The Book of Joby (16 page)

“Where’s Father Crombie?” Benjamin asked when they were inside.

“The bishop has assigned Father Crombie to another post,” Father Richter told them. “I will be replacing him here.”

“But . . . he told us to come see him today,” Joby said.

“Yes,” said Father Richter. “He felt very badly about having to miss this appointment. In fact, he left a letter for you.” He went to pull an envelope from the top drawer of an expansive mahogany desk before a very large
window, then came back and handed it to Joby, who tore it open to find a typewritten letter.

Benjamin came to read over his shoulder.

Dear boys,

I’ve had to leave on important business, and will not be returning to the seminary. I am sure Father Richter will be delighted to offer you any assistance he can. I urge you to heed whatever advice he may offer. He is an invaluable mentor with whom you will not go wrong.

Sincerely,
Father John Crombie, O.F.M.

“What’s a ‘mentor’?” Benjamin asked.

“A rather special teacher, I suppose,” Father Richter replied, looking pleased.

“He’s not coming back—
ever
?” Joby asked.

“It seems not,” Father Richter said. “Father Crombie did not have time to tell me of your business with him. Is there anything I can do?”

Joby wasn’t sure about letting Father Richter in on their secret, so he just shook his head, thanked the priest, and said they had to get back home.

“If I may be of any help in the future,” Father Richter smiled, “I hope you will not hesitate to ask. I look forward to the pleasure of your company again.”

They thanked him politely, and left feeling glum.

They reached the main door downstairs and yanked it open. It was raining.

“Oh great,”
Benjamin moaned. “You’d think Crombie could’ve called, at least, and told us not to come all the way out here.”

Joby thought so too. Father Crombie had seemed so nice.

Behind the gothic window high above them, Father Richter was already on his knees in earnest prayer. The boys had come, and the letter had been there in the top desk drawer, just as the angel had foretold in his dream. Father Richter could always tell true dreams from false ones by the angel’s voice, so musical and pure. So virginal.

Father Richter had never seen her, though he imagined that she must be lovely beyond endurance. He supposed she hid herself lest he be tempted to impure thoughts. Even self-discipline like Father Richter’s might crumble
before the beauty of an angel. He often wondered if she wore clothing—but no matter. Until he was in Heaven, safe at last from fleshly temptations, he would be content with her lovely voice, and the tasks she brought him on God’s behalf.

Nothing meant more to Father Richter than knowing himself one of the very blessed few whom God had chosen to be of
special
service. Well aware that smaller men were quick to regard gifts they themselves had failed to attain as mere insanity, Father Richter had never spoken of his angel to anyone. They would
all
know in heaven, when they saw Father Richter’s glory at last revealed and were ashamed.

But, like any of God’s gifts, Father Richter’s prophetic dreams were a cross to bear as well. When the moment foretold had come and gone, he was always left to agonize over whether he’d tried hard enough or done his part correctly. He never dared assume success, for losing God’s special favor to pride or any other least sin frightened Father Richter far more than any threat of Hell.

“Lord!” he moaned now, eyes screwed shut, hands clenched in painful petition. “I
tried,
but I do not know if I have accomplished your purpose. Please . . .
please!
Give me some sign, that I may have peace!”

“They will return . . .”

He looked up in astonishment and stared around the room. There was no one present, but he knew what he’d heard. She’d never come to him outside of dreams before! Despite himself, he’d sometimes wondered—feared that . . . But now he knew, beyond any doubt! The angel was real!

“Thank you!”
he cried, not caring who might hear. “Thank you, my angel! I shall be worthy! When they come to me, I will lead them in the way that they should go!”

Kallaystra chortled in quiet delight as she took leave of her lovesick admirer. When Lucifer had requested her help in finding a useful priest, she had known right where to look. She’d been entertaining herself with this one for decades. Some of these mortal creatures just seemed to cry out for special attention, and
this one
had needed to be special
so badly.
He was even more willing than the child’s silly mother to believe that the Creator would waste time sending them dreams about every little thing. Such
simple
creatures.

Laura mentally rehearsed her lines as Joby and Benjamin escorted her like an honor guard toward the library. She had accepted Joby’s proposal instantly,
not bothering to explain that what he obviously saw as a solution, she viewed as a fine first step. In another flash of surprising statecraft, Joby had decided that any knight who wanted to veto the plan should have to say so to her face. No doubt about it, Joby was the smartest boy she knew.

She’d spent the morning reading a book of stories about Camelot she’d gotten from the library. It had been more interesting than she’d expected. She’d felt tremendous empathy for Guinevere. She’d also composed an impressive little speech full of phrases borrowed from the book, in case Joby needed help getting those pigheaded boys to say yes.

