Halloween Knights

By Scribe

Appeared originally in the My Mongoose Halloween Ezine

Fandom: The Sentinel

Disclaimer: I did not create, and do not own Jim and Blair (dammit). This fictional work is intended strictly for entertainment purposes, and no profit is sought, or accepted. Nothing but affection and respect is intended for the actors who portrayed the characters, and this story is in no way, shape, or form a reflection on their actual lives or activities.

Archive: Lists and WWOMB only, unless given specific permission

Notes: Astroworld is a major amusement park in Houston, Texas: part of the Six Flags chain. The Haunted Hotel is a seasonal haunted house located a couple of hours away in Beaumont, Texas. Fright Nights are a yearly event at Astroworld, involving haunted houses (separate ones suitable for children), guests and employees in costume, and concerts. Excaliber is an actual display in the medieval section, but to the best of my knowledge no one has ever pulled the sword from the stone. Reconcilio is Latin for 'repair'. Walter Humphries is a world-renowned lawyer, specializing in personal injury suits, who played a major part in the recent tobacco suit. And purple and white are the school colors of my alma mater, Port Neches-Groves High School, 1976 (my year of
graduation) AAAA football champs. GO INDIANS! Rating: Um, R, I think. I believe I slipped a word or two in there.

Halloween Knights
By Scribe

Houston was no stranger to thunderstorms. A city on the Gulf Coast learned to deal with the sometimes violent weather that was brought to them by the Gulf Stream, and Houston had handled everything from barely-there mists to raging hurricanes with aplomb. The storm that rolled over the city now wasn't the worst it had ever seen, but it was nothing to sneeze at, either.

The thing was that it came up so *suddenly*. There had been nothing on the Doppler radar, then bang! there it was, dumping rain and ripping the sky with lightning and thunder. It had struck close to closing time, but there were still several hundred people who got thoroughly drenched hurrying across the walkway from Astroworld to the parking lot.

The rain was so heavy that the crew didn't even finish their final cleaning sweep of the day. The morning crew was alerted to come in a little early, *if* the weather let up enough to make it possible for them to do their jobs. The managers needn't have worried. The storm was intense, but fairly brief: it would be over long before dawn.

Lightning laced the sky, gilding the underbellies of the thick storm clouds with an eerie beauty, occasionally lancing down to strike, leaving behind air crackling with static electricity and reeking of ozone. While a lightning storm was always a matter of concern in a place that had so many tall buildings, there was only one significant lightning strike that night. No one was there to witness it, and no one was ever really aware that it had happened. It did not fell a tree, set a house on fire, or even fry someone's electronic appliances with a power surge, but it *did* do one thing that would affect several people the next day.

It struck something in Astroworld.

**

*"Blair!"* Jim hissed the name through clenched teeth, feeling his way along the narrow hallway in pitch darkness. He'd dialed his vision way up the moment they entered this hellhole, and seeing still wasn't easy for him. Blair, with his normal vision, would be effectively blind, and that wasn't *safe*, especially not here.

How had Blair gotten away from him? Granted, they'd been moving pretty fast in the confused panic that had resulted when they walked in on that scene in the kitchen. He winced at the memory. //Christ, that was worse than anything I've ever seen, on the force or in the Rangers. Body parts everywhere, and that... that *thing* with blood on its mouth, starting to come after us.//

Every bit of instinct, cop and Sentinel, had screamed at him to fight, to do *something* to the thing that was able to wreak such carnage, but there hadn't really been anything they could *do*. //I honestly wish I hadn't left my gun in the hotel room. Shit, they passed that concealed weapon law here in Texas not so long ago, I could have brought it.// He heard a scream from somewhere
behind him and stiffened, then relaxed slightly when he realized that it was not Blair. Then he felt a little ashamed for being relieved.

He tuned his hearing up, searching for Blair's heartbeat, but there were so many in this building, all of them heavy and fast with terror or excitement. "Blair! Goddam it, where are you?" he growled. He didn't dare raise his voice. There was no telling *what* it might attract.

