Jordan frowned. “My dignity. I don’t do hose.”
Drake and Ravi stifled a laugh. Melody waved them off.
“We all have to make sacrifices, Jordan,” Professor Lucas said, pushing up his visor. “What do you say, tiger? We’d be a team.”
Jordan grunted. “Easy for you to say. You get to wear the cool armor.” He sighed deeply. Amanda could tell Jordan was caving fast. “Fine, I’ll do it, but if anyone says one thing about this when we get back home, I swear I’ll—”
“Lighten up, Jockstrap, your secret’s safe with us,” Amanda cut in. “Besides, we’re Timekeepers, who we gonna tell?”
After a quick change and some primping and preening, Jordan was good to go. Drake offered to carry his backpack while he escorted his uncle down to the field to offer Robyn the arrows as a gift. From inside the knight’s tent, Amanda watched the professor clank down the hill, followed by Jordan, trying desperately not to pull up his baggy hose. Both Drake and Ravi were still trying not to laugh. As Professor Lucas and Jordan got closer to Robyn, the crowd went wild.
A spectator yelled out, “Yea, ’tis Sir Gavin the Just!”
“Who?” Treena asked.
Much snorted loudly. He slapped his forehead.
“What’s up with him?” Drake asked.
Miriam shook her head. “’Tis not good. The people think they cheer their champion, Sir Gavin, a goodly knight who wins many tourneys. The crowd will demand a tilt.”
“What’s a tilt?” Ravi asked.
“They will wish to see a show of strength and prowess,” Jean explained.
“Meaning?” Treena asked.
Melody slapped her forehead. “Bloody hell, they want to see John joust.”
Amanda chewed her bottom lip. She did not want to see two knights on their armored horses charging at each other with long, pointy lances. Amanda wanted to see Robyn win the archery contest so that she and her time traveling cohorts could go home to White Pines.
“Do you think the prof knows anything about jousting?” Drake asked.
Ravi grunted. “Probably about as much as Jordan knows about wearing hose.”
There was a sudden hush in the crowd as Sheriff Marc sauntered over to stand next to Professor Lucas. He waved his arms in the air.
“Good people of Nottingham, thou shall have thy day! After my coz, Sir Guy, defeats the lucky Earl of Huntingdon with his next shot, Sir Gavin has agreed to delight you with his skills on the jousting field!”
Cheers, claps, and shouts ripped through the air.
A nasty jolt expressed through Sir Gavin’s armor told Amanda that Professor Lucas had agreed to no such thing. It was all a political ploy—the sheriff’s way of manipulating the people of Nottingham into thinking he cared about their wants and needs. Sheriff Marc led the professor off of the field so that the final shots could be taken. Jordan, with his head covered and down, shuffled over to where Robyn stood and passed him the quiver of arrows. Good. At least Robyn got what he needed. Jordan stalled momentarily and Amanda swore that she saw him flip Robyn a thumbs up sign.
Sir Guy, who was dressed completely in black, nocked his arrow, studied the target for a moment, then pulled back on his string and let the arrow loose. It was a perfect shot. Bull’s-eye. Dead center. Amanda gulped.
Next up was the Earl of Huntingdon—alias Robyn Hodekin, a.k.a. Robin Hood. He bowed before the cheering people and took his stance. Robyn carefully chose an arrow from his quiver and raised his bow. He calmly nocked his arrow, pulled it back, then paused for a least a minute, as if he were in a deep trance.
“Hurry up, Huntingdon!” Sir Guy heckled. “I would like to go spend my prize money before the tavern closes!”
Robyn ignored his jeers. He seemed to be in another world. Amanda knew this world well. It was the same place she visited when composing a poem. She smiled dreamily just as Robyn let his arrow go. It flew straight into Sir Guy’s arrow and split it in two. Amanda’s eye’s bulged at the moment of impact. Robyn had bettered his best! The crowd went crazy, clapping, stomping, and laughing as Sir Guy fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands.
The sheriff didn’t look too pleased as he marched over to Robyn and awarded him his prize. Robyn hungrily grabbed the purse of gold, stuffed it down his breeches, and then held up the silver arrow to share with the people of Nottingham. He started to back away but didn’t get far because a rut in the grass twisted his foot around. Stumbling, Robyn went down, fast and hard. He dropped the silver arrow as his stilts were ripped away from his body.
