Knight's Castle by Edward Eager
But Aunt Katharine, except for the times when she was defending her art treasures from the children's eager clutches, was so delighted at how well they were getting along that she made little objection, and, as Ann put it, the hours moved on oiled wheels until pretty soon it was the fateful night. The city by this time was terrible and wonderful to behold. I shall not attempt to tell you what it was like. It defied description.
One thing the children were careful to do, and that was to leave a wide cleared avenue from the hall door to Roger's bed. "Otherwise we might never find each other once it starts," said Ann, "and it'd be like those awful books where the characters get separated and you can't keep track of anybody."
And then she had another idea, and added one final touch. Her final touch was a statue, or at least that's what Ann said it was, to stand in the park in front of the castle. The statue was composed of a can of pea soup, balanced on an iron trivet. It was labeled, "St. George Peabody."
And then it was bedtime. Nobody was sure how far into the house the magic would reach, and Eliza's room was way over in another wing, but that didn't discourage Eliza.
"Meet me by midnight when the lone wolf howls," she whispered to Ann. And as soon as the heavy feet of grown-up interference were safely out of the way, a howl like a rather small and cautious wolf's was heard, and a lone figure came tiptoeing into Ann's room and got into her bed.
"How now, you secret, black and midnight hag?" said the figure.
"Shush," said Ann. "It won't happen if we talk."
But the night when you want to go to sleep most is always the night when you can't, as you may have noticed yourself on nights before Christmas. And not only that, but Ann had decided they should wear their bathrobes and slippers to bed, for Roger had told them how silly he felt, arriving at Torquilstone in just his pajamas and bare feet, and the extra clothes and crowded conditions made things hot and difficult. And not only that, but it was a single bed. And not only that, but Eliza proved to be a tosser and a turner and a talker.
"What do you hope happens?" she whispered. "I hope there's a battle and a siege and we get to rescue somebody from durance vile. Maybe we can fix it so Ivanhoe marries Rebecca, too."
"Shush," said Ann.
"I wouldn't mind having a deadly combat with that Brian, either," Eliza went on, thoughtfully. "Move over. Your elbow's in my back."
Ann sighed, and squashed herself against the wall.
But at long last sleep came and knitted up Eliza's raveled sleeve of care, and after that Ann was still awake for a while, and then all of a sudden she wasn't.
When she woke up she knew it had begun. It was still dark in her room, and her bed hadn't turned into a plateau and was still just a bed, but somehow she knew it was time. She shook Eliza. "Wake up," she said.
"Man the battlements," muttered Eliza, hitting out. "The Normans are attacking."
"You're dreaming," said Ann. "Wake up. This is real."
Eliza opened her eyes and staggered to the door after Ann. And then she wasn't sleepy anymore.
Where the hall should have been there wasn't any hall, just great airy space, and far above them a round shining globe that might have been the hall light back in unmagic times.
And from up ahead, where the door of Roger's room had been, came a blaze of light and a deafening roar. Ann and Eliza ran over drab stubbly earth (the hall carpet had been brown) in the direction of the light and the noise. Then they stopped.
"My," said Ann. "It is streamlined, isn't it?"
The magic city had grown to life-size, and the beastlike roar was the sound of its traffic, as all the motorized vehicles from Eliza's toy-chest whizzed about its avenues. And all its buildings were modern with glass and chromium, and glaring with electric lamps and neon signs, and that was the blaze of light. It was like the middle of New York City, only more so. Except that riding the trucks and sports cars and parts of old electric trains were knights in armor and ladies in tall headdresses. Few of them were expert drivers, and all of them were exceeding the speed limit.
Ann eyed the city dubiously. "I didn't think it'd be like this, exactly," she said.
Eliza had no qualms. "Come on!" she cried. "Into the jaws of death rode the six hundred!" And she pulled Ann forward into the heart of the traffic.
A varlet in a Yellow Cab skidded toward them on two wheels and they had to jump for the curbstone.
"Let's find Roger," said Ann.
