The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis (10 page)

“Yeah, well, Robyn will be the one who’s stricken if I don’t get into the castle and find where those soldiers took my fellow Timeke—er, friends.”

Miriam’s face hardened. “Robyn stricken? Dost thou jest?”

Amanda sighed. “I wish. Let’s just say he’ll have more to worry about than getting arrested for poaching. Trust me, Miriam, I’m here to help him.”

Miriam hesitated for an instant, then as if a wall of ice melted between them, she grabbed Amanda by the elbow and led her to a gigantic stump pushed up against a steep pitted wall. The stump was plastered with moss, with vines and brambles choking it beyond death. On one side, there was a split in the trunk big enough for her to wiggle inside. Miriam pushed Amanda through it and followed her in. The stringy arms of moss dangling from all sides made Amanda feel like she was in a hollowed-out jack-o-lantern. A huge gaping hole above, plus an assortment of small irregular holes where birds had pummeled the stump, allowed enough light in for Amanda to see. Cringing, she moved away from the rotting walls, while Miriam rolled aside a huge piece of bark and let it drop to the spongy floor.

“Come hither,” she said urgently.

“Come where?”

Miriam turned, bent her head, and disappeared into a carved-out hole in the wall. Amanda gulped. She had seen plenty of horror movies that started out this way. She shivered as she entered the cave, feeling the dampness penetrating through to her bones. Darkness instantly snuffed her vision. All Amanda could do was listen, feel, and trust. The sound of Miriam breathing ahead put her at ease. Putting out her hands to stop herself from stumbling, she pushed against the cave wall. It felt soft and powdery like sand. She pushed harder, felt her hands moisten and started to feel chilled. It wasn’t a freezing temperature, but more like a cool spring morning.

“Does Robyn know you do this kind of stuff, Miriam?”

Miriam stopped. Amanda almost fell over her. “What
stuff?”

Amanda regained her balance. “You know…sneaking into the castle stuff.”

Miriam giggled. “Nay, ’tis my own penance. I steal in food for the prisoners and give them comfort. Now come, we’re almost thither.”

Amanda let out a thankful breath as they rounded a smooth corner. A flicker of light danced across a wall ahead of them. It was another opening that led into another tunnel. Amanda started to hear voices. Familiar voices. The closer they got to the opening, the louder the voices became. Miriam collapsed to her stomach, and just before she wiggled around another corner, she beckoned Amanda to approach. There was barely enough room for the two girls to fit side by side, with Miriam’s bow digging into Amanda’s ribs and Jensen’s backpack sliding to one side. The hole must have shrunk at least a foot in diameter. Miriam put a finger to her lips and pulled back a piece of tattered burlap covering the hole.

“Look, Mui, it’s your fault we’re stuck in this stinking rat hole!”

Amanda’s eyes widened when she saw the back of two jean-clad legs dangling in front of her. A wicked smell—probably from the dirty straw strewn across the floor—made her balk. Amanda nudged Miriam and pointed.
My friends,
she mouthed to her. Miriam nodded.

“My fault? Correct me if I’m wrong, brain-drain, but I believe I was the one who had to hurdle over you to avoid doing a slam dance with each other!”

Drake snorted. “Yeah, but if you weren’t following me so closely—”

“That’s enough!” Professor Lucas said.

Miriam started to worm her way back to the main tunnel. She motioned Amanda to stay, and then disappeared into the darkness. Suddenly, Amanda heard a low, raspy laugh.

“Tsk, tsk…now I know why some mothers eat their young.”

The professor gasped. “Crowley! You son-of—”

“Uh-ah, not in front of the children, John,” the man whom Professor Lucas had called Crowley, interrupted. “Oh, and it is
Sheriff
Crowley now. Didn’t you hear? I’m the
new
Sheriff of Nottingham.”

“You’re…the what?” the professor asked, his voice catching in his throat.

