Arthur gazed around in wonder, along with all the locals. These were his kids, and this is what they had accomplished in just one day. Might for right. It did work, and it would work. Today was only the beginning.
“Methinks, my noble knights,” he called out to the throng, “ye have much to take pride in. Behold the fruits of thy handiwork!”
The locals applauded and cheered as Arthur’s multitude of knights erupted with gushing excitement, clapping each other on the back, high-fiving each other, truly proud, some for the first time in their young lives, of having accomplished something great, something meaningful, something that helped other people rather than hurt them.
So filled with excitement of purpose, Reyna did something she rarely did, something impulsive. She turned and kissed Esteban joyfully on the lips. So startled was he that when she pulled away, his mouth dropped open comically, and she burst out laughing. He grinned and shook his head in wonder, and Rosa giggled with delight.
The mural of Arthur and his children on the area’s largest building, directly below “Pray for Peace in the Barrio,” stood out strikingly in the background and accented exactly what this moment signified. Hundreds and hundreds of kids, many of them enemy gang members, had descended on this neighborhood not to make war, but to bring peace. And it had worked.
Chris reached up and tugged at Arthur’s leggings, and the king looked down at the small boy. “Yes, Sir Christopher?”
Chris grinned, but rubbed his tummy dramatically. “I doth be hungry, sire.”
Everyone who heard the comment laughed, including Arthur, who reached down to put a loving hand on the boy’s blond head. “Methinks we all be, lad.”
He and his kids had actually been eating all the while. The local ladies had been cooking and serving them food throughout the day as a gesture of good will and gratitude, but there had been no real respite. The kids had worked from the moment they’d arrived until now, and Arthur knew they just needed to sit and eat and bask in the glow of their achievement.
However, he hadn’t planned on where such a multitude could actually do that. He still had crown jewels to use for money, but where to use them? Trusting in God to give him that knowledge, Arthur turned his regal, grateful gaze to his troops.
“We feast heartily this night, my most noble and blessed knights!”
Once again there was an eruption of cheers and clapping and backslapping.
“Follow me, my lads and ladies!” he called out, and the crowd began reforming a marching line similar to their arrival, with the drivers hurrying to their trucks. There was good-natured jostling and shoving as the hundreds of kids queued up behind Arthur. Lance, suddenly remembering, ran to Enrique’s pickup and grabbed something from the back seat, hurrying up the line to Arthur.
“Arthur, wait! Methinks we should carry this.” He unfurled the large banner Enrique had created—the A symbol with a dragon in the background. It was attached to a pole, and Lance held it up before the king expectantly. Arthur grinned down at him.
“Well done, Sir Lance, and I canst think of no one more suited to the task. Lead on, my boy!”
Lance winked at Jack, who smiled back with a quick little flex, and hefted the pole high so all could see the banner as it wafted gently in the late afternoon breeze. Another cheer arose from the knights and the locals, and Lance began to march. Arthur followed, then Jack, Mark, Chris, Reyna, Esteban, Darnell, Lavern, Luis and the others on foot, the bicycles and skaters, and lastly the vehicles. As the triumphal procession marched nobly up the street, it was hailed by the residents and storeowners and children who lined the sidewalks to wave and gush and give thanks once more.
As the procession prepared to exit the neighborhood, it found itself blocked by a large, portly Latino man standing in the middle of the street.
Lance stopped marching, as Arthur shouted behind him, “Halt, my knights!”
The procession ground to an unexpected halt, with kids at the rear craning their heads to find out what was going on. Arthur gazed down at the newcomer expectantly.
“May I be of assistance, sir?” he asked graciously.
“You already have, King Arthur,” the stout, middle-aged man said with a slight bow. “I got to say I ain’t never seen a man wit’ yer heart, señor. Thanks to you, mi barrio be fixed up real nice. I don’ care if I go broke, for you and yer knights all the food you can eat. No charge. I say thanks to you.”