They looked ahead, and far in the distance they saw a small figure clambering down a fall of rock. They ran toward it. A bus came along, going their way, and Eliza hailed it and pushed Ann up the step before her.
"What about money?" said Ann.
"Who knows?" said Eliza. "Maybe magic will provide."
But it didn't. When they thrust their hands in their bathrobe pockets, nothing was in them but the usual linings and handkerchiefs and cooky crumbs.
"Fares, please," said a guard, appearing beside them firmly.
Ann and Eliza got off the bus.
But they'd already ridden halfway across the city, and the running figure of Roger was much nearer now. A second later he ran up to them. They stood in a doorway, shouting to be heard over the city's noise.
"Isn't this keen?" said Eliza.
"No, it's not. It's horrible," said Roger. He turned on Ann. "What did I tell you? You've just practically ruined the whole age of knighthood, that's all!"
"I know," said Ann. "I didn't realize."
"I don't know what you mean," said Eliza. "I think we've done a noble deed. We've brought the poor things out of the dark ages and given them all the comforts of modern civilization!"
A knight rode by on a motorcycle. He had his fair lady with him, in the sidecar. Roger averted his eyes. "It's sacrilege," he said.
A crash was heard in the distance, as several cars collided. Police cars arrived on the scene, sounding their sirens.
"The only thing is," admitted Eliza, "they don't seem to be very good at it yet. Maybe we improved them too quickly."
Traffic was now hopelessly snarled, and all the knights and ladies were blowing their horns. A factory whistle screamed, and more knights and ladies emerged for lunch hour, reading comic books and movie magazines. One of the knights jostled against Roger.
"I crave thy pardon, gentle sir," said Roger.
"Get outa the way, stoopid," said the knight, shoving past. From somewhere nearby a band started playing, "Sh-Boom, Sh-Boom."
"This is awful," said Roger. "We might just as well not have come. It's not like magic at all. It's just like ordinary times back home."
"Let's go somewhere where it's quieter," said Ann.
Even Eliza agreed, and the three children turned a corner into a shabby alleyway of small, hutlike houses looking like nothing so much as cardboard boxes hastily painted to resemble stonework.
"I never saw this part," said Ann. "Who built it?"
"I did," said Roger. "It may not be pretty but at least it's more old-time. At least it's more in keeping."
No one was in sight but a veiled lady, stepping toward them. "Good morning, children," she said. "How do you feel?"
"Hello," said Eliza. "I feel all right."
"Have you been vaccinated for contagious diseases?" said the lady. "Have a cough drop." And she produced one from a pocket first-aid kit.
"No, thank you," said Ann. "Are you the district nurse? I didn't know we had one."
The lady threw back her veil, and smiled at Ann and Eliza and Roger with her kind beautiful sad dark eyes.
"Why, you're Rebecca!" cried Ann. "What are you doing here?"
"Visiting the sick," said Rebecca, "and doing good."
"Oh, for Heaven's sake," said Eliza. "The story said you went like that in the end. I think it's a shame. If you'd only waited, Ivanhoe would have seen the light some day. You could have married him, and visited the sick in your spare time!"
Rebecca shook her lovely head. "It was not to be."
"Then he did marr
"Not yet. They are to be married when the siege of Torquilstone is over."
"The siege? Is it still going on?" Roger joined in. "Who's winning?"
"It goes on all the time," said Rebecca, sadly, "and no one ever wins." Then she looked at him more closely. "But I know you! You're Roger! Have you come to save us? The way you did before?"
"Did I?" said Roger, pleased.
"Of course you did. With your Elfish magic."
"I wasn't sure," said Roger. "We elves forget things."
"You saved us," went on Rebecca, "and then you disappeared in a cloud of glory, and then a terrible thing happened. A mighty sorceress cast a spell over the whole country."
"Oh, dear," said Ann. "Did she?"
"Yes, she did," said Rebecca. "And you can see for yourselves what followed. All that noise, and newfangled inventions, and everybody rushing and nobody getting anywhere! Nobody speaking the old ancient yeomanly talk any more, either. You can walk a whole city block without hearing a single 'By my halidom!' And you can imagine what happened to the siege."
