Chapter One: In the Beginning
In the attic bedroom of the Quincy home hine year-old George Albert was doing his homework. Mumbling imperceptibly, he thumbed through the cictionary. "M . . . M . . .M? M! Here it is!" he exclaimed. "Almost through now, here's 'Mag.' Ahh! Magic!"
George Albert painstakingly wrote the word down. Now came the hard part, the definition. He spent what seemed like hours writing down each jot and tittle of the Webster's entry.
"magic. (maj 'ik) n. 1,. the prtended art of producing effects by means of supernatural or occult forces. 2. the exercise of this art. 3. the effects produced. 4. the power exerted through this art. 5. any extraordinary influence adj. Also magical. 6. employed in magic 7. mysteriously enchanting 8. of, pertaining to, or due to magic."
George Albert was in the sixth grade. He knew that the only thing stopping him from going to college was his handwriting--and his parent's silly fears. His parents thought that college would put "too much emotional stress on his frail physical body." George Albert couldn't figure out why any emotional stress would hurt his physical body, but he didn't argue. He felt out of place enough in sixth grade. Besides, the other children in his class were three years older, and they virtually towered over him. And whenever he showed off his ability to calculate as fast as a computer, he found himself coming home an hour late--with a black eye. So George Albert tried to keep his talents as inconspicuous as possible, even though it wasn't easy. When his teacher, Mr. Adams, had given the homework assignment of thirty algebra problems, and George Albert had finished them in three minutes, he had found it hard to remain inconspicuous. He'd come home with two black eyes that day.
Eventually, he'd learned to disguise his abilities, and get along with his fellow students, althought
he still cam ehome bruised occasionally. But George Albert had no friends. After he came home from
school and did his homework, George Albert would read. He read everything the library at school had, from
Gone With the Wind to
This afternoon, however, Mr. Adams had given all his students a list of 20 words to find definitions for, and that's what George Albert was doing. He read over the list again, and checked off "magic." All he had now was "morality" and "placid." He sighed. Defining words seemed so tedious. He couldn't figure out why he had to wrie everything down, since he already knew what all the words meant, but that was the assignment. He sighed again, and started turning pages to "Mo."
In the middle of the definition, he heard his mother calling. It was difficult to hear int he attic, but he deciphered the words "oven . . . darn thing . . . always breaks . . . company for dinner. . . " George Albert had never studied mechanics, but his mother found he could fix anything just by fiddling around with it. It was a welcome relief from "virtuous qualities or characteristics," so he put away his papers and began the trek downstairs.
First he lowered his rope ladder and climbed down it. Then he descended the two flights of old steps. Now that he was climbing down them they seemed awfully unstable, more so than when he had climbed up. Suddenly a cold shiver ran down his spine, and he tripped. He felt himself falling, further and further down . . . It was a strange sensation. George Albert blacked out.
Chapter Two: Nowhere--No One
Hours later, George Albert awoke, but he was no longer on the stairs. He found himself blinking his eyes from the bright sun. He was outside. Where was he? How had he got here?
George Albert stood up and looked around. He had never been one to waste time or ask unanswerable questions. George Albert just found things out for himself.
"Boy," he thought, "that sun sure is hot. This place reminds me of the Sahara desert!" Actually, George Albert had never been to the Sahara desert, but if what he'd read was accurate, this place certainly fit the description.
Wherever he was, it was utterly barren. The desert, a pool of red sand, seemed to stretch out for hundreds of miles, totally flat, escept for occasional hills of deep red sand. Wait a moment! Ah! At the edge of the horizon were trees--a whole forest--and what looked like a lake.
Just then George Albert felt very much in need of some water. His throat was parched--quite logical, if he had been there unconscious as long as he calculated he had, measuring by the sand drifted over him. He didn't have the strength to run--standing was hard enough. He didn't know if he could walk very far, but he had to try.
He moved his left leg and tried to move his right, but it wouldn't come! His leg wouldn't budge! He pulled and pulled--it was sinking into quicksand! He had to get it out. His foot was aching. His muscles screamed from being stretched. He tried once more. He put every ounce of his strength into pulling, and then, finally, his foot came out!
He looked down at the sand in which he had been caught. The hole was still there. And underneath the sand, something was moving! Its outer layer was mostly pink, but black spots on it were flaking off. Could its "skin" be burnt? George Albert wondered momentarily if the spots were caused by the sun, the sand, or his sneaker. He put the sand back on it, thinking that might helpd, but he was too worried about himself to do anything more. He hurried toward the trees, hoping no more "creatures" tried to suck on his feet. He was too tired to be more than slightly surprised when he realized that he had walked further than he had thought possible. He kept up the pace and after what he calculated as 5 hours, 32 minuts, he came to the first tree. Only a few more feet to the lake, he thought, and quickened his pace. But then . . .
Chapter 3: Inside the Forest
SMACK! George Albert was unconscious again. At the same time in a large palace at the center of the forest, a small red light on a man's black arm band began bleeping. The man got up ominously and immediately a score of men were at his feet. The man looked down at them, irritated.
