The Metropolitans Read online

  “I will take care of this one while you go on,” spoke the brave Sir Lancelot.

  The others went on, passing safely over the bridge into the courtyard, but there they encountered a host of ghostly soldiers standing guard. “They are illusions,” Morgaine said. “I will enspell them while you two go on.”

  Arthur and Guinevere were loath to go on without her, but they knew they must reach the lady in the tower, and so they ran into the keep. They started up a spiral staircase, but a great fog rose around them so that they could not see their way. Guinevere drew forth her dagger from her girdle—

  “Her girdle!” Madge exclaimed.

  “A kind of belt,” Dr. Bean explained.

  —and held it up to part the fog. What she saw made her almost wish that she had not. A dragon crouched at the top of the stairs. It opened wide its horrible jaws and belched fire. They would have been burned to cinders, but Arthur held up a shield to protect them.

  “How will we get past it?” Guinevere asked.

  “While I divert it, you must go on,” Arthur answered.

  But Guinevere had already engaged the dragon in battle and shouted for him to go on. Arthur hesitated, not liking his lady to battle the dragon, but seeing that she had the matter well in hand he continued on. He had to squeeze past its scaly body until he reached the top of the stairs. There he found an eight-sided room in which the Lady of the Lake sat at a tilted table with pen and ink and paint and brush at hand. She didn’t look up as he came in, only lifted her brush to finish a detail of the drawing on the page in front of her. Another painting lay on the floor. He knelt to retrieve it and saw with amazement that it showed himself entering the tower room, and that behind him was the tail of the monster, and at the end of the tail was a monstrous head with three rows of teeth ready to devour him.

  He spun on his heel and raised his sword just in time to sever the monster’s head from its tail. The monster shrieked and tried to back up the stairs to face him, but Guinevere drove her dagger into its throat and, with a great roar, the monster vanished. The others came running up the stairs to join Arthur in the tower room and together they faced the Lady.

  “There,” she said, dipping her brush back into a dish of gold paint. “And here you are.” She lifted her face to the four and gazed at them with eyes the deep blue of a mountain lake. “I have been expecting you. You have done well to come through so many perils and dangers to save your people and their land. Only those joined in true bonds of friendship could have come so far.”

  “We have not always been together,” Morgaine replied.

  “Nor free of jealousy and doubt,” said Lancelot.

  “And of thought of turning back,” spoke Guinevere.

  “And of mistrust in our quest,” Arthur said, bowing to the Lady on bended knee. Then he asked how the Lady knew what they had endured.

  She showed them all the pages on her desk and they were amazed to see that their own adventures were shown therein—their meeting with the two-faced knight and the lion in the forest, their wanderings through the Hewan Wood, their meeting with Merlin on the bridge, the attack of the knight in the keep, the ghostly horde, and the two-headed dragon on the stairs. The last page showed them standing in the tower with the Lady. It was that picture she had finished as they came through the door.

  “How wondrous strange that you know all we have seen and done while you sit up here in your tower,” Guinevere said.

  “It is the curse our half sister Belisent put me under,” the Lady said to Arthur. “I was compelled to stay in this tower until four knights rescued me, but while I waited, I could see all that was happening in the land and beyond. What I see now are invaders coming to our shores, plunging us into darkness.”

  “We will raise an army and fight them,” Arthur said.

  “Yes,” the Lady replied, “and you will hold them back for a while. You will rule over a golden age of fairness and plenty wherein love and beauty will flourish. It will be such a time that bards will sing of your exploits and poets will write of your deeds.

  “You each have your part to play. You, Lancelot, so keen of eye and quick of tongue, will travel wide, avenging the wronged and protecting the innocent. To you I give the gift of language to pass down the accounts of all you see.

  “And you, Morgaine, so clever and brave, you will become a great sorceress, weaving spells to protect the kingdom. Some will call you witch and accuse you of betrayal, but the ones who love you will know your true heart. To you I give the gift of invisibility so you may ply your magic in secret.

