Dawn of the Zombie Knights (7 page)

‘Hello? Sir Mountable? Are you there?'

There was no answer. He tried again.

‘SIR MOUNTABLE? IT'S PETE McGEE! YOUR TRAINEE KNIGHT! I'M HERE TO LEARN HOW TO BE GREAT!'

Again, no answer. Pete went back to the door.

There was a knocker in the shape of an eagle on the front. He decided to take the risk. He raised the knocker to knock and it simply pulled straight off the door, so he was left there holding a knocker. He sighed and used it to knock on the door. Gently. The good thing was that the house stayed standing. The bad thing was that there was no response.

Still holding the knocker, Pete walked around the house looking for a sign of life. He got it as he walked past an open window. From inside there was a groan and a thud. Pete glanced through the window and saw that an old man had fallen off the couch and was struggling to get up.

Oh no, Pete thought. It must be Sir Mountable's father. The knight must be here looking after him, and now the old fellow has fallen and can't get up. That part was true. The old man's arms were waving slowly in the air, making him look like a bug stuck on its back. He was in a nightshirt and long johns. Although he may not have wanted Pete to see him like that, Pete felt as though he had no choice but to help. He slung his pack through the window and climbed through after it.

Pete bent down to help the old man up and was almost overwhelmed by the smell of what he assumed was ale. He had smelt it before, in the town square, so he was sure that was what it was. Pete reeled back, took a huge breath, leant in and used all his strength to haul the old man up so that he was sitting on the floor with his back to the couch. Exhausted, Pete sat on a chair opposite, letting his breath out slowly.

‘Sir?' he asked quietly. ‘Can you please direct me to your son?'

The old man opened his eyes. They were blood-shot and watery. He stroked his grey beard, which stuck out in all directions, as did his wispy hair. He looked at Pete and grunted, his eyes darkening as he considered the question.

‘Ugh? Son? I have no son. Be gone. How did you enter my home anyway?'

The old man's voice was deep but croaky, sounding like a lion with a cold. Pete pointed to the window.

‘Ah, of course,' the old man said. ‘I never remember to lock it.'

He looked closer at Pete.

‘Why do you seek a son of mine? What is the name of the one you seek?'

‘Sir Mountable,' Pete answered, wondering if he was even at the right place. He wondered this even more when the old man, with a lot of effort and a lot more groaning, stood up. He coughed and held his head before speaking.

‘Well, m'boy, you've got him. Sir Mountable at your service,' he said, bowing low before walking into the kitchen, still coughing. Pete's jaw almost hit the ground. Someone, either this old guy or the King, was playing a joke on him. Surely this couldn't be his mentor knight. As he looked around the room though, he started to believe.

Leaning against a wall in the corner … a knight's suit of armour.

On top of the dining table … a knight's broadsword, albeit a rusty one.

On the kitchen bench, with some dead flowers sticking out of it … a knight's helmet.

On the floor in the lounge, upside down with fruit in it … a knight's shield.

On the wall … a certificate certifying that Sir Mountable had indeed become a knight.

Pete stood and went into the kitchen, where the possible Sir Mountable cracked three eggs straight into a mug, crumbled up some wheat into the eggs, mixed it all up and drank it down. He leaned against the bench, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked at Pete.

‘Best thing after a night of ale,' he said, his voice a little less croaky. ‘Now. What is it you want from me?'

Pete was feeling his courage and hopes seep away. It wasn't easy to even say the words.

‘You are to be my mentor,' he said. ‘I was accepted by the King to train as a knight. I am to be your squire.'

Sir Mountable stroked his beard. ‘I apologise,' he said. ‘I truly do, young man. I did receive a message from the King saying that I was to be at the castle some day …'

‘Today,' Pete interrupted. The man nodded.

‘Perhaps. Still, I believed it to be a joke of some sort,' he said, his voice dying off, his eyes looking at something Pete was unable to see. He decided that it was time to make things happen.

‘Look,' he said, standing up. ‘I am going to become a knight. If you will not help me, I will find someone who will.'

‘Is that so?' The old man's eyes showed their first real sign of life, and it gave Pete some hope. ‘I am a tired old man, boy. What good can I be to you?'

‘King Rayon assigned me to you, and so you shall be the help that he knows you to be. He must have faith in you.'

‘Again, is that so?' He looked at Pete's jacket. ‘You have only one arm.'

Pete stared casually at his sewn-up sleeve, and then did a shocked double-take.

‘I what? Oh no. My arm. It's gone. It's gone! !

NOOOOOOOOO!'

He fell to his knees.

‘It must have been … no, it couldn't have, but how else? Yes. Let this be a lesson to you, old man. Never ever tease a lion by waving a large piece of meat under its nose. Those things move fast! This is a tragedy, but I thank you for bringing it to my attention.'

He stood up again and grinned at Sir Mountable. The old man grunted and moved away from the bench to sit at the table.

