King's War: The Knights of Breton Court 3

by Maurice Broaddus

  "D-d-dred," Fathead stuttered.

  "Every time that name comes off your lips, I know."

  "Dred, you ain't got to…" Red protested.

  Prez moved into a colder, more frightened place.

  "You, I'll deal with in a minute. I don't care if I'm dry-shooting as that joint, my name will not be disrespected. You feel me."

  "Yeah."

  "What's my name?"

  "Dred," Fathead said.

  "You want to say my name, fine. You do so to po-po and…"

  Shadows erupted from the corners of the room. Strands, ebon ropes lashed at him. Two fear-forms held him fast, vaguely human-shaped, at each arm. Four strands latched on to the corners of his mouth, pulling just taut enough to reveal his bleeding gum line. Two more strands hooked into each eye, holding them open. Thousands of threads sprang from the carpet like a harvest of night. They dug into the flesh around his neck, a penumbra obedience collar.

  "Here's the problem as I see it. This one here has been snitching. Gave me up. If I hadn't gotten you all out of there, who knew who else he would have given up."

  "Let me at that snitch bitch," Naptown Red said.

  "Don't worry, he didn't give you up. You ain't significant enough to warrant police attention. However, you did vouch for him."

  Naptown Red pulled out his gun. He was at a crossroads moment and had only seconds to make his play. Were he a man of deep thought and methodical planning – or simply had the time to weigh his options – he might have shot Fathead on the spot and thrown himself on Dred's mercy, banking on the show of loyalty to buy him a few days or weeks. However, Red was a man of intuition and opportunity. Fathead had given up Dred's name but not his. What Dred hurled as an insult, Red interpreted as an advantage. He was an unknown, off the radar of Five-O. And Dred was here alone and preoccupied with binding or torturing Fathead. With a few shots, he could remove Dred as an obstacle and bind Fathead to him. Naptown Red fired off five rounds.

  Dred turned and waved his hand. The bullets seemed to move in slow motion. The bullets whirred past, their trajectories marking the air like spinning tracers. He moved out the way of all of them except the last one. He allowed that bullet to tear through the muscle of his arm. With a scientific detachment, the pain stabbed straight into his brain and he watched his blood as if experiencing both for the first time in centuries. With a flick of his wrists, he shot a spear of shadow at Naptown Red. The plume pierced his heart, leaving a frozen expression of surprise on his face. Naptown Red dropped to his knees, the Beretta fell from his hands, and then he toppled forward. Dred strolled over to the gun, scooped it up, and then walked over to Prez.

  "Don't let all that fool you. Magic takes a toll on a body. People weren't meant to wield it. We just weren't built for it. That kind of energy, even the dragon's breath, can burn up a person."

  Prez remained paralyzed in his chair, still unable to move.

  "We still have a problem, don't we? Red vouched for Fathead, but Fathead vouched for you. You see my dilemma, don't you?"

  Prez's body tensed as Dred pressed the cold metal of the Beretta against the back of his neck. Prez could feel exactly how many hairs it disturbed, conscious of every quaver in the man's hand, down to his pulse. Though the chaos of his thoughts threatened to consume him, he fought to stay calm. A serene calm, one that came with the knowledge that his life was held in a trigger finger. One twitch and it was like blowing out a candle.

  "Nakia."

  "What's that?"

  "Nakia. King's daughter."

  "Oh, now that is a useful bit of information. Names have power."

  With a gentle squeeze, the candle's flame was snuffed out.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Percy walked along the sidewalk closest to the traffic of Michigan Street, his protective nature wanting to stand between potential danger and Had. As much a herding instinct as Kay who trotted alongside them, working in tandem to keep Had on the sidewalk. With school out, the days were even less structured for Percy. He dropped his little brothers and sisters off at Big Momma's place. They'd be able to go to the park across from Breton Court, at School 109. There was a free lunch program there and they'd be able to play. On an overcast day like today, they probably wouldn't be able to break out the Slip 'n Slide and have a time. But they might. He pictured them in their little bathing suits, squealing with delight and shivering on Big Momma's porch when they ran into the shade. He missed being young.

  Percy was seventeen.

  A lifetime had passed during his high school years. But one more year and he'd be out. He never believed he would have made it, but between Wayne and Outreach Inc, and King, he could imagine himself graduating. He'd allowed himself the thoughts of going to college, Ivy Tech or some other trade school. He loved to cook. But these were dreams of tomorrow. As always, he had to make it through today first.

  "I don't like storms," Percy said. Had turned to him as they walked, not breaking stride, but attentive. "See them clouds over there? Every time I see one, they get closer and closer, like they're chasing me."

  Had ran his fingers into Kay's fur.

  "It's okay though, cause they never catch me. They roll over me and make a lot of noise, but they never get me. I still don't like them, though."

  They ambled along the street. Percy spent as much time on the west side as he did on the east these days, but the east side was still his comfort spot. He stayed at the Phoenix Apartments, but hung out all over. So when he thought of searching for the cup and Rhianna's ring, he immediately thought of the castle.

