Archer's Quest (2 page)

"Well, not exactly, but—"

"Then it is not a suitable name. I will prove it!"

Archie—Kevin couldn't keep himself from using that name in his head—whipped the bow off his shoulder. He had it fully strung and armed with an arrow before Kevin could even move.

Archie turned toward the window that looked out over the backyard. Past the big maple tree, you could see the fence that separated the yard from the neighbors'—Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew, an older couple. A house-shaped birdfeeder, abandoned by the martins that had flown south for the winter, stood on a pole in the Pettigrews' yard.

"Do you see that miniature house?" Archie demanded. "I will put my arrow through the hole in the center of it."

Kevin only had time to think that Mrs. Pettigrew probably wouldn't like that very much when there was a terrible crashing sound and broken glass was flying everywhere.

"What are you doing?" Kevin yelled. "Why the heck didn't you open the window first—did you think you could shoot an arrow right through the glass?"

Archie looked completely bewildered. He stared at the scene beyond the window for a few moments. Then he asked, "Where is my arrow?"

"Right there." Kevin pointed angrily at the floor in front of the window, where the arrow lay on a pile of broken glass.

It looked identical to the one stuck in the wall—pretty much like Kevin thought an arrow ought to look. A slim wooden shaft with a sharp metal point at one end and three neat gray feathers at the other. He reached down to pick it up, but Archie beat him to it. Archie inspected the arrow and then put it back into the quiver.
Too bad
—
I'd have liked a closer look at it.

It was a good thing no one else was home. And another good thing: The arrow had broken only the first pane of the double glazing. But Kevin would still be in big trouble. "What did you have to do that for?" he asked.

The confused look on Archie's face had turned to one of complete shame. His head was down, and he was mumbling to himself. Kevin caught a few words: "...years that I have not missed a target ... and so badly ... such dishonor..."

He hasn't missed a target in years? Jeez, he must be
really
good.... And I don't think he's just bragging, either—he looks way too bummed out.
Kevin felt a little pang of envy. Imagine being
that
good at something. He said, "It probably would have hit the birdhouse, except the glass stopped it."

Archie looked up, a small gleam of hope in his eye. "You believe so? Who stopped it, then? I must confront whoever has brought this dishonor upon me!"

Oh, brother.
"It wasn't a person. It was the
glass.
" Kevin bent over and gingerly picked up a small piece. He held it out to Archie.

"Glass," Archie repeated. He took the shard and examined it closely. Then he looked at Kevin and shook his head. "I do not understand."

Kevin crossed the room to the other window, which
looked out over the garage. "Window," he said, pointing. "Glass." He touched the pane with his flat palm. "Arrow hits glass, glass breaks. Get it?" He knew he sounded sarcastic, but he couldn't help it. He was going to be in real trouble when his parents got home, and it was all Archie's fault.

Archie walked over and stood before the window. He looked back and forth between the unbroken pane and the little piece of glass in his hand.

"Pottery," he said at last. "Some kind of invisible pottery. Without color, and flatter and smoother than the flattest stone."

"That's right," Kevin said slowly. "I never thought about it before—it
is
kind of like pottery. But..." He hesitated for a moment. It was too ridiculous, but he had to ask. "You mean to tell me you've never seen glass before?"

Archie's grim expression returned suddenly. "That is a question. You do not ask questions."

Kevin groaned silently. He was never going to be able to figure anything out if he couldn't ask questions.

Think. He had to think. But first he had to clean up all that glass.

"You stay right—" Kevin stopped himself. That would be a command, and Archie wouldn't like it. He took a deep breath and said, "With your permission, Archer,
I'd like to go get what I need to clean up the broken glass. Er, you don't have to come with me. You can just stay—I mean, I'd be honored if you would stay here in my room."

Archie was squatting on his haunches, examining the broken glass. He waved his hand as if shooing away a fly.

Kevin got as far as the door and turned back. "Um ... Archer. Is it okay if I get my cap?" He pointed at the wall above his desk.

