The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp (Alfred Kropp #1)(24)

I helped him into the passenger seat. After I slid behind the wheel, he handed me the keys.

“This is a really nice car, Bennacio,” I said. “You sure it’s okay if I drive it?”

“Did you not say in the room you could drive?”

“Sure, but I only got my learner’s permit six months ago and I don’t have that much experience behind the wheel.”

He gave a little wave of his hand, a gesture that struck me as very European. “We must use the instruments given us, Kropp.”

“Oh,” I said. “You bet.”

The engine purred to life and I felt my scalp tingle. If things weren’t so serious, I would have been thrilled.

Bennacio directed me to the interstate. I asked him where we were going, thinking I was just giving him a quick lift to the airport, but all he said was “North,” which was the opposite direction of Knoxville’s airport. I didn’t know where we were going, only that somehow I was along for the ride. I kept checking the rearview mirror, but didn’t see anything suspicious, just cars and big semis. What would a suspicious car look like anyway? Since I didn’t know, all the cars around us started to look suspicious. It’s hard enough being a novice driver tooling down the interstate in heavy traffic; try adding covert pursuit by quasi-medieval bad guys to the list.

I was about an hour out of the city when Bennacio asked, “Why did you take the Sword?”

“That was my uncle’s idea,” I said. “Well, I guess it was his idea by way of Mr. Myers’s—I mean Mogart’s idea.”

“And why did your uncle take it?”

“Mogart gave him five hundred thousand dollars.”

“So you took it for money.” He said the word “money” like it was dirty.

“No. Not the money, really. I’m not greedy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then why?”

“Look, Bennacio, I didn’t know who Mr. Samson really was or what the Sword really was. How could I? I was just helping out Uncle Farrell. Plus he threatened to send me back to foster care if I said no. I told him we shouldn’t. I told him I had a bad feeling about it and it was wrong, but he’s my uncle. I’m a kid. And I ended up in foster care anyway.”

But I was just making excuses. Once you’re about ten, maybe eleven tops, “I’m just a kid” doesn’t cut it when it comes to your core ideas like the difference between right and wrong.

We didn’t say anything for a while. He was staring at the road, not looking at me.

“Where am I taking you, Bennacio?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. I glanced over at him. He was still staring at the road.

“How are you going to find Mogart and the Sword once you get to Europe?”

He didn’t answer. I took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. Then I tried again.

“Mr. Samson told me you guys were all descended from the original Knights of the Round Table,” I said. “Which one did you come from?”

He waited before answering. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to tell.

“Bedivere,” he said finally.

“Hey, wasn’t he the one who found the Holy Grail?”

“No, Galahad found the Grail.”

“Oh. I’ve been watching this movie, Excalibur. You ever seen it?”

He didn’t answer.

“I’ve seen it about fifty times. But a couple of parts have been confusing me. Like at the end Percival takes the Sword and throws it into this big lake and the Lady grabs it.”

“Arthur did not give the Sword to Percival. The Sword was given to Bedivere.”

“Well, in the movie it’s Percival.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. I cleared my throat.

“So . . . the Sword belongs to you?” I asked.

“The Sword belongs to no man.” He sighed. “Upon the fields of Salisbury Plain, Arthur fell, mortally wounded, in the last battle against the armies of Mordred. Before he drew his last breath, Arthur entrusted the Sword to my forebear, Bedivere, who was meant to return it to the waters from which it came, lest the very calamity which has now happened should befall it.”

“Well, in the movie it was Percival and he did throw it into the lake. So if that’s true, how did Samson end up with it?”

He said, “It is a movie, Kropp.”

“Did Arthur really die?”

“All men die.”

“Mr. Samson said you guys were keeping the Sword until its master comes to claim it. Who’s the master if Arthur’s dead?”

“The master is the one who claims it,” Bennacio said.

“And who would that be?” I asked.

“The master of the Sword,” he said.

“Do you know who that is?” I asked.

“I do not need to know.”

“How come?”

“The Sword knows,” he said. “The Sword chose Arthur.”

“How does a sword choose somebody?”

He didn’t say anything.

“How do you know the Sword didn’t choose Mogart?” I asked.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, I guess to let me know he was still angry at me or he didn’t feel like talking or his side still hurt.