“This is so you don’t forget who you’re messing with, chump!” Drake shouted, shoving the red-hot branding iron into the guard’s cheek. “FYI—the B is for bozo!”
“Ahhhh!” the guard screeched, dropping his sword and coddling his cheek.
Drake kicked the sword away, lunged for the key ring hanging off his belt, and unlocked Treena’s chains. “Will a black knight in a red dragon T-shirt do instead, Mui?” he asked, grinning.
Treena threw her arms around Drake’s neck. “You bet, Bailey! Thanks! BTW—how’d you get out of those chains?”
Drake squirmed out of Treena’s grip. “They just slid off my wrists. I guess they don’t get too many criminals in my size.”
Amanda raced to the fallen guard. She grabbed one hand, while Treena took the other, and together they chained him to the wall.
“So what’s with the Quasimodo look?” Treena whispered, nudging her chin toward the hump.
“I had to blend in,” Amanda explained quietly. “Instead, I ended up standing out. If it wasn’t for meeting Miriam, I’d still be wandering around the forest. She helped me get into the castle, and saved both your butts.”
Treena gasped. “Not the Miriam?”
“Yes, that one,” Amanda whispered.
“Good,” Drake murmured. “Maybe she can help us find the others.”
“That’s the plan,” Amanda muttered.
“Please, I beg thee, unchain me too.”
Miriam raised her bow. “Who speaks?”
“’Tis me, Alan a’Dale, o’er hither.”
Amanda turned and noticed a carved out niche in the darkest part of the dungeon. She grabbed a torch off the wall and walked over with Miriam. A young man, maybe sixteen, was chained to the wall, his arms and legs pulled as far apart as they would go. He wore a funny looking red cap, the kind a jester might wear, which covered most of his curly black hair, a dingy white shirt decorated with large shiny buttons on both sleeves, and tight green breeches which were unevenly stuffed into a pair of long boots. A pear-shaped guitar-like instrument lay in the corner, propped up against Treena’s knapsack.
“Take me with thee,” Alan a’Dale begged.
Amanda looked at Miriam, who lowered her bow.
“What hast thou done to anger the sheriff?” Miriam asked.
He sighed. “’Tis the truth, I am but a lowly jongleur. I was arrested for singing a ballad.”
“A ballad? About what?” Amanda asked, furrowing her brow.
He grinned. Even in the low light of the flickering torch, his teeth were white and straight. “In Nottingham, the people fight,” he sang eloquently. “They cry for justice from their king. But no one hears the beggar’s plight. Only feel the sheriff’s cruel, sharp sting.”
Miriam laughed. “’Tis my kind of song! Release the jongleur, Amanda.”
Amanda snatched the key ring out of Drake’s hand and passed the torch to him. As she started to unlock Alan a’Dale’s shackles, she met his sky blue eyes dead on.
“Thou art the prettiest hunchback my eyes hath seen,” he whispered to her.
Amanda could feel her body ping all over. Pockets of warmth erupted through her skin in places she never knew existed. Her arm pits started to bubble.
“We must make haste, Amanda,” Miriam said, severing her private thoughts. “Before more guards appear.”
Amanda nodded. “Can you take us to Robyn?”
Even under the hood, Amanda caught Miriam frowning. “Thou saidest Robyn would be stricken if thou didn’t get into the castle to find thy friends. Now, thou hast found them. Why dost thou need me to take thee to Robyn?” Her fingers tightened around her bow.
“What’s going on, Amanda?” Treena asked. “She sounds freaked.”
Amanda pursed her lips. “Miriam wants answers. I sort of told her that Robyn would be stricken if I didn’t find you guys.”
Drake groaned. “Something tells me that we’re the ones who are gonna be stricken.”
“Why dost thy friends speak oddly, Amanda?” Miriam asked suspiciously.
“Aye, sounds like the devil ’imself sits upon thy tongues,” Alan a’Dale added, as he picked up his instrument and plucked it.
Miriam aimed her arrow at Amanda. “God’s wounds, hath a hunchback tricked me again? I will do no leeches for thee!”
Startled, Amanda dropped the key and put her hands up. No use explaining that the only way she could understand Miriam was because of her Babel necklace. She glanced nervously at Drake and Treena, then something Alan a’Dale had just said hit her.
