Max got up from the gound tentatively, checking his body for sore spots and his clothes for holes or dirt. Finding none to speak of, he tentatively grabbed the metal glove that Sir Percival Pennywort reached toward him. He pulled and his eyes widened. Sir Percival didn't even move a centimeter. It felt like the weight of several lead blocks was hanging from him.
"Well, come now, old chap. Let's get on with it," Sir Percival had apparently not noticed that he had actually tried to pull him up. Max gathered his strength and pulled with all his weight. With a great clanking and screeching of metal joints, the old night managed to straighten his body into a standing position. He weaved a little and Max put out a hand to steady him. He didn't want Sir Percival to know that he didn't have the strength to pull him up again if he fell a second time.
Then, he was distracted by the deafening roar of cheers that came from the crowd as the knight wobbled a step or two. He looked around, noticing for the first time exactly where he was. It was, indeed, a sort of stadium or arena. Quite large. The stands were crammed with people, as well as a huge crowd standing on the ground around them, all of whom were cheering for Sir Percival. They were chanting something, but Max couldn't exactly make out what. And, sure enough, they were all dressed in medieval clothes.
He looked in the other direction and saw the castle. His heart beat hopefully. Maybe now he could find his mother and father! But it sank again just as quickly. It looked rather less crumbling than he remembered, and was decorated with green banners from every window and matching flags streaming in the breeze.
"Now, where is that horse?" Sir Percival looked around.
"That horse?" Max said hesitantly.
"Your case is worse than e'er I thougth,
If brave Tremendous you've forgot!" quothe the knight.
Sir Percival lifted his metal clad hand and pointed. Max looked in that direction, but was distracted by the sight of another figure, mounted on a huge black horse. It was another knight in full armor, including a helmet that hid his whole face and a long, wicked looking lance. The knight had ribbons streaming from his lance and helmet that were just as midnight black as his horse.
"Come on, old man! Let's have the final round!" a loud voice that sounded like it was coming out of an echo chamber streamed out of the helmet.
"Dear, dear. My lance seems to have disappeared as well." Sir Percival was trying to scratch his head in confusion, a gesture that was rather interesting with a metal glove on.
"Lance? Horse? Is this a jousting tournament?"
"I really wish you would not jest, Trevor," Sir Percival looked downright put out at this point. "This is really not a good time. But, if you insist on carrying this charade farther and farther, yes, it is. And I was duly dismouned just moments ago by our honourable foe in black. Unfortunately, Tremendous was so astounded at that wholely unexpected turn of events, that he shied and happened to pass too close by you, my young squire, in full gallop, which is how you came to bear the brunt of the fall. Thanks to you, I am in shape to continue the match."
"Against him?" Max pointed at the huge black knight, not quite believing his ears. Sir Percival looked like a grandfather in a halloween costume in comparison. But he decided not to say anything about that.
"Yes, my young friend. My respected position as 'the knight who never said never' is at stake."
"Well, if you ask me, this would be a good time to say never."
"Young man, my horse!" Sir Percival commanded.
"What, me?" Again, Max was not quite sure he believed his own ears.
"Yes, you, Trevor Thornblat, my squire, who else!" Max opened his mouth, planning to say,
"Trevor who?" but shut it again with a hollow click of his teeth when he finally saw the skinny, mangy looking horse rolling its eyes ill-humouredly at him.
"Come, Trevor. Our honour is at stake." Max tried to ignore the thunderous hammering of his heart that filled his ears. He swallowed hard and took a hesitant step toward the beast. He had never heard that horses could bare their teeth like an angry dog, but he would have sworn that Tremendous did just that.
"Here, boy," he called, his voice so thin that it barely even reached his own ears. But before he could go any further, he was stopped by a portly figure bustling out onto the jousting field. The man was short, wearing a pair of leggings on his bowlegs and a large, brown tunic that flapped around his thighs. The man waved his arms.
