Drake stifled a laugh. “Her new BFF.”
Amanda’s cheeks flamed. “Um, Melody, this is Alan a’Dale. He was imprisoned in the dungeon with Drake and Treena.”
“Milady Melody,” Alan a’Dale said, bowing.
Melody furrowed her brow. “Alan a’Dale? The minstrel?”
“Nay, milady Melody, a jongleur.” His pride was evident in his stance.
“What’s the difference between a minstrel and a jongleur?”
Alan a’Dale beamed as if he were being asked to go to Disneyland. He searched the grounds as the shadows were starting to eat away the light, then strutted toward an abandoned fire away from the crowd. He snatched up three thick sticks from the pit, each with an end ablaze, and began to throw the torches up in the air—one by one—as if he were part of a circus act. Walking back over like this was the most normal thing, Alan a’Dale balanced a glowing stick on his forehead, while keeping the other two blazing batons in the air.
“Great impression of a birthday candle.” Treena clapped.
“Yeah, if he knew you were coming he’d have baked a cake,” Drake laughed.
Alan a’Dale continued with his juggling act, keeping the flaming sticks in the air, while walking closer to where the four boys were getting splattered with fruit and veggies. Spying an unhitched wagon full of straw parked behind the abusive mob, the wandering jongleur threw not one, but two torches into the wagon. Whoosh, went the straw as the hungry fire ate it up—sizzle, snap, crack—its fiery tongues licking away at the wagon as if it were the main course. Half the people disbursed, fleeing toward the opening castle gate to escape. Next, Alan a’Dale took his last burning stick and lit a line of grain to separate them from the rest of the crowd.
Suddenly, Much the Miller’s son, now red-faced, huffing, and sweating, drove up in his cart. It looked scraped and beaten along one side, but at least it was upright. The lathered gray horses whinnied and stamped, warning the people to get out of their way. Jordan and Ravi hopped in the back first, followed by Robyn, Jean, and Tuck—his tail now up between his legs.
That’s our cue. Amanda grabbed Drake and Treena by the arms, and pulled them toward the cart.
“Come on, Melody!” Amanda yelled behind her. “Next stop, Sherwood Forest!”
“Right behind you, Amanda!” Melody replied, scooping up a satchel of round bread thrown from Much’s cart.
Drake squirmed. “Ouch! Stop twisting my arm, Sault!”
Amanda grunted. “Would you rather be twisted like a pretzel on the rack, Bailey?”
“Good point,” Drake muttered. He headed for the cart and jumped in.
Treena bent down to snatch a set of bells left behind by one of the minstrels before she followed Drake into the back of the cart. Alan a’Dale gently lifted Amanda and Melody in before he boarded. They were good to go. Amanda scanned the area one more time in search of Miriam, but it was useless—it was too dark, smoky, and noisy.
“W-Where’s my uncle?” Jordan asked, his eyes darting around.
Amanda gulped, then reached over to pat his shoulder. It felt slimy and gross. “It’s a long story, Jordan. He’s alive. That’s all you need to know for now.”
Just as they passed through the castle gate, Treena quickly pulled on Jordan’s big sweatshirt over her backpack and started ringing the bells she’d scored off the ground.
“Sanctuary!” she yelled in a low, somber voice. “Sanctuary!”
13. A Band of Merry Teens
“Mmmm, thiss shure hiths thu spot, Melody,” Treena said with her mouth full of bread.
“Ditto,” Drake said, dipping his fingers into his bread bowl full of stew. “How’d you learn to cook over a fire, Melody?”
“My father used to take me on camping trips,” Melody replied wistfully. “He was quite a stickler for living off the land. Oftentimes he’d trap a rabbit or catch a fish, gather whatever vegetables he could find, and make a wonderful stew out of it. Now that I think of it, I’m glad I paid attention.”
“Me too,” Amanda said. “Good thing you nabbed the sack of bread. I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.” She stopped and looked at Melody. “BTW—what kind of meat did you use in this, Melody?”
Melody giggled. “Not to worry, Amanda, Robyn supplied the rabbit, fresh out of the forest. Besides, it’s forbidden by the church to eat horse meat in these times.”
