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...