"Sir Percival! I msut stop this nonsense!" the man called. Max was sure he saw the corners of the old knight's mouth twitch upward into a quick smile before he controlled his face and looked stern instead.
"What is this that cannon wait,
that you must come inside the gate?" he asked. The man had reached them now. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his nose and he was breathing so hard he almost couldn't speak.
"Sir Percival. A message of distress from a distant village. You must waste no more time in coming to their aid!"
"I promise you, I shall not rest
So long as this village is distressed!" Sir Percival pledged. "What is the problem?"
"The burning hand!"
"Robin! You do not mean it!" Percival turned pale. He looked toward the black knight, who was twirling his lance impatiently into the ground. His horse stomped and storted, and Max took an involuntary step backwards.
"I am sorry, my honourable foe, but we must postpone our tournament. I must not risk injury--the village of --?"
"Terrifien," supplied the still panting Robin.
"Terrifien is awaiting delivery from dangers unimaginable."
"Don't think this is the end of this, old man!" the black knight snarled. Sir Percival turned toward side of the stadium where Robin had come from. He began to walk with slow steps.
"Trevor! My horse!"
"Um, Sir Percival?" Max said.
"Yes?" The knight stopped and looked at him.
"The burning what?"
"The burning hand. I will tell you the legend as we travel," he promised.
To be continued...
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
Sunday, 7 February 2010
The castle holiday
It was the summer holiday. Not that Max really felt like he needed a holiday. Things were just fine the way they were at home. They were actually a little trying, these vacations his parents always insisted on. Even though they meant well. They always planned to go somewhere they thought Jeremy would find terribly interesting, and usually managed to convince themselves, if not him, that he was going to have a great time.
But even though there were interesting things to see, it was still trying. You never quite knew what was going to be served for the continental breakfast included in the hostel price for an overnight, for example. And you never knew from one night to the next what kind of bedclothes you were going to get. Thank goodness they always relented and let him take his trusty sleeping bag along, at least. Even though most hostels pretty much didn't allow sleeping bags, they usually managed to sneak it into his bed, so he could fall asleep without worrying about whether the blanket was going to be scratchy or have those horrible little pills all over it or be a color that made his eyes water to look at, even in the dimness when the lights were turned off.
But today was better than most days. They were in a castle ruin, high on a hill. They'd had to walk up and up a narrow road that wound around and around the hill in order to reach the top, and it proved to be an amazing view of the fork in the river at the base of the hill, where it was joined by a smaller tributary. And the castle was just as exciting. It was an obscure little castle in the English countryside, probably not visited by more than a few hundred people a year. They were certainly the only ones today. But that was just as Max liked it. He could wander the corridors and halls all on is own, not disturbed by other people. His mom and dad weren't hovering about either, but he could hear their footsteps and voices nearby, so he didn't worry that they'd left him.
He looked into the great hall, with it's decaying mosaics on the walls, depicting scenes of knightly chivalry. He looked more closely, inspecting the detail of the armor, almost completely disappeared in the crumbling plaster and paint. He wondered if the pictures were from the time when the knights actually lived in the castle, if they were faces that actually sat around a great table in the hall. He could imagine them clearly, could almost hear their voices yelling and cheering each other as they told fantastic tales of their brave deeds. He sighed, wishing he could have been born then, into a knightly family. Sir Max. It had a ring to it. And he was sure that he would have been just the man for the job.
He stepped away from the wall and listened for his parents' voices, murmuring together in front of a tapestry in a hallway he had been in just before.
"Mom, Dad, I'm going out into the next hall," he called.
"Okay, honey, we're right behind you," his mom answered. He heard shuffling feet as the approached the great hall at the same time he left out the opposite door. He caught his breath as he could see, at the end of the long hallway he had just stepped into, a full suit of armor. He hurried down the hallway toward it, almost not beliving his good luck. A full suit of armor!