  “And you, Guinevere, well I know how you chafe against the restraints of your gender. Where others see only beauty, I see strength and resolve. You will fight to keep the kingdom whole until your last breath, even when you lose your true love. To you I give the gift of bodily strength so you may never feel weak again.

  “And you, Arthur, have already united the warring chieftains of this island. It is your love that draws your people together. To you I give the ability to bring out the best in all who love you. You will rule well even after the kingdom you build begins to fall.

  “To all of you I give the greatest gift—the gift of your friendship for each other. Although you may wander far from each other and even hurt one another, when it is time for the last battle, you will fight together unto your last breath.”

  “But why?” Guinevere asked. “Why mayn’t we stay together always? Why must we ever hurt one another?”

  “It is the sacrifice you must make, the sadness that makes your story complete, the ink that binds the word to the page, the grit that makes the pearl. It is your grief that will make your story eternal and keep the flame alight. Others will come in your wake to kindle the light—they will come in your names, inspired by your deeds, chastened by your flaws. For how else to raise a hero from the page if we do not see ourselves in their mistakes?”

  “And that is our quest?” Lancelot inquired with a tart tongue. “To go and make mistakes? To wander far from home—”

  “To lose the one I love?” spoke Guinevere.

  “To hide my true face?” asked Morgaine.

  “To build a kingdom only to see it fall?” demanded Arthur.

  “Just so,” spoke the Lady of the Lake. “Your legacy will give hope to the people of Britain and to all who strive to live an honorable life.” She stood and lifted a dish of the gold powder she had used to make the gold paint for the book. She flung what remained of it into the air, and it settled on the heads and shoulders of the four as she spoke. “The gold paint I have used in the book is no ordinary gold. It was given to me by a fairy, one of the oldest of the old things, and it will give you the power to save your land. I warn you, though, that every power comes with a price. Be careful how you use what has been given to you.”

  Joe lifted his head from the page. “The chapter ends there,” he said.

  “No!” Kiku said. “There must be a page missing.”

  “Well, there’s the page we read before, at the beginning,” Joe said. “But that just said they all went back to Camelot.”

  “That’s it?” Madge cried. “The Lady told them to go forth and . . . what? Hurt each other? Well, I’m not buying it. That’s a terrible ending. And it certainly isn’t our ending. It doesn’t mean that what happened to them is going to happen to us. It’s not the same. For one thing, Walt’s not here.”

  “But I am.”

  The voice came from the doorway. They’d all been so engrossed in the story that they hadn’t seen it open. Walt stood there beside a man in a trench coat. It’s true, then, Kiku thought, feeling something sink inside her. Walt had come back with Mr. January.

  The man in the trench coat came forward and took off his hat—it was Miss Lake! Boris was perched on her shoulder.

  “There you are, Dash,” she said, sweeping into the room and patting her hair smooth. “Walt
and I have been looking all over for you. I should have known Mordred would stash you up here. It’s positively medieval.”

  27

  ZYKLON B

  MADGE LOOKED FROM Miss Lake to Walt. Walt looked back at her sheepishly.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you what was going on. Miss Lake said it would only work if you all thought I’d gone over to the other side.”

  “Then you’re not . . .” Madge began, but then her throat closed up so tight, she couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “A traitor?” Miss Lake said. “Heavens, no. Walt’s done more for America in the last twenty-four hours than most patriots do in a lifetime.”

  “But you acted so strangely when we found you in the park,” Joe said. “I thought that Mr. January must have turned you then.”

  “He tried to,” Walt admitted. “When I caught up to him, he told me that he could get my parents out of France. I-I was tempted. But I said no. He laughed at me and then he said, ‘Come see me in Belvedere Castle when you change your mind. And you will change your mind.’ Then he left. I sat there, unable to move because I was afraid that if I got up, I’d go find him. Then Miss Lake showed up.”

  “I’d been keeping an eye on Mr. January,” she said, “but I saw an opportunity when he tried to enlist Walt.”

