CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
525 A.D.
The king was not happy. The king was mad. Furious might be a better way to describe his reaction to Cyrus Fowler’s demands.
“I shalt marshal my entire army and march upon Widow’s Peak!” he bellowed. A disturbing shade of purple colored his face. “I vow to swat Cyrus Fowler from the face of this earth.”
An image of King Kong (the monkey not the king) sitting atop the Empire State Building and swinging at bi-planes popped into my head. I couldn’t help it.
The king continued, “I shall personally lead the assault! Prepare my horse and my armor!”
There was a definite possibility that Pat’s dad was going to blow a gasket. A definite possibility? How can a possibility be definite? By its very definition, a possibility is something that could happen. Something that is not a certainty. So a definite possibility makes no sense. Talk about your contradictory terms.
And as long as we are on the subject of contradictions, how about zombies? Dead humans that are reanimated by witchcraft, voodoo, or black magic. They crawl out of their graves forced to unwillingly do their master’s bidding. Zombies are the ‘living dead.’ What better example of a contradiction could there be? I mean, the ‘living dead.’
I should note here that zombies as contradictions are great. Actually zombies are not. They are undead monsters who want only to eat the living’s brains. Brady and I have battled a few zombies in our time and can tell you that it is extremely difficult to kill the undead. Actually, we’ve battled zombies in a variety of video games and one guy in a zombie mask who was only pretending to be a zombie. We settled out of court and I sincerely hope that he has recovered from all of the injuries that we erroneously inflicted upon him. But seriously dude, maybe you shouldn’t wear a zombie mask and sneak up on people - I’m just saying.
Actual zombies are tough to take down. I won’t bore you with the details, but I will tell you that you gotta either use fire to stop them or squash their brains. Fighting zombies is dirty work and not for the squeamish.
My mind is out of control. I cannot seem to keep a normal train of thought. Brady would have slapped me silly by now. But zombies really are hard not to think about because when I think of zombies, I think of a poem my mom used to read me when I was little. And that makes me think about my mom. The poem went like this:
One sunny day late at night,
Two dead boys began to fight.
They lived on the corner in the middle of the block,
On the second floor of a vacant lot.
Back to back, they faced each other.
Drew their swords and shot one another.
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest those two dead boys.
If you don’t believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man, he saw it too.
I love that rhyme. And now I really miss my mom.
“Focus, Eli!” Merv hissed in my ear. “We can’t let the King send his army to Widow’s Peak.”
Pat’s father was extremely upset and continued to scream orders at anyone near enough to hear them. “Summon Military Intelligence immediately,” the king boomed. “Have Ian report to my war room at once. Now, we shall see what type of man this Cyrus Fowler truly is. He shall face the full force of this kingdom’s army!”
“Cyrus Fowler is an evil man, your Highness,” I said. “I believe he will make good on his threats against the Princess if we do not do exactly what he demands.”
The king stared at me for a long moment. Finally, he sighed heavily and rested his head in his hand.
“I feel so helpless doing nothing, young man. I cannot ask thee to comply with this madman’s requests,” the king breathed heavily. His voice had changed from one of anger to one of sadness and concern.
“You don’t have to ask me, your majesty. Pat is my friend. I would gladly do anything in my power to ensure her safe return, sir.”
King Kong turned away and ran his hands across his eyes. “Excuse me, Eli. I appear to have something in my eye,” he sniffled.
Out of respect for the king, I won’t mention here that he was actually crying. I, myself, have had “something in my eye” on previous occasions and could relate to the king’s discomfort.
Merv leaned in and whispered something to Pat’s father. The king listened attentively, cocking his head to one side as if considering his advisor’s words. Merv straightened and stepped to the side.
“An excellent idea,” the king responded to his advisor, wiping the moisture from his eyes. “Everyone is excused except for Mervyn and young Eli,” he announced to all those gathered in the Great Hall.