"Jim?" The hoarse whisper came from up ahead. Jim turned a corner that he had scarcely been able to see, and found himself looking down another long, narrow corridor. This one had what looked like an open space halfway down. There was a brief flash of light at the end of the hall, and Jim saw a door. It was heavy, metal plated: built to keep people out... or in. That had to be the
exit.

Now Jim could distinguish Blair's thudding heartbeat from the others. It was close, very close. He eased forward, and almost wet his pants when Blair lunged out of a near invisible doorway to his left.

Blair clutched his lover's arm, panting. "Shit! I thought it was the way out, but it was just a dead end, and... and I ran into *feet*."

"Feet?"

"There's someone *hanging* in the middle of the hall in there." When Jim started back through the doorway, Blair stopped him. "Deader than disco, man. We gotta keep going."

Jim nodded toward the end of the hall. "I think that's the exit up there."

Blair looked. When he saw the open space, his face paled. "Oh, shit. We have to go through there to get to it." Jim knew that he was remembering what they had discovered in the last open space like that. The body stretched on the dark altar had glazed eyes, a cut throat, and intestines peeking wetly through a ragged hole in its middle. That had been bad, but when it had stirred and begun to reach for them...

"There's no choice, Sandburg. We can't go back the way we came in, we have to go forward. But I think you're right. I think there's going to be one last, nasty surprise. We just have to be ready for it." He gave Blair's shoulder a squeeze. "We can do it, Chief. We can get through this, together."

Blair stared into his eyes, and Jim could see his resolve harden. His lover had come a long way from the near panicked grad student who had once disabled a criminal by pushing a vending machine over on him. He was tough. They'd make it. Blair nodded, and they cautiously started to make their way toward escape.

Suddenly a dim light came on over the open space. Jim covered his eyes because, with his vision dialed up, it had almost been like a flashbulb going off in his face. He heard Blair gasp, and felt him clutch at his arm, whispering, "Son of a *bitch*!" When the temporary white-blindness faded and he could see again, Jim silently agreed.

A man was leaning, hands behind his back, against the corner where the hall opened up, watching them with an avid, feral gaze. He was big, even bigger than Jim, though his was obviously due mainly to fat instead of muscle. Somehow that didn't make him any less menacing. He was wearing a pair of overalls, no shirt, and his hairy skin was almost luminously pale. The denim was splotched heavily with dark stains that Jim did not want to think about. The man smiled at them. No upper teeth.

"Oh, man, Jim, we gotta go *past* that?"

"No other way, Darwin. He's not making any moves. Maybe we won't have any trouble."

Blair looked at Jim incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

"We can always hope. I'll go first, you stay close behind me. If anything happens, don't wait for me: run."

They advanced slowly. Still the man didn't move. As they reached the open space, Jim kept turning to stay facing him, maneuvering to keep himself between Blair and the man, positioning them so that Blair had a clear shot at the door.

The man straightened up from the wall. "We don't want any trouble. We just want out of here." Jim said quietly. The man smiled, pulled his hands from behind his back, and made a sharp, jerking motion with one hand.

There was a coughing, roar, deafening in the narrow confines of the hall. Jim glimpsed the logo BLACK & DECKER. Some part of his brain registered the fact that it wasn't a very *big* power tool. But then again, how big did a chainsaw *have* to be?

Jim whirled and ran. Blair had obeyed him, and was flying ahead. //God, it's like that endless hallway at Disneyworld: the fucking thing seems to be *stretching*!// He could hear the thud of heavy, steel-toed boots behind him. Luckily the maniac was too big to manage much more than a lumber, and it looked like they had a chance.

Jim was right behind Blair as he hit the door. Thankfully, it wasn't locked. Blair slammed on the the push bar, throwing his weight against it, and it burst open, spilling them both out into the hot, humid night. The truck was parked only a few yards away, and they didn't stop till they ran into it, both of them thunking against the warm metal side. They just hung there for a moment, clutching the truck and gasping for breath. Then a sepulchral voice intoned, "Gentlemen."