"It went to pot," guessed Eliza.
"That's exactly where it went," said Rebecca. "Oh, they still fire a few arrows on weekdays between two and four, but nobody takes it seriously anymore. They let the servants take care of it, mostly." Her voice trembled with emotion. "And Wilfred of Ivanhoe's sword grows rusty and they say he just lies in bed all day and reads science fiction!"
"Why, how perfectly disgusting!" said Eliza.
"I thought you liked it modern, this way," said Ann.
"I don't any more," said Eliza. "I think it's perfectly disgusting."
"It is," said Rebecca. "But now Roger has come back, everything will be changed!"
"What?" said Roger. "Oh, of course. Sure it will. We'll have to do something."
"What'll we do?" said Ann.
"Start a revolution," said Eliza. "Down with progress. Bring back the horse."
"Sort of an Underground Movement," said Roger. "We could have secret meetings."
"With passwords," said Ann.
"I'll be the beautiful female spy," said Eliza.
"Splendid!" Rebecca clapped her hands. "And then when we're all organized, surely Ivanhoe will see the error of his ways!"
"He'd better," said Eliza, "or else!"
They were all so excited by now that they weren't looking around them much, as they walked along. Now Ann did look ahead, and said, "Oh!" in a surprised way, and the others looked, too.
Coming toward them was a knight in armor riding a gallant steed.
"Well!" said Eliza. "There's at least somebody around here who hasn't changed!"
"Doesn't he look beautiful?" said Ann.
"Not so dusty," said Roger.
"Just like old times!" breathed Rebecca, with glowing eyes and clasped hands.
But as the knight drew nearer, they saw that his armor was rusty, and his steed, though still gallant, was spavined and rheumy with age. His shield and all his clothing were black, and the visor of his helmet was down, hiding his face. His pace was slow, and he hung his head and seemed a prey to utter melancholy.
"Good morrow, fair lady," he said, his voice coming indistinctly from behind the closed visor. "How farest thou on this dark and dreary day?"
"He talks old ancient yeomanly language still," whispered Eliza.
"That I do, lass," said the knight, whose ears seemed to be sharp, in spite of his closed helmet.
"A murrain on newfangled inventions, say I! What was good enough for me is good enough for me! By the rood!" he added.
"It doeth my heart good to hear thee speak so," cried Rebecca, falling easily into the old speech, herself.
"Doth it now?" said the knight. "And how goeth it with thy gentle heart this morning?"
"Better than for many a moon," said Rebecca, "now that Roger hath returned."
"Indeed?" said the knight, looking at Roger, and Eliza did not think he sounded pleased.
"That's right," said Roger. "We're organizing everybody who wants to go back to the good old days. You can be our first recruit. What's your name?" Then he didn't think that sounded old-timeish enough. "How call they you, fair sir? And open thy visor, that we may see thy face and know thee friend."
"Nay," said the knight. "I have sworn a vow. My shield be black in mourning for the death of chivalry, and my visor remaineth forever shut that I may not see the light of this modern world till the old days returneth. Men call me the Unknown Knight."
"What a beautiful sentiment," said Rebecca.
"Thinkst thou so?" said the knight. "Then may I be thy champion and fight for thee, and mayhap win thy heart?"
"Nay," said Rebecca, regretfully. " 'Tis too late. Another claimeth it."
"What?" said the knight angrily. "Beateth it still for Wilfred of Ivanhoe, that mewling, puling milksop?"
"Oh sir!" cried Rebecca. "Say not so, for thou woundest my very soul!"
"Milksop I say and milksop he be!" cried the knight, getting excited. "And a mollycoddle and a lie-abed-late and a novel-reader and a space-happy dreamer and a rascally knave of a Saxon churl!"
At this Roger grew hot under the collar and would have spoken up, but Eliza spoke first. "Why, sirrah!" she said. "How thou talkest! Be thee not Saxon thyself?"
"To be sure, lass, to be sure," said the knight, quickly. He leaped from his horse and knelt before Rebecca. "Forgive me, gentle lady," he said. "My righteous anger was too much for me."