Smiling, Amanda picked out a deformed carrot from her bread bowl. It turned to mush as soon as it touched her tongue, and she savored the strong flavor as it slid down her throat. She felt something solid nudge her knee. She looked down. With big, brown eyes, Tuck stared up at her, drooling and begging for a scrap of food. She ignored him, so he pawed her foot, his thick sharp nails digging into her skin. Amanda opened her mouth to scold him and her nose flared. He smelled like a wet blanket in a fish market. Tuck nudged Amanda again, this time with more urgency. She sighed, then gave in and tossed the remnants of her bread bowl to him.
“Not hungry?” Jean le Nailor asked, prodding Jordan with his staff.
Jordan looked up and shrugged. “No. Here, Jean, you have it.”
Amanda peered over Jordan’s shoulder. He had barely touched the stew that Melody prepared earlier and had left to season over the fire pit in Robyn’s cave.
“Zounds, Jordan, dost thou know how many go without food around us?” Jean asked.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Jordan mumbled, his vacant eyes staring into the fire.
Amanda could tell Jordan wasn’t up for a lecture. All he cared about was getting his uncle back from Crowley in one safe piece. She shivered. The cave they were hiding in, Robyn’s hideout, was damp and cramped. The air was heavy with smoke. Night had devoured the sun, and a half moon now hung in the sky, her silvery rays peering through the darkened foliage like an ethereal voyeur.
Melody gently nudged Jordan’s arm. “Eat, Jordan. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
“Why? What’s so special about tomorrow?” Jordan asked, gazing at the popping embers.
“FYI—it’s May Day, or rather D-Day, for us,” Amanda whispered. She had to be careful what she said because lover-boy—a.k.a. Alan a’Dale—was seated on her other side. “We have to solve the Timekeeper riddle by tomorrow if we don’t want Belial and Crowley to change history.”
“Yeah, and trying not to get killed in the meantime would be a plus,” Drake added, as he stoked the fire with more twigs.
“Not helping, Drake,” Amanda muttered out of the side of her mouth.
Jordan grunted. “Look, Sault, we’re lost in a time where we don’t belong. Where my uncle doesn’t belong. How are we supposed to figure out what our mission is when we don’t know anything about history? Uncle John’s the history wiz, not us.”
“I’m with Jordan,” Ravi said, wiping cabbage bits out of his ears. “And what if we got caught? Torture? Impalement? Disembowelment? Don’t know about you guys, but I’m not too keen on dying eight hundred years before I’m born.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. Sometimes Ravi was more of a drama queen than Treena. She looked around. Alan a’Dale was busy plucking away on his lute, occasionally humming and muttering to himself. Jean had returned to his post at the mouth of the cave, keeping watch, while Robyn and Much had gone off to check on Miriam’s whereabouts. Amanda had explained that Miriam helped her get into the castle to rescue her friends, and was somehow left behind in the castle grounds during leper-mania. Robyn, Jean, and Much had also bought the story about Sheriff Crowley using dark witchcraft to take away Treena and Drake’s ability to talk sensibly.
“You’re not gonna die, Sharma,” Amanda said. “We just gotta get with Lilith’s program. We gotta learn to look, listen, and trust.”
Jordan snorted. He crushed his bread bowl—turnip and carrot guts exploded all over his pants. “You want us to trust Lilith, Sault? Take a look around. We should be in a castle, not stuck in a cave. My uncle should be with us, not imprisoned in a cavern. I’d say Lilith has a sick sense of humor if th
is is her idea of trusting!”
“Take a chill pill, Jordan, and have some faith,” Treena said, snapping her fingers. Then she pointed at his bread bowl. “BTW—are you gonna eat that?”
“And speaking of a sick sense of humor,” Drake said dryly. “Mui trumps Lilith.”
Melody sighed. “Jordan, what Lilith was trying to tell us is we’ve got to trust enough to know that wherever we step, the path will appear beneath our feet.”
“This path sounds way too dangerous for a band of merry teens,” Ravi said, shaking his head. “Maybe Robyn or Jean know some adults who could help us rescue Jordan’s uncle.”
“Adults?” Jean said, joining them by the fire. “Zounds, Ravi, who dost thou think had John Lucas arrested? Truth told, not a child.”
Amanda strummed her fingers on her knee. “It’s too bad there isn’t another way into Nottingham Castle, other than the caves and the gate. No doubt Crowley’s got all those entrances covered.”
