Castle Juliet

by Brandon Berntson

  CASTLE JULIET

  by

  Brandon Berntson

  Copyright © 2013 Brandon Berntson.

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  No part of this e-book may be copied or sold.

  Cover Art Crecelius Castle by Mark Lupo used by permission

  For Diane Louise Evans,

  Worlds away,

  In the time before now—

  Word by word

  And stone by stone—

  I built this castle for you…

  Table of Contents:

  CHAPTER I

  WAGON WHEEL

  CHAPTER II

  NOTHING PRETENDED

  CHAPTER III

  IN SEARCH OF THE HOLY GRAIL

  CHAPTER IV

  TORK MCGUCKIN AND THE RANDY BAND

  OF REBEL SURVIVORS

  CHAPTER V

  JACK TURNS INWARD

  CHAPTER VI

  JACK’S PISTOLS ARE LOADED

  CHAPTER VII

  HAPPY HEARTS MAKE FOR GOOD HOLIDAYS

  CHAPTER VIII

  FEASTS AND MERRYMAKING

  CHAPTER IX

  FROSTY RAISES THE PINK FLAG,

  AND PHILLIP FINDS ANGELS AT HIS TABLE

  CHAPTER X

  ALICE MAKES TRACKS

  CHAPTER XI

  ALICE EMBARKS ON HER OWN FANTASY

  CHAPTER XII

  A STORM GIVES WAY TO PONDER

  CHAPTER XIII

  FRIENDSHIP AND THE ROUND TABLE

  CHAPTER XIV

  A REBEL DEFECTS;

  ALICE PLAYS A FATEFUL ROLE

  CHAPTER XV

  TIME IS MALLEABLE

  CHAPTER XVI

  A THRONE FOR A QUEEN

  PART I

  IN SUMMER WE PRETEND

  CHAPTER I

  WAGON WHEEL

  “What are you doing up there, Jack?”

  “Looking for lost treasure.”

  “In a tree?”

  Jack giggled from up above.

  “Treasures are underground,” she called to him.

  “Maybe I just wanted to wear this hat.”

  Alice shook her head. “What kind of hat?”

  “Well, a pirate’s hat, of course! I got it from a newspaper!”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Thank you, Alice. I love you, too, schmoopie-poo!”

  “Ugh,” Alice protested, making a face. “Don’t say ‘poo’. I hate that!”

  Jack giggled again. All Alice could see were his legs as she stood in the shade. The green leaves of the cottonwood and the branches hid the rest of him from view. The leaves rustled in a light breeze by the river. It was a bright, beautiful, summer day. Huge, billowy clouds drifted lazily under a pristine blue sky. To the west, mountains etched the horizon. The surrounding meadow stretched wide with high grass all around. A small stream rippled, meandering through the glade.

  Alice was wearing cowboy boots and a white, knee-length skirt with a summery top. It was too hot to wear anything else. Her red hair was thick and curly, spilling to the middle of her back like embers of copper. She had deep, penetrating, sea green eyes. Freckles spotted her round cheeks and small nose. Alice hated the freckles, but Jack said he liked them. They made her pretty in a unique, out-of-this-world sort of way.

  Looking up, all she could see were Jack’s pale, stick-like legs. He was small for his age. His blue tennis shoes were visible, a white sock pulled up to one knee, the other scrunched down by his ankle, lacking the elasticity of its counterpart. She could just make out his khaki shorts. Other than this, Jack was invisible.

  “There are no treasure in trees, Jack!” Alice called, again. “Treasures are underground! And you are not underground!”

  “Land-ho!” Jack called from up above. “I see a ship, Alice! Quick! Run! Hide! Black flag! Black flag!”

  Alice giggled. “You’re a goof, Jack!”

  “Not to worry, Juliet! I’ll build a kingdom of stars for thee!”

  “Stop it, Jack! And come down out of that tree!”

  “Alice, darling! The pirates! The pirates! Up in the tree with me, Alice dear! Hurry. There are rogues by the hundreds! I can see them! They fly over the water! They have wings!”

  “Jack, I have my cowboy boots on! I can’t climb!”

  “Why did you wear them things?” Jack’s voice sounded from above, suddenly serious.

  “I like them!”

  “Excuses,” Jack mumbled.

