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The last week had been cold and damp, but summer struggled back for one last gasp, flooding the countryside with platinum light, every maple a bonfire. The schoolchildren wiggled in their seats, anxious for recreation time as Mrs. Balin droned on and on about maths. Many of the students had nearly nodded off when Mrs. Balin slapped her ruler down on Morgan’s desk. “Mr. Dredde,” she snapped, “perhaps you’d like to share what is so funny with everyone in the class?”
He sobered quickly. “No ma’am.”
“Stand up, boy, and solve the equation on the board,” she ordered.
Morgan dragged his steps to the blackboard like a man ascending the gallows. After a few half hearted squiggles, he came up with the number 39.
“Not even close,” Mrs. Balin said, a frosty coating on her voice. “As you see, you need to be paying attention during maths to improve your skills, which are woefully inadequate, as we have all just witnessed.” She paused, looking out over the room. “James. Come here and show Morgan how to do this properly.”
“Yes ma’am.” James took up the chalk and solved it in less than a minute, careful to show his work.
“Very good,” Mrs. Balin complimented, clasping her hands over her skirts. “Morgan, you’ve got a thing or two to learn about maths from Mr. Wilde.”
James passed Morgan on the way back to his seat, and shriveled as the hateful daggers that sprang from his rival’s cold yellow eyes. A pit opened in his stomach.
His dread matured a few minutes later when Mrs. Balin let them outdoors for recreation time. Most of the students flung their jackets aside and raced out into the glorious weather, but James descended the back stairs with reluctant wariness.
Sure enough, they waited for him.
“Oy, queerie!” Morgan thundered, and sprung out from behind the hedge with Kenneth and Tommy. “Think you’re so brilliant, do you?”
James tried to run, but Tommy darted forward and caught his wrist, yanking him back. Kenneth savagely kicked him in the knee and pushed him up against a tree. Morgan slammed him in the gut with a clenched fist.
“If any of you tattle, you’ll be next.” Morgan hollered at two girls as they snuck up the stairs to alert the adults of an attack twice as brutal as usual. They veered off and knelt next to the hedge.
Morgan pried up a sizable rock from the dirt. “Open your mouth,” he snarled. “I’m going to smash out your bloody teeth!”
A whimper of fear escaped James' lips, though he had vowed not to give them the pleasure. Then, the side door to the mansion opened, and a knight came out into the sun.
James blinked rapidly and shook his head in disbelief. The metal- clad man clanked down the steps and charged for Morgan. The sword on his belt slapped against his hip. The sound of the armor alerted the bully, and he turned, tripped in surprise, but managed to keep his footing.
A hush fell over the crowd of schoolchildren. Making no sound, the classmates crept up to watch a legend unfold.
The knight drew breath into his lungs. “Let him go,” he ordered, his baritone rumbling through the metal visor.
“It... it’s Arthur!” one of the girls called, recognizing a red patch sewn over the elbow of his jacket. “It’s Arthur in there.”
“But... his voice,” whispered another.
Morgan gaped for a moment, and then dragged back the shreds of his dignity. A cruel, blistering laugh spilled from his lips. “What the hell do you think you’re doing dressed like that? Playing pretend like a little toddler?”
“Let him go,” Arthur commanded, stepping closer. “I’ll not warn you again.”
“Shut up, you stupid git.” Morgan heaved the rock in his hand at Arthur with all his might. It clanged harmlessly off of his chest plate.
“Yield,” came the cool voice from beneath the visor. “Now.”
Kenneth and Tommy shared a hurried glance, and then dropped James, who sank to his knees. Together, they rushed toward Arthur, fists raised.
Arthur let the blows fall. They could not hurt him. They tried to push him over, to rip the armor from his body, but he was as immobile as a mighty oak. Raising one hand, he clanged his gauntlet into Tommy’s nose, bloodying it, and tripped Kenneth into the dirt. They slunk away without another word, abandoning their leader.
The knight turned to Morgan, and drew the sword at his side. It caught the afternoon sunlight, sending piercing beams into the eyes of his foe. Morgan squinted, and held up a hand, and then fell back onto the ground. He scrambled through the dirt to get away.