Curious, Amanda crawled closer to the opening. A long wooden bench was positioned above the hole. Drake’s legs obscured her vision, so she craned her head as far as she could to get a glimpse of Professor Lucas’s archenemy. Lit torches hanging from the cave walls offered minimal lighting, but enough for Amanda to catch the corners of Crowley’s thin lips creeping up his face. This douche had bad news written all over him. He wasn’t dressed like he came from their century at all. A long, purple cloak with matching hose and pointy shoes covered Crowley’s wiry body, while his jet hair was pulled back into a small pony tail to reveal stone-gray eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. Then a glimmer just below Crowley’s neckline caught Amanda’s attention and held it. It was a Babel necklace, a replica of what she and the others were wearing, only Crowley’s blue stone appeared darker, as if a shadow lurked inside.

“You heard me well enough, Lucas,” Crowley replied. His eyes darted first to Drake, and then to Treena. “I see you’ve been reduced to babysitting, Johnny-boy. But, I guess there aren’t many job opportunities for a disgraced professor, are there?”

“I really don’t know, Marcus, you tell me. You’re the
professor
who disappeared with the Mayan Arch.”

“Ah, yes, but you’re the
professor
they blamed,” Crowley sneered.

Amanda heard Treena whimper. “I don’t suppose we get our one phone call?”

“Phone call, alas no, but your well-being? Now that depends on Professor Lucas,” Crowley said.

“What the devil are you talking about, Crowley?” Professor Lucas asked.

Crowley bent his head like a cobra about to strike. “I want the crystal trident that you used to get here.”

Amanda’s shoulders tensed. She clutched her chest and felt the impression of the Timekeepers’ log under the thickness of Jensen’s sweatshirt. Good. The log and crystal trident were both safely tucked in her bib. She released a low sigh and her shoulders at the same time.

“Crystal trident? What crystal trident? You kids know what he’s talking about?”

“Un-uh. Don’t know nothing ’bout no crystal trident,” Treena confessed.

“Me neither, chump,” Drake added.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Crowley thundered.

“I do,” Drake replied. Amanda imagined him with a full-on smirk.

Professor Lucas stood up. “Look, Crowley, we have no idea what you’re talking about so just let the kids go—”

“You lie like a rug, Lucas!” Crowley hissed. “I know you’ve been to Atlantis. I also know that there are more Timekeepers hiding out in Sherwood Forest. Face it, John, it’s only a matter of time until all seven of you will occupy this dungeon.”

“But we need the crystal trident to get back home,” Treena pleaded.

“That’s not my concern, girl,” Crowley replied maliciously. “All I know is from the moment you became Timekeepers, you went against Belial.”

“What happened to you, Marcus? You had a promising career, and you blew it! What has Belial promised you that you couldn’t have worked for and gotten by yourself?”

Crowley stroked his greasy beard and smiled. “Knowledge, John. A firsthand knowledge of history. I could never have achieved that by keeping my nose buried in text books or going on pointless archaeological digs with feeble-minded colleagues. What humankind has destroyed in the past, I can witness with my own eyes and change it. I can
become
history! I can rewrite it!”

“But you can’t
change
history! It’s already been written!” Professor Lucas argued.

Crowley laughed defiantly. “That’s where you’re wrong, Johnny-boy. I’ve already changed history. I
am
the Sheriff of Nottingham. Belial has transported me here to eliminate the famous Robin Hood by any means I see fit.”

Amanda’s eyes bugged. It was a good thing Miriam didn’t hear that. She would have gone all medieval on Crowley with her bow and arrow and attitude.

Professor Lucas took a step forward. “Why? What would be the point?”

Two guards shuffled closer to Crowley.

“Think, John, think,” Crowley said, tapping a thin finger on Professor Lucas’s forehead. “If the legend of Robin Hood never existed, then the ripple effect would be suppressed forever.”

“What’s that twisted lame-o talking about, Prof?” Drake asked.

Professor Lucas’s shoulders sagged. “If there was no such person to rob from the rich and give to the poor, then there would be no champion—no symbol of hope—for the common people in this time period. That’s what the legend of Robin Hood is really all about—fighting back and standing up against the evils of an archaic system.”

