The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis (13 page)

Robyn’s eyes lit up. “Dost thou think so, milady Amanda?”

Amanda nodded. “Face it, Robyn, you’re a natural. Melody only gave you the basics on how to hold the bow and where to plant your feet. The rest of what you already knew just fell into place.”

Robyn blushed. In fact, he almost turned the same color as his hair.

“So…do you think you’ll be ready for the archery tournament this afternoon?” Amanda asked.

Robyn dropped his bow. “Archery tournament? Dost thou jest, milady Amanda?”

Jest? No, she wasn’t joking. Was Robyn? Surely not. Amanda crossed her arms over her chest. “The whole point of changing you over to the longbow was so that you could enter the archery contest in Nottingham today and win. No problemo.”

“Yea, problemo! Sir Guy of Gisborne will be there. He is older and an expert archer. He always wins. I have no chance against him! If that is thy plan for me, this ends now!”

Robyn kicked his bow aside and stomped off.

“Anything wrong, Amanda?” Melody shouted across the meadow.

Nope. Nothing I can’t handle.
Amanda waved, grinned, and nodded. “Fine. Everything’s fine!” she shouted back.

She took a deep breath. It was time to channel her inner warrior. Amanda wasn’t going to let this medieval douche’s low self-esteem get to her. Robyn was going to be in that contest whether he liked it or not. Time—his time—depended on it. She bolted after him with a force she’d never experienced before and hit her target harder than an arrow. Amanda and Robyn tumbled over each other and landed short of a babbling brook. Her braid came loose, making Amanda’s dark brown hair cling to the sides of her face like the bearded lady in a freak show. She grabbed Robyn’s green hood, inched his face closer to hers and glared.

Robyn howled with laughter.

“What’s so funny, Hodekin?”

“Thou racest like a man, thou hittest hard like a man, and now thou lookest like a man.”

Amanda grunted. She released Robyn and rolled off of him. “Sorry, Robyn,” she muttered. “I guess I lost it.”

Robyn stopped laughing. “Lost what, milady?” He looked around the grass.

She wanted to say
dignity
, but didn’t. “Never mind.”

“I promise, ’twas not to insult thee, milady. Thou remindest me of Miriam, ’tis all.”

Amanda brushed the hair out of her face. “You really like Miriam, don’t you?”

Robyn’s face shined. “Aye. It frets me so to wonder why Miriam hath not been acting herself lately.” Robyn’s chin hit his chest. “I suppose Miriam Fitzooth deserves better. I have no title to my name or money in my purse.”

“You would if you won the archery contest, Robyn. Think about it. You win the title of best archer, you’re awarded money, and you go buy a big estate somewhere in the country. Tell me what girl wouldn’t want that?”

Robyn chuckled. “Such strange talk. But thou hast given me much to think about, milady. I thank thee.”

Without warning, Robyn grasped Amanda’s hand and planted a gentle kiss on it. This made her body hum.
So much for chivalry being dead.
Amanda sensed a blush rising up her neck about the same time she caught a movement in the bushes. Startled, she scanned the area and saw what looked like the outline of a person running away. Her heart clenched and she inhaled sharply. Someone had been watching them.

“Touch my face once more, Sharma, and I swear, I’ll—”

Jordan never had a chance to finish. Ravi covered his lips with woad—the thick blue face paint Alan a’Dale had collected from his minstrel friends. Alan also managed to score a few bells to use as instruments, a couple of swords, some colorful capes and woolen tunics, and one jester’s outfit consisting of pointy boots, a blue and white tunic, and a jiggling donkey-eared hat. The jester’s costume fit Jordan perfectly, making him the obvious choice to wear it. Amanda couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh.

“Don’t move, Jordan. You want to look like a real jester, don’t you?” Ravi asked.

Amanda would bet Jensen’s entire baseball card collection that he didn’t.

“Okay, that’s it,” Ravi said approvingly. “Half your face is painted. You’re ready.”

Jordan scowled at him. “Yeah, ready to puke all over you, Sharma.”

