The Indigo King - James A. Owen [89]
Chaz looked up at John and gave him a half smile and a nod, then went back to examining the book.
It occurred to John that it had only been through necessity that they’d brought Chaz with them. But just that degree of contact had changed him, perhaps permanently. He would never be the same Chaz they had first met. Perhaps never Charles—not their Charles, at any rate. But not the same as he’d been.
Jack interrupted John’s reverie with a squeeze of his arm. “Someone’s coming,” he said. “But I think he’s a friend.”
“Why do you say that?” asked John, already stiffened in expectation of a row.
“Because,” Jack replied, “he’s carrying a sword, a shield, and a baseball bat.”
The figure of the knight trudging toward them finally realized that the men in front of him were not fleeing, but merely watching. He took a defensive stance, and then looked more closely at their clothing.
“Who goes there?” the knight called out. “Identify yourselves, and state your allegiances.”
“Hank?” Hugo exclaimed. “Is that you?”
The knight straightened up and lowered the sword, then after a long moment, removed his helmet, which was streaked with blood. His gauntlets and breastplate were similarly stained, but his face was welcomingly familiar.
It was Hank Morgan.
Hugo strode down the slope, arms outstretched. “Hank! Well met, old sock! Well met!”
Hank held out a cautious hand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. How is it you’re here now?”
Hugo stopped and lowered his arms, confused. “You may not know us, but we know you, Hank.”
“You know me?” Hank exclaimed through gritted teeth. “That’s impossible.”
“No, it isn’t!” said Hugo. “We’re time travelers as well! We actually met you here, some years ago!”
The bloodied engineer shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said brusquely. “I’ve never traveled in time before. I don’t know how it happened. I was having an argument at my factory in Hartford, and a crusher named Hercules cracked me in the skull with a crowbar. I woke up underneath a great oak tree not too many miles from here.”
“We know the place,” said Hugo. “How long have you been here?”
“About six months, give or take,” Hank replied. “Just long enough to see the whole place going straight to hell in a hand-basket.” He dropped the bat and shield and moved up to shake hands with Hugo. “Sorry about the reaction,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I saw a friendly face.”
“What’s happened here, Hank?” asked John, pointing at the castle. “Who’s attacking them?”
“Who isn’t is a better question,” Hank replied. “All the tribes and fiefdoms have united against King Arthur.”
“Against Arthur?” John deadpanned. “Arthur united the tribes and kingdoms. Who would dare raise a hand against him?”
“From what I’ve learned, the nobles have always resented him,” Hank replied. “There’s a deep-seated belief that he came by his crown though deceptive means, that he never truly earned the right to become the High King thirty years past. And it all came to a head a few months ago when his own adviser, that bastard Merlin, united the nobles and besieged Camelot.
“Actually, the place would have fallen weeks ago,” Hank continued, “if Arthur’s uncle, Mordred, hadn’t shown up to help defend the castle.”
The companions were horrified.
“His uncle?” Jack exclaimed, eyes narrowing. “When did that happen?”
“It isn’t in the histories,” said John. “None of the ones I’ve read, anyway.”
“I don’t care if Mordred’s his nursemaid,” said Chaz. “Why is Merlin attacking Arthur? I’nt he s’pposed t’ be the good one?”
Hugo was overcome with a different emotion: guilt. “This is all my fault,” he began.
“It’s not over yet,” John said, cutting him off. He turned to Hank. “We have to get to Arthur. Is there any way we can get close to the castle? Any way at all?”
“There just might be,” Hank answered. “Follow me.”
About half a mile to the north of the castle, where an assault was impossible because of the thickness of the rocks and trees that bordered the river just beyond, Hank led them to a massive