They turned to see a tall, cadaverous figure approaching them from the hulking building they had just escaped. His face was dead white, his glittering eyes sunken in dark sockets. His mouth was a bloody gash, and his slashed T-shirt was stained with great crimson gouts. He regarded them intently, his smile showing fangs, and spoke again.

"Y'all all right?"

Blair recovered first. "Yeah, man. But that last bit almost necessitated a change of underwear."

The ghoul chuckled. "Yeah, it always causes a stampede when Wendell fires that thing up. Don't nobody come out of there at a walk."

"Wendell?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, Professor Wendell Hargroves. He's my Humanities professor at Lamar. Cool, ain't he? It's mostly the drama students manning the place, but he wanted to get in, and when we saw him with three days of stubble and his upper plate out, we couldn't say no. Did y'all have a good time?"

Jim grinned. "That was the most bang for my buck I've ever gotten out of ten dollars."

"Glad to hear it. Y'all come on back again, if you want. We're doing so good that we'll probably be open a weekend or two past Halloween." The young man waved and turned to amble back to the entrance. There was a line of people. They each paid a witch at the bottom of an outside flight of stairs before making their way up and going inside. The sign, which they climbed past, on the side of the building, said HAUNTED HOTEL in large, drippy red letters.

Blair looked at Jim. "We need something like this in Cascade."

Jim shook his head as he unlocked the truck. "Imagine the lawsuits for heart attacks."

"You didn't look, man. They had a sign at the door. No one with weak hearts, no pregnant women." He climbed in as Jim went around to the driver's side. "Of course, considering how narrow some of those halls were, especially that one where the floor was in those steep, slanted sections, I don't think anyone past the seventh month could get through anyway."

"Yeah. It looked like ol' Wendell would have gotten stuck like a cork in a bottleneck. Never mind the horror scenes: a claustrophobe would have hysterics just walking through." He put the key in the ignition. "Damn, it's only seven. What now?"

"Well, we have to go back to Houston for the hotel anyway, right?"

"Right." Jim started the truck and pulled out into the street. "You want to go club hopping?"

Blair shook his head. "Astroworld."

Jim shot an amused glance at him. "A haunted house, now an amusement park. Entering your second childhood early, Chief?" Blair stuck his tongue out at him, and Jim laughed. "Isn't it kind of late? We have all day tomorrow, since they cancelled the lecture on recognizing regional gang identifiers."

"It's just as well: the information was probably outdated two days after they collected it, and yeah, we're going tomorrow, too. You need at least a full day to do a place that big justice. But they'll be open to midnight, and I want to go tonight because of this."

He held out a leaflet. Jim shot it a brief glance, not daring to take his attention off the road for too long. He did catch the large print at the top, though. "Fright Nights?"

Blair nodded. "They encourage the guests to come in costume, and there are haunted houses and music. They're affiliated with Looneytunes: you know, with employees in costume?" He grinned. "Can you imagine a big Dracula Bugs Bunny?"

Jim laughed. "Buck fangs, huh? Guess I can't deny you that. Okay," he reached toward the radio, "but I get to listen to an oldies station on the way." Blair rolled his eyes, groaning pointedly, but in a moment he was singing along with 'Help Me, Rhonda'.

At the gate they paid for parking, and located a slot near the ramp leading up to the overpass. As they joined the straggle of people strolling across the walkway toward the park, Blair remarked, "I hear they used to have shuttles running across, but I guess they saved a lot of money by doing away with them." He smiled as a tiny ballerina, squealing excitedly, ran past him, pursued by an equally tiny clown. "Well, it looks like most of the visitors have energy to spare."

At the gate Jim muttered under his breath as he paid for the tickets. Blair, looking beyond the barrier at the bright lights and thickening crowd of revelers said, "Quit bitchin', man. I'll spring for a giant Slurpee, your choice of game, and a funky souvenir."

"Judging from the prices most of these places have, that should be a fair exchange." They passed through the metal detector, and Jim sighed, "I bet Walt didn't have to do this when he opened Disneyland."

