Knights of the Kitchen Table (4 page)

For the first time in my life, I was speechless, and a bit dizzy.

“Make haste with the magic,” said Merlin. “The foul air doth dull the senses.”

Sam nudged me and handed me a little stick he had split halfway down the middle. He and Fred had already clamped their noses with Sam’s homemade clothespins. I quickly did the same.

“Heddo, Misduh Giant,” I said, talking through my plugged nose. “How can we hep you?”

And do you know what he answered? Of course you don‘t, because you weren’t there. Well, I’ll tell you the truth. He belched. A long, loud, wet, noisy, and totally disgusting burp.

Sir Percival and the three knights closest to him raised their shields. They were too late, and took the full force of that awful blast. All four fainted dead away.

“Give Bleob three fair damsels to eat now, or Bleob smash castle,” said you-know-who.

And I almost hate to tell you what he did next. Let’s just say that when he snorted, he knocked down two more knights with one blow. And he didn’t use a Kleenex.

Merlin gave us the hurry-up eye. I figured there was no way to stop this monster and was just about to yell, “Every man for himself!” and run, when Sam stepped forward.

“Now just a minute, Mr. Bleob,” said Sam, adjusting his glasses. “You can’t go around treating Knights of the Round Table like that.” He pointed to the pile of knights covered with green giant slime. “We are three very powerful magicians who could wipe the floor with you if we wanted. But we’re in a good mood today. So we’ve decided to give you a chance to have your wish come true. Right, fellow magicians?”

Fred and I looked at Sam, each other, and back at Sam again. We didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about.

Bleob looked just as confused as we were.

“Right,” we said.

“Since you fairy-tale giants are always asking people, riddles, we’ve decided to give you a chance to save your miserable skin by answering our riddle. If you answer the riddle, you can eat your fill of fair damsels. If you can’t answer the riddle, you leave and never return. Okay?”

Bleob answered in a way too rude to describe. We grabbed our stick clothespins and ducked. Ten brave knights fell like bowling pins, victims of gas warfare.

“I’ll take that to mean ‘Yes,’ ” said Sam. “So, for all the marbles—why did the giant wear red suspenders?”

“Why did giant wear red suspenders,” Bleob repeated slowly to himself. He raised an arm to scratch his head, and unleashed a storm of flies and a poisonous whirlwind of armpit odor that struck down another five knights.

“Because he ... uh ... because ... duh ... because red was giant’s favorite color!”

“Bzzz. Wrong,” said Sam. “He wore red suspenders to hold his pants up. You lose. Good-bye.”

Bleob shook his head and scratched it again. Two fish heads and one rotten apple core fell out. Everyone held their breath. Bleob turned to go.

Fred and I clapped Sam on the back. We were just about to go razz Merlin when we heard the awful sound. It was another bone-rattling, teeth-chattering, giant ... burp.

“Duh ... hey. Wait a minute. You trick Bleob. Giants no wear suspenders.”

The angry giant turned and stomped back toward us. Even the trees shook.

“Bleob not like little peoples what trick him. Bleob crushes little peoples what trick him.”

Bleob stepped over the moat like it was a puddle. He raised one foot (which I won’t even describe because it would spoil your appetite for a week) to crush us all.

SEVEN

We all ran for the castle.

All of us, that is, except Sam.

Sir Sam the Unusual stood there with his arms folded across his chest, not moving an inch.

“Run for it, Sam,” yelled Fred.

The huge dirty foot started coming down.

“He’s finally lost his mind,” I said. “All of those bad jokes and riddles finally ate his brain.”

Sam checked his fingernails and said, “Well, I guess the dragon was right. I should have believed what he told me about giants.”

The monster foot stopped in midair, one black and muddy big toe just inches from Sam’s head.

“What dragon say about giants?”

“Oh, it really wasn’t very nice. I don’t think I should repeat it.”

Bleob stepped back. He got down on his hands and knees.

“Tell Bleob what dragon say about giants.”

Sam leaned forward and spoke in a loud whisper. “Don’t tell him I told you, but he said giants are big weaklings.”

“No.”

“Yes. And he said giants are really just giant sissies who can only smash little tiny things like people.”

“I’m not kidding. He said if you ever fought someone your own size, like a dragon, you would get your butt kicked.”

“No!”
roared Bleob one more time. And then he picked up two boulders, each as big as a car, and ground them to gravel with his bare hands. “Giants stronger than anything. Crush dragons like that, too.”