  Nevertheless, he started down. The branches creaked, the sound of his shoes scraping against rough bark. Once he was in plain sight, Jack plopped to the ground. Disheveled, long blond hair fell into his eyes under—what was—several pieces of newspaper folded to resemble a hat. It looked more like a boat to Alice. Jack had not been lying about it at least. It was from a newspaper. Jack had freckles, too, but only on his nose. They were brownish red. He wore a dark green T-shirt with War of the Worlds written across the front, people fleeing, spaceships flying in the background shooting lasers, and some explosions. It was an elaborate T-shirt, one of Jack’s favorites, and he wore it all the time.

  “Quick Alice!” Jack said, his eyes alight. “Around the tree! Pirates! Pirates! Bloody villains! They’ll pillage the village! They’ll take the women and children! You’re not safe, Alice! Hurry!”

  “Jack, stop it!” Alice said, though she couldn’t help but giggle. Sometimes, Alice felt she had to keep Jack in line, to parent him so to speak.

  “Ugh!” Jack said, not listening. He was—like the T-shirt—in a world all his own. He threw his hands dramatically to his heart as if he’d just been shot. He stumbled theatrically one way, then the other. “Oh, Alice dear! I’ve been hit! Wounded! Pierced! Run! Save the ponies! Save the ponies! We don’t want them to get the precious ponies, Alice! Oh! I’m so sorry! I failed thee, my love! Forgive me, schmoopie-poo!”

  “I said don’t call me that!” Alice said, but laughed anyway.

  Jack stumbled around, more like a drunken pirate than a wounded one, still holding his hands to his heart. He fell backwards onto the soft grass under the tree and threw his feet comically into the air. They fell to the ground shortly afterward. His body trembled with a series of spasms. He turned his head to the side and finally closed his eyes. His hat had fallen off. “I’m dead now, Alice,” he said. “You can kiss me.”

  “Not on you life.”

  “But Alice! Tis the only thing to save me, to bring me back to life.”

  “Toads, too, apparently,” Alice said.

  Jack kept his eyes closed.

  “Looks like you’ve drawn your last breath, pardner,” Alice said, folding her arms in defiance and turning in the opposite direction. She looked out over the fields.

  “Ugh! All this time,” Jack said. “Killed by pirates. Failed to find the lost treasure, and now dead, wounded, pierced. Have you no heart, milady? No sympathy?”

  Alice smiled, turned, knelt, and whispered in Jack’s ear: “I’m the Pirate Captain’s Wife. All part of my enterprise, Jacky Bristol. We have foiled your plan. We have come to pillage your village, and now we’re gonna throw you to the sharks.”

  “Pirates don’t have wives,” Jack said, opening his eyes, now sitting up on his elbows. “Duh!”

  “This is a newer, more contemporary breed of pirate.”

  “Ugh,” Jack said, falling back down. He closed his eyes again and put his hands to his heart. “Ruined by the ladies!”

  “Victory!” Alice shouted, throwing her hands into the air, as if her favorite team had scored a goal. The effect was so elaborate, Jack couldn’t help but laugh, closed eyes and all.

  *

  They walked for a ways in the shade by the stream. Jack put his paper hat back on after it had fallen of
f during his dramatic demise. He picked up a stick and was now swatting at the high grass. Suddenly, he stopped and cocked his head.

  “What now, Jack?”

  “Shhh,” Jack said, putting a finger to his lips. “Tigers roam here by the hundreds, dear Alice. The thousands! We must be careful!”

  “Actually, I think only six hundred tigers live in Asia. They’re an endangered species. It could be six thousand, I suppose. Still, it’s not very much.”

  Jack gave her a puzzled, reproachful look, and Alice coughed lightly into her hand. “Did you see any tigers, Jack?” she said, playing along.

  “Only the cubs,” Jack said. “But they’re mother’s sure to be around somewhere.”

  “Oh!” Alice exclaimed. “Look, Jack! There’s one now!” Alice bent down and picked up and imaginary tiger cub. “Isn’t he the cutest thing! He’s so soft and cuddly!”

  “Alice, have you gone completely marble-less? If that cub’s mother smells you on her cub, she’ll eat the poor tyke alive! Then she’ll eat you! Then, she’ll eat me! We don’t want that, do we, Alice?”

