The Paladin Prophecy

THE WEIGHT ROOM

Will rang the bell on the counter by the cage in the locker room. He’d picked up his laundry bag from his locker, leaving time to change before practice.

“Hey, Jolly, you there?”

“You again,” said Nepsted.

Will heard his wheelchair before the dwarf rolled out of a small room on the side of the cage that Will hadn’t noticed before.

“I forgot to ask,” said Will, holding up the mesh bag. “What do we do with our laundry?”

“Drop it in a shower room hamper,” said Nepsted. “It’ll be delivered to your locker in two days. Except Fridays. Drop it Friday, you get it back Monday.”

Nepsted rolled up to his side of the cage and held Will with his strange round, unblinking eyes.

He said come back when I’m ready. Am I? Only one way to find out.

“We were talking about the mascot the other day,” said Will carefully. “I learned something I want to ask you about.”

“Oh?”

“Did you know the original Paladins were the Knights of Charlemagne?” asked Will.

“Do I look stupid?” asked Nepsted, neutral. “If you know so much, tell me how many there were.”

“Twelve,” said Will. “They called themselves the Peers.”

“Twelve is a sacred number,” said Nepsted, his voice a mesmerizing drone. “Wholeness. Unity. Twelve signs of the zodiac. Twelve tones in the musical scale. Twelve face cards in a deck. Twelve on a jury. Twelve nights of Christmas. Twelve labors of Hercules. Twelve men on the moon. Twelve petals of the unfolding eternal lotus. Twelve hours of darkness, twelve of light. Twelve tribes of Israel—”

Will instantly regretted asking him anything. The guy sounded as nuts as a conspiracy freak broadcasting from a mobile home in the desert.

“Months, inches, eggs,” said Will. “I get it—”

“Twelve Paladins,” said Nepsted emphatically, then paused before adding, “Twelve disciples.”

“Disciples …,” said Will. “You’re saying … the Paladins are disciples? Of who? The Old Gentleman?”

Nepsted’s head wobbled as he grinned crookedly. “The Knights follow the Old Gentleman, but they’re disciples … of something else.”

“Something? Not someone? You mean like the Never-Was?”

Nepsted’s eyes lit up, but he just shrugged. He likes toying with me, Will thought. Time to stop talking in circles.

“Does the school know about the Knights?” asked Will.

Nepsted grinned at him. “Would they pick a paladin for our mascot if they didn’t?”

“But do they know about what’s down in that auxiliary locker room?” asked Will. “Do they know about the tunnels?”

“What makes you think I’d know that?”

“You told me you’re the one with all the keys.”

“All but one,” said Nepsted cryptically.

“You know what’s really going on down there, don’t you?” Will insisted.

Nepsted suddenly looked frightened. “If you’ve got business there, you know what goes on. If you don’t know what goes on, you’ve got no business there.”

Knowing he’d touched a nerve, Will moved closer to the cage and pointed a finger at Nepsted. “You know what’s down there, and you know what it’s for. The hats and the masks and the tunnels that run under the lake and come out at the Crag. I think you even know about the Never-Was. You told me you’re the one who knows everything that goes on around here. Or were you just lying?”

Nepsted’s face contorted, turning an alarming beet red. “How many locks do you see around here, kid?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Bring me that answer,” said Nepsted, hissing with venom. “Or don’t come back.”

Nepsted pushed a button on his side of the counter. A screen of articulated metal siding began to slide down from the ceiling on Nepsted’s side of the cage. He turned around to ride away.

Will called after him, “What do the Knights want? What are they doing here? Why are you afraid of them?”

This time Nepsted whipped his chair around and zoomed to the counter with startling speed. He pointed a long bony finger at Will as the metal lowered past his face. “You’ve got a right to put your own life in danger, but don’t you dare mess with mine, boy. Do you hear me? It’ll go far worse for you than you can imagine.”

The screen crashed onto the counter with a resounding clang. Will heard the squeak of Nepsted’s chair retreating into the cage.

“Great,” muttered Will. “I pissed off the sociopathic dwarf.”

“How many locks do you see around here, kid?” What the hell did that mean? It was like trying to talk to a fortune cookie. Rumpelstiltskin clearly held the key to more than just doors, but the first challenge was unlocking him.

Maybe next time I should use my “enhanced” powers of suggestion, thought Will.

He dropped his laundry into a hamper and glanced at his watch. Eight minutes to get to Jericho’s cross-country practice. He hurried to his locker and changed into his sweats. The spike wounds from Suicide Hill had nearly disappeared already. Only faint red lines remained from yesterday’s long nasty scrapes.