"Can you remember that?" Blair asked curiously as they started along the brick pavement into the quaint Main Street area.

"Don't start, Darwin."

Jim hadn't known that it was possible for so many variations of rollercoasters to exist in one area. He lost track after Batman Escapes, the Sidewinder, and the Texas Twister. "Jesus, Chief, can't we ride something just a *little* more sedate? Maybe the train, or the carousel?"

"I was thinking about one of the water rides next. Maybe the Bamboo Shoot?"

"Blair, it's the middle of October, and we'll be drenched!" Jim argued.

"Uh, Jim?" Blair waved at a passing couple. The man wore a tank top and cut-offs. The woman was wearing shorts and a bathing suit top. "Hello? This is Texas, and it's, like, about eighty-five. Even *I'm* not cold, and you know how I am."

"But if we get wet we'll have to walk around like that till we can get back to the hotel and..."

"You'll dry." Blair watched the couple join the line for Batman Escapes. "Say, you think her top is going to survive that? I mean, they whip through that upside down loop, and she's kinda well endowed."

"It's an interesting thought, but I'm going to sit down for a minute. I saw benches back in that medieval section."

"Okay, old man. You go have a seat and I'll get you your Slurpee. What flavor?"

"Do you need to ask?"

"Cherry it is."

All the benches were full, but the edges of the planters made good enough seats, and Jim found an open spot where he could do some people watching. The place was thronged, and at least half of the visitors, children and adults, were in costume. Masks weren't allowed for security reasons, but there were face painting booths scattered around the grounds, and many people sported fanciful designs.

He noticed that there seemed to be some sort of attraction in the center of the little square that his planter bordered. He squinted, sharpening his vision so that he could see more in the brief glimpses he could catch between the shifting bodies.

It looked like a rough stone, tall enough to reach about to his thigh level, with a few steps leading up the side. There was a plaque on its side, and he read the inscription. "LET IT BE KNOWN WHOSO PULLETH OUT THIS SWORD FROM THE STONE, THAT SAME IS RIGHT-WISE KING BORN OF ENGLAND. Huh." A sign next to it said, "A picture of you fulfilling the prophecy: $5.00." A bored looking attendant in a friar's robe stood beside it with an Instamatic camera.

When the crowd parted for a moment he saw the sword. It looked like a huge double-edged blade, sunk about midway in the stone. He looked closer. It was blunt, of course. If you got it free you might be able to beat someone to death with it, but you wouldn't be able to *cut* anyone. //Hm. It's had some sort of accident somewhere down the line, too. The pommel looks scorched.//

Blair approached and pushed a foot tall, green plastic glass, capped and with a flexible plastic straw, into Jim's hand. "Here you go, and you lucked out. They ran out of cherry just after me."

"Thanks." Jim took a deep, tongue-freezing swallow, being careful not to take it in fast enough to get a chill headache. "Ah. Artificial flavoring."

"You're weird."

Jim sucked up another mouthful and indicated the stone. "Check it out, Chief."

Blair watched as a teenage boy mounted the steps. He'd chosen to wear his football uniform, a symphony of bright purple and white, as his costume. It was a natural enough choice, given the area's obsession with football at all its levels. To the giggling amusement of a group of teenage girls dressed as the Spice Girls he flexed his biceps, then gripped the haft of the sword. He strained, he heaved, he planted his feet and strove for all he was worth. The sword ignored him. Just before he gave up one of the girls slipped the monk a bill, and he snapped a picture of the boy, red faced and straining. The boy pursued the girls (Baby Spice waving the picture triumphantly) into the crowd.

They sat and watched as a procession of visitors made the same attempt. Men, women, and children, pirates, flappers, hobos, vampires... Some tried with melodramatic straining and grunting, some with quiet intensity. None had any measurable success. The photographer wasn't doing much business, except with the parents of the smallest children.

Blair stood up, rubbing his palms on his thighs, and Jim said, "You're not."

"I'm not?"

Blair walked over and stood at the end of the short line. Jim watched, shaking his head. Finally he stood up and walked over. He didn't get in line, but he stood beside the stone with the other onlookers, sipping his rapidly melting drink. Blair stood aside long enough to let the red Crayola who had been before him pass, then mounted the steps.