  “She told me that if I pretended to give in to Mr. January, I could find out what he was really up to. I hated pretending around you, and I hated when you thought I’d betrayed you.”

  “It must have been awful,” Kiku said, laying a hand on Walt’s arm. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “Well, that was the plan,” Walt said, blushing. Then he looked toward Madge. But Madge only stared at Walt dumbfounded, for once in her life unable to speak.

  “Gee, Madge, are you sore at me for fooling you? I tried to tell you I was sorry, but I guess you couldn’t hear me over that train whistle.”

  “I heard you, only . . .” How could she tell Walt that she had thought he was saying he was sorry because he had betrayed them? How could she tell him that she’d finally believed he was a traitor and it had felt like her last bit of trust in the world was dying? How could she tell him that she felt guilty now that she’d ever doubted him? She couldn’t. So instead she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so tight he yelped. When she let go, his face was so red, his freckles had vanished and he was the one who couldn’t talk. But Madge had regained her voice.

  “What are you all standing around gaping at? We’d better get cracking! What’s the plan?”

  * * *

  Joe watched Miss Lake bring in the Gladstone bag from the landing. “I knew that Mordred would try to get one of you to betray the others,” Miss Lake began, putting the bag in the middle of the room.

  “Mordred?” Joe asked. “Like from the story?”

  “Yes, that’s who Mr. January is. That’s his real name. He was Arthur’s nephew and squire.”

  “Isn’t he supposed to be Arthur’s son?” Kiku asked.

  Miss Lake shook her head. “That part of the story got mixed up over the years. Mordred was Arthur’s nephew, the son of his half sister Belisent. Arthur treated him like a son and made him his squire, and Mordred repaid him by betraying him. On the day of the tournament at Camelot—the one that begins the story you’ve been reading—Mordred asked if he could take part in the tournament, but Arthur told him he was too young. Then he sent Mordred to retrieve his helmet. Angry because he would not be allowed to fight—as young people sometimes are”—here she looked knowingly at Walt—“he decided he would steal the king’s helmet and take part in the tournament in disguise. The helmet he found had a visor carved with a boar’s face. His mother, Belisent, knowing her son would claim it, had enchanted it. She cast a spell that anyone who wore it would have eternal life. So when her son challenged Sir Lancelot, he thought he was invincible. And, as you have seen, he lived even after Lancelot cleaved his head from his body, and he lives even today.”

  “But how’d he lose his face?” Madge asked.

  “That was an unfortunate side effect of Belisent’s spell. In addition to eternal life, she enchanted the helmet so that any who wore it would always bear the face of victory. And so when Mordred lost to Lancelot, and Lancelot tore the helmet from his head, the helmet tore away the face that was no longer the face of victory.”

  “Ugh,” said Madge.

  “It took his face with it,” Kiku said, looking pale. “How awful!”

  “Yes,” Miss Lake said, giving Kiku a grave look. “One must always be cautious using magic. Our spells often work differently from how we intend. Belisent was devastated at what happened to her son. It turned her into a monster.” Miss Lake’s voice shook, her usual calm demeanor gone. She took a breath to calm herself and went on. “She cast an enchantment to give him a false face whenever he needed one. He used it to impersonate an envoy from King Arthur and make a pact with the Norse invaders. Because of him, Britain was overrun by invaders and fell into a long period of darkness. But the legacy of King Arthur and his knights lived on, giving hope to the people of Britain and to all people who strive to live an honorable life.”

  “That’s what the Lady of the Lake said. . . .” Joe began, but then his eyes widened. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the Lady of the Lake!”

  Miss Lake smiled and smoothed her hair. She was seated on the cold stone floor, her stockinged legs tucked beneath her, but she looked suddenly as if she were seated on a throne. Her gleaming hair uncoiled from its neat upsweep and streamed around her shoulders like a waterfall. The stone tower suddenly smelled like cold lake water and pine trees. “Do I really look that old? Heavens, Dash, perhaps I should change my hairstyle.”