But as he came closer, he could see that it was just as neglected as the rest of the castle, dim with age and dust. The one hand was missing from it, he could see as he approached. That gave the suit of armor a lopsided appearance. He tried to ignore the empty wrist guard, but the gaping hole drew his eyes toward it. He stepped right up to the armor, looked down at the ground and smiled as he saw the missing metal glove, lying behind the left foot of the suit. He bent forward, stretched out his hand to try to reach it, and suddenly lost his balance, banging into the suit of armor. It rocked twice, and he grabbed at it, trying to bring it and himself back into balance. but instead, he fell backwards with his arms wrapped around the suit of armor, pulling it back on top of him. He heard a clattering crash and then everything went black.
...
Max blinked twice, opened his eyes and looked up at the clear blue sky. He frowned, wondering where he was. Had his parents carried him out of the castle, back onto the mangey lawn that surrounded the building? But before he could say anything or even move, a face popped into view above him. It was a man with a lean face and a bushy, black mustache, pepered with gray. He had a very concerned look on his face, at least what Max could see of his face, what with the most of it covered by a metal helmet. The man had lifted the visor and was looking out at him from under its shadow.
"Trevor?" the man asked.
"Who?" Max said.
"I do quite fear, my brave young chap,
That there has been a vile mishap." The man in the armor said.
"Well, at least I'm still in England," Max thought to himself, listening to the man's accent. He heard the sounds of a crowd and turned his head to look for his parents. They were nowhere to be seen, but instead he was looking at something very strange. It looked like he was was in a stadium of sorts, full of colorfully dressed people. They were cheering and yelling, and the strangest of all was, that they were all dressed in medieval clothing! Maybe it was a renaissance fair? But they hadn't seen any traces of all of these people on their way to the castle.
"Wh-where am I?" Max heard his voice say.
"Oh, my word, how can it be?
The boy has lost his memory!" the man exclaimed in response.
Max looked at the man. He seemed more and more strange. "Why do you keep rhyming?" The man shook his head mournfully
"Oh my starts, it's bad indeed
if you've forgot the Pennywort Creed!"
"The Pennywort Creed?" Max couldn't remember ever having heard of it before, but the man acted like it should have been common knowledge. He wondered if it was something he had not heard when he was daydreaming in school some day.
"Now, my boy, I shall repeat
the words I learned at my father's feet.
Anything said is not made worse
By saying thus said thing in verse."
"Do you always speak in verse?" Max was rather shocked at the thought. "And, actually, it makes you sound a little confusing. I'm not sure it improves anything you say."
"No, it's not always that I speak in verse." He looked offended. "But surely you remember. Yu've been Sir Percival Pennywort's squire for nigh two years!" He shook his head again. " Oh dear, oh dear it's bad,I fear."
"Sir Percival Pennywort?"
"At your service. I would bow if I could, but I can't stand up in this ridiculous armor alone. Can't you give an old knight a hand, there's a good boy."
To be continued...
But even though there were interesting things to see, it was still trying. You never quite knew what was going to be served for the continental breakfast included in the hostel price for an overnight, for example. And you never knew from one night to the next what kind of bedclothes you were going to get. Thank goodness they always relented and let him take his trusty sleeping bag along, at least. Even though most hostels pretty much didn't allow sleeping bags, they usually managed to sneak it into his bed, so he could fall asleep without worrying about whether the blanket was going to be scratchy or have those horrible little pills all over it or be a color that made his eyes water to look at, even in the dimness when the lights were turned off.
But today was better than most days. They were in a castle ruin, high on a hill. They'd had to walk up and up a narrow road that wound around and around the hill in order to reach the top, and it proved to be an amazing view of the fork in the river at the base of the hill, where it was joined by a smaller tributary. And the castle was just as exciting. It was an obscure little castle in the English countryside, probably not visited by more than a few hundred people a year. They were certainly the only ones today. But that was just as Max liked it. He could wander the corridors and halls all on is own, not disturbed by other people. His mom and dad weren't hovering about either, but he could hear their footsteps and voices nearby, so he didn't worry that they'd left him.