“No wait, Miriam, Alan is right. The truth is that both my friends have been bewitched by Sheriff Crowley. He used dark magic to strike their voices, and now he seeks to take away your people’s hope. Crowley is evil and doesn’t belong in Nottingham. We’re really secret law keepers sent here to stop him. Trust me, Miriam, Robyn and the rest of the people of Nottingham, will only be safe when we accomplish what we came here to do.”
Drake smiled. “I hate to admit this, Sault, but that was pure genius.”
Miriam sighed. She relaxed her stance, loosened her arrow, and lowered her bow. “Very well, Amanda. Thy plea rings true. Sheriff Crowley hath been in Nottingham for over a fortnight, and hence, I hath not seen Sheriff Philip Marc. ’Tis the truth, Sheriff Crowley hath caused nothing but grief and anger. I shall do as thou biddest. But I warn thee, if thither be a drop of deceit, ’twill be unlucky for thee and thy friends.”
Chains rattled behind them. “Thou rogues shall pay dearly for this,” the shackled guard hissed, coming out of his stupor. “Guards! Hither! Help!”
Drake dropped the torch, scooped up some rags off the floor, and shoved them in the guard’s mouth. Then he picked up the key ring, grinned, and tossed it into the bucket of hot coals. “Told ya we’re here to create chaos, lame-brain!”
“I know of a tunnel leading to the courtyard,” Alan a’Dale whispered.
“Art thou mad?” Miriam snapped. “We will be marked.”
“Nay. We shall be merry with the crowd,” Alan a’Dale said, strutting toward the entrance to the main tunnel, his instrument slapping against his back. “Come hither, quickly.”
Amanda could hear faint footsteps coming down the opposite end of the tunnel.
Treena lunged for her backpack and strapped it on.
“Where are we going, Amanda?” Drake asked.
Amanda wanted to say “crazy,” but instead said, “Apparently, to be merry.”
“Mary? Who’s Mary?” Treena asked, as she stumbled up the tunnel.
An expansive courtyard filled with people, wagons, tents, and livestock greeted Amanda at the mouth of the tunnel. Dusk was pressing in on them as the sun’s shimmering farewell poked through the thick rising smoke of nearby fires. The courtyard was a beehive of activity, so it was easy to blend in. Musicians were playing odd-looking string instruments, some similar to what Alan a’Dale owned, while other instruments resembled flutes or reeds or bells. As they merged with the crowd, the sound of laughter and noisy bartering rose above the music. Wagons loaded with fine fabrics, fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and breads were scattered about chaotically.
“We shall make for the minstrels’ tent,” Alan a’Dale said. “The harp player is my coz.”
Miriam tugged on his instrument. “Thou hath better not lead us on a merry chase, jongleur,” she warned.
“If milady dost not let go of my lute, then ’twill be me chasing thee,” he growled.
Miriam nodded sharply, released the instrument he’d called a lute, then gave Amanda, Drake, and Treena the come along sign with her chin. They had gotten halfway through the courtyard when a brawl broke out near a fish stand, knocking a barrel of fish all over the ground. The screech of fighting roosters in a small pen next to Amanda made her jump. People were yelling at the birds, rousing them, and gambling on which one would win. Disgusted, she whirled around, and couldn’t find Miriam or Alan a’Dale anywhere.
“Where’d they go?” A
manda asked.
“I dunno,” Treena said, glancing all around. “There are hundreds of people all around us, and it’s getting dark.”
“Yeah,” Drake added. “Plus there’s about a hundred foot by fifteen foot thick stone wall surrounding us. I don’t see us getting outta here any time soon.”
Before Amanda could say anything, someone slapped her square on the back. She stumbled and clenched her teeth. She was tired of being the town’s punching bag. Seeing a slim, long-bodied, mottled brown fish by her foot, she stooped to pick it, then turned and walloped whoever smacked her.
“Umph! Why dost thou hit me with a ling, hunchback?” a portly boy asked, rubbing his ruddy cheek. He sounded more puzzled than angry.
He reached over, grabbed Amanda by both shoulders, and lifted her off the ground. She dropped the fish and stared at the droopy-eyed boy, who somehow resembled a loyal hunting dog with brown matted hair. He wasn’t threatening, but he wasn’t exactly friendly either. Sugar caked the corners of his mouth, and he wore a rumpled green tunic like a potato sack. His breath smelled surprisingly sweet.
