. So he punched him again.

  ‘No, actually, that was more like a mosquito just landing on my shoulder and rubbing its foot against me.’

  Pete punched him again.

  ‘A flea scratching its back on my arm.’

  Another punch.

  ‘No, that was like a dollop of cream.’

  One more punch. Pete started to giggle.

  ‘The softest pillow. Our work begins tomorrow. Arrive with the sun.’

  And with that, Sir Mountable turned and went into
another room. Pete left the house, an energy like he had never felt before filling his body. He had hope. He had spirit. He had a horse and he had a mentor knight.

  Things had changed alright.

  new day dawned. Pete McGee was at the door of Sir Mountable’s house as the sun stretched itself over the trees. Horsey Horse Horse was eating grass with the goat in the front yard, and Pete held a bucket of water in his hand. He put down the bucket and opened the door, ready to drench Sir Mountable if he was asleep, or hungover, or both. To his surprise, when he entered the house, there was Sir Mountable, clean-shaven and dressed, eating his breakfast. He glanced over at Pete.

  ‘You’re late,’ he said gruffly. ‘When I say “with the sun”, I mean that when the sun rises we are out training. Understand?’

  Pete nodded and backed out the doorway, trying to cover up for the water.

  ‘Yes Sir. I just need to put out my horse’s water, which is in this bucket here. Water for the horse. To drink.’

  He went outside and put the bucket next to the horse and goat, hoping Sir Mountable hadn’t guessed what he’d really brought it over for. Going back inside, Pete realised this training wasn’t going to be ea—

  ‘AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!’

  The scream came from Pete, who now stood in the doorway with the point of a sword touching his throat.

  ‘A knight,’ Sir Mountable said, ‘must always be prepared to be attacked, for there are many who wish to destroy him. Knights represent, as you said, good over evil, and so evil wishes to destroy them. Evil also cheats. Evil is also sneaky. Always be relaxed, but alert.’

  Pete would have nodded, but feared that if he did the sword point would go straight into his neck. So he sort of just grunted a reply instead.

  ‘Good,’ said Sir Mountable, removing the sword, ‘and so your training has begun.’

  The first day of Pete’s training consisted of cleaning Sir Mountable’s house, cutting the grass with a scythe, and washing down the goat and Horsey Horse Horse.