Sheriff Marc glared at him. “What trickery is this?” Then he gasped. “Robin Hood! Guards, seize yon rogue!”
Two guards roughly plucked Robyn up. Max Tarbush stormed over, grabbed Robyn’s face, and viciously squeezed it. Wax craters popped off and dropped to the ground. He laughed wickedly, making the hairs on Amanda’s arms rise. She shuddered as Tarbush dove into his jacket pocket and pulled out a set of playing cards. They glittered in the sunlight, and Amanda knew they were the same metallic razor cards he’d used to attack them earlier.
“We gotta do something,” Drake said.
“But what? We can’t fight a whole army of the sheriff’s men,” Ravi replied. “That would be suicide!”
Panicking, Amanda reached for the Timekeepers’ log to look for some kind of clue they could use to help Robyn. She stared at the riddle she had written what seemed a lifetime ago. She read it over again and again. Nothing clicked for her. The sound of a lute strumming near the tent broke her concentration.
“Muse? Where art thou?” Alan a’Dale asked as his feet padded through the grass.
She rolled her eyes. “In here, Alan.”
Alan a’Dale swaggered into the tent like a rooster claiming his hen. “I’m done with my gest, muse. Listen to my first verse.”
Amanda shook her head. “Alan, I don’t have time—” His music drowned out the crowd momentarily, allowing her to pay attention to his lyrics, to hear what he had to say.
“Robin Hood in Sherwood stood. Hooded and hosed and shod. Four and twenty arrows he shot. And no one thought he could.” Alan a’Dale sang, whistled, and plucked. “And no one thought he could—”
Her body hummed in harmony listening to Alan’s music. The answer to the Timekeeper riddle hit her like a bolt from the blue. Yes, Ravi was right—they couldn’t fight a whole army—at least not with weapons. But they could fight with words. Words of power and justice that would restore the balance Belial had disrupted here.
Amanda banged the log shut. “Even the score! We’ve gotta even the score!”
“Great. Sault’s popped a few brain cells,” Drake muttered.
“No, listen, Drake, remember what you said to Crowley? About how Timekeepers are here to create chaos so that order can continue?”
Drake nodded. “So?”
“So it’s time to do just that! We have to start spreading the good news about the real Robin Hood. Tell as many people as we can what we’ve learned about him, about his adventures, and what he does for the poor of Nottingham. That way, the people will side with Robyn. It’s not lies, it’s the truth. We have to split up and tell everybody we can find about this living legend!”
Alan a’Dale stopped playing. “Dost thou wish me to share my gest with the people, muse?”
Amanda laughed and hugged him. “Yes. Share it with as many people as you can, Alan. Make your gest your quest.”
Alan a’Dale hugged Amanda fiercely back. “I shall wander the countryside far and wide, and share my gest with other minstrels. ’Tis my promise to thee, muse.” Then he let her go, bowed, and before leaving the tent, the wandering jongleur turned and winked. “I bid thee farewell, Amanda.”
Melody snapped her fingers. “Yes, it all makes sense now. Belial changed things by turning Sheriff Marc against Robyn, so we must even the score—balance what has been done by delivering the truth to the people. Come on, everyone, we don’t have much time! We’ll meet back on this hill when everyo
ne’s done!”
Treena groaned. “Too bad we couldn’t just tweet the good stuff about Robyn.”
Much scrunched his pudgy face. “Why would thou want us to tweet like birds?”
“Never mind!” Amanda, Ravi, Drake, and Melody yelled together as they exited the tent.
The Timekeepers hit the streets of Nottingham, spreading the good deeds of Robyn Hodekin. They were talking so fast that some people were getting Robyn’s name mixed up, while others got the message right away. Robin Hood? Robert Fitzooth? Robert, Earl of Huntingdon? The worst for taking information were the monks. They kept asking about Tuck’s origins—and got it all wrong when someone yelled fire. Somehow Tuck became a friar. It got more confusing as Amanda tried to explain things. People started gossiping that Robyn lived in Sherwood Forest instead of Robert Fitzooth’s manor, and “Little” Jean suddenly became John because someone had pronounced Jean’s name with a mouthful of bread and cheese. It spread like wildfire.
