Good luck Rich. I’m so proud of you, and hope to see you soon.
Love,
Mom
P.S. Don’t forget to bring what I gave you last time.
Rich handed the letter to Aaron, who studied it and placed it on the dresser. Rich fell onto his bed, his head swirling from the additional piece of the puzzle that had just been given him. It was as if he were sinking into the folds of his bed into a place where he would not return.
“Rich,” Aaron said, “don’t you want to hear the end of my story?”
“Maybe later,” Rich muttered. “I don’t think I could cram anything else in me today.”
“But I think it’s important.”
“I don’t know...” Sleep caught up with Rich before he could finish his sentence.
Chapter 8: All’s Fair
The ringing of the alarm clock hit Rich like a fastball in the side of the head. He sprang up, sheets flying, and lashed out in the direction of the sound. He only succeeded in knocking the alarm clock from the dresser and sending it skittering across the floor. With a grunt, he snatched it from the ground and tried to make out the buttons. When this failed, he resorted to the only other method he knew—he threw the clock against the wall.
The racket stopped, and Rich’s vision finally cleared. He squinted to make sure he was reading the numbers right.
“Six? Who set the alarm for six?”
Aaron stirred in his bed, and Rich had a sneaking suspicion. “Aaron,” Rich said, “did you mess with the alarm clock?”
Aaron grunted and looked up sleepily. “What?”
“Why do you even need sleep? You’re already dead!”
Aaron yawned. “While I am with you, I have mortal needs again.”
Rich barely suppressed his anger and the urge to knock Aaron on the head. “You didn’t answer my first question,” he said through clenched teeth. “Did you mess with the alarm clock?”
Aaron finally flopped over. “Oh, that. Yes, I enlisted the help of your cousins. I wanted to make sure that we arose early today. I asked them what might be a suitable time.”
Rich supposed it might have been much worse—his cousins could have suggested five or even four in the morning. He decided to let it drop. He was up, and that was that.
“All right. Might I remind you that you said ‘we’? ‘We’ are going to rise early. If I’m going to be up, you are too.” When this didn’t work, Rich grasped the bedspread and yanked hard, leaving Aaron uncovered.
Aaron moaned and rose to a sitting position, his curls obscuring even more of his face than usual. “Okay, okay…” he said through the mass. “I’m up, I’m up. I can’t promise I will be at my best, but I am awake.”
“Good,” Rich said, “because we’ve only got a few hours till the fair. I’ve still got to get some models together.”
Aaron dozed off a few more times before finally prying himself out of bed, and then it was only because he smelled something tasty wafting from the kitchen. He disappeared, and Rich was left alone with his models. They were mostly kept in one corner of the room on a low worktable and a glass-fronted cabinet containing all the supplies.
Rich knelt and considered the scene on the table as he had left it. It depicted two opposing armies, complete with catapults and siege towers, poised at the very moment before the two sides would clash.
A regal white knight sat at the head of one army, while an equally menacing dark one fronted the other. Rich sighed and shook his head. Somehow, none of it seemed as exciting as before. It had been a whole lot easier to glamorize when all those fantastic things stayed in his imagination. Would he ever be able to go back to the way things were? Probably not. Whatever happened, he was in this for the long run, and he might as well accept that now.
On a whim, he reached down and flicked the dark knight in the back of the head. The knight toppled from his steed and lay helplessly on his back. Rich suddenly had the urge to finish the job by crushing it under his thumb, but then he remembered how long it had taken to create the figure and thought better of it. If only it would be that easy against his actual opponent.
He reached under the cabinet and took out a wide slab of plain white foam. Working quickly, Rich spent the next twenty minutes mapping out his creation, making marks on the foam with a light marker and filling in space with fake grass and boulders.
After a moment’s deliberation, he reached into the back of his cabinet and brought out the prize piece of his collection—the Hydra. It was a silver-and-magenta dragon with five horned heads, a barbed tail like a scorpion, and massive wings spread wide and ready for flight.
He positioned the white knight in front of the Hydra, a pair of swords raised in defense. Behind the Hydra, he placed another small group of knights and dwarves creeping toward it to stage an ambush. After another five minutes of tweaking and prodding, he stepped back and admired his work.
Satisfied with the models, Rich walked downstairs, carrying his display, to find Aaron entranced with the toaster. Two pieces of toast shot up in unison, burnt black, and Aaron and the girls roared with laughter.
Aaron turned and noticed Rich. “Why didn’t you show this to me before? Back in my village, the chief would have given his entire crop for one these!”
“If I stumble across a time machine, we’ll go back and make the trade.”
Aaron’s eyes grew wide. “Do you have such a thing?”
Aaron was so expectant that Rich regretted his joke immediately. He shook his head. “Sorry, Aaron. Only on TV.”
Aaron went quiet and stared down at his plate, which contained a half-eaten piece of darkened toast. “Somehow that’s what I suspected. Dreaming can be a burden sometimes.”