“Yea, there is, milady Amanda,” Jean said, leaning against his staff. “Through the cellar caves beneath the Rockyard Inn. ’Tis the truth, these caves lead to the jail.”
Amanda’s back straightened. “Then the cellar caves are our way back in to rescue Jordan’s uncle!”
Jordan rolled his eyes. “And you don’t think Crowley’s gonna have the whole town of Nottingham on lock-down, Sault? We’d be lucky to get out of Sherwood Forest without fingers pointing at us!”
“The only ones Crowley will recognize are Treena and Drake, Jordan,” Amanda replied. “He’s never seen the rest of us.”
“But, Amanda, we’d stick out like scabs on skin,” Ravi added.
Treena grimaced. “All of a sudden, I’m not so hungry.”
Drake snickered. “Now there’s a first.”
“I’m afraid Ravi’s right,” Melody added. “Our clothes, even the way some of us appear, would give us away.”
Tuck whined and stuck his nose in the air. He sniffed, then let out a low, welcoming woof. Amanda could hear footsteps approaching the cave. It sounded like crunch, snap, crunch, as if someone were walking across hundreds of stalks of celery. Jean la Nailor rushed to the mouth of the cave and whistled. A shrill whistle returned, and as if on cue, Tuck darted out of the cave.
“’Tis Robyn and Much,” Jean announced. “I pray they hath good news.”
Robyn entered the cave. He had a blank look on his face as he pulled off his hood. Much, who carried a torch, followed close behind him. The fire illuminated his puffy face, making it look like a campfire marshmallow.
Robyn nodded to Jean. “The Widow Thatcher told Much that Miriam stopped to help a fallen child running from lepers in the castle grounds. I hath sent my coz Wil Scathlocke to the Fitzooth manor to check if she is home safe.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine, Robyn,” Amanda said, hugging her knees. “That girl knows how to defend herself.”
Much guffawed. “’Tis the truth, Miriam hath bested many a rogue with ’er bow. ’Tis a shame Sir Robert won’t let ’er shoot ’er bow in the archery tourney on May Day.”
“Why hath Miriam never told me about sneaking into the castle to bring food to the prisoners?” Robyn asked.
Amanda held up her hand, counting off her fingers. “One, she probably didn’t want you worrying, and two, same reason you feed the lepers and make canes for the cripple.”
Robyn eyed her strangely. Amanda smiled. “She told me what you do for the stricken and poor of Nottingham. Maybe she wants to help too.”
Alan a’Dale strummed his lute. “Hmm, helping the poor and besting a rogue? It sounds like a good gest to me.”
“You think this is all a joke, dude?” Jordan growled. Amanda jumped. Jordan flexed his fingers and tightened his hand into a ball. He stood up, his jaw set like a hungry leopard.
“Take it easy, Jordan,” Melody said calmly. “Alan’s talking about a ‘gest’ with a G. It’s a long poem that tells a story.”
“I wish I knew what was going on,” Treena muttered to Drake. “It’s like going to a movie then having to get up, go out, come back in, get up, go out, come back in, over and over again.”
Drake grunted. “Yeah, or figuring out only half of a physics equation.”
Treena wrinkled her brow. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You’re both not missing much,” Amanda said, standing. “Miriam’s still unaccounted for, Robyn’s worried, Alan’s trying to be creative, and Jordan’s being a gigantic douche.”
Jordan growled and pushed her. Amanda put on her warrior face and pushed back. Jordan clenched his teeth and pushed her harder. Stumbling two steps back, Amanda grounded herself, and just as she was about to throw her weight into it, Melody stepped between her and Jordan.
“That’s quite enough, you two!” she yelled, wagging a finger.
Tuck whimpered and crawled behind Treena. Melody shot Amanda a warning look and then turned her attention to Jordan. “I know you’re angry, Jordan, but this sort of attitude is not helping anyone, especially your uncle. We’re a team, and we’re in this together, whether you like it or not. We’ll figure out something, you’ll see. My father used to say—”
“Your dad’s a knight, Melody! My uncle’s just a professor!” Jordan cut in, his nostrils flaring.
Melody stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jordan crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “If this happened to your dad instead of my uncle, betcha he’d have a team of knights ready to back him up and break him out. Look around at what I get stuck with for teammates!”