  The castle was a house at Michigan Street and Dearborn Avenue. Word was that back in the day, it was originally built for the Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan. Percy knew the neighborhood. A man pedaled down the street on a slightly rusted mountain bike. An olive-green knapsack slung across his back. Percy waved at him, receiving a head nod in return. The man sold bootleg DVDs in the neighborhood, his current stock including that week's film releases and a plethora of kung fu flicks. Wearing only a pair of tighty whiteys, an old white man rocked back and forth on a porch watching the traffic pass by, beer in one hand. Three days' worth of facial hair stubbled his face. Gray streaked his chest hair.

  "Hey, Kool-Aid," the man shouted, a shot at Percy's red shirt stretched over his bulbous frame.

  "Hey." It wasn't the first time he had heard the reference. It didn't bother him. Not really.

  "Weather's gonna break soon."

  "Sure hope so. It's hot. Heat does strange things to folks."

  "Where you heading?"

  "Off to a castle. Looking for a cup," Percy said in a matter-of-fact tone as if that perfectly explained everything.

  "Oh yeah!" The man imitated the cry from the Kool-Aid commercial.

  Had's face didn't register a flicker of emotion. Only a quizzical gaze as if not understanding any of it, then returning to their trek, moved by whatever unfelt wind filled his sails. If he had the words to describe his emotions or reason for accompanying Percy, they like most everything else went unvoiced. His small hands tugged at Percy's side then pointed to a boy on a cell phone.

  "Why'd you have to tell her that?" A scrawny white kid in a wife-beater tank top shouted into a cell phone. Despite the heat, he wore over-sized blue jean shorts and a wool cap. Wisps of red hair sprouted along his jaw line and the sun deeply freckled his skin. The boy pled in a tone usually reserved for a girlfriend going emotional on a guy or a buddy about to bust his alibi. Then, in that way moods could swing without warning, the boy turned angry. He paced back and forth, a caged animal about to buck. "All right, motherfucker. I'm going to come over there and kick your ass."

  The boy darted into his house and cut out the backdoor into an alley. Hopping the fence, he dashed through another yard in time to meet another white dude as he exited his house. Blackhaired, thin in the face, a toothpick to one side, his well-worn Reggie Miller jersey showed off his sleeve of tattoos down each arm. He spit out his toothpick. The two veritably sn
arled as they charged one another. The sleeve-tattooed boy ducked under the freckled kid's lunge, grabbed his legs, and took his feet out from under him in a backyard UFC move. Once the freckled kid hit the ground, the house whose yard he had cut through emptied, as did the house the sleeve tattooed boy came out of.

  Chaos erupted all about Percy, Had, and Kay, who remained motionless, not drawing any attention to themselves. Kay bared his teeth and gums, barking rapidly then snatching at the air with his jaws. A feral glint in his eye warding off the encroaching madness.

  "Come on, let's get you out of here before you get hurt." The voice came from behind them, but Kay knew him by smell and calmed as he neared. Lott had the sullen appearance of someone used to spending too much time alone.

  "Lott. We're on a quest," Percy said, barely able to contain his excitement.

  "Later, little brother. It's getting a little crazy out here."

  A wood-chipper truck stopped in the middle of the street, held up by the melee. A mailman kicked his feet up in his truck, drinking a pop and watching the show. Someone shouted "they're coming to arrest your ass" as the police, an ambulance, and a fire truck pulled up.

  Emotions over-crowded Lott's brain. Nostalgia. Guilt. Shame. Loss. Parts of him no longer wanted the obligations of friendship because it reminded him of old times, which was too much for him to handle. They knew who he was, what he was, and how he did things. They cheered him on as he rampaged through life. They exalted his exploits and not-so-secretly thrilled then encouraged him to greater heights of violence. Then they dropped him when he became inconvenient to them though called on him when they needed him. He wanted to bray about being used, perhaps muster up the energy to play the martyr, but he could only manage enough to feel sorry for himself.

  Percy knew the neighborhood. Black folks, white folks, Hispanic folks – united by their ubiquitous poverty more than anything else – settling into isolated pockets within the community. Living mostly comfortably, sometimes not so, among each other. He also knew the houses on the block.

  And he believed even houses became ghosts haunting neighborhoods.

  Set away from the street and somewhat distanced from the surrounding houses, as if they shrank away from it preferring to crowd the rest of the block, the two-story house at Michigan Street and Dearborn Avenue loomed over the intersection. An old Tudor-styled home with a spire as a turret. Two stone, winged lions guarded its entrance. The entire property was fenced by razor wire, designed to echo the women's facility just west of it. That was how the house appeared to most, but when Percy walked by it, out the corner of his eye, or perhaps though a disturbance in his spirit, the house was greater. A many-roomed mansion, three stories. A red castle with flourishes of turrets. An egg-shaped keystone with a tower, the illumination of a winter's solstice within its sacred geometry.

  "You sure this is the place?" Lott asked.

  "Aren't you? You knew it, too."