  Alice, feigning shock, dropped the cub to the ground, and paled. It was an impressive act, and it impressed Jack. Still, Alice replied, “You take the fun out of everything, Jack.”

  Jack ignored her and played along:

  “Run, Alice!” he suddenly shouted. “Run and hide! Here comes the mother tiger now! She’s got steam blowing out of her eardrums! They’re making trumpet calls! Ba-da-boom! Ba-da-boom! It’s gonna be a nasty fight, Alice! She’s got a hangnail, too! Look! Oh, man, I bet that hangnail is killing her! No wonder she’s so mad!”

  Alice had to suppress from laughing, perhaps because she didn’t understand the trumpet comment or that Ba-da-boom was more correct to the sound of a drum. She said nothing about this to Jack, however. He had to go at his own pace on his adventures.

  Jack moved in front of Alice, positioning himself between she and the ferocious tiger, a tiger of monstrous proportions—the size of a sea-dragon according to Jack’s imagination—because Jack was looking up at a beast at least seven-feet tall. “Alice,” Jack whispered. “Hand me my sword.”

  “You don’t have a sword,” Alice protested.

  “The stick, then,” Jack said.

  “You’re still carrying it.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He raised the stick, and here was Jack now with his khaki shorts and tennis shoes, his newspaper hat that looked like a boat, and his War of the Worlds T-shirt. Alice put her hand over her mouth to stifle more giggles.

  “This is gonna get ugly, Alice,” Jack said. “You’d better not watch.”

  “But, Jack!” Alice said. “It’s such a big, mean, beautif—I mean ferocious tiger, I’m terrified she’ll gobble you up. Oh, Jack, please! No! Let the poor, helpless, mother tiger go! Let’s just turn and run! Please, Jack! That tiger is ever-so vicious looking. That hangnail really has her in fits!”

  “Alice, as much as I hate to say it, there’s just no other way,” Jack said. “If we run, the tiger will surely give chase, and we’ll both be cub food. Better to stay and fight, dear Alice. Better one of us gets away, at least.”

  “Oh, Jack, you’re so brave!”

  Jack blushed and smiled. “Why, thank you, Alice.”

  Jack’s innocent crush on Alice was obvious, otherwise it wouldn’t have taken him so long to collect himself, but finally he did. “Now, stand aside, Alice dear. This is between Jacky Bristol and the Beast.”

  “Oh, Jack, no! Please! Do be careful!”

  Jack didn’t respond. He started maneuvering one way, low, holding his hands out on either side of him, the stick in one hand, preparing to wrestle the tiger.

  “Jack?”

  “Yes, Alice?” Jack whispered, eyes on the beast.

  “If you slay the mighty tiger—all vicious and mean and stuff—who will take care of the cubs?”

  This distracted Jack just enough. A puzzled look crossed his face, and in that instant, the tiger sprang. Jack fell backward onto the ground. Rather, he threw himself backward onto the ground, making it seem like the force of an invisible tiger had done it instead. Jack fought, twisted, clenched his eyes, wrestled massive paws one way, then the other, and bit his tongue between his teeth. A great cloud of dust arose. He rolled around on the grass and dirt. Huge clouds continued to drift under a bright summer sky. Perhaps the cloud of dust was slightly imaginary, too, but Alice could see it plainly.

  “Ugh!” Jack said. “This tiger has bad breath!” Still, he wrestled and fought. He swatted he tiger’s massive head with his sword-like-stick. The stick fell from his grasp. Jack seemed to have dropped it deliberately. “Blast!” he said.

  “Jack, is there anything I can do!” Alice clasped her hands together above her heart in perfect, melodramatic fashion.

  “Just—ugh—step back. She drooled on me!”

  “That’s gross!” Alice said.

  Jack continued to roll around. He fought the mighty beast, getting quite dirty. After a while, he kicked upwards with his knee, making the tiger yelp (sound effects provided by Jack, sounding nothing like a tiger but more like a wounded puppy). Surprisingly, the tiger bounded off, taking her cubs with her. She ran away on two feet, cradling the cubs in each hand like a human, tail disappearing in the high grass. Jack lay on his back, panting for breath.

  “I’ve been wounded, Alice! Kiss me!”