Jim watched his Guide brace his sturdy legs and take the sword in a double handed grip, then pull. And pull. And pull. There were catcalls. Someone yelled, "*Give it up, Goldilocks.*"

Blair let go and glared toward the heckler. "That's *Curleylocks*, man. I'm not a blonde, okay?" There was laughter as he made way for a man in full Rocky Horror Picture Show Frankenfurter drag, who blew him a kiss before trying his luck (and showing off some very respectable pecs under his corset top).

Jim blinked when Blair took his cup from his hand and said, "Okay, your turn. Get in line."

"No way."

"I'm not going to be the only one humiliated here, Jim. Get in line and embarrass yourself." Jim shook his head. Blair raised his voice, pointing at him. *"Chicken! Chicken, right here!"* There was an immediate chorus of clucking. Jim folded his arms and scowled.

Frank, who had no better luck than anyone else, strolled over on his spangled high heels, pursed dark painted lips at Jim and cooed, "Oh, be a sport." One hand on hip, the other waving in an exaggeratedly limp-wristed manner he said in a sultry voice, "You look so *dominant!*"

The crowd's laughter covered Blair's reply. "He has *no* idea."

"Oh, all right!" Jim went and got at the end of the short line. The second he capitulated, though, the line evaporated, leaving him a clear path up the steps. He glared around at the grinning spectators. "It's a conspiracy. How many of you people did he pay off?"

"Be paranoid later, Jim. G'wan, give it a tug."

Grumbling under his breath, Jim climbed up to the narrow 'landing' and took a good look at the little exhibit. There was about three feet of it sticking up out of the stone. Up close it looked much more realistic. //Give it a good turn at a grindstone and it might actually dangerous.// He cocked his head. //Of course it can't be real. It's probably just this top part, cemented onto a solid rock. It would be more like someone pulling it *off* instead of *out*. Well, I may as well get it over with.//

He actually *considered* what would be the most effective method. There was a rising murmur, but he took his time. //I think that it would be more sensible to *lift* instead of *pulling*, like with a weight machine.// He squatted and took hold of both sides of the cross guard in an underhand grip, wrists out, as if he were getting ready to lift a weight. Unnoticed, Blair slipped the monk a five and whispered, "When he slips." The photographer nodded, smiling, and held his camera at the ready.

//Okay, like at the gym,// he thought. He spread and braced his legs, aligned his spine correctly, and pushed. Nothing. He did it again, leaning up into it. Nothing. The catcalls started. //Well, if I'm doing this, I'm doing it right.// He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and strained, putting every ounce of strength and will he had into the upward push...

and felt something give, but not in his back, as he would have expected.

Beneath the blare of music and the screams of the people riding the Dungeon Drop nearby, he heard a faint, grating squeal. His eyes flew open just as the squeal rose into a screech and all the resistance he had been pushing against suddenly disappeared. There was a bright flash of light, but Jim didn't have time to think about that.

If Jim's reflexes hadn't been so superb he might have been hurt. As it was, it was... well, rather spectacular. Blair said later that it would have taken a professional stunt co-ordinater to work up anything so neat.

When Jim felt himself going backwards, his heel slipping off the step, he pushed off and turned it into a backward leap instead. He thrust hard, knowing that he had to clear the steps behind him if he didn't want to risk breaking a leg. The sword jerked loose from its anchor, shooting straight up in the air. It turned end over end as Jim's sneaker clad feet hit the brick pavement. Jim sank into a crouch, letting his knees give with the impact instead of absorbing the force, and started to push back up the instant he reached the bottom of the drop. He saw the sword finish its turn and begin its descent, and all he could think was //That's going to brain someone.// As he stood, his arm shot out, and his hand closed on the sword's handle with unerring accuracy, just as there was another flash of light. Two flashes of light: the photographer snapped the second photo at the exact instance there was a crash, and a bolt of lightning split the clear sky from side to side.