‘Not many one-armed knights around when I was a lad.'

Pete blushed, but was on a roll.

‘Perhaps not, but perhaps there were not many roads either, and perhaps not many carriages. Perhaps when you were at the round table with King Arthur you couldn't see the one-armed knights. Perhaps you are so old that when you were a lad, one-armed knights were dinosaurs and cavemen.'

A pause. Pete felt he'd gone too far, but the old man simply stared at him.

‘You have heart, boy, I will say that for you. It is a rare quality, and one I have not seen for some time. Not since … well, not for some time. Dinosaurs and King Arthur indeed! Right then. I will help you. I will help you because I like your spirit. However, I will not help you today. I have things to do that cannot wait. You must train by yourself, but be here tomorrow morning with your timetable. Then we shall see what we can do together, an old man and a one-armed boy. This should be fun.'

And with that he stood up, walked back over to the couch and lay down with his back to Pete, whose jaw dropped again. He ran over and shook the man he now believed, although not totally, was Sir Mountable.

‘No no no no no!' he said urgently. ‘Today. Training starts today. You and me at the castle.'

‘Tomorrow or nothing boy,' came the reply. ‘That is my final offer. Take it or leave it.'

Pete took it. He didn't feel as though he could do anything else. He picked up his pack, climbed back out the window, dodged the goat as it tried to butt his butt, and then trudged back to the castle, wondering how this day could get any worse.

hen Pete McGee returned to the castle lawn, the other trainees and their knights were going through some simple exercises. Nothing major, but definitely two-people drills. Pete dropped his pack on the floor.

The session was being taken by King Rayon himself, who sighed when he saw the boy arrive alone. Leaving the rest of the group to continue with the exercise, he walked over to Pete, whose shoulders were slumped.

‘Your mentor?' the King asked, an eyebrow raised.

Pete looked at him, holding back the urge to do a disgusted face.

‘Some mentor,' he said, unable to totally restrain himself. ‘He was still asleep, and I think he may have been a little, you know, hungover.'

King Rayon nodded and stroked his chin.

‘Your journey will not necessarily be the easiest, Pete McGee, for a number of reasons. However, you must do all that the others do. Therefore it is your responsibility, if your mentor knight does not wish to appear, to make him appear. As you have not done so, you must suffer the appropriate punishment: ten laps of the grounds.'

A snicker made Pete turn his head, where he saw Larson Smithers giggling at him. Smithers went to say something but was cut off by a glare from the King.

‘You are here to help, Smithers. Please do so.'

Smithers bowed in apology. Pete rolled his eyes and started to run. Luckily it was a nice day, a little overcast perhaps, but at least it wasn't … two laps into his run, it started to rain. Pete groaned and pressed on, his clothes becoming heavier as they soaked through. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. It wasn't a huge distance around the castle grounds, but it was far enough, and doing it ten times was a killer.

After the fifth lap Pete's legs felt like lead, but he willed himself on. Time and time again he almost stopped, but he wouldn't be defeated on his first day. Not more than once anyway.

So he ran.

By the eighth lap it was more a shuffle than a run, but he kept going. The rain had stopped, and the other trainee knights and their mentors were watching, their session complete.

On the ninth lap Pete McGee shuffled past Larson Smithers, who stuck out a foot as though to trip Pete. Pete dodged it, but in doing so lost his balance. His legs felt so weak from the run he was not able to adjust quickly enough. He fell to the ground and when he tried to get up again, it just wasn't happening. His legs had gone to jelly. He tried to stand but couldn't. He started to crawl, but King Rayon stepped in and helped him to his feet, speaking softly as he did so.

‘That is far enough, young McGee. Quite far enough.'

And with that he led Pete back to the castle, where he was given food and drink and a warm bath to soak in. As he lay in the water, Pete reflected on his day and did a quick rundown of events.

Sir Mountable was a drunk who had said he would work with Pete but didn't seem reliable.

Pete had missed the first training session.

He had been ordered to run ten laps, but had only managed nine.

He had been rained on.

It had not been the most brilliant start to his knight-training.

Thoughts flew past, thoughts of just giving it all up, that maybe it was too hard for him. None of the bad stuff had even been to do with him having one arm, so imagine when that came into play as well! He had no chance.

Those thoughts did race around in Pete's head, but so did this one: you suck, negative thoughts! Boo to you! As if I'm gonna give up after one crappy day, so in your face! Nice try, but you're going down, sucker. It will take more than this to stop me, my friend, so bring it on! I'm doing this and that's all there is to it.

With that, he stood up in the bath and roared a mighty roar. Unfortunately he did so just as one of the royal servants opened the door to bring in a royal towel. Pete McGee was royally embarrassed and blushed royally. The servant was royally amused and, once he had placed the towel on a chair and left, Pete McGee royally slapped himself on the forehead.