Rebecca was touched. "And no wonder," she said. "Thou art too noble, that is thy trouble. I forgive thee readily." And she put out her hand.
The knight seized it and covered it with kisses, pushing his visor part way up to do so. "Blessings on thy kind heart," he cried, "and thy soft dusky cheek, and thy dark eyes a man might drown in, and thy beauty fit to drive a fellow mad!"
"Why, sir!" said Rebecca, drawing back in alarm.
But Eliza, who had been watching the knight closely, stepped up to him suddenly as he knelt, and pulled his visor the rest of the way open. And the knight leaped up and his eyes flashed fire and his mustaches bristled, and even though his Templar's shield was camouflaged with black paint, the three children knew him right away for none other than Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and Roger wished he had brought a sword.
"Oh Rebecca," cried Bois-Guilbert, "vouchsafe me but one smile from thy sweet eyes. Be kind to me as thou wert to the Unknown Knight!"
"Fie, false Templar!" cried Rebecca. "For shame! Thoughtst thou to woo me in disguise and win aught but my scorn?"
"Thou'rt mine now," said the Templar, catching her by the arm, "and none shall come between us!"
"Oh, won't they?" said Roger, squaring up to him and putting up his fists. "Let her go!" And he aimed a blow at Bois-Guilbert's midsection.
"Let her go!" echoed Eliza, running up daringly to trip the false knight from behind.
"Avaunt, moppets!" said Bois-Guilbert, sweeping them from his path with a brutal arm. He smiled cruelly down at Roger as he sprawled on the sidewalk. "Thou and I hast met before, methinks. Had I time, I would settle thy hash now for good and all. Take care that we meet not again." And he leaped to the saddle and swung Rebecca up behind him.
"Wait!" cried Roger, scrambling to his feet and clutching vainly at the bridle.
"You'll be sorry!" said Eliza.
"Oh, yes?" said Bois-Guilbert. "Thou and who else shalt make me? Thinkst thou any knight in this degenerate age dare follow me to the Dolorous Tower? Because that's whither we goeth!"
"Nay, Templar, not that!" cried Rebecca, in the first words of fear the children had heard pass her lips. And her olive cheek paled.
"Aye," said the Templar, his face set in grim lines. "Brian de Bois-Guilbert dareth even that for thee! Giddy-up." And the spavined steed remembered its glorious past and made a surprisingly gallant dash down the alleyway.
Ann and Eliza and Roger dashed after it, and round the corner into the busy avenue. Far in the distance they saw the h
"One thing you have to admit," he said. "He may be a vile dastard but he's still yeomanly!"
"Never mind about that now!" said Eliza. "Come on."
"Where?" said Ann.
"Where do you suppose?" said Eliza. She pointed.
Across the city, the turrets of Torquilstone glittered against the sky. With one accord, the three children turned and ran toward them.
4. The Dolorous Tower
As they ran through the streets of the degraded city, not a single knightly scene met their gaze. Those of the populace who weren't out joyriding were sitting inside looking at wrestling-matches on television. It was sickening.
And when they reached the castle, the state of the siege looked even more sorry than Rebecca had told them. Not a single attacker or defender was insight. The drawbridge was down and the portcullis was up. The three children ran over the one and under the other and into the courtyard. A discouraging sight awaited them.
Two guards sat playing gin rummy and smoking cigarettes. Their helmets were off and their armor was loosened. They looked thoroughly out of training and unfit for combat.
"Go away," said one of them, without looking up. "All deliveries use the back door."
"We're not a delivery, we're important messengers," said Ann.
"It's a matter of life and death," said Eliza.
The guard yawned. "Mister Ivanhoe is not at home. Come back on Tuesday."
Roger was disgusted at the lax and corrupt behavior of the guards. He banged his fist on the table. "Poltroons, take us to thy master at once!"
"Who are you?" said the guard, insolently.
"I'm Roger," said Roger.
The guard tittered. "A likely story!" he said. "Everyone knows there never was any such person. Nobody believes that old myth nowadays. Nowadays Roger's just a word you use at the end of conversations. "