Approximately two to three seconds after Jim Ellison had started to heave he was standing on the ground beside the stone with Excaliber clenched in his upraised fist. The crowd broke into applause. Someone called, "I didn't see all of it! When's the next show?"

Jim slowly lowered the sword as Blair approached him, and the crowd began to disperse. He looked at the weapon //Hell yes, it's a weapon. It's a full sized sword, not a chunk, like I thought, and the end that was buried in the stone looks fuckin' *sharp*.// blankly.

Blair laid a hand on his shoulder. "You all right, man?" All amusement was gone, and there was concern in his voice.

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, just a little startled."

The photographer was gaping at him. "Dude, you broke it!"

"It came loose in my hands."

"You broke my gig. I was making a commission off these things. *Security!*" He raised his voice.

Jim rested the point of the sword on the ground, his hand on the pommel, and Blair squatted to take a look at it. He touched the blade gingerly, and Jim warned, "Careful, Chief. That looks..." There was a hiss, and Blair thrust a bloody finger into his mouth, sucking on it. "sharp. You okay?"

"Just a nick." He stood up as a couple of men in official looking blazers approached.

They came closer, eyeing Jim cautiously. One of them stage whispered from the side of his mouth to his companion. "I thought they checked them for possible weapons and nuisances at the gate?"

"I didn't bring this," Jim informed them. He pointed with the sword. "It came out of that thing."

"They broke it!" insisted the monk. He waved a couple of rapidly developing snapshots. "I have proof."

One of the men got on a walkie-talkie, while his companion said, "Sir, please lower the weapon. We have our section supervisor on the way."

'It's not a weapon," Jim insisted. "It's a prop, or something, and it's not mine."

"But it is!"

The entire group (Guide, Sentinel, guards, and photographer) turned toward the rich, ringing voice. A man was making his way across the open space toward them, robes billowing behind him, and Blair couldn't help but think that he must be sweating like a *pig* in all that enveloping cloth. He was wearing head to toe black robes, with a matching cape that was embroidered with arcane symbols, including stars and crescent moons. On his head he wore a pointed dunce cap. //Or I guess that would pretty much have to be a *wizard's* cap,// Blair thought.

"Look, like I told them, I didn't bring it with me," Jim argued. "I was just trying to pull it, like everyone else, and..."

"And you succeeded, where the base born failed!" The man had reached them, and now he fell to his knees before Jim, bowing his head. "Your Majesty!"

Everyone stared. Finally Blair said, "Did he just call me base born? I think I've been insulted."

"Mister, are you all right?" Jim asked.

"I kneel before my sovereign Lord and King."

Blair looked at Jim. "You know, I can *hear* the capitalization when he uses those titles."

Feeling more than a little foolish, Jim said, "Oh, stop it and get up."

"As my liege orders." He flowed to his feet.

One of the security guards said officiously, "Move along, sir. This is none of your business."

The man drew himself up proudly. "Whose business could it be if not mine?"

Blair was studying the man. His hair was silver, long and flowing, but his face was too youthful to justify it. He was probably no more than in his mid-thirties. There was no beard, but... "Merlin, right?"

The man gave him a slightly condescending smile. "Nay, lad. I cannot aspire to that much vaunted name. I am only Abelmare, his faithful follower. My greatest joy has been attained: I have seen the coming of the prophesied King of England, and the world." He clapped Blair on the shoulder. "I saw the care in your eyes. You are his man?"

Jim coughed, but Blair smirked and said, "You might say that, yes."

A stocky middle-aged man in a neat, dark suit had arrived and was conferring with the security men. His displeased gaze kept moving between the now empty stone and Jim. The photographer was yammering, adding his nickel's worth. The man approached and said, "Sir, I'm Richard Sullivan, and I'm in charge of operations for this section. These men tell me that you damaged one of our displays. I'm afraid this is serious. You'll have to be held responsible for repairs, and possibly for loss of revenue while it's being fixed."

Jim gaped. "Oh, now, wait a minute!"

Abelmare pushed his flowing sleeves up to his elbows, scowling at the man. "Shall I blast him, Your Highness?"