Drake kicked at the hulking boy. “Let her go, Oxzilla!”
Treena picked up another fish and swung it around in the air. “Prepare to become sushi-ized, douche-bag!”
The boy turned his big head slightly. “Thou mumblest oddly. Did thy tongues get cut out and shoved in backwards?”
Amanda groaned. “He doesn’t understand you guys!”
“Well understand this, lunk-head!” Treena yelled as she whacked him across the back of the head with the fish.
The next thing Amanda felt was her butt kissing the ground. She winced. Enough was enough. She was getting tired of playing the stricken fool game. Amanda rolled to her feet and, struggling out of Jensen’s hooded sweater, grunted and groaned until it lay in a heap at her feet. Then she pulled off his knapsack.
“There! Satisfied? I’m no more a hunchback than you’re Robyn Hodekin!”
The boy scrunched his face. “Wot, me? Robyn Hodekin? Nay, nay, I’m Much the Miller’s son. Robyn’s yonder.”
Amanda blinked her eyes. “Robyn is here? In the castle grounds?”
The boy nodded slowly. “Aye. Stole ’im in in me bread cart wit’ the others.”
“The…others?” Amanda gasped.
In that same moment, the fish Treena was swinging slipped out of her hands and into the face of a nearby castle guard as he started up the nearby hill.
Drake groaned. “Great, Mui, out of all the guards, you had to hit one who captured us in the forest.”
The guard wiped his face and growled. Then his eyes bugged. “Poachers!” he yelled, pointing at Treena and Drake.
Great. Amanda groaned. Where’s a pair of ruby shoes when you need them?
“Wait a sec,” Treena said, poking Amanda and Drake. “What happens in every action movie that gets the hero out of a jam?”
“Knowing a form of martial arts?” Drake asked.
“Knowing how to use a paper clip as a lethal weapon?” Amanda added.
Treena rolled her eyes. “No, there’s always a diversion created so the hero can escape and go save the world.”
“Treena, you’re brilliant,” Amanda said, snapping her fingers. Swiftly she put the knapsack back on, bent down, picked up Jensen’s sloughed sweatshirt, and headed for the fighting roosters.
She kicked over the pen, then using the sweatshirt as if it was a matador’s cape, Amanda herded the birds straight into the path of the oncoming guard. One of the roosters flew up and started pecking at the guard’s bulbous nose. The other rooster went for his fat fingers. He screamed medieval obscenities while the people clapped and laughed. They started betting against the guard and cheering for the birds. Amanda dropped the hoody, grabbed the guard’s purse off his belt, opened it, and threw whatever money was in it into the air. The crowd hollered and stampeded wherever the money landed. A few coins rolled under a bread cart and people pushed and pulled until the cart was knocked over onto its side. The two draft horses attached to the cart reared and raced away, spilling sacks of flour and baked breads behind them.
“Me cart!” Much roared, chasing after the horses.
“Get off my head, Sharma!” Amanda heard the voice coming from underneath a burlap sheet where the cart had toppled.
“Then get your knee outta my privates, Jenson!”
Amanda’s jaw dropped. “Jockstrap? Sharma?”
“Amanda?” two distinctive voices yelled in unison.
Relief flooded her insides. “Yeah, it’s me! Drake and Treena are here too!”
“A-Amanda?” Alan a’Dale uttered from behind her. He spun Amanda around to face him. His eyes widened. “Thou…thou art no hunchback.” Then he produced a full-on grin and said, “Thou art comely. Thou shalt be my muse!”
“I’m not sure what he’s saying, but by the way he’s checking you out, it looks like you’re gonna need a restraining order soon,” Treena said, plucking up Jordan’s sweatshirt.
“Did I just hear Jordan?” Drake asked excitedly as he joined them.
Amanda nodded. “Jordan and Ravi were smuggled in in Much’s bread cart.”
Suddenly people started screaming and backing away. A small girl, dirty-faced and wide-eyed, blurted out, “Lepers! Lepers!”
“God’s teeth!” the guard yelled, as he finally fought off the roosters. “Lepers in the courtyard! I beg thee, run! Open the castle gate!”