Archie rose and plucked the arrow out of the wall. He pulled the cap free of the arrow and handed it to Kevin without speaking.

Kevin examined the cap before he put it back on. The arrow had pierced the little button on top—and he'd never felt a thing. How had the arrow managed to go right through his cap without ending up lodged in his skull?

I could've been KILLED!

He whistled under his breath, then looked up and saw that Archie was watching him, almost but not quite smiling.

"That—that was an incredible shot," Kevin said.

Archie nodded with satisfaction. "I would not have harmed you without knowing first if you were friend or foe," he said.

Jeez. How could he have been so sure he wouldn't hurt me? What if I'd stood up just at that second, or something?

Kevin shivered. He pulled his cap on and went downstairs to the kitchen. In the corner closet he found the broom and the dustpan, then took a garbage bag from its roll, thinking the whole time.

What the heck is going on? And how am I gonna find out if he won't let me ask questions? It's like he's playing dumb. There's gotta be a way to make him tell me stuff.

On his way up the stairs he hesitated.
I should call Mom or Dad—a stranger in the house and all that....
But he was too interested in finding out what the deal was with Archie. Besides, the guy didn't seem dangerous anymore.
He shot that second arrow at the birdhouse, not at me. And the first one was just—like, a warning.

Kevin decided on a compromise: He went back to the kitchen, picked up the receiver of the cordless phone, and took it upstairs.

He found Archie sitting cross-legged on the bed. Even that seemed to interest him—he was bouncing up and down on his bottom like a little kid.

"What is this?" Archie asked, still bouncing.

"What—the bed? It's where I sleep."

"You
sleep
on this?" Archie asked, his voice pitching higher in disbelief.

"Of course. What's so weird about—I mean, how is it different—" No good. He tried again. "Well, where do you sl—" Dang it, everything was a question! Finally, he said, "It's not the same as how you sleep."
Is it?
he added silently.

"How could a person sleep when things beneath him are shifting like the sea?" Archie asked. "A straw mat on the ground is best, so one knows there is no treachery under one's body. Nothing but the faithful solid earth."

It didn't sound very comfortable to Kevin, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he'd found a way to ask a question without Archie realizing it was a question.

For the moment, though, he had a more pressing problem. As he swept up the glass, he shook his head. "How'm I ever gonna explain?" he groaned under his breath.

Archie stopped bouncing. "You are troubled, Young Stranger."

Kevin looked up. "Young Stranger"—that seemed like a step forward. Better than Little Frog, anyway.

"The window," he said glumly. "My dad's gonna kill me."

Archie jumped to his feet. "Where is he? I swear to you,
he will not even be able to lift one hand in your direction before my arrow finds its way into his heart!"

"No, no," Kevin said, dropping the broom in a panic. He could see that Archie was serious. "He wouldn't
really
kill me. I just meant he's gonna be mad."

"You are sure?" Archie asked intently. "You are certain he would not try to kill you?"

"Of course not—it's just something people say. He'd never kill me. I'm his son. Fathers don't kill their sons—at least, not hardly ever."

Archie looked solemn. He stared at Kevin for a long moment, then stepped toward the broken window. With one finger he poked at the few remaining bits of glass on the sill. "My father tried to kill me," he said.

Archie said nothing more. Kevin waited, his eyes wide. He felt as if there were question marks shooting out of his brain, like in the comics. But after a few moments, he went back to work—just to have something to do. He swept up the glass, emptied it from the dustpan into the garbage bag, and tied the bag shut. He thought he should probably vacuum, too, but he'd do that later.

Kevin had figured some things out by now. Archie had to be from somewhere really remote—deep in the jungle, maybe. A place where there wasn't much technology. No glass and no TV news, since he'd never heard
of America; probably no electricity, either. Kevin thought the vacuum cleaner would make Archie nuts—he might even try to shoot it full of arrows.

Besides, Kevin wanted the room quiet. Archie was still standing motionless by the window, but Kevin had the feeling that he was getting ready to talk.