When Laura walked into the Roundtable meeting, flanked by Joby and Benjamin, there was a moment of surprised silence, during which she pointedly adjusted her pretty blue sling and heavy cast. But, as Benjamin had predicted, none of them dared object outright to her presence. Some even frowned at Duane.

“Hi, Laura,” Duane said lamely.

Everyone waited, clearly expecting her to cut him dead. She suspected that Duane had not told anyone of his visit to apologize, and decided to keep his secret safe for now.

“Hi, Duane.” She smiled. “Thanks again for the flowers. That was nice of you.”

Duane looked relieved, and the others began offering shy greetings of their own.

“Well, let’s start,” Joby said. “I call the Roundtable to order.”

Some of the boys looked uncertainly at Laura, but Joby pulled out the chair next to his, and waved her into it. The other boys looked around at each other as if their feet were glued in place. Not until Benjamin sat down to Joby’s left, did the rest join them.

Reaching into his knapsack, Joby pulled out his book of Arthurian tales, opened it to the place he’d marked, then stood and read:

“ ‘This,’ said Arthur to all his knights, ‘is the
new
code of honor you will uphold in all my kingdom!’ ” He read
very
well. Laura could tell he must have practiced even harder than she had. “ ‘Wherever the strong oppress the weak, you will fight the strong until the weak live in peace; not for wealth or fame, but for the glory that comes with honor! It is for you to slay whatever vile beast should plague the land—whether dragon or griffin—and to rescue
damsels in distress.
’ ”

He closed the book, looked boldly at his knights, and said, “We did our best to rescue Laura.” Laura noticed he was careful not to look at Duane.
“Benjamin and Kyle did a good job of getting help, and we stuck by her ’til they came, and she’s all right now. So I say, a cheer for Laura—and for us!”

He raised his fist in the air and shouted,
“The Roundtable!”

All the boys punched the air and shouted with him.
“The Roundtable!”

Mrs. Escobedo, the school librarian, came rushing out of her office. “
Boys!
This is a
library
! Any more yelling like that and you’ll all have to leave!”

They quieted immediately, and Mrs. Escobedo went back to her office, scowling and wagging her head.

“Laura was pretty brave too,” Joby said, more quietly. “You all heard her joke with that man about her hand.” They nodded, and some laughed. “Any of you think you could have laid there and not screamed your head off the whole time? I couldn’t,” he said before anyone could answer, though their faces all agreed with him. “You all know Laura’s wanted to be in the Roundtable since the day she heard about it.” A tense silence fell again. “Well, you just heard with your own ears that being a knight partly means rescuing damsels in distress, which I think we did as good as we knew how last week. And I don’t know about you, but I felt good to help Laura out.” There were a few tentative murmurs of assent around the table. “So here’s my idea,” Joby continued. “She’s brave as any of us, and she’s a pretty good sport, I think, considering we sort of knocked her out of that tree to start with.” Now he did look at Duane, as did most of the others. “And maybe she can’t be a knight, but there’s no reason she can’t join up as our official damsel in distress, is there?”

There were confused looks all around, and Laura’s confidence wavered.

“Think about it,” Joby urged. “Damsels in distress don’t just show up whenever you need ’em! What if we need one, and we ain’t got it?” Laura had noticed long ago that boys always turned to bad grammar or foul language when they were nervous around other boys, and wondered if the others knew it too, but Joby pushed ahead. “This way we always got one handy, no matter what.”

When no one spoke, she decided she’d better say her speech. She stood, trying to look at them all as boldly as Joby had. “Good knights, and gentle,” she began. She didn’t know gentle
what
exactly, but Guinevere had said it in the book, and it sounded nice. “I would not intrude upon your noble council, except to offer some small service in thanks for your brave service.” The rest of what she’d memorized suddenly left her, so she went on in her own words, making them as fancy as she could.

“I have heard you are looking for good deeds to do in secret.” Some of the
boys looked accusingly at Joby, as if
they
hadn’t told everyone themselves after last week’s meeting. “I can find out things which you might not hear about yourselves for you to do. No one even has to know I’m in, but you, good knights.” A few of them clearly liked the idea of a spy—as long as it wasn’t
them
being spied on, she supposed. “Of course, if this idea sounds
unseemly,
” she was proud of fitting that word in, “I would not wish to uglify this noble brotherhood with my presence.” She adjusted her sling again, then finished her speech with one last flourish gleaned from the book. “I thank you, brave and noble sirs, for hearing my petition with such courtesy.” She performed a grave bow, practiced exhaustively before her mirror at home, and sat down. Joby was staring as if he’d never seen her before. It had been easier than she’d feared. The fancy parts had seemed almost familiar in some weird way. In fact, she could hardly wait to talk like that some more.