“Very good, Lucas. I see the teacher has become the pupil,” Crowley said, clapping.

“So what happened to the
true
Sheriff of Nottingham?” Treena asked.

“Belial has other
plans
for him, just as he does for John Lucas.”

“What kind of plans?” Drake asked suspiciously.

“I wouldn’t worry, brat,” Crowley said, sneering. “Belial’s plans don’t include children. To him, the young ones are just a waste of time.”

“You low-life snake!” Professor Lucas seethed. He lunged for Crowley’s throat.

A guard was there in an instant and slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of the professor’s skull. Treena screamed as Professor Lucas slumped to his knees and collapsed on the dirty straw floor. Amanda jerked as she searched for any signs of consciousness, but he was out cold.

Crowley motioned for the guard. “Take him to the deepest cavern,” he commanded.

He skulked over to Drake and Treena. Amanda swallowed hard, feeling utterly helpless. Her nails dug into the sandstone. Her throat and stomach tightened as she anticipated Crowley’s next move.

“Take off those pretty necklaces and give them to me,” Crowley demanded.

“But we need them to talk to people, and to get back home!” Treena cried.

Crowley drew a bejeweled dagger from his belt and lunged for Drake. He pulled him up and placed the dagger under Drake’s throat. Amanda covered her mouth.

Drake grunted. “Give him the stupid necklace, Treena!”

Treena whimpered as she handed her Babel to him. Crowley helped himself to Drake’s Babel and then roughly pushed him down to the bench. He stuffed the pair of necklaces into a pouch hanging from a leather belt around his waist. With a warning look to both Drake and Treena, he backed away, snickering.

“I-I’m scared, Drake. What’s gonna happen?” Treena whispered.

Amanda could actually hear Drake swallow, feel his animosity leach down to her. “Chaos, Treena. Chaos is gonna happen.”

Crowley blinked. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, nut-bar,” Drake replied, through clenched teeth. “Timekeepers are here to create chaos so order can continue. Face it, Crowley, you might as well give up now.”

“My, such big words for such a young mouth.”

“Drake’s a genius,” Treena said. “That means he’s smarter than you, douche-bag.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched like a voodoo doll’s pin was stuck in his face.

Another guard stumbled up. In his hand was an iron rod with the letter B positioned at the tip. “I’ve brought the branding iron thou hast demanded, Sheriff.”

“W-What’s that for?” Treena squeaked.

Crowley’s face lit up with an ugliness Amanda had never seen before. “Here, in Nottingham, we use a branding iron to keep criminals in line. The letter reveals the crime to the public. And, since you went against Belial, I thought a nice charred B on each cheek would remind you of who you are dealing with.”

Crowley snapped his fingers. “Guard, chain these two criminals to the wall and encourage them to tell me what I want to know,” he commanded. He whirled around and headed down a low-lit tunnel.

Amanda watched in silent horror as the shadows swallowed Crowley completely.

“No, no, wait, you can’t do this!” Treena screamed. “I plead the fifth! I want a lawyer!”

The guard snorted like a hog and pulled Treena off the bench. Her high-heeled sandals dug into the floor, but it was no use. She stumbled and was dragged to the opposite side of the cave. Amanda struggled to peer around Drake’s legs. A row of iron chains hung against the wall. Shredded clothing and clumps of hair on the floor made Amanda feel like she was holed up in a serial killer’s basement. Her throat tightened as she attempted to control her breathing.

“Let me go, you—you bully in chain mail!” Drake yelled as he was yanked off the bench.

The guard who’d brought the branding iron dropped it into a bucket of hot coals. Amanda heard a sizzle, pop, hiss as the coals merged with the metal. She found the courage to open her mouth, take a deep breath, and—inhaling the stench of rancid straw and rat poop—she sneezed, and sneezed again.

