by Ben Zackheim
“I know. I think everyone knows.”
“Oh. And what’s…”
“Here we are. Sssh.” They walked in together and found seats. The teacher wasn’t there yet.
Simon had finally found a nice person! He tried to make eye contact with the Samaritan, but she was busy talking to a friend.
Shortly, a young, plump man with thick glasses emerged from an adjoining room. He had a jolly way about him as he walked by the students with a polite grin and a few nods of the head. His eyes didn’t focus on anything or anyone in particular.
Until he spotted Simon. The fragile smile became a monumental grin and he walked to Simon with his hand stretched out.
“You must be Simon Sharp!” Everyone in the room was shocked, as if they’d never seen the man so animated.
“Yes sir.”
“It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Professor Tillman. I’m a big fan of your parents’ work.” There were chuckles but the portly man didn’t notice. Simon could tell Tillman didn’t garner a lot of respect from his students.
“That’s… great.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah, me too.” The class was getting a lot of entertainment value out of him today.
“How I wish the magic of Merlin could have spared their plane!” Again the kids chuckled, and again the guy didn’t care that he was making a fool of himself, and of Simon.
“Yeah, well…” Simon meant to leave it at that but the professor stared, wide-eyed, waiting for him to finish his sentence. He glanced at the pretty girl. She looked away quickly. No one was about to save him from the uncomfortable silence. “There’s no such thing as wizards,” Simon finished.
That made the grin disappear fast from the man’s face. “How wrong you are, young man. Very disappointing to hear the blood of the Sharp family say such a thing. I know your parents very much believed in, nay, dedicated themselves to, the age of chivalry and magic. Indeed they made a point that it was the only thing that could save our kingdom from ruin!”
This time the chuckles made the professor frown at the class. They might not respect him, but he was faculty so they shut up.
“Simon here is the son of two very respected Arthurian scholars. For those who don’t know the tale of King Arthur, it’s one of the most captivating stories mankind has ever known. Even more so because there’s evidence that it’s true. King Arthur was the king of all Britain at a time of unparalleled peace and prosperity. He worked hard for it, forging alliances with humans and non-humans alike to ensure stability. His Knights of the Round Table were the most concise and efficient warriors ever, a collection of dozens of men committed to helping those in need. The most famous among them were Lancelot and Gawain, dear friends, until the ultimate betrayal. Or so the story goes.”
“What betrayal?” a girl asked, actually showing some interest.
“The knight Lancelot and Arthur’s queen, Guinevere, fell in love. If you can call that betrayal.”
“It’s a betrayal if the king don’t know about it!” said an angry voice from the back of the classroom. It was the redheaded bully.
“Indeed, Chester, that’s true. But the movement of the heart is not under our control, is it? Or perhaps you’re too young to know.”
Simon noticed that the pretty girl seemed particularly uncomfortable with the whole discussion. She shifted around in her chair and sighed heavily two breaths in a row.
Tillman continued. “When the king found out about the affair he either banished Guinevere or killed her, depending on which tale you believe. He put a price on Lancelot’s head, and Gawain, once his best friend, spent his life trying to hunt down the best warrior who ever lived.”
“What about that wizard?” a boy interjected.
“Ah, yes. ‘That wizard.’ Merlin. He guided Arthur to the throne, according to most accounts. But once Arthur died there’s little we know about Merlin’s fate.”
“I thought Arthur didn’t die,” Simon said dryly.
“Of course he didn’t,” Professor Tillman said. “Arthur is in every noble action a British subject takes. He’s alive in the spirit of the heartful deeds you and I do every day. And some say he will return when he’s needed most.” Professor Tillman eyed the class. When no one spoke, he turned on his heels and effortlessly segued into a lecture about Queen Elizabeth I.
Simon was too busy to listen. He was thinking about the girl who had helped him to class.
