Free Children of the Knight by Michael J. Bowler

hell are you, anyways?” Jack asked, keeping himself between Arthur and Mark.
    “I am King Arthur. Hast thou heard of me?”
    Mark and Jack exchanged another look of disbelief. “Yeah, in made-up stories, when I’s a little kid,” Mark snorted derisively. “My mom used ta read ’em to me. But they’s just stories , man.”
    Arthur tilted his head and eyed the boys earnestly. “They be true stories, lad. I am seeking youths with whom to rebuild my Round Table. If thy life doth not please thee, come and join me on my quest for justice and peace.”
    Mark and Jack exchanged yet another look, this one of bewilderment. Arthur’s sincerity touched them both. He wasn’t like the johns who trolled the area, picking up boys for casual sex and then dumping them back into the street. Those guys were as easy to read as a children’s picture book. But this guy? Neither boy could figure his angle, and out here they thought they’d seen it all.
    “You shittin’ us?” Jack exclaimed, his thumping heart slowly subsiding.
    “A knight always speaketh the truth, lad. It beeth his solemn oath,” Arthur assured them. The boys in his entourage all nodded, confirming Arthur’s veracity. “Now, there be others like thyselves in this area?”
    Mark and Jack looked at Arthur uncertainly and spread their arms wide, taking in the whole of the street. Jack whistled loudly, and the other hustlers jogged quickly over to join them.
     

     
    D EEPwithin Arthur’s underground lair, those children with nowhere to go, or whose homes were worse than the streets, had elected to stay the night. Arthur possessed numerous bedrolls and blankets, and the children quickly adapted to the dripping, echoing sounds that permeated the drain system. The damp, rotting smell took more getting used to, but it was still better than what they’d left behind. Most were fast asleep. A few practiced their sparring under lantern light but did it quietly so as not to disturb the sleepers. Some were busily hanging wet clothing on several makeshift clotheslines strung from wall to wall across the tunnels.
    Lance and Chris sat off to one side. The small boy, clothed in a billowy tunic three sizes too big and equally large leather pants tied around his waist with a leather drawstring, now had his blond hair washed and combed, and he was clean and comfortable. He sneezed, and Lance handed the boy some tissue.
    “Thanks, Lance,” he snuffled. “Thanks for staying with me. I know you wanted to go with Arthur.”
    Lance nodded, watching the swordplay, but not really seeing it. He sighed heavily. “It’s cool, Chris.”
    “You’re the best, Lance,” replied the smaller boy, snuggling up against his hero as though afraid to let him go. Lance squirmed with discomfort. He knew Chris doted on him because he saw him as his savior, but he was a loner. He didn’t like being close to people, and he hated having people touching him. Even little kids like Chris. Getting close to people always ended up… hurting.
    What he’d just told Chris was not the truth, however. He had accepted Arthur’s request that he be First Knight, and he knew that meant he was in charge whenever Arthur was not present. But did it mean that now he’d never be able to go out with Arthur again because these other kids needed someone in charge? He didn’t think he could handle that.
    “When’s Arthur coming back?” Chris asked sleepily, pulling Lance out of his reverie.
    “Don’t know, little man. Methinks soon.” At least he hoped so.
    Chris smiled as he drifted off to sleep in Lance’s arms. Lance gazed absently at the practicing boys, but his mind and heart were out there with Arthur.
     

     
    A RTHURtrotted along on Llamrei, who’d grown very comfortable in the presence of cars and honking horns and other odd, loud noises. His armed squires, dressed in their medieval finery, marched by his side, followed by Mark, Jack, and four other teen boys who chose Arthur’s crusade over