He looked into the great hall, with it's decaying mosaics on the walls, depicting scenes of knightly chivalry. He looked more closely, inspecting the detail of the armor, almost completely disappeared in the crumbling plaster and paint. He wondered if the pictures were from the time when the knights actually lived in the castle, if they were faces that actually sat around a great table in the hall. He could imagine them clearly, could almost hear their voices yelling and cheering each other as they told fantastic tales of their brave deeds. He sighed, wishing he could have been born then, into a knightly family. Sir Max. It had a ring to it. And he was sure that he would have been just the man for the job.
He stepped away from the wall and listened for his parents' voices, murmuring together in front of a tapestry in a hallway he had been in just before.
"Mom, Dad, I'm going out into the next hall," he called.
"Okay, honey, we're right behind you," his mom answered. He heard shuffling feet as the approached the great hall at the same time he left out the opposite door. He caught his breath as he could see, at the end of the long hallway he had just stepped into, a full suit of armor. He hurried down the hallway toward it, almost not beliving his good luck. A full suit of armor!
But as he came closer, he could see that it was just as neglected as the rest of the castle, dim with age and dust. The one hand was missing from it, he could see as he approached. That gave the suit of armor a lopsided appearance. He tried to ignore the empty wrist guard, but the gaping hole drew his eyes toward it. He stepped right up to the armor, looked down at the ground and smiled as he saw the missing metal glove, lying behind the left foot of the suit. He bent forward, stretched out his hand to try to reach it, and suddenly lost his balance, banging into the suit of armor. It rocked twice, and he grabbed at it, trying to bring it and himself back into balance. but instead, he fell backwards with his arms wrapped around the suit of armor, pulling it back on top of him. He heard a clattering crash and then everything went black.
...
Max blinked twice, opened his eyes and looked up at the clear blue sky. He frowned, wondering where he was. Had his parents carried him out of the castle, back onto the mangey lawn that surrounded the building? But before he could say anything or even move, a face popped into view above him. It was a man with a lean face and a bushy, black mustache, pepered with gray. He had a very concerned look on his face, at least what Max could see of his face, what with the most of it covered by a metal helmet. The man had lifted the visor and was looking out at him from under its shadow.
"Trevor?" the man asked.
"Who?" Max said.
"I do quite fear, my brave young chap,
That there has been a vile mishap." The man in the armor said.
"Well, at least I'm still in England," Max thought to himself, listening to the man's accent. He heard the sounds of a crowd and turned his head to look for his parents. They were nowhere to be seen, but instead he was looking at something very strange. It looked like he was was in a stadium of sorts, full of colorfully dressed people. They were cheering and yelling, and the strangest of all was, that they were all dressed in medieval clothing! Maybe it was a renaissance fair? But they hadn't seen any traces of all of these people on their way to the castle.
"Wh-where am I?" Max heard his voice say.
"Oh, my word, how can it be?
The boy has lost his memory!" the man exclaimed in response.
Max looked at the man. He seemed more and more strange. "Why do you keep rhyming?" The man shook his head mournfully
"Oh my starts, it's bad indeed
if you've forgot the Pennywort Creed!"
"The Pennywort Creed?" Max couldn't remember ever having heard of it before, but the man acted like it should have been common knowledge. He wondered if it was something he had not heard when he was daydreaming in school some day.
"Now, my boy, I shall repeat
the words I learned at my father's feet.
Anything said is not made worse
By saying thus said thing in verse."
"Do you always speak in verse?" Max was rather shocked at the thought. "And, actually, it makes you sound a little confusing. I'm not sure it improves anything you say."
"No, it's not always that I speak in verse." He looked offended. "But surely you remember. Yu've been Sir Percival Pennywort's squire for nigh two years!" He shook his head again. " Oh dear, oh dear it's bad,I fear."
"Sir Percival Pennywort?"
"At your service. I would bow if I could, but I can't stand up in this ridiculous armor alone. Can't you give an old knight a hand, there's a good boy."
To be continued...
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