He bowed courteously, and Arthur felt genuinely moved by the man’s offer. “Sir, thy generosity doth humble me. Where is thine establishment?”
The man pointed up a small side street. “Just up there, señor.”
Arthur turned his gaze in the indicated direction, and did a double take. Just ahead, set off the main drag was a strip mall surrounded by some trees. At the corner of the mall, standing out with its colorful shield logo, stood a Round Table Pizza.
Arthur looked back down at the man, who grinned, and then at Lance. The boy just shrugged. “Works for me,” he said with a grin, and Arthur laughed.
“To the Table, Lance!” he called out for all to hear. Beaming with pride, Lance led the procession up the street toward the pizza parlor, leaving the cheering locals behind to bask in their good fortune.
RYAN navigated their unmarked cruiser through heavy traffic as safely as he could manage. His red light had been placed atop the car, but no siren accompanied it. Several black and whites zipped in and out of traffic in pursuit, also with flashing lights, but no sound. To passersby, it seemed odd so see so many cop cars flashing their lights, but not running their sirens.
As always, the bumper-to-bumper traffic in and around downtown bordered on horrific, and Ryan became frustrated, cursing under his breath. Gibson sat beside him with the radio in hand to issue orders to the other units as needed.
“Tell the backups to surround the area, but stay away from direct contact. Those kids are dangerous—we don’t wanna spook ’em,” Ryan said, taking another swig from the antacid and then dropping the bottle into his cup holder.
“Already taken care of, Ry,” Gibson replied with surprise, suddenly feeling like a rookie again whose partner didn’t trust him.
Ryan looked at him askance. “Sorry, Gib. I know you got it covered.”
Gibson nodded but said nothing. If the truth were told, this case was so out-there and unprecedented it almost made him feel like a rookie.
THE Round Table Pizza was fairly old but clean and well-kept, but the strip mall, which it anchored, had fallen on hard times. There was a dingy-looking lavanderia, a small liquor store, a hair and nail salon, and a tiny tattoo parlor. At the moment, exhausted, but exuberant, boys and girls dressed in medieval clothing filled the parking lot and surrounding area, sitting in groups on the pavement, all munching on pizzas. The owner had instructed his staff hours before to begin preparing the pizzas, having planned early in the afternoon to surprise Arthur and his kids as a thank you for their hard work.
Arthur’s knights did not make a mess as might be expected from so many teenagers. Arthur had taught them well. Napkins, pizza boxes, and empty cups were all deposited into the trash receptacles scattered around the restaurant and mall.
Inside the brightly lit pizza parlor, which sported a corner housing old-school video games, Arthur watched in amusement as Lance, Jack, and the others dove into their pizzas with gusto. He marveled at this new kind of food, which he’d never heard of in old Britain.
“What doth this food be called?” he inquired of the owner.
“Pizza, sir,” the burly man replied with a wide grin.
“I think you can hang with it, Arthur,” said Esteban around a mouthful, sauce dribbling down his chin, causing Reyna to elbow him with a laugh.
Arthur grinned and nodded. “I shalt trust thy word, Sir Esteban, and I thank ye for thy hard work today.”
Uncharacteristically, Esteban felt a rush of emotion and pride. “Uh, thanks, sire.”
Arthur eyed the seventeen-year-old appraisingly
. “Ye have made great strides, Sir Esteban, in overcoming thy past.” Esteban looked down, so embarrassed that he almost blushed. And in front of Reyna too! “Canst ye now see a future without criminal activity, but rather one of hope?”
Esteban found himself nodding. Yeah, he realized, as he thought over everything they’d done today. Hadn’t what they’d accomplished, simple though it seemed, done more for his neighborhood in one day than all his years of banging combined?
Lance, sitting beside Mark, Jack, and Chris found himself unintentionally scowling at the attention Arthur seemed to be lavishing on Esteban, and, as always, hated himself for feeling that way.