Ravi rolled his eyes. “Stop being a suck, Jensen. It’s like the stuff the makeup artists used in the movie
Braveheart
. I happen to think it looks wicked.” He prodded Jordan’s cheek.

Treena giggled as she pulled on a yellow tunic. “He looks more like ‘Foolheart’ to me.”

Drake snickered while struggling into a red tunic too big for him. “Yeah, minus the kilt.”

Jordan grunted and smacked Ravi’s hand away. “How come I couldn’t be something cooler, like a fencer or juggler?”

“Do you know how to fence like Melody or juggle like Alan?” Amanda asked, adjusting the bright green tunic over her shoulders.

Jordan frowned. “No.”

Amanda smirked. “And you wonder why you’re the fool?”

She picked up two sets of bells and handed them to Treena and Drake. “Since you guys are out of the loop, language-wise, one of you will walk with Ravi and the other with me.”

“Can’t I go with Melody?” Drake asked.

“She’ll be doing a fencing routine with Robyn,” Treena said, shaking her bells at him. “So, if you don’t wanna get skewered, it’s either team Amanda or team Ravi.”

“Fine. I’ll take Sharma,” Drake muttered.

“Did you have to make it sound like I’m your last choice?” Ravi said indignantly.

“Hey, who’s gonna walk with me?” Jordan asked, pushing back his fool’s cap.

“’Twill be me,” Alan a’Dale replied as he sauntered into the cave. He strummed his lute. “Thou shalt mock the crowds, free from their scorn or measure. ’Tis the truth a jester may speak his mind.”

“Wait, you mean I get to make fun of people and they can’t touch me?” Jordan asked. He grinned devilishly. “Sweet!”

Amanda snorted. “And how is that any different from your life back home, Jensen?”

“Zounds!” Jean le Nailor said as he entered the cave. “’Tis true what thou hast told me, Much. Jordan makes for a grand jester.”

“Aye, Jean, methinks Ravi hath done well,” Much said, ambling in behind him.

Tuck loped in after the boys, his enormous brown paws thudding across the dirt floor. His ears went back the moment he saw Jordan. Much gave him a reassuring pat. “’Tis ol’ right, Tuck. ’Tis only Jordan. Ravi hath fooled even thee.”

Ravi beamed as he tugged on his light blue tunic. “Um, thanks, guys. Now if only Jordan would play the part of a jester and smile more.”

“You try smiling with this blue crap on, Sharma.”

“Jock-heads have no sense of humor,” Ravi said, shaking his head. “I should have covered your whole face and made you look like a Smurf.”

Jordan clenched his teeth and took a swipe at Ravi. Jean le Nailor grabbed his hand in mid-air. Jordan tried to pull his hand away. “Let go, la Nailor! I may be shorter than you, but you’re
little
, Jean, when it comes to brain matter!”

“Little…Jean?” Much said. Then his face puckered, and he started to laugh hysterically.

Jean released Jordan’s hand and turned on Much. “What is so funny, simpkin?”

“
Little Jean
,” Much replied while wiping his mouth. “’Tis a grand jest!”

Jean le Nailor jerked. Then he smiled and slapped Much on the back. “Yea, Much, Little Jean doeth me just! ’Tis good for merriment! Jordan is a jester after all.”

“Why are they laughing?” Treena asked. “Drake and I are only on half a frequency here.”

“Apparently, they seem to like ‘Little’ Jean’s new nickname, compliments of ‘Big’ Jockstrap,” Amanda replied glaring at Jordan.

“Yeah,” Ravi added, “either Jensen just changed history or he somehow kept it in sync.”

The sound of someone scraping metal against rock made Amanda shiver. She turned toward the mouth of the cave as a scruffy red-headed boy entered. He was about Drake’s age, but taller. He dressed like and resembled Robyn, only instead of wearing a green hood and hose, he wore russet. His young face seemed hardened and angry. In one hand he held a fancy silver dagger which he kept sliding across a stone in a quick, almost obsessive manner. Amanda noticed two smaller knives were tucked inside his belt.

“Wil! Thou hast news of Miriam?” Jean asked hopefully.

Wil stopped fiddling with his dagger and looked up at Jean. His fierce, hazel eyes were serious and steady. “Nay, Jean. Sir Robert Fitzooth hath ordered fellow knights to search for her now.”