  “You are eternally young, my lady,” Dr. Bean said, bowing low to her. When he stood up, he was no longer a squat balding man in a suit but a gray-haired wizard in flowing blue robes.

  “And you!” Joe said. “You’re Merlin!”

  Dashwood Bean bowed to Joe. “That is one of the names I have gone by,” he said. “But I’ve come to rather like Dashwood.”

  “Gee, Doc,” Madge said. “If you and Miss Lake were there when this all began, couldn’t you have just cut to the chase and told us the dope straight out? I mean, why’d we have to run around all over the place looking for an old book?”

  “Well,” Dr. Bean began, looking embarrassed, “I didn’t think you four could possibly be the ones. After all, you’re children!”

  “Children who have proven themselves worthy of the quest,” Miss Lake said, gazing at their faces.

  “Yes, they certainly have,” Dr. Bean agreed. “But still, I cannot be blamed for my reluctance to place children in such great danger—a danger that still exists. The quest is not yet done. We must still avert this horrendous attack on New York that Mordred has planned.”

  “Isn’t the answer in there?” Madge asked, pointing to the Gladstone bag, which was squatting in the center of the room like a poisonous toad. “What’s in it, anyway?”

  Walt unzipped the bag, carefully unfolded a piece of blue canvas cloth, and lifted a heavy metal canister out of it. A skull leered up at them from a label on the canister.

  “Giftgas zyklon?” Madge read the words above the skull and crossbones. “What does that mean? It doesn’t look like a very nice gift. And who’s Zyklon? He sounds like the bad guy in a Flash Gordon comic.”

  Joe, who was staring at the words, spoke in a trembling voice. “That’s the canister I saw in my vision before. It’s what the Nazis are going to use . . .” He hesitated, looking warily at Walt.

  “To kill people,” Walt said. “It’s a cyanide-based poison they use to kill bugs—vermin. They’re going to use it in the Nazi camps. They . . .” Walt braced his hand against the wall of the tower as if a strong wind was blowing. “They’ll herd them into rooms they say are showers and release the gas until they are
dead.” He looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes until he came back to Joe. He looks five years older than he did before he started talking, Joe thought.

  “What’s he going to do with it here?” Madge asked. “It’s not as if New Yorkers are going to file into a shower room without armed guards making them do it.”

  “No,” Miss Lake said, “but that’s the problem. We don’t know how he plans to use the poison. When we got the message from Boris—that was clever, by the way, to send him—and found out you were all up here in the water tower, we thought Mordred’s plan might have to do with the water system, but only a fraction of New York’s water goes through this tower and this canister wouldn’t be enough to poison it.”

  “Do we know if he has more of this stuff?” Kiku asked.

  “We think so,” Walt said. He pulled off a tag from the handle of the Gladstone bag. It had a large 3 on it and the initials B.S.

  “Hm,” Madge said, “so we know there must be at least two other bags, but what does B.S. stand for?”

  While she was speaking, Joe reached for the tag, but Kiku stopped him. “Wait! The last time you touched something that monster wrote, he tried to get in your head, and it hurt you.”

  “Yes,” Joe admitted, “but if I can find out what B.S. stands for, maybe we can figure out his plan. It will only be for a second. Maybe it won’t be so bad with the rest of you here.”

  “Hm . . .” Miss Lake said, “Walt told me some of the things you’ve done when you’re together, like bringing Boris to life and becoming invisible. I think the magic is working differently in you four. It has a stronger power when you join forces. Perhaps if you hold Joe’s hand when he touches the tag, Mordred won’t be able to hurt him.”

  “You’re not sure, though, are you?” Madge asked.

  When Miss Lake shook her head, Kiku burst out, “How can you not know? You made the book. Shouldn’t you know how it works?”

  Joe stared at Kiku. It was so unlike her to challenge an adult! But then he realized she was doing it because she was trying to protect him. Miss Lake sighed, a sound like wind moving over water.