“…ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.” Amanda stopped and pulled back the hood. She searched the area, and frowned. No moss-covered stump. No vines. No bramble.
She heard a sharp snap behind her. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder. A girl with long brown braided hair stood behind her, holding a drawn longbow. An arrow was poised and ready and aimed at Amanda. The girl was about a year older than her and seemed to possess a rough edge, yet looked feminine at the same time. A green garment which looked like an extra-long T-shirt with bat-wing sleeves covered her slim body, while a thick leather belt stuffed with three arrows held her shirt neatly in place. Like the people of this time period, she too sported a hooded woolen cloak around her shoulders. Besides the belt and arrows, her only other accessory was a coarse brown satchel that hung over one shoulder. Amanda spied the heel of a long loaf of bread and a few carrot tops protruding from the satchel.
“Be on thy way, hunchback,” she said in an unwavering voice.
Amanda turned around and put up her hands. “Wait! Doncha wanna touch my hump…for luck?”
The brown-haired girl slightly lowered her bow “Nay. The last time I touched a rogue like thee I fell and twisted my foot. Leeches were applied, and I limped for a month.”
Amanda scrunched her face. “Eww. Why leeches?”
The girl raised her brows. “God’s wounds, simpkin, leeches take thy bad blood and leave the good. Now take thy leave or thou willst need more than just leeches to stop the bleeding!”
“But…I gotta get into the castle!” Amanda pleaded. “It’s a matter of life and death!”
“’Tis none of my concern, hunchback.” She pulled her bow string back farther.
Amanda felt beads of sweat trickling down her back. “Mortimer sent me!”
Startled, the girl lowered her bow. Her earth-brown eyes looked Amanda over. “If good Mortimer trusts a rogue such as thee, then I shall do the same. Follow me and stay close.”
“Huh? Follow you where?”
“’Tis this way, hunchback,” she said curtly, disarming the bow and placing it snugly around her shoulders. Then the girl darted off the beaten path and past a pile of neatly stacked boulders.
“BTW, I have a name. It’s Amanda,” she huffed, running after her.
“Miriam. Miriam Fitzooth,” she replied without stopping.
Amanda almost tripped up. “Miriam? Robyn Hodekin’s Miriam?”
Miriam stopped. She turned around slowly. “Thou knowest Robyn, Amanda?”
Amanda nodded. “We met today, in Sherwood Forest. He…He sort of defended my honor. He’s very sweet in a pushy medieval way.”
Miriam smiled. “Aye. Robyn is kind to those stricken and poor. He makes sure the lepers have bread and water every other morrow, and fashions canes for the lame and elderly of the village. He is truly his mother’s son, bless her soul.” She crossed herself three times.
“Yeah, well, Robyn will be the one who’s stricken if I don’t get into the castle and find where those soldiers took my fellow Timeke—er, friends.”
Miriam’s face hardened. “Robyn stricken? Dost thou jest?”
Amanda sighed. “I wish. Let’s just say he’ll have more to worry about than getting arrested for poaching. Trust me, Miriam, I’m here to help him.”
Miriam hesitated for an instant, then as if a wall of ice melted between them, she grabbed Amanda by the elbow and led her to a gigantic stump pushed up against a steep pitted wall. The stump was plastered with moss, with vines and brambles choking it beyond death. On one side, there was a split in the trunk big enough for her to wiggle inside. Miriam pushed Amanda through it and followed her in. The stringy arms of moss dangling from all sides made Amanda feel like she was in a hollowed-out jack-o-lantern. A huge gaping hole above, plus an assortment of small irregular holes where birds had pummeled the stump, allowed enough light in for Amanda to see. Cringing, she moved away from the rotting walls, while Miriam rolled aside a huge piece of bark and let it drop to the spongy floor.
“Come hither,” she said urgently.
“Come where?”
Miriam turned, bent her head, and disappeared into a carved-out hole in the wall. Amanda gulped. She had seen plenty of horror movies that started out this way. She shivered as she entered the cave, feeling the dampness penetrating through to her bones. Darkness instantly snuffed her vision. All Amanda could do was listen, feel, and trust. The sound of Miriam breathing ahead put her at ease. Putting out her hands to stop herself from stumbling, she pushed against the cave wall. It felt soft and powdery like sand. She pushed harder, felt her hands moisten and started to feel chilled. It wasn’t a freezing temperature, but more like a cool spring morning.