  A fact Lott couldn't argue. "We got to clear this fence. You up for it, Percy?"

  "What about Kay?"

  "Can't he wait here?"

  "He needs to go with us."

  "Okay." Lott eyed the dog, who lowered itself as if trying to shrink. "I'll carry Kay."

  They scouted the perimeter of the house. The property took up much of the block with the alley behind it littered with rocks and overgrown shrubbery. A poplar tree grew barely within the property, thick, low-lying branches stretched over. Percy lifted Had up to the branch. Scrabbling up with a natural grace, the small boy scampered along the branch and landed in the yard before either Percy or Lott could tell him to wait. Percy grunted as he hefted his bulk up, heaving a massive leg over the branch, which bent in quiet submission to his mass. Taking advantage of the lowered branch, Lott scooped up Kay and began to slide onto the branch, as Percy slid along. The branch creaked and strained under the weight of all three. Not wanting to risk his friends, Percy tumbled awkwardly out of the tree, landing hard.

  "You okay?" Lott tried to keep his voice down.

  "I'm all right." Percy was slow to get up, and limped toward Had.

  Crossing over the razor wire, Lott allowed Kay to leap down before dropping down behind him. The tree branches shadowed a stone at its base. Surrounded by strange symbols, the number 1362 carved into it. Percy traced them with his finger. They seemed important, but he didn't know how to interpret them. He wished King or Merle were here as they were so much smarter than him and always seemed to know what to do. He missed his friends. They all seemed so sad these days. Big Momma always gave him a hug when he was depressed like this. Lott looked like he needed a hug. So Percy wrapped his huge arms around him.

  Lott instinctively flinched, unsure how to react, struggling against the embrace at first. Then, he relaxed, succumbing to the act of being loved.

  "What was that for?" Lott asked.

  "You looked like you needed it."

  "Now?"

  "Why not now?"

  "I… thanks, Percy." Lott clapped him on the arm and gave it a squeeze. The darkness in him shifted a bit.

  Lott turned toward the house. Had tugged at his pant leg, gesturing for him to bend over. When he leaned down, Had wiped a tear from his face he didn't realize was there, then threw his slight arms around him, too. He didn't understand everything that was going on. But he knew when people were hurting and wanted to take away their pain.

  "Okay, li'l man. I get it. Thanks." Lott was a strong man. Not one prone to admitting when something inside him broke, like an ice sheath cracking. "Come on."

  They moved in silence, though Percy strained to keep his lumbering gait quiet. Had's lightness made him mobile. Filled with the swell of mission and purpose, Lott took point. The rear patio doors were unlocked. Percy had the sensation of the house being larger on the inside than on the outside. They skulked along a thin hallway, Percy edging slowly at an angle to allow him to pass through. The servants' hallway opened into a linen room. Empty cupboards, cabinet doors removed from their hinges, covered in cobwebs against the creeping black of mold as the original wallpaper was exposed in patches, where not shorn from the wall.

  They entered the dining room from the pantry. A boarded-up side door led out to a porch. One of the occupants had attempted at some point to lay down a stretch of carpet. Old glue streaked the wood floor along with blobs of paint, matted by half-rotted pieces of carpet in places.

  Having squatted in his share of homes, Percy recognized one when he entered it. However, with this much room – larger inside than it should be, as if they'd entered a new space entirely – there should be many folks staying there. In some of his spots, if it was a good place, he couldn't stop others from coming in and claiming a room.

  Kay growled. Had patted his side to reassure him.

  Strange illumination filled the house as if emanating from the walls themselves. They approached the living room, with its curving wall, when the stench first hit them. Rotted meat mixed with the pungent smell of thick ammonia. And piles of shit. A cloying animal musk coated their tongues. The living room opened into a large foyer with a domed ceiling.

  The creature parading about in it stopped them in their tracks.

  A strange amalgamation of animals. White downy chest, with brown wings tucked in over its body, the feathers swept up its front to the face of a falcon. It had the forelegs of a large bird yet the hind legs of a lion producing its awkward gait. The rear half of the creature's long and sleek body, starting behind its elegant shoulders, was that of a jungle cat. Thick plates of muscles, mostly hidden by the draping wings, eventuating in a tail which was the body of a huge python, swishing about with an unsettling slither.

  Lott pushed the boys back around the corner. When he peered around again, the beast's falcon head turned his direction, its eyes focused with the pupil dilation of spotting prey. But it remained frozen as if daring him to come out. It guarded a double staircase, steeped in shadows. Had snuggled into Kay, not so much scared as much as reassuring the dog
that he was okay. Kay licked his cheek.

  "Ever see anything like that?" Percy asked.

  "I saw a heron once. It looked lost, like it meant to land somewhere else. But it walked around like it owned the place before it took off again," Lott said.

  "I seen hawks and falcons fly downtown and nest in buildings. A snake once. I don't like snakes. Nothing like that."

  "You all get out of here. I can't let you go on."

  "What about the cup? What about King?" Percy asked.

  "I'll get it. I owe King that much. But it's too dangerous for–"