She was sitting two seats down in the same row, so it was tough to come up with an excuse to look at her. He shifted in his seat and crossed his legs seven different ways, stealing a glimpse here and there. She was definitely pretty and she was definitely not stealing glimpses back. That she’d been kind to him only made her more beautiful. She was the best thing about his day. Actually, she was the best thing about Scotland. If he could just sneak a smile in, he would get the nerve to say something after class and things could start getting better.
But the bell rang and everyone rushed out, including her. She passed right by him with a couple of her friends.
So much for the best part of his day.
As he gathered his books, he noticed a small boy with pitch-black hair, and the reddest ears he’d ever seen, sitting at a desk near the back of the class room. It was the kind of red you see in candy stores and comic books. The boy gave him a look as if he were sizing him up for a fight. But that was ridiculous. The kid was so small that a fight with a kitten could go either way.
“Hi,” Simon said.
“Her name is Gwen and you might as well give up now.” The kid spoke in a high, squeaky voice with a heavy Scottish accent.
“Who’s Gwen?”
“The girl you were dancing in yer chair to see all class long. You should be careful. That’s the kind of thing they look for in this class so’s they can use it against you later.”
“Kind of like you’re doing now.
“Kinda, yeah. I’m James. But people call me Red.”
“Do you like being called Red?”
Red squinted. Simon worried that he’d gone too far, too fast. He tended to do that with people sometimes. What business was it of his what this guy called himself?
“Never really thought about it,” Red finally said. “I guess not. But I’m used to it, so call me Red.” Simon didn’t have much left, but he gave his best smile.
“Good to meet you. I’m…”
“Simon, yeah. The guy who took the heat off me. Now that yer here they can start dumping you head-down in the garbage pails and leave me alone.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Simon wondered how much a ticket back to New York would cost.
“If you want to get out of here with some sense of dignity you better not go through the front door of the school.”
“But that’s where my ride home is.”
“I’m just sayin’. Do what you wanna. It’s not like I’d know anything about it, being that I’ve found a way to survive here for two years.”
“Sorry. It’s a long walk home, though.”
“Where you live?”
“Falcon Castle.” Red’s ears glowed purple. His eyes got wide and even teared up a little. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t realize you were that Sharp family. His castle is bad news, friend. Everything I heard is that it’s haunted at best and filled with maniacs and monsters at worst. I’d rather sleep in the forest, if you ask me.”
“Nah, it’s just my uncle’s place. He has a bunch of dogs, is all.”
“That’s what you think they are? You ever seen one of these supposed dogs?” Now that Simon thought about it, he hadn’t. He’d thought he’d spotted a dog in the room with the weapons, but it was too dark to see. It had sure sounded like a dog. What else could it be? “My allowance is on them being not-dogs,” Red said.
“Then what are they?”
“You tell me,” Red shrugged. “Yer the one living there.” He started to unwrap a candy bar and munch on it as he passed by Simon. “I�
�ll show you the safe way out of here if you wanna know.”
Simon sighed and followed. Red walked close to the wall as they wove through the halls. He peered around corners before he turned them. Finally, after a lot of sideways glances from other students, they passed through a small door to the outside. Simon stuck close as Red worked his way down a steep hill. They didn’t stop until they’d entered a thick forest behind the academy. The sun made barely a dent here, with large dark shadows giving way to weak rays of white light. Simon had the sense the ground beneath their feet wasn’t all that solid, as if jumping up and down would send them falling into an abyss.
Red started to work his way through the trees. “No one comes back here except people who are running from something.”
“Yeah, I can see why. How can you even tell where you’re going?”
“I can’t.”
“Oh. Great,” Simon said.
“Relax, Wendy Worrywart! We’ll use the trees when we need ‘em. I climb like a spider!” Red struck a pose like a tiny, dippy Spider-Man.
Wendy Worrywart?
They worked their way through the shin-grabbing brambles and found a trail. In the distance, Simon could make out the school’s front entrance where Hector’s car was parked, waiting for him. The red-haired jerk was hiding behind a shed, probably waiting for Simon to emerge from the school.