Sullivan stepped back, alarmed. "Here, now!" One of the security men started whispering into his walkie-talkie about a 'possible incident'.

Jim said, "Look, do you consider yourself my follower?"

A bow. "Your most humble servant."

"Then stop that."

"Yes, my liege."

"Apologize."

Abelmare bowed to Richard Sullivan. "I humbly crave your pardon. Majesty, whenever you are ready, I can transport us to England, so that you may announce yourself and ascend your throne."

Blair said, "I think Liz would have something to say about that."

"The present queen?" Abelmare made a dismissive gesture. "I'll admit that the first queen with that name did a passable job, but this one will surely realize the rightness of his claim, and step down voluntarily. If not, it should not be hard to depose her. That bat eared heir will not be much of an obstacle. Now, if the blonde child was next in line, there might be a problem winning the hearts of the people, but..."

Jim sighed again, feeling near exasperation. It was bad enough that the official was making noises that approximated *sue*: he didn't need an eccentric mistaking him for the once and future king. "Look, Abe, this isn't funny."

"I agree, Majesty. It is a most solemn and grave occasion. The world has sorely needed your wisdom and guidance. Under your hand Britain will again assume her rightful place as the world's leader. All knees shall bow, all tongues proclaim..."

"Wait, I think that's a hymn. No blasphemy, please!" Jim protested.

"I'm sorry. I'm a mage, not a poet, and I got carried away. I'm just so excited! I've been waiting and looking for so long..."

"Yo, Abelmare?" Blair waved his hand in front of the man's face to capture his attention, which was fixed raptly on Jim. "Man, he's *American*, all right? I mean, the royalty comes through the bloodlines. There has to be some blood tie, no matter how tenuous, and Jim isn't..."

Ellison was looking thoughtful. "Come to think of it, Dad *did* say something once about a great-great something uncle immigrating from England." Abelmare threw his arms wide in a 'you see?' gesture. "No, I'll believe in UFOs before I believe that."

"Look, liability has to be officially established," Sullivan insisted. "We'll need to go to my office and take statements, find out if you have any sort of insurance..."

"I still think I should blast him for you, Your Highness."

Abelmare was glaring at Sullivan. Blair put a hand on his arm, saying, "Chill, man. You're not helping things."

Abelmare shook him off, snapping, "Mind your hands, varlet!"

Jim pointed the sword at him. "Watch how you talk to my consort."

Everyone but Blair and Abelmare looked blank. Blair turned red, and Abelmare paled. "My Lord, I had no idea! I beg your pardon for my ignorance." He paused. "You are aware that you'll have to make at least a state marriage to provide an heir and continue your line?"

//*"Oh, for crying out..."*//

*"Abelmare!"* The voice cracked with authority. A tall, slender man, dressed in conservative tweeds, approached. Later Jim and Blair consulted, and neither of them could say exactly where he approached *from*.

The effect on Abelmare was immediate and obvious. He cringed. He went from regally dignified eccentric to nervous, fawning schoolboy in an instant. Blair had heard the term *toadying* before, but this was the clearest example //well, outside of a few University fundraisers// that he'd ever seen.

The stranger's hair was just as silver and just as long as Abelmare's, and he also sported a neatly trimmed white beard and a pair of rimless, round glasses. He looked like a long-haired version of a very proper British headmaster, and his attitude was just as stern. He glared at Ablemare and snapped, "I take a little nap for a few centuries, and look what you get up to!"

"Sir, I was just trying to..."

"I *know* what you were trying to do, you impatient pup! You were trying to force the hand of fate. Haven't I *told* you how dangerous that is?"

"But I thought..."

"No, you did *not*! If you had thought you would have remained where you should, practicing your lessons. I suppose you haven't yet managed to produce a philosopher's stone?" Abelmare hung his head. "I thought not. If you can't do a simple thing like that, how could you expect to draw forth the proper King? Not to mention how upset Arthur would have been when he finally awoke and found someone else on his throne."