“Does Robyn know you do this kind of stuff, Miriam?”
Miriam stopped. Amanda almost fell over her. “What stuff?”
Amanda regained her balance. “You know…sneaking into the castle stuff.”
Miriam giggled. “Nay, ’tis my own penance. I steal in food for the prisoners and give them comfort. Now come, we’re almost thither.”
Amanda let out a thankful breath as they rounded a smooth corner. A flicker of light danced across a wall ahead of them. It was another opening that led into another tunnel. Amanda started to hear voices. Familiar voices. The closer they got to the opening, the louder the voices became. Miriam collapsed to her stomach, and just before she wiggled around another corner, she beckoned Amanda to approach. There was barely enough room for the two girls to fit side by side, with Miriam’s bow digging into Amanda’s ribs and Jensen’s backpack sliding to one side. The hole must have shrunk at least a foot in diameter. Miriam put a finger to her lips and pulled back a piece of tattered burlap covering the hole.
“Look, Mui, it’s your fault we’re stuck in this stinking rat hole!”
Amanda’s eyes widened when she saw the back of two jean-clad legs dangling in front of her. A wicked smell—probably from the dirty straw strewn across the floor—made her balk. Amanda nudged Miriam and pointed. My friends, she mouthed to her. Miriam nodded.
“My fault? Correct me if I’m wrong, brain-drain, but I believe I was the one who had to hurdle over you to avoid doing a slam dance with each other!”
Drake snorted. “Yeah, but if you weren’t following me so closely—”
“That’s enough!” Professor Lucas said.
Miriam started to worm her way back to the main tunnel. She motioned Amanda to stay, and then disappeared into the darkness. Suddenly, Amanda heard a low, raspy laugh.
“Tsk, tsk…now I know why some mothers eat their young.”
The professor gasped. “Crowley! You son-of—”
“Uh-ah, not in front of the children, John,” the man whom Professor Lucas had called Crowley, interrupted. “Oh, and it is Sheriff Crowley now. Didn’t you hear? I’m the new Sheriff of Nottingham.”
“You’re…the what?” the professor asked, his voice catching in his throat.
Curious, Amanda crawled closer to the opening. A long wooden bench was positioned above the hole. Drake’s legs obscured her vision, so she craned her head as far as she could to get a glimpse of Professor Lucas’s archenemy. Lit torches hanging from the cave walls offered minimal lighting, but enough for Amanda to catch the corners of Crowley’s thin lips creeping up his face. This douche had bad news written all over him. He wasn’t dressed like he came from their century at all. A long, purple cloak with matching hose and pointy shoes covered Crowley’s wiry body, while his jet hair was pulled back into a small pony tail to reveal stone-gray eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. Then a glimmer just below Crowley’s neckline caught Amanda’s attention and held it. It was a Babel necklace, a replica of what she and the others were wearing, only Crowley’s blue stone appeared darker, as if a shadow lurked inside.
“You heard me well enough, Lucas,” Crowley replied. His eyes darted first to Drake, and then to Treena. “I see you’ve been reduced to babysitting, Johnny-boy. But, I guess there aren’t many job opportuniti
es for a disgraced professor, are there?”
“I really don’t know, Marcus, you tell me. You’re the professor who disappeared with the Mayan Arch.”
“Ah, yes, but you’re the professor they blamed,” Crowley sneered.
Amanda heard Treena whimper. “I don’t suppose we get our one phone call?”
“Phone call, alas no, but your well-being? Now that depends on Professor Lucas,” Crowley said.
“What the devil are you talking about, Crowley?” Professor Lucas asked.
Crowley bent his head like a cobra about to strike. “I want the crystal trident that you used to get here.”
Amanda’s shoulders tensed. She clutched her chest and felt the impression of the Timekeepers’ log under the thickness of Jensen’s sweatshirt. Good. The log and crystal trident were both safely tucked in her bib. She released a low sigh and her shoulders at the same time.
“Crystal trident? What crystal trident? You kids know what he’s talking about?”