“His name’s Chester,” Red muttered. “Second meanest person in town behind his mother. His goons are the dumbest ones in class, which also means they’re the strongest around here.”
“Best of the worst.”
“Exactly. You know the type, I guess.”
Simon thought of Billy, back in New York. He wondered how he was holding up. Hopefully he wasn’t on Brad’s radar. “Yeah. We have them in New York too. But I mostly found ways to avoid them.”
“Now you have to start all over again, huh?”
Red sure was a bundle of fun.
Simon’s companion climbed tree after tree to keep an eye on the overgrown path. They barely spoke for the entire trek, which left Simon some time to think about how ridiculous it was that he’d somehow escaped St. Mary’s for good, and yet there he was, tearing up his knees on Scottish thorns just to avoid another bully. Was he any better off here? The fact that he didn’t know the answer worried him. Should he start thinking about how to break out on his own?
After an hour, they started a descent into a small valley. Simon spotted Falcon Castle peeking over a nearby hill. They pushed their way out of the trees, and stopped at the edge of a road.
That’s when Simon got that feeling again. The one he’d had in New York so many times before.
Like the Gates of Weird had been thrown open.
Red seemed jumpy all of a sudden. He licked his lips like a lizard and didn’t blink.
Abruptly, Red backed up, tripped on a rock and fell on his butt. “I’m not getting any closer!” He shook his head, frantically.
Simon wasn’t sure what the outburst was all about. It wasn’t as if he were going to force Red to come along.
“Okay, sure, no problem. You okay?”
But Red just stared at him.
“Uh, so see you tomorrow…” Simon said.
Red watched from the ground as Simon walked off.
So there he was, alone on the road, with the light fading. It was too quiet for his comfort. A bird sang on occasion, but that was it. As he got closer to the castle he realized that he might have a hard time getting through the gate since he wasn’t with Hector. But he’d figure something out. He always did.
Simon took a moment to admire the nearby grounds. The area was beautiful, but still. Nothing moved in the green of the ground or the vast gray sky. It was as if the entire world was doing its best to not disturb his uncle.
As he climbed the steep road to the gated entrance, he could feel eyes on him. Simon had company. He was sure of it. He took a deep, fortifying breath and turned fast. A dark figure stood on the road, around twenty yards away.
Simon backed up a couple of steps.
The person ran toward him.
It was Maille, the girl from the airport. She held a bent baseball bat in one hand. It glowed bright orange as she raised it over her head.
Simon ran.
9
Simon was halfway up the hill to Victor’s when an intense light from behind him blasted through dusk. He clenched his eyes shut but it was too late. A big purple spot filled his view.
Unable to see, Simon scrambled up the rest of the hill until his outstretched hands collided with the mansion’s gate. He glanced back. He could barely make out Maille’s dim shape at the bottom of the hill. She swung her bat, which now glowed a bright yellow. He climbed the gate and set off uncle’s security spotlight, blinding him for the second time in twenty seconds.
Simon dropped to safety, scrambled forward and stumbled through the castle’s massive front doors. He pushed them shut and slid down to the floor, eyes clenched closed.
What did she want? Simon couldn’t figure out what some random Scottish girl would need from him. He started to feel like a wimp for running away, but rationalized that he’d been surprised. It’s not every day that people are hunted with a glowy bat!
As he caught his breath, he realized something was wrong. The mansion was quiet, but it was a heavy silence, as if someone was waiting for him to speak.
He opened his eyes.
The entry hall was packed with people. Dozens of them stared at him, some craning their necks to see over each other. Faces peered from the balconies above.
The men were decked out in shadowed pinstripe suits, with black vests. Some donned round derby hats. The women wore handsome jackets with skirts that were fitted around the waist but then billowed out near their ankles. Everyone carried bundles of paper scrolls, piles of books and various tools and doodads, none familiar to Simon.
The silent crowd parted as someone shoved their way through. Simon expected to see his uncle, so he was surprised when it was actually a pretty woman with long, straight red hair and the same unusual outfit all the other women wore.