The struggling stopped. She heard clomping head toward her and the bench was wrenched away from the wall. Amanda stared at a pair of leather boots and dingy stockings. She tried to wiggle her way back in the hole, but the guard grabbed both her hands and plucked her out as if she was a rabbit in a magician’s hat.

“Look what we hath,” the guard sneered, his grip acting like a pair of medieval handcuffs.

“Aye, ’tis a hunchback whose luck hath run dry,” the guard added as he chained Drake.

“Amanda!” Treena yelled.

Drake laughed. “Now you two lame-brains will be sorry you messed with Timekeepers! Call in the cavalry, Amanda!”

The guard holding Amanda guffawed. Half his teeth were missing, the other half were blackened. A conical helmet covered his bulging head, while metallic fish netting draped his gray tunic. He applied pressure to her wrists. She winced.

“A-A-About that, Drake, you see—”

“Unhand the hunchback, rogue!”

Amanda looked around the guard’s stout body. There, in the entranceway to another room, stood Miriam, pointing an arrow at the guard. Her hood was up to cover her face.

“Put down yon bow, and ’twill be easy on thee, rogue!” the guard growled.

“I think not, knotty-pated simpkin!” Miriam let her arrow fly.

The guard wailed as Miriam’s arrow pierced his behind. “Arrgh, me arse!”

He released his hold on Amanda, and she swiftly jumped up and pulled the top of his helmet down to cover his eyes. Then she spun him around like a top and pushed him into the wall, head first. He smashed into it, wobbled, and fell back into a pile of foul smelling straw. A black rat the size of a house cat squealed and scampered out of the heap. Miriam took another arrow from her belt, placed it in her bow, and aimed it at the second guard.

He chortled wickedly, grabbed Treena by the hair, and pulled her over as far as the chains would allow. He stepped behind her and drew out his sword. “Drop thy bow, or I slit the wench’s throat!”

Treena whimpered. “Now would be a good time for a knight in shining armor!”

Miriam slowly lowered her bow. She cast her eyes over to Amanda and smiled at her. Amanda frowned. She looked over toward Treena, who was being used as a human shield. A short shadow danced across the opposite wall. Her eyes widened. Somehow Drake had escaped out of his chains. Amanda glanced back at Miriam and discreetly nodded.

“This is so you don’t forget who you’re messing with, chump!” Drake shouted, shoving the red-hot branding iron into the guard’s cheek. “FYI—the B is for bozo!”

“Ahhhh!” the guard screeched, dropping his sword and coddling his cheek.

Drake kicked the sword away, lunged for the key ring hanging off his belt, and unlocked Treena’s chains. “Will a black knight in a red dragon T-shirt do instead, Mui?” he asked, grinning.

Treena threw her arms around Drake’s neck. “You bet, Bailey! Thanks! BTW—how’d you get out of those chains?”

Drake squirmed out of Treena’s grip. “They just slid off my wrists. I guess they don’t get too many criminals in my size.”

Amanda raced to the fallen guard. She grabbed one hand, while Treena took the other, and together they chained him to the wall.

“So what’s with the Quasimodo look?” Treena whispered, nudging her chin toward the hump.

“I had to blend in,” Amanda explained quietly. “Instead, I ended up standing out. If it wasn’t for meeting Miriam, I’d still be wandering around the forest. She helped me get into the castle, and saved both your butts.”

Treena gasped. “Not
the
Miriam?”

“Yes, that one,” Amanda whispered.

“Good,” Drake murmured. “Maybe she can help us find the others.”

“That’s the plan,” Amanda muttered.

“Please, I beg thee, unchain me too.”

Miriam raised her bow. “Who speaks?”

“’Tis me, Alan a’Dale, o’er hither.”

Amanda turned and noticed a carved out niche in the darkest part of the dungeon. She grabbed a torch off the wall and walked over with Miriam. A young man, maybe sixteen, was chained to the wall, his arms and legs pulled as far apart as they would go. He wore a funny looking red cap, the kind a jester might wear, which covered most of his curly black hair, a dingy white shirt decorated with large shiny buttons on both sleeves, and tight green breeches which were unevenly stuffed into a pair of long boots. A pear-shaped guitar-like instrument lay in the corner, propped up against Treena’s knapsack.