He decided to help Archie along a little. He cleared his throat. "Your father tried to kill you. That must have been scary." There, he was already getting good at this business of asking questions without asking questions.

Archie looked at him. "It happened more than once," he said. "In truth, I do not remember the first time. I was very young—no more than an infant."

"He tried to kill you when you were just a baby?" Kevin asked, too horrified to keep the question out of his voice.

Archie went back to the bed and sat on it, this time without bouncing. He spoke slowly. "I was born a prince, son of the ruler of a Chinese province. At my birth, a fortuneteller predicted that in manhood I would become a great leader. But I was not my father's firstborn son. I was not even second born, or third. I was the fifth born. It would have broken the sacred tradition of our land if I were to become king.

"So my father tried to kill me. First he put me in a pen with wild boars. Fierce ones, with deadly sharp tusks.
He thought they would gore me to death. But they did not. Instead, they lay down on their sides in a circle around me, to keep me warm."

"Wow," Kevin said. "That's amazing."

"There is more amazement to come," Archie said. "My father was very angry when he saw what the boars had done. He had me taken from their pen and left in the forest at night, in a place where wild dogs roamed. He thought the dogs would tear me to pieces. When morning came, I was found playing with the puppies, while the head dog himself kept watch over me.

"My father tried one more time. He put me into an enclosure full of horses. Spirited stallions and prancing mares, huge beasts with great huge hoofs. He thought they would trample me to death."

"But they didn't," Kevin said eagerly.

Archie looked cross. "Who is telling this story, you or I?"

"Sorry," Kevin said at once. "Go ahead—er, please, it would be great if you kept going."

Archie nodded. "He thought the horses would trample me to death. But the stallions breathed gently on me, and the mares dripped milk into my mouth. They took care of me for a night and a day. When my father returned, he found me laughing and waving my hands as the biggest stallion knelt before me."

"That must have made him
really
mad," Kevin said.

"Worse than that—it made him afraid. He decided that heavenly spirits must be protecting me. So he let me live. But he was always fearful that I would take over the throne, so he had his men keep constant watch over me. My childhood was like growing up in a prison."

He shook his head. "And all for naught. You see, although the prophecy stated that I was to become a great leader, it said no more than that. My father assumed that I would one day unseat him or my eldest brother. He made the mistake of believing that the way to the future was but a single road, and failed to consider any other path—that I might one day be the leader of
another
country."

Archie looked at Kevin sternly. "So you see, it
is
possible that a man would want to kill his own son. Is your father a king?"

Oh, yeah,
Kevin thought,
my dad's a king all right—King of the Nerds.
He let out a snort. "Not hardly. He's a computer—" Oh, jeez, no way was he going to try to explain computers to Archie. "I mean, he works with numbers, sort of a mathematician."

Kevin's dad was a programmer at the local university. Kevin was pretty sure that his dad was a genius—but a boring genius. He didn't talk much; he seemed a lot more comfortable reading computer books or watching
business-news shows on television. Kevin had often wished that his dad liked sports—at least then they could have talked about football or baseball.

Not that Kevin was himself much of a jock. He played soccer in the summer: a substitute, not a starter. His coach had once told him that if he'd put in some time outside of practice—juggling, shooting against the garage door—he could improve his skills and maybe make the first team. But he hated those kinds of repetitive exercises. So boring.

A couple seasons of baseball. Clarinet in the school band. Swimming lessons. Nothing held his attention for very long. Sometimes he thought he was the only kid he knew with no special talent or interest.
Being ordinary, average, and normal—my best features.

For once, this was not a normal day.

Archie rose from his seat on the bed. "It has been a most interesting visit, Young Stranger," he said. "But it is time for me to return home. If you would be so kind as to indicate the direction I should take, I will begin my journey."

Kevin stared. "You're going to walk..."

"Unless you have a horse you can lend me. But I think not, as I see no stable." He nodded toward the window.