Knights, advisors, and court personnel filed from the room. Many of those departing grumbled and complained at having to leave, but followed the king’s order without hesitation. Gerald the new Herald closed the doors as he exited.
“I thought it better if we discussed our plans with the king in private, my boy,” Merv explained.
“After all that’s happened, I don’t think we can be too careful,” I agreed. “No sense taking any unwarranted chances.”
“Mervyn tells me, thou has some ideas about how to free my daughter,” the king said.
“I do, your majesty,” I concurred. “Fowler is an arrogant man who will expect us to simply follow his commands without question. I believe we can use his arrogance against him.”
The king looked anxious. “Let me assure your majesty,” I quickly added, “that we will put Pat’s safety first at all times. She is our number one priority.” The king nodded in agreement and we got down to business.
Pat’s father, Merv, and I discussed our plans for several hours before we parted ways. The king made it clear to his knights that no one was to interfere with the exchange I had agreed to make with Fowler. For the second time within a twenty-four hour period, I left the great hall hoping that the king’s trust in me wasn’t misplaced. There was a definite possibility that I was about to get myself and Pat killed.
Merv and I hurried back to his chambers to put the finishing touches on our make-shift rescue plan. Time grew short. We talked about different scenarios, considered numerous contingencies, and prepared for as many unforeseen circumstances as we possibly could. In the end, one thing was clear. We were going to have to wing it (no pun or reference to Fowler’s birds intended.)
As I placed the last of our bundles in a leather bag provided by Merv, a thought occurred to me.
“Fowler believes that we possess the Dragon’s Scale, Merv. That doesn’t make any sense.”
Merv stopped checking his equipment and gave me a quizzical look. “I’m not sure I follow you, Eli.”
“You told me that Scar guarded the Dragon’s Scale. There’s no doubt that Fowler and the winged beast are in league together. If Scar protects the stone, why would Fowler expect us to have it? He should already have it,” I reasoned.
“I never thought of that, lad,” Merv replied. “The legend of the Dragon’s Scale has always included a dragon as the stone’s protector. I guess I’ve just always assumed that Scar currently filled that role. I’m sorry, my boy,” Merv apologized.
“No apology necessary,” I assured my friend. “It was completely logical to make that assumption based on the research and data we have. This may actually work to our advantage.”
“How so, lad?”
“Fowler believes that we possess the stone. That gives us a little leverage. He thinks we have something he wants. Hand me a piece of cloth,” I said, an idea taking shape in my head.
I took the offered material and hoped it would prove useful in deceiving the man in black.
“So we don’t have the Dragon’s Scale and neither does Fowler,” Merv remarked. “That begs the question, where is the darn thing?”
A very good question, but one who’s answer would have to wait.
“One thing at a time, Merv,” I replied grinning. “Let’s get Pat back and then we’ll tackle that mystery.”
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“Of course, my boy,” Merv agreed. “First the Princess then we’ll get back to the Stones.”
Merv returned to his preparations. I went over the basics of our makeshift plan one final time. Scar and Cyrus Fowler had to be neutralized first for us to have any chance of saving Pat. Fowler’s birds and Harold the former Herald were secondary, more manageable problems.
Hopefully, the surprises Merv and I had concocted would be sufficient to tip the odds of success in our favor.
“Are we ready, my boy?” Merv inquired. He strapped his knife to his forearm.
“As ready as we’re going to be, my friend.” I shouldered my backpack and slung Merv’s borrowed bag across my chest. “We should part ways here, Merv,” I suggested. “Just in case Fowler has more spies planted inside the castle.”
“A sensible precaution, Eli. Goliath will be waiting for you in the stables, lad.”
I grasped my friend’s hand and firmly shook it.
“Good luck Merv. Keep Pat safe. She’s your first priority. Leave Fowler and Scar to me,” I said patting the bag on my chest.
“I will, Eli. Keep yourself safe,” Merv grinned. “Good luck, lad.”
I headed out the door and down to the stables. Did I mention that there was a definite possibility that I was about to get myself and Pat killed?