“Take me with thee,” Alan a’Dale begged.

Amanda looked at Miriam, who lowered her bow.

“What hast thou done to anger the sheriff?” Miriam asked.

He sighed. “’Tis the truth, I am but a lowly jongleur. I was arrested for singing a ballad.”

“A ballad? About what?” Amanda asked, furrowing her brow.

He grinned. Even in the low light of the flickering torch, his teeth were white and straight. “In Nottingham, the people fight,” he sang eloquently. “They cry for justice from their king. But no one hears the beggar’s plight. Only feel the sheriff’s cruel, sharp sting.”

Miriam laughed. “’Tis my kind of song! Release the jongleur, Amanda.”

Amanda snatched the key ring out of Drake’s hand and passed the torch to him. As she started to unlock Alan a’Dale’s shackles, she met his sky blue eyes dead on.

“Thou art the prettiest hunchback my eyes hath seen,” he whispered to her.

Amanda could feel her body ping all over. Pockets of warmth erupted through her skin in places she never knew existed. Her arm pits started to bubble.

“We must make haste, Amanda,” Miriam said, severing her private thoughts. “Before more guards appear.”

Amanda nodded. “Can you take us to Robyn?”

Even under the hood, Amanda caught Miriam frowning. “Thou saidest Robyn would be stricken if thou didn’t get into the castle to find thy friends. Now, thou hast found them. Why dost thou need me to take thee to Robyn?” Her fingers tightened around her bow.

“What’s going on, Amanda?” Treena asked. “She sounds freaked.”

Amanda pursed her lips. “Miriam wants answers. I sort of told her that Robyn would be stricken if I didn’t find you guys.”

Drake groaned. “Something tells me that we’re the ones who are gonna be stricken.”

“Why dost thy friends speak oddly, Amanda?” Miriam asked suspiciously.

“Aye, sounds like the devil ’imself sits upon thy tongues,” Alan a’Dale added, as he picked up his instrument and plucked it.

Miriam aimed her arrow at Amanda. “God’s wounds, hath a hunchback tricked me again? I will do no leeches for thee!”

Startled, Amanda dropped the key and put her hands up. No use explaining that the only way she could understand Miriam was because of her Babel necklace. She glanced nervously at Drake and Treena, then something Alan a’Dale had just said hit her.

“No wait, Miriam, Alan is right. The truth is that both my friends have been bewitched by Sheriff Crowley. He used dark magic to strike their voices, and now he seeks to take away your people’s hope. Crowley is evil and doesn’t belong in Nottingham. We’re really secret
law keepers
sent here to stop him. Trust me, Miriam, Robyn and the rest of the people of Nottingham, will only be safe when we accomplish what we came here to do.”

Drake smiled. “I hate to admit this, Sault, but that was pure genius.”

Miriam sighed. She relaxed her stance, loosened her arrow, and lowered her bow. “Very well, Amanda. Thy plea rings true. Sheriff Crowley hath been in Nottingham for over a fortnight, and hence, I hath not seen Sheriff Philip Marc. ’Tis the truth, Sheriff Crowley hath caused nothing but grief and anger. I shall do as thou biddest. But I warn thee, if thither be a drop of deceit, ’twill be unlucky for thee and thy friends.”

Chains rattled behind them. “Thou rogues shall pay dearly for this,” the shackled guard hissed, coming out of his stupor. “Guards! Hither! Help!”

Drake dropped the torch, scooped up some rags off the floor, and shoved them in the guard’s mouth. Then he picked up the key ring, grinned, and tossed it into the bucket of hot coals. “Told ya we’re here to create chaos, lame-brain!”

“I know of a tunnel leading to the courtyard,” Alan a’Dale whispered.