  Alice stepped over, got on her hands and knees, and looked at Jack. His eyes were closed. “Jack?”

  “Yeas, dear Alice?”

  “How come you always end up wounded, losing these fantastic battles of yours?”

  “I just saved you from the ferocious claws and teeth of a horrible monster, and this is the thanks I get?”

  “But it does seem strange, doesn’t it, Jack?”

  “Oh, Alice! Are you not going to tend to my wounds?”

  “What do I get out of it?”

  “Oh, Alice!”

  “You can take care of yourself, Jack. There’s a stream nearby. See? That should cleanse those wounds of yours.”

  “Alice? You have no heart, you know that?”

  “I could put a damp cloth on your forehead. You seem to be running a temperature.”

  *

  Jack Bristol and Alice Skylar had been friends for several years. They met in kindergarten at Storyville Elementary School, though it wasn’t until the first grade that Alice truly wanted to be Jack’s friend. They were in the fourth grade now, soon to be the fifth once school started at the end of summer. Though, they never talked much at first, at least on a personal level in class (what problems could these two have?), Jack was always getting on the teachers’ nerves. He’d raised his hand once, asking a question regarding arithmetic. This had been in the first grade. Numbers had been scrawled on the board. One of the equations was 5+3. Jack had been looking at these numbers in strange bewilderment for several minutes. Or was it fear? Alice couldn’t tell from the seat beside him. Regardless, the teacher had called on him.

  “Yes, Jack?”

  Jack frowned. “How come the five and three look so mean and scary?” he’d asked. “I mean, look at them. They look scary, don’t they? Does anyone else think they look scary?” No one answered. This was a strange thing to be talking about, and something this particular teacher, whose name was Miss Appleblom, had never encountered. “I think they look scary. The eight does too, especially the way you write it, Mrs. Appleblom. You put that little horn on its head. Makes it look like a monster, like a sidekick of the devil’s or something to the terrify minions. Or a fat, nasty snowman. The seven looks kind of mean, too; at least, he could, if he wanted, I guess. I haven’t decided. And look at the two. He looks harmless enough. An easy guy to get along with. But I don’t like the way the five and the three are just sitting up there on the board. They look like they’re waiting for everyone to turn their heads, so they can take over the classroom. They’re plotting, those two, and I don’t like it one bit. Even th
e six looks like he’s up to something, but he’s not telling. And the nine, too. Look at him. He has that little horn on the top of his head just like the eight. I don’t like them. No, sir, Mrs. Appleblom, I don’t like them one bit. I like the two and the four. I’ll take my papers with just twos and fours on them. Is that okay? Of course, two and four equal six, so maybe we should just forget the whole think altogether. Bunch of stinkin’ evil-looking numbers anyway. Doesn’t seem right to me—”

  “Jack Bristol?” Mrs. Appleblom said, who was looking quite dumfounded by this entire spiel.

  “Yes, Mrs. Appleblom?”

  “Please understand, I’m here to help you with simple arithmetic, not make things harder.”

  “Then why not just call it ‘Math?’” Jack asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “‘Math,’” Jack said. Arithmetic is, like, the longest word in the known universe. I’m not even sure what it means. I think you should just call it, ‘Math.’ It’s easier.”

  “Would you like to stand in the corner and face the wall, Jack?” Mrs. Appleblom said, out of patience

  “What did I do?” Jack said, on the verge of tears.

  Mrs. Appleblom sighed and turned back to the board, pretending nothing had happened, and went over the lesson again.

  “She didn’t even answer my question,” Jack whispered to himself.

  Alice was sitting next to him. She smiled, liking Jack from that moment on. The other kids in the class veered away from Jack, kept their distance, because they thought him a little odd. Some of them turned in their chairs, looked at Jack, rolled their eyes, and shook their heads. Alice had wanted to be Jack’s friend, and she had done so by helping him with his arithmetic, or ‘Math,’ however you want to look at it.

  *

  “You were very brave, Jack, fighting that tiger.”

  “Thank you, Alice.”

  They were quiet for a while. They walked for a time again, the day still bright and warm.

  “Are you okay, Jack?” Alice asked.

  “Of course, Alice,” he said, looking her way. He smiled brightly, showing all his teeth.