Arthur dropped the tip of the blade over Morgan’s throat and let it hover there as a threat. Morgan froze, panting like a terrified rabbit.
“You will never hurt James again. Ever,” Arthur said. “If you put a hand on him, you’ll answer to me.” He turned to the rest of the class. “That goes for all of you.” He nudged Morgan with his shoe. “Now run away, coward.”
Morgan rolled and got to his feet. With one last wrathful glance, he sprinted off into the old orchard.
Arthur nodded, and turned back to James, who stood by the tree. He clanked a few steps closer, and knelt, driving the end of the sword into the dirt so that it stood on its own accord.
James took a few tentative steps forward, reached out, and lifted the helmet from Arthur’s head, spilling his black curls everywhere. He fell to his knees, tucked the helmet under his arm, and kissed Arthur’s forehead, and then, after a deep breath, his lips.
They grinned at one another and stood up. Arthur towered over his slight-framed friend. “Wherever did you get all of this?” James asked, running his hand over one of the gauntlets.
“The Baroness, Lady Barlow,” Arthur said.
“Nim!” James cried. “I should have known. Come, we must go tell her what’s happened.” He took Arthur by his metal-clad hand, and they raced toward the mansion. As they clattered through the door into the classroom, Arthur swept James to the side just in time to miss Mrs. Balin, who stood there, arms laden with books, a look of stupid wonderment smashed across her pinched face.
“What in God’s name?” She started. Then, as they neared the doors to the marble hall, “Get back here!”
They flashed past Miss Pelles near the stairs. “Is that a sword?” she squeaked. “Oh my.”
Miss Ivaine met them in the hallway outside of the Baroness’s bedchamber door. Her cheeks were wet, but in their haste, the boys did not notice as she ran in the opposite direction, back toward the stairwell.
“Nim!” James cried as they burst through the door. “Nim, did you see it? Arthur’s become a warrior, and his voice! He showed those cowardly blighters.”
Nim sat in her chair by the window, the curtains parted, looking down on the very tree where Arthur had drawn Excalibur. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and she leaned back on the cushions. Her head lolled to the side facing the sunlight.
“My lady?” Arthur tried. “My lady, did you see...”
Nim’s eyes were closed, and her tired mouth affixed in a gentle smile. “Nim. Nim?”
James knelt at her side and patted her hand, and then lifted it to the arm of the chair; he squeezed her fingers. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his knuckle. “Wake up, Nim. Don’t tell me you’ve napped through...”
The door opened behind them, and in came Mr. Marlin with Miss Ivaine at his side, sniffling into a handkerchief. Mr. Marlin carried a black case at his side—an army medic’s kit. He set it on the bed and opened it to remove a stethoscope.
It was a dream, James thought. None of this was real. Perhaps Nim played a prank, pretended not to hear them.
“Let me help you,” Miss Ivaine whispered as Mr. Marlin put the stethoscope in his ears. Her fast fingers unbuckled Arthur from his armor, which she returned to the dress dummy that stood watch over the vanity and the jewelry box.
Mr. Marlin knelt in front of Nim and placed the end of the stethoscope on her chest, listening. He tried several places on her emaciated body, drawing aside her soft white blanket to reveal her dressing gown. The brooch sparkled in the sunlight, dancing pinpricks of shimmer over Mr. Marlin’s face.
James watched, immobilized, as Mr. Marlin removed the stethoscope from his ears and placed it around his neck. He picked up Nim’s other hand, and wrapped his fingers around her wrists, and then touched her neck in several places.
He stood, and put the stethoscope back in the bag, and shut it with a final, fatal snap.
“No,” James said. Hot bile singed the back of his throat and molten tears erupted.
“Yes, James.” Mr. Marlin clasped his hands behind his back and stared out the window at the children playing below.
James put his face on Nim’s hand and wept. Arthur knelt and wrapped his strong arms around him and pressed his face against James' shoulder. After a time, Mr. Marlin brushed them gently aside and lifted Nim like she was no more than a bundle of sticks, setting her on the bed with tender care. Miss Ivaine was there with a white sheet, and they shrouded her.
Arthur held James while he cried, smoothed his hair, his touch gentle despite his powerful hands. The adults melted away.