“Art thou mad?” Miriam snapped. “We will be marked.”

“Nay. We shall be merry with the crowd,” Alan a’Dale said, strutting toward the entrance to the main tunnel, his instrument slapping against his back. “Come hither, quickly.”

Amanda could hear faint footsteps coming down the opposite end of the tunnel.

Treena lunged for her backpack and strapped it on.

“Where are we going, Amanda?” Drake asked.

Amanda wanted to say “crazy,” but instead said, “Apparently, to be merry.”

“Mary? Who’s Mary?” Treena asked, as she stumbled up the tunnel.

An expansive courtyard filled with people, wagons, tents, and livestock greeted Amanda at the mouth of the tunnel. Dusk was pressing in on them as the sun’s shimmering farewell poked through the thick rising smoke of nearby fires. The courtyard was a beehive of activity, so it was easy to blend in. Musicians were playing odd-looking string instruments, some similar to what Alan a’Dale owned, while other instruments resembled flutes or reeds or bells. As they merged with the crowd, the sound of laughter and noisy bartering rose above the music. Wagons loaded with fine fabrics, fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and breads were scattered about chaotically.

“We shall make for the minstrels’ tent,” Alan a’Dale said. “The harp player is my coz.”

Miriam tugged on his instrument. “Thou hath better not lead us on a merry chase, jongleur,” she warned.

“If milady dost not let go of my lute, then ’twill be me chasing thee,” he growled.

Miriam nodded sharply, released the instrument he’d called a lute, then gave Amanda, Drake, and Treena the come along sign with her chin. They had gotten halfway through the courtyard when a brawl broke out near a fish stand, knocking a barrel of fish all over the ground. The screech of fighting roosters in a small pen next to Amanda made her jump. People were yelling at the birds, rousing them, and gambling on which one would win. Disgusted, she whirled around, and couldn’t find Miriam or Alan a’Dale anywhere.

“Where’d they go?” Amanda asked.

“I dunno,” Treena said, glancing all around. “There are hundreds of people all around us, and it’s getting dark.”

“Yeah,” Drake added. “Plus there’s about a hundred foot by fifteen foot thick stone wall surrounding us. I don’t see us getting outta here any time soon.”

Before Amanda could say anything, someone slapped her square on the back. She stumbled and clenched her teeth. She was tired of being the town’s punching bag. Seeing a slim, long-bodied, mottled brown fish by her foot, she stooped to pick it, then turned and walloped whoever smacked her.

“Umph! Why dost thou hit me with a ling, hunchback?” a portly boy asked, rubbing his ruddy cheek. He sounded more puzzled than angry.

He reached over, grabbed Amanda by both shoulders, and lifted her off the ground. She dropped the fish and stared at the droopy-eyed boy, who somehow resembled a loyal hunting dog with brown matted hair. He wasn’t threatening, but he wasn’t exactly friendly either. Sugar caked the corners of his mouth, and he wore a rumpled green tunic like a potato sack. His breath smelled surprisingly sweet.

Drake kicked at the hulking boy. “Let her go, Oxzilla!”

Treena picked up another fish and swung it around in the air. “Prepare to become sushi-ized, douche-bag!”

The boy turned his big head slightly. “Thou mumblest oddly. Did thy tongues get cut out and shoved in backwards?”

Amanda groaned. “He doesn’t understand you guys!”

“Well understand this, lunk-head!” Treena yelled as she whacked him across the back of the head with the fish.

The next thing Amanda felt was her butt kissing the ground. She winced. Enough was enough. She was getting tired of playing the stricken fool game. Amanda rolled to her feet and, struggling out of Jensen’s hooded sweater, grunted and groaned until it lay in a heap at her feet. Then she pulled off his knapsack.

“There! Satisfied? I’m no more a hunchback than you’re Robyn Hodekin!”

The boy scrunched his face. “Wot, me? Robyn Hodekin? Nay, nay, I’m Much the Miller’s son. Robyn’s yonder.”