Free The Search for the Red Dragon by James A. Owen

down and took deep breaths of the sea air.
    “Very nice,” said Charles. “Makes me feel like I was young again. Not that I feel particularly old, mind you, but this adventuring business is much more a young man’s game.”
    “You called?” Jack said, grinning.
    “You’re a college tutor,” Charles told him. “That means you age exponentially with each semester.”
    “How about him, then?” Jack said, hooking a thumb at John. “He’s a full professor.”
    “Dog years,” said Bert. “Professors age in dog years.”
    “And how about you, old hat?” asked Charles.
    “Oh, I took the easy way out,” said Bert. “I figured out that if I age all the way to the end, I just start over. So, practically speaking, I’m the youngest one here.”
     
    The first order of business was to announce themselves to the Guardian of Avalon—the Green Knight.
    “I shouldn’t mind seeing the dutiful old fellow again,” Charles said jovially. “He was very affable—after he quit trying to behead us, that is.”
    “There’s something you really ought to know,” Bert began, when they crested the hill and stood in front of the entrance to the ruins of Avalon.
    There, slumped against one of the fallen pilasters, arms akimbo, the Green Knight turned his head and regarded them with a resigned expression. He seemed younger than before but was still a mishmash of rusty armor, wooden limbs, and twigs that seemingly stuck out of every joint and crevice. But, oddly, he also affected a tattered top hat and trench coat over his armor.
    It occurred to John that this apparition might be what would result if the Tin Woodsman and Scarecrow from Frank Baum’s Oz were squeezed together.
    The armored scarecrow was chewing something, his mossy beard swaying with the motion. Then he swallowed hard and spoke.
    “I hope you’re not expecting me to stand on ceremony. I may have to stand guard over this junk pile, and help you when asked, and all the other shabby things they make me do here, but if you’re hoping for some sort of formal welcome, you can forget it.”
    Charles groaned and rubbed his temples.
    “What?” said Jack. “Wasn’t he Charles Darnay before?”
    “Before, but not now,” said Charles, and with the sound of his voice, the Green Knight recognized him.
    “Hey,” he exclaimed, standing straighter now, “you’re not going to let him hit me, are you?”
    John sighed. Now he knew who this was. “That’s what Bert was trying to tell us,” he said to the others. “This Green Knight isn’t the one we met before.”
    It was Magwich.
     
    “I thought the dragons had eaten you, or at the very least, dismembered you, Maggot,” said Charles.
    “I’m a knight now,” Magwich sniffed, “so you have to treat me with more respect.”
    “If you’re a knight, I’m Geoffrey Chaucer,” retorted Charles. He turned to Bert, sputtering in anger and amazement. “Magwich? The Green Knight? How did this happen, Bert?”
    “I wanted to explain,” Bert said sheepishly. “This is law, part of the old code established by King Arthur centuries ago. The dragons saw it as a fitting punishment for a traitor like Magwich.”
    “Punishment?” Jack exclaimed. “He looks as if he’s on holiday.”
    “I know, I know,” said Bert. “It isn’t supposed to be an honor —it’s supposed to be a penance . But Magwich is the only knight in more than two dozen generations of them who actually rose in station because of it.”
    “Well, I’m not about to trust anything he says,” Charles stated.
    “See, now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings,” said Magwich. “Just because I’m a murdering, thieving, cowardly, traitorous sort doesn’t mean I can’t do my job properly.”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Charles. “Fine. Whatever you say. Just keep him away from me.”
    With a gesture, the Green Knight motioned for them to follow. John walked beside him, with Jack, Charles, and Bert trailing along a short distance