Much groaned. “’Tis bad news.”

Wil slowly glanced around the cave. His eyes bugged when he spotted Jordan. “’Tis no time for making merry,” he spat.

Suddenly, Jordan laughed like an idiot, moving his head to and fro, making the bells on the tails of his hat jingle excessively. “What do you call a redhead with an attitude?” he asked Wil. Without giving him a chance to answer he said, “Normal.”

Much guffawed. Jean laughed.

“Ah, Jordan,” Drake muttered. “I think his face is turning redder than his hair.”

“More like scarlet,” Treena said. “Looks like hues of red on red on red. Talk about clashing your fashion.”

Wil growled and lunged for Jordan with his dagger.

“Hey! Back off, you little douche!” Jordan yelled, stumbling backward. “I-I was kidding! I’m Switzerland!”

Before Wil had a chance to reach Jordan, Amanda snatched up Treena’s backpack and whacked Wil across the head with it. Stunned, he dropped his dagger, grabbed his head, and fell to his knees.

“Nice role playing, Jordan,” Ravi said. “Next time see what happens when you insult someone with a sword.”

Amanda tossed the backpack aside, wiped her forehead, and stared down at Wil. “Are…Are you crazy, Wil? We’re all on the same team! Why would you attack Jordan?”

Wil hung his head. “The knife…speaks for me.”

Amanda was taken back. Wil sounded broken and bitter.

“Yon dagger is Wil’s justice, milady Amanda,” Jean explained. “’Twas taken out of his mother’s belly by Wil’s own hand not more than a month ago.”

Jordan stiffened. “What! Who did—”

“The sheriff’s rogues!” Wil cut in, standing. He picked up his knife and stuffed it in his belt with the others.

“But, couldn’t you go to the king for justice?” Ravi asked.

“King John appoints the sheriff, Ravi,” Jean said. “To do so would go against his royal judgment.”

“Well that bites, Jean!” Jordan yelled. “I say it’s time we stand together and stick up for the people’s rights around Nottingham! Starting now!”

Wil’s eyes grew big, and he smiled. He clapped Jensen on the shoulder and said, “Aye, Jordan, ’tis high time!”

Jordan grinned. He turned and started to march out of the cave, but his pointy shoes got caught under a rock. He was down in seconds flat. Laughter filled the cave as Tuck lunged to lick Jensen’s face.

Ravi rushed toward Jordan. “No, Tuck! Down! Don’t lick the paint off!”

Amanda giggled. “I think you’re getting the hang of this jester thing, Jockstrap.”

Jordan groaned, then nodded. “BTW—thanks, Amanda, you know, for saving my butt.”

Amanda’s cheeks grew hot as she heard hurried footsteps behind her.

“Coz!” Robyn shouted, as he set foot in the cave. Then he froze. Wil slowly shook his head. Robyn’s whole body slumped, and he strangled the bow in his hand.

“’Tis my fault Miriam is missing,” Robyn muttered, his eyes cast down. “I should have stayed in the castle grounds to look for her.”

“Maybe Miriam needs some space, Robyn,” Amanda said gently. “Much said she wasn’t acting like herself lately. Maybe she’s got a good reason.”

Robyn sighed and looked up. “Aye, ’tis possible Miriam could be helping others I don’t know about.”

As Ravi struggled to pull Tuck away, Wil helped Jordan up. He nodded his thanks, and then turned toward Robyn. “How’s the archery lesson going?”

Robyn gave Jordan an awkward thumbs up sign. “Better.”

“Yes, Robyn will be shooting fish in a barrel come this afternoon,” Melody added, walking up behind the others.

Robyn looked at Melody strangely. “Why would I want to shoot at fish in a barrel, milady?”

Melody pursed her lips. “Ah, I mean hitting the target.”

Amanda giggled. At this rate, if all the Timekeepers kept saying phrases like that, then history would be rewritten for sure.