When Amanda had told as many people as she could find about Robyn, his friends, and their good deeds, she hustled back up the hill. She reached the top gasping and gulping fresh air. Amanda hooded her eyes with a hand and waited for Belial’s neatly lined dominoes to start falling over.
Suddenly, mob mentality kicked in, and the people got enraged. They demanded Robyn’s release. Crowds began shoving the guards, chanting angry threats and throwing rotten vegetables at them. Max Tarbush clutched the front of Robyn’s tunic and dragged him away from the encroaching horde. He chortled again, then fanned out his deck of metallic cards and stuck them under the base of Robyn’s throat. Amanda clasped her neck. She knew Tarbush was capable of anything, even if it meant killing Robyn to give Belial the outcome his evil heart desired—no Robin Hood, no symbol of hope, no history of a legendary hero. Gone, erased, deleted with the flick of madman’s wrist.
Then Amanda caught sight of Jordan winding through the crowd. Something was in his hands. He held it in a familiar way, as if it were a football. Jordan’s hood was pulled back, his left hand methodically slapping against whatever he was clutching. He appeared to be pacing, looking for an opening. Amanda removed her hand from her throat and continued to stare at Jordan’s odd behavior. Whatever he was doing, he seemed focused on his intention. Jordan suddenly stood still, nodded, then hurled what Amanda realized was a deformed turnip toward the back of Max Tarbush’s head. It whacked him hard and threw him off balance. The impact caused Tarbush to release his razor cards, giving Robyn enough time to weasel out of his hold. He lunged for his prize—the silver arrow—and plunged it into Tarbush’s stomach before he had time to regain his weapons or his wits.
An enraged screech escaped Max Tarbush’s mouth. Amanda covered her mouth. Black slime oozed out of his eyes, mouth, nostrils, and stomach, saturating his entire body at an incredible rate. His body gurgled, bubbled, and fizzled as if his insides were boiling over, reaching the point of no return. What was left of Maxwell J. Tarbush stumbled backward, tripped into a pile of manure, and dissolved in it, leaving Robyn’s silver arrow behind, untarnished.
Jordan sprinted over, plucked the arrow out of the manure, and handed it to Robyn. He yelled something about team spirit and chest bumped Robyn. Grinning, Robyn clasped Jordan around the shoulders and slapped him roughly. Amanda shook her head. Boys will be boys.
Hearing harsh breathing coming from each side of her, Amanda turned to find Miriam, Treena, Drake, Ravi, and Much returning from their heralding. She hooded her eyes with a hand. Melody, Jean, and Wil were at the bottom of the hill, still talking to some of the townspeople.
“OMG!” Treena yelled, still huffing. She pointed. “T-The sheriff and his men…they’re heading for Robyn and Jordan!”
Startled, Amanda cast her eyes back in time to witness the sheriff, with his sword drawn, running toward Robyn and Jordan. He had managed to thwart the ranting crowd and seemed hell-bent on finishing what Belial had started. However, Sheriff Marc didn’t see the white horse approaching fast on his right flank. Amanda smiled. Sir Gavin the Just maneuvered his steed over enough to cut the sheriff off and knock him down, then galloped over to where Jordan and Robyn waited. He hoisted the boys up on the horse just as Sheriff Marc got back on his feet. The muddied sheriff bellowed a curse, wielded his sword, and started to charge again.
“Robyn Hodekin!” Miriam screamed out. “Thou art my champion!”
Robyn looked directly at Miriam. Even Amanda could feel the intensity of their connection. He nodded, pulled his bow from his shoulders, nocked the silver arrow, aimed it at the advancing sheriff, and let it go. The sheriff’s sword was shot out of his hand, causing him to stumble and fall. His men scattered as the cheering crowd rushed toward Sheriff Marc, pelting him with rotten vegetables and fresh cow dung.
Amanda’s jaw dropped when she spotted a familiar face leading the pack. “Mortimer!” she shouted.
Mortimer stopped and glanced up the hill. Amanda waved at him. A bright yellow tunic and green pants had replaced his tattered clothing, and his white hair was clean and cut. He placed a hand over his brow and squinted momentarily.
“Amanda? ’Tis thee?”
Amanda cupped her mouth with her hands. “Yes! Good to see you’re free, Mortimer!”
“Aye! Thou hast brought me and my people luck! Bless thee, Amanda!” Then Mortimer turned and resumed his assault on the wayward sheriff.