Alan a’Dale pushed Amanda behind him, swung his lute around as if it were a weapon to hold back a fire-breathing dragon. “I shall protect thee, my muse!”
Treena nudged Amanda. “Like I said, restraining order.”
Drake rubbed his eyes. “Is—Is that Jordan and Ravi? They look like something right outta the Night of the Living Dead movie.”
Amanda peered around Alan a’Dale. Drake was right. The boys were made up as if they were zombie wanna-bes. Both wore black robes with stitched-on white patches and tall red hats, while their faces looked like they’d been through a meat grinder. Strings of shredded, bloodied skin hung off their cheeks, and in their scab-covered hands they clutched a set of batons with craved forks on the ends. She grimaced. This was definitely Sharma’s handiwork.
She lightly touched Alan a’Dale’s shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re my friends. They’re not really lepers.”
“Dost thou jest? My eyes see only lepers.”
“Your eyes saw a hunchback too, Alan,” Amanda whispered.
The sharp sound of wood banging together drew Amanda back to Ravi and Jordan. They were both furiously banging their batons together like inefficient fly swatters.
“Why are they doing that, Alan?”
“Lepers bang their clappers together as a warning for those not stricken,” he replied.
“You guys sure know how to clear a room!” Drake shouted. “And all along I thought only Mui’s acting could do that!”
“Zounds, Jordan, Ravi, I thought I told thee to stay in Much’s cart!” Jean la Nailor shouted, running toward them. “Dost thou ever listen?”
“Do you see a cart anywhere, la Nailor?” Jordan asked, banging away.
Robyn Hodekin and Melody Spencer followed in Jean’s gigantic footsteps. Tuck was close behind, wagging his tail and chomping down on a fish he’d found. Smoke from fires curled and curdled, making it hard for Amanda to survey the grounds. She squinted, but couldn’t find Miriam anywhere.
“Melody!” Amanda yelled, waving. “Over here!”
Melody turned, her mouth open. She directed Robyn and Jean to go help Jordan and Ravi. Tuck lobbed after the two boys, while she dashed over to Amanda, Treena, and Drake. She gathered them in her arms and hugged them fiercely. Amanda felt the strength of her squeeze, her reassuring embrace, warm her insides like a home-cooked meal.
“We missed you too, Melody,” Drake grunted.
“Drake, FYI—you’re grabbing my butt,” Treena said, grimacing.
Melody released them and looked around.
“Where’s Professor Lucas?”
Amanda eyed Drake and Treena. “Sheriff Crowley ordered him to be taken to the deepest cavern. That’s all we know.”
Melody frowned. “Sheriff Crowley? Professor Marcus Crowley is here?”
“Yeah, and he’s one bad dude, Melody,” Drake replied. “He took Treena’s and my Babel necklaces then left us to be tortured in the dungeon. If it wasn’t for Amanda and Miriam—”
“Miriam? Maid Miriam?”
“The one and only,” Treena said. “But if you ask me the girl needs some serious anger management sessions.”
The sound of the crowd had taken on a rougher, nastier tone. Some people had hung back and gathered up whatever they could find lying on the ground—vegetables, fish or fruits seemed to be their favorites. They started pelting Jordan and Ravi, shrieking and cursing at them to leave. Tuck growled, baring his teeth, while Jordan used his clappers like a ping pong racket, deflecting anything that headed his way. Ravi seemed to be having the time of his life, banging and scaring everyone silly, until half a rotten cabbage hit him in the face. Jean and Robyn worked together to divert the mob, but so far, they weren’t having any luck. The people even turned on them, and they started to get pummeled. Tuck whined and dug himself under a pile of flour sacks.
“What’s with Jordan and Ravi’s Dawn of the Dead look?” Treena asked.
“It was Ravi’s brilliant idea,” Melody replied, pushing a dark tendril away from her face. “He had a gel wound kit stashed in his backpack, and thought it would be a wonderful diversion to scare people away while we all escaped in Much’s father’s bread cart. I suppose we’ll have to come up with another plan.”
“Okay, new plan, new diversion,” Amanda said. “Any suggestions?”
“Dost my muse wish me to help her?” Alan a’Dale asked, placing his hands on her shoulders.
“Who’s he, Amanda?” Melody asked, warily.
The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis Page 11