He looked at Jim. "Look, I'm sorry about all this. He's the best student I've ever had but *impatient*? You have no idea." He held out his hand. "I'll have to ask for that back."

"Now just a minute!" protested Sullivan. "That's Astroworld property. It has to be kept so that it can be properly reinserted, and..." He trailed off, peering at the sword. "That's a whole sword." He stepped over and examined the stone. "But it's only supposed to be a half sword, cemented in place. That's the design we were shown. Did they fob off a whole sword on us?"

"Mr. Ellison?"

The old man held out his hand. Jim, wondering how he knew his name when he hadn't mentioned it to anyone since he'd come into the park, handed it over. The man handed the sword to Abelmare, saying, "Send it back, and give me the one you replaced."

Abelmare sighed, slipping the sword into a fold of his robe. He rummaged, then handed his teacher another sword. This one, though, was truncated: broken off halfway down the blade. Merlin //oh, hell,// Blair thought, //who the heck *else* could it be?// fitted the sword carefully against the slit that had been left empty when Jim pulled the sword. He murmured, "Reconcilio." There was a brief blue glow around the base of the sword. When he released it, it remained firmly upright. "There, that should take care of your problem." He nodded to Jim, then to the gaping supervisor and security guards. "Sorry about the trouble. It won't happen again." He glared at Abelmare, who seemed to shrink. "I think a few decades of gathering eye of newt and toe of frog should teach you not to go meddling out of your depth. Come on." He stalked off.

Abelmare gave Jim a weak smile. "Sorry." His voice dropped to a whisper. "If it's any consolation, I think you'd make a much better king than the one who's next in line right now." He hurried off after his mentor, and they soon disappeared into the crowds of people who were emerging from the shelter they'd taken at the crack of lightning.

Sullivan looked a little stunned, but shook himself. "Well, I'll still need to get statements, and I may want to have that exhibit X-rayed to see if you damaged it internally before I decide whether or not to sue."

The monk waved the pictures. "Yeah, and I have proof right here that he did it!"

Blair said, "Yeah, you be sure to hang on to those. Our lawyer will probably want to see them."

Sullivan frowned. "Your lawyer?"

"The one for the personal injury suit. After all, an attraction that you profit from malfunctioned. It was obviously badly constructed, or you used faulty materials. How often is it inspected?"

"Inspected? I... don't think it is."

*"What?* No inspections?" Blair looked at Jim. "Jim, how's your back?" Taking his cue, Jim put on a pained expression and held a hand to the small of his back. "Oo, could be soft tissue damage there. Let's see, who should we call? Texas is kind of the land of personal injury suits. I know! How about that Walter Humphries dude who helped win that umpty million... or was it billion? Anyway, he *reamed* the tobacco companies." Blair addressed a slightly green looking Sullivan. "How much does this place pull down in a year, concessions and souvenirs included?"

"Let's not be hasty here. The exhibit seems to be intact, so there's no need to go to litigation." There was a pleading tone in Sullivan's voice. "In fact, I'm sure I could arrange a couple of year long passes for you." Jim rubbed his neck, wincing. "Make that lifetime passes to any Six Flags in
America."

Blair looked at Jim, who shrugged. "They *do* have Wild Waves and Enchanted Village in Washington."

"Whatever you say, Chief."

When they walked across the overpass an hour later, Jim was carrying two lifetime passes. Blair was wearing a T-shirt with his name air-brushed on it, a cap with his name embroidered on it, an Astroworld fannypack, and had a huge stuffed panther slung around his shoulders. Jim was shaking his head. Blair said, "I don't like being threatened, okay? They owed us."

"I'm just glad I talked you out of demanding the Tasmanian Devil costume." As they reached the truck Jim said, "So what the hell, exactly, do you think that was all about?"

They climbed into the truck. Blair settled the panther on his lap, hugging it, his chin resting on top of its dark, silky head. "I dunno, but I have a sudden urge to audit an English classics class at Rainier."

"And for some reason," Jim leaned forward to peer through the windshield at the night sky. "I feel like I should be watching the skies."

The End