Amanda clapped and whistled as Sir Gavin—a.k.a. Professor Lucas—saluted the people of Nottingham. The crowd opened up a pathway for their knight, his squire, and their newfound champion to let them pass while poor Sheriff Marc was getting pummeled. The horse kicked the ground, reared, and galloped toward the hill where Amanda and the others were observing.
Robyn jumped down first, followed by Jordan, who quickly peeled off his squire hose and cloak and chucked them. Professor Lucas dismounted slowly, groaning as if he hadn’t been on a horse for a long time. Melody, Jean, and Wil reached the crest of the hill to finally join them, out of breath and clapping. The professor pulled off his feathered helm and took a deep breath. His cheeks were ruddy, his hair was damp, and sweat dripped down the sides of his face.
He shook his head. “Whew! I don’t think I’m cut out for knighthood.”
Melody smiled and walked up to him. With the sleeve of her blouse she gently blotted his sweaty face. “I don’t know about that, John. I’d say you’re skills on the jousting field definitely delighted me.”
The professor’s face turned beet red.
Drake ran up and high-fived Jordan. “That was wicked-awesome, Jordan. You nailed Tarbush good! That had to be your best throw this year!” Drake slid Jordan’s knapsack off his shoulder and handed it over to him.
Jean slapped Robyn on the back. “Well done, Robyn! Thou art a longbow man after all!”
“Aye, coz, ’tis the truth,” Wil added with a grin. “Even the young maidens from the village talk about thee!”
Miriam made a noise that sounded like a pig’s snort.
Robyn went into his breeches, pulled out the leather purse full of the gold he’d been awarded, and tossed it to Miriam. He sheepishly smiled. “I won for thee, Miriam. ’Twill be enough to carry thy household a goodly year or more.”
Miriam stared at the pouch. Her thumb stroked the soft leather. “But…art thou not staying with us?” she asked. There was a hint of sadness in her voice.
Robyn shook his head. “Nay, Miriam, ’tis too dangerous for thee and thy father. Sheriff Marc will try to hunt me down.”
“Zounds, then we shall form a band and live in the protection of Sherwood Forest,” Jean announced as he banged the ground with his staff.
“Aye, Robyn,” Wil said. “We will become the foxes whilst the sheriff and his men become the chickens.”
“Aye and thou knowest how me and Tuck love to eat chickens,” Much added, as he patted his big belly and stroked Tuck’s shaggy head.
Tuck barked and wagged his tail, almost tripping over his massive paws.
Robyn blushed. He glanced at Amanda and mouthed thank you to her.
Amanda smiled just about the same time she felt a sudden jolt in her chest. This strange, yet persuasive feeling radiated up toward her neck and face. She glanced down and saw that her Babel was vibrating and glowing. Things started to turn blurry. Buildings, carts, tents, animals, Robyn, Miriam, and the others went fuzzy, formless, as if evaporating into the air. Only Melody, Professor Lucas, and her classmates remained solid, real. A sudden gust of wind caressed her, and Amanda felt her whole body spin and move. She heard a sound like a door sliding open and looked around. The Arch of Atlantis stood a few steps away from her.
Reaching for the Timekeepers’ log in the bib of her overalls, Amanda pulled it out, unlatched the clasp and turned over the front cover to reveal the crystal trident. She carefully removed it and stuffed the log back down her bib. Amanda walked up to the closest column, stuck her foot into a crevice, and climbed up to place the trident in the keystone of the arch. A face suddenly appeared in the archway.
It was Lilith, and she was beaming.
19. Mission Accomplished
“Well done, Timekeepers,” Lilith announced. “Time has remained unchanged. All is well, and everything is as it should be.”
Amanda blew out a sigh of relief. Good. Timekeepers—one. Belial—nothing.
“What was Max Tarbush’s creepy comeback all about, Lilith?” Jordan asked.
“Max Tarbush is what is called a dreg, Jordan Jensen,” Lilith explained.
Drake wrinkled his brow. “I can think of a better name for Tarbush, Lilith. Scum-sucking bottom feeder comes to mind.”
“Your description is closer than you think, Drake Bailey. Dregs are people who have done nothing but give the worst part of themselves to the world while they were alive. Belial collects dregs and sends them out to act on his behalf. But fear not, as dregs can be easily identified by the black slime they ooze.”
The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis Page 18