Amanda reached out to touch Melody’s shoulder. Melody’s body tightened, like an imaginary harness was reining her in. “Jordan’s just scared, Melody. Give him some space.”
Without saying another word, Melody sighed, sat down on the log, and poked at the fire.
“’Tis true, milady Melody?” Robyn asked, his face half in the shadows as he approached her. “Thy father is a knight?”
Melody looked exhausted, like there was no more fight left in her. She nodded, and said, “Yes, Robyn, but my father has been gone for many years now.”
“Killed in the Crusades, milady Melody?” Jean asked softly.
Melody stared blankly into the fire and said, “I truly wish that were so, Jean.”
Ravi sat upright. His face hardened. “That’s a pretty cold-hearted thing to say, Melody,” he said a little too boldly.
Melody licked her bottom lip and nodded. “Perhaps it is, Ravi. But at least I would have peace back in my life. At least I would know what happened.” Then Melody hung her head and stared into the fire as if going in a trance. “Twenty years ago my father took my three-year-old daughter on a trip to meet an old family friend in the country. When they failed to show up, I received a frantic message informing me they were missing.” Melody’s voice suddenly changed, as if she were drowning, fighting to get out the words. “The authorities…were notified. An intensive search…was done. No bodies—” she paused to wipe her eyes and mouth “—or evidence ever turned up.”
The only sound Amanda heard was the crackling of the fire. Her shoulders sagged. Ravi was wrong. Melody wasn’t cold-hearted. She was broken-hearted. Amanda bent down, wrapped her thin arms around Melody, and gave her a squeeze.
“I’m sorry, Melody,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you ever tell us?”
Jordan snorted. “News flash, Amanda. Melody never shares anything about her past.”
Melody sniffed. “That’s because I try not to dwell on my past, Jordan. It…it hurts too much. If…if you’ll all excuse me.” She broke away from Amanda and hurried out of the cave.
Jean le Nailor started after Melody. Before Jean disappeared into the darkness, he yelled out, “Fear not, Robyn, I will watch over her.”
Amanda clenched her teeth. “Oh, that’s great, Jockstrap! You’re about as sensitive as a rhino’s butt.”
“I’ll second that,” Drake said. “That was unsportsmanlike conduct, Jordan.”
/> “Yeah, and I’ll third it,” Treena added. “Ravi can join you in the time-out chair.”
Ravi wiped his mouth. “Sorry, it’s just that when Melody said she wished her father had been killed, she sounded cold and closed-up, like my father did on the day I crushed my hand in his stupid machine. All I was trying to do was help him by removing a pail that got stuck, but instead, he freaked and made me feel worthless, useless, like it was my fault.”
Treena nudged Ravi. “It was never your fault, Ravi. Maybe your dad was just scared. Besides, it’s nothing that a little one-on-one therapy won’t fix.”
“Yeah, Sharma, you can probably use Mui’s shrink,” Drake said, grinning.
Jordan raked his hand through his damp hair. He took a deep breath in, then out, as if the bluster had gone out of him. “My bad too, guys. But I didn’t think Melody would freak out like she did. I mean, you all gotta admit, she is kind of secretive.”
“She may be secretive, but she’s honest,” Treena said. “Like it or not, she’s right—we’re a team.” Then she put her hand out. “So let’s start acting like it.”
Jordan placed his hand on top of Treena’s. Ravi covered their hands with his prosthesis, followed by Drake, leaving the topper to Amanda. “Goooo Timekeepers!” they yelled together.
Alan a’Dale grunted. “Must thou yell? I’m composing a ballad for the morrow to sing for the good people of Nottingham.”
“But, Alan, aren’t you afraid of getting caught again?” Amanda asked.
He chuckled lightly. “Nay, my muse, I shall hide amongst the minstrels, jongleurs, fencers, and jesters wandering the streets. Too much merriment and mischief will be going on for the guards to bother with a rogue like me.”
Alan a’Dale resumed strumming and plucking on his lute, playing with words and metaphors and rhymes the way Amanda did when she composed a poem. The sound of lowered voices drifted to Amanda. She looked behind her. Robyn had led Much to the back of the cave. The odd word filtered to her. She made out Miriam not acting like ’erself, from Much, and ’Tis most odd, from Robyn. But that was all she could hear.
The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis Page 12