Time passed. The light in the window changed. James raised his head and accepted the handkerchief from Arthur’s back pocket. “Sorry, it’s not so clean,” he said.
“That’s all right.” James dabbed his nose and face. All of his tears had come out. All of them. For Nim, for the war, for his absent father, for his mother’s disappointment, for Morgan’s tortures, everything. He was empty. A calm stole over him, and his heart was comfortably languid.
Arthur bent down and kissed his cheek. “Are you going to be all right?” he rumbled.
James considered a moment before taking his knight’s hand. “Yes,” he said.
***
When James awakened Arthur a few nights later, he groaned and tossed his broad forearm up over his face.
“Ssh!” James warned. “You’ll wake the others.”
Arthur pulled on his jacket and trousers over his pajamas, as James had done, and together, they tiptoed into the delicious smell of the kitchen,
Mr. Marlin was at the door to greet them. “Welcome, Sir Arthur. Welcome, fair James. Your feast awaits.”
“Have I got a treat for you boys,” Mrs. Galhad grinned, stepping away from the stove to reveal the prize. “Wild turkey, shot just yesterday by Mr. Marlin!”
James could not help but let a lusty, “Ooh,” slip from his lips. There were scones and jam, and all the turkey and potatoes they could eat, saved up from the rations and gifts sent for the Baroness by friends and family. There was even a small box of chocolates.
Mrs. Galhad, Mr. Marlin, Miss Ivaine, and the boys sat at the round servant’s table and ate with relish. There was wine, and lively conversation.
“Has there been any more trouble with those rascals, James?” Mr. Marlin asked around a forkful of turkey.
“None,” James grinned, wiping his lips. “They’re terrified of Arthur now. Even without the sword and armor.”
The chocolates were consumed with great relish. The adults laughed as the boys tried to lick the tiny crumbs from the inside of the box with eager tongues.
Mrs. Galhad and Miss Ivaine cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen. James and Arthur were warm and sleepy; they held hands under the table. Mr. Marlin appeared from upstairs with a box-like object covered in a cloth. He set this in front of the boys, and lay a cream-colored envelope atop it. Their names were printed on the outside.
“Go ahead,” he prompted.
Arthur looked at James, who plucked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a small piece of cream stationery. The writing was jagged, trembling, and barely legible. “For... when... I’ve gone to Avalon,” James read.
Mr. Marlin whipped the cloth away, revealing Nim’s mother-of-pearl and opal-studded jewelry box. James gasped, and gently slid open the first drawer. Arthur lifted the insect pin and held it to the light. It was all there, all but her wedding ring, which would rest on her finger until Judgement Day.
“She’s left this...” James gulped. He glanced up at Mr. Marlin.
“To you, James,” Mr. Marlin said. “And the antique armor and sword shall go to Arthur, along with a modest sum of money.”
Miss Ivaine dabbed her eye with the corner of her apron. “She’d have left you boys the whole house if her family would have allowed it,” she revealed. “Oh, you have no idea what joy you brought her in these last days, loves.”
“Ah, I almost forgot. There is one more thing.” Mr. Marlin reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small leather-bound book. “This is a first edition,” he said, “signed by Lord Tennyson himself.”
The gilded letters on the cover read Idylls of the King.
“I shall lock everything up safely for you until you are able to return home,” Mr. Marlin promised. “My lady has a lawyer in London who will contact your families upon your return to see about what you’d like to do with the pieces, whether to keep or sell, whatever serves you best.”
“I’ll never sell Excalibur,” Arthur vowed.
Mr. Marlin smiled, a tired, knowing curve. “We shall see what the war brings,” he said.
James hugged each of the adults in turn, as did Arthur. They yawned and stumbled with exhaustion as they were sent back to bed. In the dark, Arthur lifted his cot and moved it a few paces to the left. Now, in the night, should thoughts of his father trouble him, James' hand was well within reach.
They joined fingers in the midnight country quiet, broken only by the occasional snore as the other boys dreamed.
“I miss Nim.”
“So do I,” said Arthur.
A few moments of quiet. Then, “I love you, Arthur,” James whispered.
Arthur said, his mighty voice now soft, “The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and God fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself.”
“Goodnight.”