“Un-uh. Don’t know nothing ’bout no crystal trident,” Treena confessed.
“Me neither, chump,” Drake added.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Crowley thundered.
“I do,” Drake replied. Amanda imagined him with a full-on smirk.
Professor Lucas stood up. “Look, Crowley, we have no idea what you’re talking about so just let the kids go—”
“You lie like a rug, Lucas!” Crowley hissed. “I know you’ve been to Atlantis. I also know that there are more Timekeepers hiding out in Sherwood Forest. Face it, John, it’s only a matter of time until all seven of you will occupy this dungeon.”
“But we need the crystal trident to get back home,” Treena pleaded.
“That’s not my concern, girl,” Crowley replied maliciously. “All I know is from the moment you became Timekeepers, you went against Belial.”
“What happened to you, Marcus? You had a promising career, and you blew it! What has Belial promised you that you couldn’t have worked for and gotten by yourself?”
Crowley stroked his greasy beard and smiled. “Knowledge, John. A firsthand knowledge of history. I could never have achieved that by keeping my nose buried in text books or going on pointless archaeological digs with feeble-minded colleagues. What humankind has destroyed in the past, I can witness with my own eyes and change it. I can become history! I can rewrite it!”
“But you can’t change history! It’s already been written!” Professor Lucas argued.
Crowley laughed defiantly. “That’s where you’re wrong, Johnny-boy. I’ve already changed history. I am the Sheriff of Nottingham. Belial has transported me here to eliminate the famous Robin Hood by any means I see fit.”
Amanda’s eyes bugged. It was a good thing Miriam didn’t hear that. She would have gone all medieval on Crowley with her bow and arrow and attitude.
Professor Lucas took a step forward. “Why? What would be the point?”
Two guards shuffled closer to Crowley.
“Think, John, think,” Crowley said, tapping a thin finger on Professor Lucas’s forehead. “If the legend of Robin Hood never existed, then the ripple effect would be suppressed forever.”
“What’s that twisted lame-o talking about, Prof?” Drake asked.
Professor Lucas’s shoulders sagged. “If there was no such person to rob from the rich and give to the poor, then there would be no champion—no symbol of hope—for the common people in this time period. That’s what the legend of Robin Hood is really all about—fighting back and standing up against the evils of an archaic system.”
“Very good, Lucas. I see the teacher has become the pupil,” Crowley said, clapping.
“So what happened to the true Sheriff of Nottingham?” Treena asked.
“Belial has other plans for him, just as he does for John Lucas.”
“What kind of plans?” Drake asked suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t worry, brat,” Crowley said, sneering. “Belial’s plans don’t include children. To him, the young ones are just a waste of time.”
“You low-life snake!” Professor Lucas seethed. He lunged for Crowley’s throat.
A guard was there in an instant and slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of the professor’s skull. Treena screamed as Professor Lucas slumped to his knees and collapsed on the dirty straw floor. Amanda jerked as she searched for any signs of consciousness, but he was out cold.
Crowley motioned for the guard. “Take him to the deepest cavern,” he commanded.
He skulked over to Drake and Treena. Amanda swallowed hard, feeling utterly helpless. Her nails dug into the sandstone. Her throat and stomach tightened as she anticipated Crowley’s next move.
“Take off those pretty necklaces and give them to me,” Crowley demanded.
“But we need them to talk to people, and to get back home!” Treena cried.
Crowley drew a bejeweled dagger from his belt and lunged for Drake. He pulled him up and placed the dagger under Drake’s throat. Amanda covered her mouth.
Drake grunted. “Give him the stupid necklace, Treena!”
Treena whimpered as she handed her Babel to him. Crowley helped himself to Drake’s Babel and then roughly pushed him down to the bench. He stuffed the pair of necklaces into a pouch hanging from a leather belt around his waist. With a warning look to both Drake and Treena, he backed away, snickering.
“I-I’m scared, Drake. What’s gonna happen?” Treena whispered.
Amanda could actually hear Drake swallow, feel his animosity leach down to her. “Chaos, Treena. Chaos is gonna happen.”
Crowley blinked. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, nut-bar,” Drake replied, through clenched teeth. “Timekeepers are here to create chaos so order can continue. Face it, Crowley, you might as well give up now.”