Rich wished he could use his gifts to conjure up a time machine, but once again, he had no idea what one would look like, if they existed at all. He briefly toyed with the thought of making one like he’d seen in a movie, but he figured it would probably turn out to be just an elaborate prop.
He set down his model on the kitchen table, but everyone else seemed too distracted by the toaster to notice. They offered the burnt toast to Rich, which he politely declined. He doubted he could have eaten, even if it had been smothered with fresh butter and jam. His nerves had stolen his appetite. He didn’t know for sure, but deep inside, he felt that he would confront his nemesis again today—perhaps for the last time.
The others finished eating and disappeared into their bedrooms to get dressed. Rich forced himself to choke down a few bites of toast and filed back upstairs to don his own costume. He owned a few different options, but decided to go in an outfit that looked like a wandering minstrel, complete with a long wooden recorder and stringed lute. He could play both of them well enough, though he probably wouldn’t unless someone asked him to.
As a final thought, he strapped his golden sword to his waist with a thick belt. He felt safer having it at his side, and was grateful that he was going to an event where it wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. He figured it would also give anyone a reason to think twice before making fun of his models or his music.
He left his room and was just wondering if he should use a cool name, like “Rich the Warrior Minstrel,” when he bumped into Aaron and his cousins. His cousins wore pink and blue gowns their mother had sewn for them. Aaron, on the other hand, was back in the robes he had worn when Rich had first met him, and could have passed for Friar Tuck. Rich did a short double take, however, when he noticed Aaron’s hair. The girls had brushed it and used hairspray to poof it out nearly as far as it would go. He looked like a rebellious monk from the seventies.
Rich chuckled and glanced knowingly at his cousins. At least they hadn’t dyed Aaron’s
hair some strange color. “Are you ready to go?”
One of his cousins turned up her nose in her best haughty princess impression. “Yes, good sir. Take us to our carriage.”
Rich’s smile grew even wider. “Wow, where did you pick that up? It was pretty good.”
The girl turned to her sister with a puzzled expression. “Are we bringing this clown with us? He talks funny.”
Rich rolled his eyes and took one of them by the arm, gesturing for Aaron to take the other. “Come, fair maidens, we shall escort thee presently. Thy carriage awaits.”
* * *
The fair was held in a large field on the outskirts of town. When they arrived, most of the brightly colored tents had already been set up around a central arena area, which was reserved for mock jousting tournaments, displays of sword fighting, jester acts, and various other forms of medieval entertainment. The savory smell of roasting meat filled every corner of the fair, and it almost made Rich regret his decision to skimp on breakfast.
Aunt Laura found a place to drop them off, and left Rich with her cell phone number for when they were done. Rich, Aaron, and his cousins filed out of the car and headed straight into the center of the fair. Rich glanced around and quickly located a bright pink tent with a sequined sign.
“Girls, you’ll probably want to head over to the princess crafts tent. I’m going to find Axel and set up my models. I’ll come check on you in a little while.”
Before he could get a response, the girls whisked off in the direction of the pink tent. He glanced around again and found the model display area. As he approached, he recognized Axel standing in a grubby blacksmith’s apron just a few feet away.
Axel set down the large hammer he was carrying and approached Rich at a quick jog. “Hey, man, that’s awesome! Did you make that Hydra yourself?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t too hard,” Rich said. “I could show you how sometime.”
“That’d be cool. Come on—set up over here.” Axel pointed to a free spot near the front of the display table, and Rich positioned his model carefully. Then he scanned the faces of the crowd. Jesters, knights, wenches, wizards, dwarves, elves, and all sorts of other creatures milled about the field. Any one of them could be his nemesis. He shivered and braced himself against the table. He didn’t feel ready to face him again.
Rich closed his eyes and tried to push the toxic thoughts from his mind. Instead, he remembered a saying of his mother’s. “Worry is using your imagination the wrong way.” He believed it, but had trouble applying it. Right now, worry seemed like the only way to feel.
He opened his eyes and caught the attention of a tall, long-haired blonde girl dressed as an elf. She smiled at him and waved. He smiled back quickly and glanced away. He thought he knew the girl, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to trust anyone. Who knew what his nemesis would try to get his guard down?
He ducked behind the tent, breathing quickly. Man, I can see why people think I’m weird sometimes.
Suddenly, he thought of Mallory, and wondered what she would think if she saw him here. He’d probably leave this part of the story out if she asked about it later. Then he pictured her as an elf like the girl who had just smiled at him. The thought brought a grin despite himself. She had surprised him before. Maybe she would have liked this.
His smile faded as a menacing, irregular shadow crept up the surface of the tent in front of him. He whirled around and winced in pain as something grabbed his injured arm. A hideous, contorted face glared back at him, all fangs and piercing eyes.
Plastic fangs and yellow eyes.
The stranger wore a cheap werewolf mask and fake claws and feet, while the rest of his body was covered by a robe. The would-be werewolf let out a deep laugh and sounded like someone trying to disguise his natural speaking voice. “Hey, I got you pretty good. The look on your face was excellent.”
