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Authors: Jon Scieszka

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BOOK: Knights of the Kitchen Table

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It all started with my birthday party. My two best friends, Fred and Sam, were over at my house. We were just sitting around the kitchen table doing birthday kinds of things. You know—eating junk, drinking soda, looking at the baseball my sister gave me.

My mom started scooping up wrapping paper to throw away. That’s when Sam found the other present.

“Hey, Joe, here’s one you missed.” Sam held up a small rectangular present. It was wrapped in black and gold paper.

“Who’s it from?”

My mom read the card and made a sour face. “Your uncle Joe.”

“Yahoo!”

Uncle Joe was the best uncle anybody could have. He was a magician for a traveling circus. And his presents were always the best. Uncle Joe’s stage name was “Joe the Magnificent.” I was named after him. “Before he went off the deep end,” my mother always added.

“The card says ‘Happy Birthday, Magician-in-training. Be careful what you wish for. You might get it.’ ”

“This is weird paper,” said Sam, wiggling the present back and forth in the light.

“I’ll bet it’s one of those disappearing coin trick boxes,” said Fred.

I took the present. “Maybe it’s a magic cape that can make things disappear.”

“That would have come in handy last year. You could have used it to make all of those rabbits disappear.” Mom still had her sour face on.

“Well, that wasn’t really Uncle Joe’s fault,” I said. “I gave the hat the wrong command.”

“Come on, already. Open it,” said Fred.

I pulled back the black and gold paper and lifted it up.

“It’s a ... It’s a ...”

“Aw, it’s just a book,” said Fred, rolling my baseball around the table.

And it was a book. But it wasn’t like any book I had ever seen before. It was such a dark, dark blue that it looked almost black, like the sky at night. It had gold stars and moons along the back edge, and twisting silver designs on the front and back that looked like writing from a long time ago.

I looked closer and read the title.
“The Book.”

“Great name for a book,” said Sam.

Mom looked relieved.

“Hey, let me see.” Fred dropped the baseball on the kitchen table and grabbed
The Book
out of my hand.

“Wait a minute, Fred. Be careful.”

Fred opened The Book.

There was a picture of a guy on a black horse standing on a path at the edge of a small clearing. He was dressed from head to toe in black armor like you see in those books about knights and castles. He didn’t look very happy.

“Oh, man,” said Fred. “Wouldn’t it be great to see knights and all that stuff for real?”

Wisps of pale green mist began to swirl around the kitchen chairs.

“Joseph Arthur! Close that book and stop that smoking this instant.”

I grabbed The Book and slammed it shut.

The mist rose over the table, the stove, the refrigerator.

Mom and the kitchen disappeared.

And for just a second, I got that feeling you get when you dream you’re falling. Then the mist and the feeling were gone. And Fred, Sam, and I were standing at the edge of the clearing. We stood at one end of a small path. At the other end stood the Black Knight.

THREE

The Black Knight thundered toward us, his lance pointed directly at us.

“Wait. I’ve got it,” said Fred. And he grabbed our arms and pulled us together. “You guys stay close. On the count of three, Joe, you and Sam jump to the left. I’ll jump to the right. One ...”

The Black Knight was so close I could see the straps on his armor.

“Two...”

I could see the buckles on the straps.

“Three!”

We jumped. The Black Knight clanked by like a runaway train.

“Strike one,” said Sam.

Fred jumped back on the path. He stuck his thumbs in his ears and waggled his fingers, shouting, “Nyah, nyah, you missed us. Nyah nyah, na nyah nyah.”

“Fred, are you nuts? What are you doing?” I yelled. “Let’s get out of here before he gets that horse turned around.”

“That’s just what we want,” said Fred. “He’s too heavy and slow to hit us. We’ll wear him out.” And then he yelled to the Black Knight, “Come on, you big tin can. Give it another shot.”

Sam and I stood back on the path.

“Oh, great idea, Fred,” said Sam. “He didn’t kill us the first time, so let’s give him another chance. I wonder if his mother ever told him it’s not polite to point sharp things at other people?”

“Stand as men, you cursed knaves,” roared the Black Knight. He seemed even more unhappy than he was before.

“Yeah, yeah,” yelled Fred. “Come and get us, Tin Man.”

The Black Knight yelled back, “Prepare to die, foul-mouthed enchanters.”

“I know you are, but what am I?” said Sam.

“Same thing on three,” said Fred. “One ...”

The Black Knight trotted toward us.

“Two...”

We could hear his saddle squeaking, and his horse huffing and snorting.

“Three ...”

We jumped. The lance whistled through nothing but air.

“Stee-rike two,” called Sam.

“One more ought to just about do it,” said Fred, picking up a hefty stick. And then he yelled, “Your mother was a sardine can.”

The Black Knight turned and raised his visor. He didn’t look mad anymore. He looked positively crazy.

“Demon sorcerers. Foul wizards. Vanish not into the mists. Stand and die.”

“I really wish he would stop using that ‘D’ word,” said Sam.

The Black Knight kicked his horse into a trot.

“One ...”

He aimed his lance at us once more.

“Two ...”

His horse stumbled and wheezed.

“Three!”

We jumped. The horse clomped slowly past us. The Black Knight waved his lance weakly over our heads. Fred jumped up, swung his stick with all his might, and whacked the back of the Black Knight’s helmet.

Booonnnggg!!!

The helmet rang like a thousand church bells.

The Black Knight sat up straight, wobbled, and then fell to the ground with an armored crash. His horse stopped and lowered its head, sweating mightily and still gasping for air, but looking pretty relieved about dropping its heavyweight passenger.

“Going, going, gone! That one’s outta here,” said Sam. “Now let’s do likewise before Mr. Fun wakes up and starts with that ‘Prepare to die’ stuff again.”

“No hurry now,” I said. “With all that armor on, he won’t be able to get up by himself when he does come to.”

Fred gave the fallen Black Knight another whack with his stick, and planted a sneaker on his chest.