The streets of Nottingham were muddied and narrow, filled with throngs of chattering people celebrating May Day. A number of houses—all made of timber coated with a gray muck and thick thatched roofs—stood at odd angles from the road, like a subdivision gone awry. The noise of bleating sheep, hogs bawling, peddlers shouting, people haggling, and babies crying sounded chaotic to Amanda, like a Lollapalooza concert in full swing.

Melody and Robyn led the way and looked like they were having fun showing their skills with the swords. A long hooded Lincoln-green cape covered Melody from head to toe and swirled around her ankles like chasing leaves every time she parried and lunged. Amanda hoped they would pass for thirteenth-century entertainers, even as the
clink, clink, clink
sound of their swordplay grated on her nerves.

Laughter and singing filled Amanda’s ears as she shook her bells, smiling back at the happy crowd. The aroma of savory cooking teased her. The smell of raw sewage gagged her. Dodging potholes as big as moon craters, Amanda and Treena stuck close together, walking behind Alan a’Dale, Wil, and Jordan. To her right, crowds of people were pushing and grabbing for medieval merchandise on carts.

Treena giggled. “They act like they’re shopping for the holidays.”

“Some things never change,” Amanda muttered.

“How’s your face feel, Jordan?” Ravi asked, jiggling his bells behind Jensen.

“Like half of it has had Botox,” Jordan replied through a ridiculous grin.

“Keep laughing at the people, Jordan,” Alan a’Dale said, as he juggled Wil’s three knives in the air. “’Tis expected from a jester.”

“Aye, make faces too,” Wil added. “Thou must be true.”

At Robyn’s request, Wil had begrudgingly lent Alan a’Dale his knives while he tagged along ringing the extra set of bells Treena had found in the castle courtyard. Since the town’s miller provided most of the grain to brew the ale served at the Rockyard Inn, it was decided that Much, Jean, and Tuck would deliver a wagon full of grain there this morning. Jean had agreed to stash Jordan’s, Ravi’s, and Treena’s backpacks, Robyn’s bow and arrows, and Alan a’Dale’s lute in the wagon until they met up with them. Amanda guessed that would be soon, seeing as Nottingham castle loomed over them like a ravenous dragon awaiting its dinner.

Alan threw each knife into the air with precision and grace, never once nicking his fingers or drawing blood. People clapped and cheered as he balanced the silver dagger on his nose while throwing the other two knives higher and higher in the air. The melodic garble of medieval flutes and harps and lutes and bells around them worked together in slow-paced harmony and helped Alan keep rhythm with his juggling efforts.

“Uh-oh,” Drake muttered, walking beside Treena.

“What’s up, Bailey?” Treena asked, shaking her bells to the tune of a twenty-first-century hit song.

“Soldiers ahead, two o’clock.”

Amanda peered around Alan. Drake was right. Thankfully there were only five. “Keep going, keep smiling, and keep ringing your bells,” Amanda said. “They won’t pay any attention if you don’t stick out.”

Robyn and Melody moved past the soldiers easily, attacking and counter-attacking each other to the ohhs and ahhs of the people. Even a couple of the soldiers cheered them on. Some richly dressed merchants threw money at their feet, which Robyn gladly scooped up as he bowed to them. Just ahead of Melody and Robyn, an overloaded wagon was stuck in a pothole. It blocked the street. Two men were trying desperately to push the wagon out, yet didn’t seem to want to get too close to it. As Amanda got nearer, she found out why. The wagon was full of manure and sewage. She puckered her mouth and plugged her nose.

“Whew! Sharma is that you?” Treena asked.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing, Mui,” Ravi replied.

“Ohh, that’s nasty,” Drake added, grimacing.

Treena giggled. “No. That’s evil. Med-evil. Get it?”

“Rogue!” a hawk-nosed soldier yelled, as he pointed at Alan a’Dale. “Yon silver dagger, ’tis mine!”

Amanda stopped. So did the others. Alan was balancing Wil’s silver knife on his forehead. He ceased juggling and glanced at the soldier. Wil stood in the middle of the street, open-mouthed and still as a statue. His face flashed to scarlet. Jordan jumped to Alan’s side, laughing and joking, shaking his head, ringing the bells, but was pushed roughly away by one of the soldiers.