Arthur gingerly lifted a slice of pepperoni to his mouth and bit into it, which distracted Lance, and the boy watched with amusement as a long pull of cheese stretched from Arthur’s mouth while he attempted to disengage the slice. The cheese stuck to his beard, and everyone laughed, including Lance.
“I doth like it,” announced the king with a cheesy grin.
He wiped his mouth and took another bite, careful this time to pull the cheese apart with his fingers.
Lance watched him eat, watched him charm the owner and the other kids, and sighed. You need to stop being so selfish, he told himself once again, and then shook off the feeling by laughingly elbowing Jack beside him. He feigned a powerful struggle to lift something heavy as he shakily raised his own slice toward his mouth. Jack laughed and pretended to help Lance lift the pizza. They cracked up again, and Lance tried to get Mark into the fun.
“Hey, Mark, we got somebody here with unlicensed guns.”
Mark pulled his gaze from Arthur. “Who?” And he looked around the place to see who it might be.
Lance pointed conspiratorially toward Jack’s upper arms. “I think we should call the cops.”
Mark actually laughed at that feeble joke and began to enjoy himself. He had two great friends seated beside him, and he was moping about something that could never be. He mockingly flexed his own skinny arms. “Hey, Jacky’s not the only one with unlicensed guns, man. Check out these water pistols.”
Jack almost spit out his Coke, and the three boys dissolved into laugher.
Suddenly, Jaime burst into the restaurant and hurried to Arthur. “The cops, they be coming!”
The restaurant owner looked surprised. “How you know? Nobody called.”
Jaime shook his head. “Don’t know, señor, but my jaina text me from my neighborhood. She seen ’em coming this way.”
Arthur stood instantly, strong and commanding. He’d planned for something like this, and his knights knew what to do. “Thou doth all know thine instructions. Alert the others and position thyselves.”
Without hesitation, everyone was up and out of the restaurant within seconds, leaving Arthur and the owner staring after them. “I regret we must depart without cleaning thine establishment, señor,” Arthur told the man, who waved the apology away as if it were nothing. But Arthur reached into a small leather pouch attached to his belt and pulled out one of the precious gems he’d found within the chamber when he’d awakened. “Take this, my friend, and muchas gracias por la comida.”
Before the dumbfounded owner could even gasp out a reply, Arthur had flown out the door with a flourish of his red cloak and was gone. The owner opened his hand to gape at the almond-sized ruby in astonishment.
The drivers hurriedly ran to their trucks and got behind the wheels as others snatched swords and shields from the truck beds and scattered to their positions. The drivers then drove the trucks away, lest a police roadblock trap them. The archers grabbed their quivers and bows and took up positions atop the roof, behind mailboxes, in all available trees. Each slipped out an arrow and fitted it expertly to their bows, taking aim at the street and the parking lot. This was what they’d trained for all those past weeks.
If the cops want a fight, we’ll give it to them, thought Reyna as she clambered up a tree to the roof of the lavanderia. From that vantage point, she scanned the surrounding area and checked the positions of her other archers. Good, they have it down.
Within minutes, the parking lot, which only moments before was filled to capacity with children, now stood virtually empty. Everyone was in place, ready and prepared for a fight, just as they’d planned it out. Only Arthur and a small group remained standing before the restaurant entrance. Llamrei whinnied in anticipation. With Arthur stood Lance, Esteban, Mark, Chris, Jack, Tai, Duc, Darnell, and Jaime. All had their shields raised and swords at the ready. Even little Chris brandished his sword, taking a fighting stance between Mark and Jack and glaring gravely.
Arthur eyed his “bodyguards” appraisingly. They were children, he knew, but under his new order they were also warriors. Most, he knew, had been at war their entire lives, so death was, sadly, nothing new to them. Still, he considered their youth and the approaching danger.
He’d been told often enough by the gang kids that cops today shot to kill at a moment’s notice. They apparently didn’t even shout out a warning before they fired. Alas, his crusade sought to promote peace and justice, but the authorities might choose to overlook that fact. Probably would overlook it, unless the minds of those in power had changed significantly over the centuries.
