***
Marisa and I had been riding our bikes north on Union Avenue, heading back toward State Street, when we heard the noise. Clang! Clang! The sound of swords being struck together!
Pluto jumped out of Marisa’s basket, hissing. His black fur stood on end.
“Pluto, get back here!” Marisa yelled.
I put my hand on her arm. “Let him go. He seems to have a nose for finding Story Plagues.”
For once, I was right. We pedaled our bikes after that silly cat and he led us across State Street (at the crosswalk, to boot!) and straight to the lakes on the college campus. We were amazed at what we saw there!
Hundreds of knights on horseback were fighting with swords and javelins on the grass surrounding the Mount Union lakes. Horses whinnied, dust and clods of earth were flying everywhere, and the sounds of battle filled the air.
I watched as a knight was thrown from his horse, landing face down on the sidewalk and rolling to one side before his enemy’s sword could hack him to pieces. Nearby, two other knights had shattered their swords on each other’s armor, and were now fighting hand to hand, like wrestlers.
“Wow, this has got to be the biggest Story Plague yet!” I cried in wonder.
Marisa agreed. “I wonder ... Ivanhoe? The Three Musketeers?” She rattled off several other stories, too, trying to place just what Plague we were facing, deciding how to tackle the “cure.”
Pluto jumped into Marisa’s arms and began to purr loudly. He’d done his job, and was content to let us take over.
All along Union Avenue, traffic had come to a complete stop. War-horses were weaving in and out of the stalled cars, and one black stallion actually leaped over the hood of a truck. Some drivers were honking their horns, some had stepped out of their cars for a better view, and some had abandoned their vehicles altogether and were running down the street.
I wondered how long we had before a news helicopter from Cleveland showed up, filming for the evening news.
Just then, I spotted a large knight who had fought his way through several other armored men. This knight, dressed in golden yellow armor, swung a spear in all directions, causing his enemies to back away. He had lost his helmet, revealing a flowing orange beard and carrot-colored hair. No matter how many knights attacked him, none could bring him down.
“That answers my question,” Marisa said to herself, but loud enough for me to hear. “King Arthur!”
“You mean that guy is the King Arthur, as in The Sword in the Stone, and Merlin, and ...” I was amazed. We’d studied King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table in school last year, and I’d really enjoyed it.
“That’s him, all right,” Marisa said. “And if I’m not mistaken, that is his son, Mordred.”
Another large knight, this one dressed almost entirely in black, had stepped onto the battlefield. All the other warriors backed away fearfully, except for King Arthur. Father and son stared at one another, like Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker with their roles reversed.
Neither knight said a word. Mordred unsheathed his sword as Arthur walked toward him, spear in hand. Then, suddenly, the two men attacked one another!
Sparks flew off their weapons and their armor as metal clashed on metal. Arthur and Mordred fought fiercely, charging one another again and again. I knew why they were fighting: while Arthur was away in France, Mordred had tried to steal his kingdom and turn Arthur’s loyal knights against him. He’d also tried to kidnap his own stepmother, Arthur’s wife Guinevere. Mordred was a villain, all right!
“Come on, we’ve got to help Arthur!” I said, weaving between the stopped cars on Union Avenue.
“Billy, wait!” Marisa followed me, pedaling as fast as she could. Poor Pluto was back in the bike basket, hissing in fear.
But by the time we reached the battlefield, we were too late. King Arthur lay gasping for breath on the ground. Mordred lay nearby, unmoving.
Arthur looked up at me. His eyes were wet with tears. “Sir Bedivere?” the king asked, squinting.
“No, my name is Marisa, and ...”
I stopped her, nodding toward the king’s chest, which was red with blood.
“We don’t have time to explain it to him,” I whispered to her. Then I knelt down beside Arthur.
“B-Bedivere?” he asked again.
“Yes, my king,” I answered. “How may I be of service?”
With a wince, Arthur slid his sword from the scabbard around his waste. The blade was huge. “Take Excalibur here to the edge of the lake and throw it into the water. Then return and tell me what you have seen.”
“Yes, my king.” The sword was so heavy I couldn’t lift it. I ended up dragging it to the nearest lake, with Marisa at my side.
“The magic sword Excalibur,” she said wonderingly. “Are you really going to throw it into the water?”
“I have to. Arthur commanded me.”
Grunting, I tried to raise the sword high enough off the ground to throw it. I strained until I thought my arms would break, but I couldn’t lift it.
“Bedivere!” shouted the king. “Have you done as I commanded?”
“Yes!” I yelled back. I hated to lie to him, but I also didn’t want to worry him more than necessary.
“And what did you see?” Arthur asked.
“N-nothing, sir, just the waves on the water.”
The king sat up, painfully. “Bedivere, you have disobeyed me. Throw the sword into the lake, and tell me what you see!”
“Marisa, help me out!” She grabbed the sword by its hilt and started to tug. Together, we managed to lift it. “Okay, on the count of three ... One! Two! Three!”
We hurled Excalibur as far over the water as we could. It flipped end over end above the lake. Just as it was about to break the surface of the water, a hand shot from the lake and grabbed the sword’s hilt. With the sword pointing straight up, the hand slowly sank again, taking the magical blade with it.
“The Lady of the Lake,” I said. “She gave Arthur the sword when he was younger, and now she’s taken it back.”
“Bedivere!” The king was shouting for me once again, but his voice sounded weaker. Marisa and I ran back to his side. I told him what had happened at the lake, and he smiled grimly.
“Good,” he whispered. “The sword has been returned to its rightful owner. Now I need your help one last time, good knight.” He started to his feet, but stumbled. Marisa caught him on one side and I on the other. “Help me to the lake.”
Slowly, we guided the once mighty king closer to the water. A thick fog had settled over the lake, and through it I could see a small boat heading for shore. In it were several people, their faces covered with black hoods.
“I pray you, set me in the barge,” the king ordered. His breathing was weak, and he looked pale. When the boat reached shore, Marisa and I helped him in. “Thank you, my friends,” he said. “Weep not, for I go to heal my wounds in Avalon.”
With that, the boat sailed back toward the center of the lake. We watched until Arthur, his hooded companions, and the boat itself disappeared from view. I knew from the legends I had read that this was Arthur’s last journey.
When we turned away from the lake, the battlefield had disappeared. The knights and horses were gone. As Marisa and I headed back to our bikes, Pluto, who had apparently found a safe tree to hide in until this latest Story Plague was cured, joined us.
On Union Avenue, drivers were scratching their heads and getting back into their cars. A photographer from The Review had just arrived, camera in hand, but there were no pictures to take. A hysterical businessman babbled on about armies and swords and battles, but the photographer only shook his head.
Marisa pulled the old book out of her bike’s basket and opened it. There, next to a drawing of King Arthur and Sir Mordred locked in final battle, we found our seventh clue: Will work for rings.
We hopped on our bikes and pedaled down the sidewalk. At the intersection of Union Avenue and College Street, we noticed that the bricks that paved the street were no longer red – they were yellow.
“A yellow brick road,” Marisa said. “Looks like we’ve found our next Story Plague.”
To Be Continued
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