Sam winked at us and jerked his head toward the other side of the castle.

“Why is he twitching?” asked Fred.

“Show Bleob dragon. Bleob show you how giant fight.”

“Show you a
dragon,
eh?” said Sam, jerking his head again.

Then I got what Sam wanted us to do.

“The dragon, Sir Sam!” I yelled. “The dragon is approaching from the West!”

Bleob stood up, scratched his head, and burped. He didn’t seem to know quite what to do.

“Well, what do you know?” said Sam. “This must be your lucky day. There’s a dragon right on the other side of the castle. Here’s your chance to show a dragon what a giant can do.”

Sam’s idea sunk slowly into Bleob’s thick skull. “That good idea, little man. Bleob show dragon what giant can do.” And he charged off around the corner of the castle, knocking three trees and two huts flat, and shaking the ground for five miles in every direction.

Everyone still standing followed Bleob (not too closely) around the castle, just in time to see Smaug the Dragon gliding in for a landing. He was truly a terrible sight—big, ugly green head trailing wisps of smoke, shimmering metal scales, huge leather wings, coiling snake body, and iron claws.

Fred gasped, “They
are
for real.”

Just as Smaug touched down, Bleob smashed into him.

“Sissy?” he belched. And then he clamped his long yellow teeth right on the dragon’s snout.

Smaug dug his iron claws into Bleob’s leg and thrashed his spiked tail. The two of them twisted up such a cloud of broken trees and flying earth that we couldn’t see a thing.

We did hear how it happened, though.

Bleob belched. Smaug flamed. And when giant gas met dragon flame, an explosion bigger than four Fourth of Julys knocked us off our feet and rocked the entire kingdom.

“Huzzah!” cried King Arthur and his sitting knights.

“What did they say?” asked Sam with a smile.

“That’s hooray, Sir Sam. Nice magic work.”

We ducked under a castle arch to dodge the pieces of fried giant and dragon meat raining down.

“Thou has saved Camelot and the honor of the Round Table,” said King Arthur. “Ask anything in my power, and it is yours.”

A giant toenail fell nearby with a thud.

“How about getting us back home?” said Sam.

The last few small pieces splattered down outside in a gentle rain.

Fred and I nodded, wondering if we would ever see Home, Sweet normal, peaceful Home again.

EIGHT

Keep your eye on the ball,” yelled Fred. ”Choke up a little. Follow through. Meet the ball. Don’t try to kill it. Just meet the ball. Ready?”

The stableboy looked completely confused. But he nodded yes, and gripped Fred’s oak stick in a pretty good imitation of a batting stance.

Fred stood on a mound at the bottom of a tall, dark, stone tower connected to the castle wall.

“Okay, here’s the pitch.” Fred lobbed our homemade baseball gently toward home plate. The stableboy swung as hard as he could ... and missed by a mile.

I caught the ball and Sam yelled, “Strike three! Yer out!” All of the boys cheered and began racing around the bases and yelling.

“One home run.”

“Babe Ruth.”

“Detroit Tigers.”

“Bo knows.”

Fred walked off the mound and met us at home plate. “Do you think I didn’t explain enough?”

“Methinks maybe you explained too much, Sir Fred,” said Sam.

The guys kept circling the bases, jumping and yelling as they crossed home plate.

“Full count.”

“Infield fly.”

“Suicide squeeze.”

“Oh, man,” said Fred. “This is never going to work. We have got to get out of here. This is like the Stone Age. Those guys at the banquet last night hadn’t even heard of TV.”

“Gosh, what a surprise,” I said. “Considering that TV won’t be invented for another thousand years or so.”

“A thousand years?! I can’t live without TV for a thousand years,” said Fred.

“And did you get a whiff of those people at the banquet?” asked Sam. “I don’t think the shower has been invented yet, either.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think the smell might have been coming from the food.”

The stableboys slowed down and sat on the grass around us.

“Ninth inning?”

“Ball four?”

“Kill the ump?”

“That’s it, guys. Game over,” said Fred.

Sam looked at the castle walls around us. “No TV. No cheeseburgers. We are three 20th century guys time-warped into the Middle Ages. Score: Squires of the Round Table, 28; Time Warp Trio, 0.”

“Hey, nice name,” I said. “Remind me to remember it if we ever get out of here alive.”

“Speaking of which,” said Fred. “How do we get out of here?”

I tossed our leather ball up and down. “If somebody had let me read my magic book, I might know.”