Will glanced in the mirror at the end of the next row. Staring back at him, behind his own reflection, was Dave. Will whirled around, but Dave wasn’t there. He turned back and stepped closer to the mirror. Dave smiled, looking substantial and real, standing beside him in the aisle. Will turned again: empty space.

Dave was inside the mirror.

“How am I seeing you right now?” asked Will.

“If you want to get technical, ‘astral projection.’ I’m back at headquarters. Good news: You’ve been cleared for the next level of classified info.”

“Whatever you say, Dave,” said Will, sitting to tie his shoes. “I don’t want to get you mad again.”

“I work for the Hierarchy,” said Dave. “Have a gander.”

Will looked up from his shoes and his jaw dropped.

An image had appeared beside Dave in the mirror: a vast cityscape of gleaming towers, spires, and pavilions floating in midair above an endless snowcapped mountain range. As Dave spoke, the image rotated slowly.

“Imagine seven interlocking divisions of a global corporation whose only purpose is to do good. I know: not humanly possible. That’s why the Hierarchy exists on the etheric level. It’s that big, Will: Epic can’t convey its real scope.” Dave pointed to some of the gigantic buildings. “The Personnel Department alone could cover Kansas—caseworkers, managers, counselors. Architects and builders. The Legion of Thoughtforms. The Hall of Akashic Records. Our offices are up here, near the Council of Mahatmas.”

Dave pointed to a high ivory tower rising above the center of the complex. Will saw thousands of people at work in gargantuan halls.

“Are all those people alive?” he asked.

“Alive, absolutely. Not in the earthbound sense of the word—that is, like me, not strictly physical, but they can be, depending on the need.”

“What’s it all for?” asked Will, his voice barely a whisper.

The image faded. Dave looked kinder than Will had ever seen him, as if he knew how impossible this was to absorb. “We look after the whole planet, mate. Caretakers for all the forms of life, according to department. I’m with Security. We keep eyes peeled for funny business from the Other Team, provide special services for the chief of operations, upon whose desk the buck comes to a complete stop.”

“He wouldn’t be ‘the Old Gentleman,’ by any chance?”

Dave cocked his head. “No, that bloke’s captain of the Other Team. Wrong side entirely. Our CO is nothing of the sort. He doesn’t have a name, really, although folks on the job sometimes use the term Planetary Logos.”

Will felt his whole body tingling. “You mean … God?”

“God?” Dave almost laughed. “Not hardly, mate. That one’s a thousand orders of magnitude removed from us. The Hierarchy’s a strictly local outfit with local responsibilities. No need to overreach. Trust me, the Other Team’s enough to keep us locked and loaded, with every man and his dog tending to their station.”

Will gulped in air, his head swimming. “So all these monsters, bugs, and ‘Fuzzy-Wuzzies’ from the Never-Was are part of the Other Team?”

“Absolutely. Minions of our deadliest enemy.”

“And they’re not human,” said Will.

“Nowhere near. But they’ve got plenty of human collaborators.”

“Like the Black Caps and the Knights of Charlemagne?”

“That’s right, mate,” said Dave admiringly. “You seem to be taking all this rather in stride.”

“Well, you know, after you hit me with ‘guardian angel,’ the rest just seems like ‘sure, whatever.’ How’d you get into all this?”

“The usual way,” said Dave. “I was recruited.”

Dave disappeared. Will saw only his own reflection in the mirror. A couple of younger students, who’d just wandered in behind him, stared at him warily.

“That’s right,” said Will. “I’m the new kid who talks to himself in the mirror.”

Shocked at how calm he felt, Will hurried out and went looking for the weight room. He found it near the far end of the Barn’s central corridor. It was a long, high-ceilinged space filled with gymnastic stations at one end—rings, bars, horses—and training machines and free weights at the other.

There were about a dozen athletes—about half from the cross-country team—stretching on rubber mats in the middle. As Will entered, the few who noticed—Durgnatt, Steifel, and the African American kid Wendell Duckworth—gave him the cold shoulder. Todd Hodak trotted on a treadmill nearby. No sign of Coach Jericho.

Will assessed his options. He could lower his eyes, go submissive, and try not to provoke them. Hope that Todd and his pack ignored him. But if some of these kids—maybe all of them—were the Knights …?

Maybe now was a good time to find out.

Will grabbed a towel and jumped on the treadmill next to Hodak. He nudged up the speed until he was running at Todd’s pace, then looked over at him and grinned.

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