“Hello. May I help you? I don’t think you belong here,” she said in a singsong voice.
“Hi. I’m… I’m Victor’s nephew. I was just going to my room.” Her body language heavily implied he should follow her, so he did.
“Back to work everyone,” she said far too sweetly. “You must be Simon, then. I was so sorry to hear about your parents. So sorry.”
“Uh. Thanks.”
The workers (for there was nothing else they could possibly be) spread out. It was a busy place, though Simon had no idea what they were busy doing. It must have been stressful and important work, because the pace was frenzied.
“A real mystery why that plane crashed. On such a clear night, too,” the woman said.
Simon didn’t like her tone, as if she thought his parents’ death was exciting. She tried on her best smile, but Simon wished she would put it away.
“Haha. Well, anyway,” she said. “Hector was supposed to bring you through the back door.”
“I walked home. Do you work for my uncle?”
“So sorry. How impolite of me. I’m Heather. Yes, I’m the general manager here, so it’s my job to be on top of everything. Nosy by nature! Perfect job for me, honest truth.”
“What are you guys doing, exactly?”
“Antiques.” Her smile was frozen on her face.
Whatever it was they were really doing, she wouldn’t be the one to reveal it. She winked at him, which made him decide he’d better get upstairs as soon as possible to avoid giving this irritating woman a kick in the shins. He’d have a hard time explaining that to his uncle.
“SIMON!”
The bellow came from the opposite side of the hall. It was his uncle. He worked his way across the room, shoving aside men twice his size. Heather ran to him. He said a few curt words to her and she ran off, stealing one last glance at Simon.
“Get up to
your room, young man,” his uncle spit out as he got within earshot.
“What did I do?”
“Don’t ever make Hector waste hours of his time looking for you again!” The stare his uncle gave him made it clear that the conversation was over. Simon stormed up the stairs and slammed his door.
The room was dark but for one kerosene lamp by his bedside. The sun had set and a rain-storm had taken its place. A flash of lightning illuminated a gargoyle outside his window. Simon yanked the drapes shut.
Then he heard the bolt latch on the other side of his door. He was locked in.
“Hey!”
“You can’t disappear without a word and expect to go unpunished, young man.” His uncle’s voice rose steadily. “Be up at 6 a.m. for school!”
Simon heard Victor shuffle off, along with the pattering of dogs’ paws. He hadn’t even asked Simon for an explanation!
It was decided then. Uncle Victor was a creep. Simon’s chest felt heavy as his hopes drained away. He’d wanted his last relative to be someone he could trust. But Victor wasn’t even someone he wanted to be in the same country with. Simon vowed never to get his hopes up again. If he wanted a family to call his own, there would be no inheriting it. He’d have to work for it.
Simon’s thoughts turned back to familiar territory. Escape. He fell back on his mattress to plan his next move. The force of the impact snapped the brittle bed frame. He heard an echo of the snap somewhere in the room. He didn’t think much about it at first.
But he couldn’t get it out of his head.
Had the echo come from underneath him?
Simon lifted the mattress up and examined the wood platform. It was probably as old as everything else in the castle. He found the crack he’d made and ran his hand over it. A breeze flowed over his fingertips. Simon felt for a corner of the bed’s platform where he could get a solid grip. He lifted hard. The platform budged. He hoisted again with all his strength and the mattress board slid off the bed frame. Simon stepped back.
He couldn’t believe it.
A spiral stairwell circled straight down into darkness. An unlit torch perched on the stone-wall a few steps down.
Now, Simon had a problem. He was as curious as the next kid about a secret passage. When he was younger, he’d spent a lot of time in his apartment peeking behind bookshelves and crawling into cupboards for any sign of a door to his own private world. But now that he’d actually found one, his curiosity collided with his fear of confined spaces. He’d always had a problem with the New York subways. It was as if he could feel pressure building in a packed car, cutting off the oxygen, and cutting off his way out.