What if one of your children is shot? How will you feel then?
“Lord of all that is good and pure, watch over my knights this day,” he whispered, and the boys flanking him each made his own hurried sign of the cross. Then they waited anxiously, weapons ready, hearts thumping, hope unfurling.
GIBSON was on the radio as Ryan drove furiously through Esteban’s neighborhood, red lights flashing, followed by a long line of black and whites with their own lights blazing. The residents once more returned to the streets to watch, but this time they were angry.
“Repeat,” Gibson reiterated into the radio, “nobody fires unless ordered to do so by myself or Sergeant Ryan. Defensive positions only!”
Ryan spotted the strip mall just ahead, the Round Table Pizza place coming into view through the windshield.
“There it is,” he announced anxiously. He floored it.
Ryan glanced over at Gibson. “Tell the men to—”
He never finished his order, for just at that moment both men heard a loud thump sound, and Ryan suddenly lost control of the car.
“Hellfire!” he cursed and spun the wheel hard, fighting to regain control as the car screeched and lurched. The thunk, thunk, thunk sound of a flat tire clued him in to the cause. Hitting the brakes, Ryan spun and skidded the car into a sideways spin, where it came to a stop at a ninety-degree angle to the road.
The archers ensconced within the trees let loose a volley of arrows at the approaching police cars. Their aim was perfect. Tire after tire blew out with loud popping sounds as each was punctured, and the cars squealed and spun and swerved and struck each other and twisted themselves into a black and white pretzel within a matter of seconds. Some veered off the road to crash into a retaining wall or drop into a narrow ditch, while others in the far back slammed into those already immobilized.
Within seconds, accompanied by a chorus of rending and crumpling metal, every car had been incapacitated and a weird, almost end-of-the-world kind of silence momentarily enveloped the area.
Cops of varying ages and gender scrambled from their vehicles, weapons drawn, and took up defensive positions behind their now-useless cars or behind the low stone retaining wall surrounding the Round Table parking lot.
Ryan and Gibson stumbled shakily from their vehicle to take up positions behind it. Neither had drawn his gun as yet, but Ryan had the foresight to grab his bullhorn as he’d leapt from the car.
They paused, catching their breath, glancing cautiously around them at the trees and other buildings, wondering where the arrows had come from. Then they focused their attention on Arthur and his knights standing calmly in front of the restaurant, gawking at the huge swords and shields and medieval garb.
“Shit, Ry, they look like they’re going to wa
r!” Gibson exclaimed, taken aback by the scene before him, and by the fact that he and his men were already on the defensive.
Ryan eyed Gibson in surprise, since Gibson almost never cursed. He must be really rattled, the older man knew, and turned his attention back to Arthur. The king and his kids stood rock solid and resolute, even the tiny little boy. Ryan just shook his head in astonishment.
Gibson looked at Arthur and then back over his shoulder at all their men crouching behind damaged police cruisers, guns drawn, awaiting orders. “It’s like we got two rings of a circus out here, Ry, us and them. All we need now are the frickin’ clowns!”
Suddenly, several TV camera-crew vans roared up behind the wrecked police cars and began disgorging camera operators and reporters. Helen leapt from the Channel 7 News van and pelted toward the scene, microphone in hand. The crouching police officers waved the reporters down, and Helen ducked calmly behind a sagging black and white. She noted the arrow protruding from the left rear tire and waved at her cameraman to film it.
Ryan cursed loudly. “The clowns just arrived.”
Glancing at the scrambling camera operators pointing their cameras toward himself and Ryan, Gibson sighed heavily. “We better talk fast, Ry, ’fore we got a major public incident on our hands.”
Ryan shook his head in disgust. “We already got that.” He raised the bullhorn and spoke into it as calmly, but forcefully, as he could. “This is Sergeant Ryan of the LAPD. We do not want bloodshed. Tell yer boys to drop their weapons and nobody’ll get hurt.”
Children of the Knight Page 25