“My, such big words for such a young mouth.”
“Drake’s a genius,” Treena said. “That means he’s smarter than you, douche-bag.”
Crowley’s mouth twitched like a voodoo doll’s pin was stuck in his face.
Another guard stumbled up. In his hand was an iron rod with the letter B positioned at the tip. “I’ve brought the branding iron thou hast demanded, Sheriff.”
“W-What’s that for?” Treena squeaked.
Crowley’s face lit up with an ugliness Amanda had never seen before. “Here, in Nottingham, we use a branding iron to keep criminals in line. The letter reveals the crime to the public. And, since you went against Belial, I thought a nice charred B on each cheek would remind you of who you are dealing with.”
Crowley snapped his fingers. “Guard, chain these two criminals to the wall and encourage them to tell me what I want to know,” he commanded. He whirled around and headed down a low-lit tunnel.
Amanda watched in silent horror as the shadows swallowed Crowley completely.
12. The Wandering Jongleur
“No, no, wait, you can’t do this!” Treena screamed. “I plead the fifth! I want a lawyer!”
The guard snorted like a hog and pulled Treena off the bench. Her high-heeled sandals dug into the floor, but it was no use. She stumbled and was dragged to the opposite side of the cave. Amanda struggled to peer around Drake’s legs. A row of iron chains hung against the wall. Shredded clothing and clumps of hair on the floor made Amanda feel like she was holed up in a serial killer’s basement. Her throat tightened as she attempted to control her breathing.
“Let me go, you—you bully in chain mail!” Drake yelled as he was yanked off the bench.
The guard who’d brought the branding iron dropped it into a bucket of hot coals. Amanda heard a sizzle, pop, hiss as the coals merged with the metal. She found the courage to open her mouth, take a deep breath, and—inhaling the stench of rancid straw and rat poop—she sneezed, and sneezed again.
The struggling stopped. She heard clomping head toward her and the bench was wrenched away from the wall. Amanda stared at a pair of leather boots and dingy stockings. She tried to
wiggle her way back in the hole, but the guard grabbed both her hands and plucked her out as if she was a rabbit in a magician’s hat.
“Look what we hath,” the guard sneered, his grip acting like a pair of medieval handcuffs.
“Aye, ’tis a hunchback whose luck hath run dry,” the guard added as he chained Drake.
“Amanda!” Treena yelled.
Drake laughed. “Now you two lame-brains will be sorry you messed with Timekeepers! Call in the cavalry, Amanda!”
The guard holding Amanda guffawed. Half his teeth were missing, the other half were blackened. A conical helmet covered his bulging head, while metallic fish netting draped his gray tunic. He applied pressure to her wrists. She winced.
“A-A-About that, Drake, you see—”
“Unhand the hunchback, rogue!”
Amanda looked around the guard’s stout body. There, in the entranceway to another room, stood Miriam, pointing an arrow at the guard. Her hood was up to cover her face.
“Put down yon bow, and ’twill be easy on thee, rogue!” the guard growled.
“I think not, knotty-pated simpkin!” Miriam let her arrow fly.
The guard wailed as Miriam’s arrow pierced his behind. “Arrgh, me arse!”
He released his hold on Amanda, and she swiftly jumped up and pulled the top of his helmet down to cover his eyes. Then she spun him around like a top and pushed him into the wall, head first. He smashed into it, wobbled, and fell back into a pile of foul smelling straw. A black rat the size of a house cat squealed and scampered out of the heap. Miriam took another arrow from her belt, placed it in her bow, and aimed it at the second guard.
He chortled wickedly, grabbed Treena by the hair, and pulled her over as far as the chains would allow. He stepped behind her and drew out his sword. “Drop thy bow, or I slit the wench’s throat!”
Treena whimpered. “Now would be a good time for a knight in shining armor!”
Miriam slowly lowered her bow. She cast her eyes over to Amanda and smiled at her. Amanda frowned. She looked over toward Treena, who was being used as a human shield. A short shadow danced across the opposite wall. Her eyes widened. Somehow Drake had escaped out of his chains. Amanda glanced back at Miriam and discreetly nodded.
The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis Page 10