Rich scowled and jerked his arm back, “Who are you?”
“Solfege the werewolf. I eat little minstrels like you for lunch.”
Rich’s eyebrows shot up, and he couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped his lips. “Solfege? What kind of name is that? Are you a singing werewolf?”
The werewolf cocked his head to one side. “What? No! Of course not! What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Rich said, “that Solfege is a musical term. You know—do, re, mi, and all that. Like ‘The Sound of Music.’ Maybe you’re an Austrian wolf.”
The wolf shook his head violently and raised his claws. “What? That’s not what he told me it meant. He tricked me!”
Rich turned to go, and the wolf grabbed his shoulder. “Wait, wait, I’ll make up a new name right now. How about Wolf MacArthur? Does that sound better?”
Rich narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something he had read recently. Come to think of it, the werewolf’s voice also sounded familiar.
“Great,” Rich said, just hoping to put some distance between him and the wolf. “I’d go try it out on some of those elves, though. I hear they come up with the best names.”
Rich pointed to a table where a group of girls dressed as elves sat around fixing each other’s hair. The wolf turned and started toward them.
“I shall return!” said the wolf and continued toward the elves. Halfway there, he reached back to adjust his ill-fitting mask, and Rich caught a glimpse of unnaturally stiff blond hair.
Rich burst into laughter as the pieces came together in his mind. Only a history teacher would call name himself “MacArthur” like the World War II general. Something told him that he now had plenty of ammunition to fight back in history class, should he need to.
Rich’s laughing fit subsided, and he ducked out of sight behind the neighboring tent. This was going to be too painful to watch. He crept around the tent, intent on disappearing into the crowd, when he ran into Axel.
“Hey, man,” said Axel, “I noticed you brought a sweet sword. Are you going to fight in the tournament?”
Rich shrugged and brought his hand to his blade. “I don’t know. It’s mostly just for show.”
Axel’s face fell. “Really? I seem to remember you were pretty good with a sword. Didn’t I see you in training last year?”
He was right. Last year, Rich had actually spent most of his time learning basic sword-fighting skills from a professional. He picked it up pretty quickly and had even been invited to spar with the teacher in front of the class.
“I guess I could try it. Where do you sign up?”
Axel brightened. “The green tent at the north end of the arena. I think it starts in ten minutes or so.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Rich melted into the crowd and made his way toward the tent. He didn’t know exactly why he’d agreed to Axel’s request, but it had seemed the right thing to do. He had a feeling that he actually did stand a pretty good chance in the competition with his new sword.
He reached the green tent to find a short boy dressed like a goblin manning the desk. He took down Rich’s medieval name, which Rich gave as “Dissonance,” and indicated for him to stand on the edge of the arena with the other sword-fighting hopefuls.
He entered the ring, which was really just a roped-off area with a bunch of brightly colored flags to mark the perimeter. He casually unhooked his sword from his belt and took a few practice swings in the air. It felt light and nimble in his hands, and he could already feel the lessons he’d had the year before coming back to him.
He fended off imaginary foes for several minutes more before the sight of someone across the arena made him stop and stare. It was a black knight, impossibly tall, with a glittering black broadsword that should have t
aken two hands to swing. A wicked-looking helmet in the shape of a Hydra’s head concealed the knight’s face, and his dark armor looked like it could be the real thing.
The knight turned suddenly and looked at him. Rich held his gaze for a moment, and then abruptly turned away. His stomach churned with anticipation. Would he have to fight this black knight? Could his nemesis have anything to do with it?
He shook his head at his own paranoia. Surely his nemesis wouldn’t be so obvious. More than likely, it was just one of the hard-core people from the sword and sorcery club at school who had to resort to freaky armor to make up for their lack of sword-fighting skills.
He turned around to check on his cousins at the princess tent. Just then, a long fanfare rang out across the grounds. A tall, wiry man in a herald’s robes stepped up on a platform at the other end of the arena.
“Hear ye, hear ye, ladies, nobles, monsters, and uh…whatever. The tournament will begin presently. Each round will consist of a two-minute match, after which the judges will declare the winner, who will then go on to the next round. Any contestant may forfeit at any time by voluntarily leaving the arena. Every contestant will cover their sword with the protective sheathes being passed out now to ensure the safety of all involved.”
The goblin he had seen at the booth handed the herald a scroll, which the herald unwrapped. “The first match shall be El Segundo versus Gorlach the Invincible.”
After the first ten seconds, Rich saw that Gorlach had been poorly named. The herald announced three other matches, and the crowd steadily became larger around the arena. Rich tensed. Most of the sword fighters were very good, and he probably wouldn’t last a minute against them, let alone two.
The herald called the next match, and Rich realized that the dark knight had yet to fight. His hand found his sword and rested there. No one had gotten hurt. It was all just a show, when it came down to it. It was something he would have to get good at anyway if he expected to be any kind of knight.
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