"Get up off the floor, you idiots!" he shouted.
"But sire!" grovelled the man nearest to him. "You're the King. We have to bow to you."
"Oh yeah! Well, you can get up now," the King mumbled.
"Yes, King Locksley," they mumbled in return.
"Now, there is someone knocking at the north field. Go and fet him!"
"Yes, sire!!" Bowing, they backed through the exit.
"And stop bowing!" the King yelled after them. "Idiots!" he mumbled, "What do they think this is? A royal palace?"
The very irate King sat down on his throne again and took out a book. The cover read Wuthering Heights, but a closer inspection showed that it was not an intellectual novel at all, but a strange kind of comic strip--a very strange kind. The comic strips never failed--a churckle here and there wasn't so bad, but King Locksley guffawed and guffawed loudly and heartily.
After three such guffaws, a small man opened a trap door underneath the throne. He screamed almost incomprehnesible words as loud as he could at the King, and at each shout, his face grew redder. By the time he was through, his face was almost blue. Then he abruptly turned back to his normal color, picked up the trap door, and returned underneath.
"Dern speech writer!" muttered the King angrily. "'Must have absolute quiet if I'm to finish the speech for your royal banquet tomorrow,'" he mimcked, turning purple. He gasped for a breath of air, and guffawed loudly again. He wondered what he could do now. He never got to do anything he wanted to! King Locksley was bored.
Just then an entrance door opened and a man dressed in bright colors started playing a trumpet. Then another man came in with a scroll in his right hand and began reciting the merits of the king.
"King Locksley, King of the countries of: Locksley, Locksely and Locksely, and Locksely, Locksely and Lcoksely, King of the planet of Locksely, beneveolent ruler of the people of Locksely, Tyrannical Dictator of the people of Locksely . . ." At this the scroll reciter gazed expectantly up at the King, who said nothing. The scroll reciter went on, " . . . owner of every slave in, on, or about Locksely, Eater of all the tenderest morsels, Reciter of all royal poems, Writers of all royal powems, Reader of all great 'SuperKing' comic strips, uh . . . Teller of all the greates Tales, uh, uh, . . . Delegator of the great Parliament of Locksley, uh, uh, uh, . . . King of all the countries in Locksely, . . . oh, I've already said that." With that he nudged the trumpeteer, who trumpeted, and spoke again, "Where is the intruder?"
At that, George Albert was shoved rudely into the court and stood dumbly before King Locksely.
When the first captain of the guard saw George Albert in the very act of not bowing before the King of all the countries in Locksely, etc., etc., he was appalled--although not appalled enough to forget his dury to maliciously grind his spear into George Albert's shoulder and make him kneel.
"But you're the King!" argued the second captain of the guard.
"If I'm the King, than I can order you to stand up!" stomped the King.
"If you're the King!" exclaimed the Royal Speech Writer, "You need speeches and I need quiet to write them!"
"Oh, be quiet, all of you!" screamed George Albert.
Just then, you could have heard a tear drop. Everyone stopped talking immediately and turned slowly to stare at George Albert.
With one breath, the King, the Royal Speech WRiter, and the second captain of the guard all said the same thing, "Who are you?"
The scroll bearer spoke up now, meekly but with a trace of annoyance, "He's the intruder, sire." (At the word "Sire," everyone bowed, and the King began to yell again.)
George Albert knew it would begin all over again if he didn't speak up quickly. "My name is George Albert Quincy the Third," he said.
"George, eh?" questioned the King, and turning to the second captain of the guard. "Another one of those miserable peasant trying to break in, I suppose. They'll never be happy, you know. Last year they were asking for clothes; imagine peasant clothed!" The King let out a roar, and ocntinued. "I suppose now they'll be asking for food or passage through the forest. Hah!" The King sighed. "Must we really send this one to the dungeon? It would be so much more fun to do something novel like throw him to the lions. What do you think, Harold?" The King turned to the second captain of the guard.
George Albert didn't wait to see what Harold, the second captain of the guard thought. He definitely did not want to become one of the King's "Novelties." He looked around for three moments and ran out as fast as he could. Out the royal trumpeteer's entrance he went, and into the open forest. He heard the King shouting at the guards in the palace behind him. He was going to be hunted! King Locksely sounded rather too glad when he said that, but George Albert didn't stop to worry about it. On and on he ran, passing tree after tree, trying to find some way out of the place. Whenever he thought he was almost at a clearing, he had to swerve, beacuse the King's guard kept heading him off. George Albert knew he couldn't go on much longer like this. He was utterly exhausted!
Then he saw It! Directly in front of him was a door! A door out and away, George Albert hoped. He thought a door in the middle of the forest was rather unusual, but he didn't wait to think about it. In he went, through the door, and again George Albert was falling. He felt that same strange sensation he had when he fell down the stairs. Maybe he was going bakc home! Oh no! he thought, King Locksely and his guards came through the door, too. They'd follow him home! How was he supposed to explain that to his mother? Wel, for a while George Albert wouldn't worry. He blacked out once more.
Chapter 5: Earth--Home at Last?
As George Albert ainfully blinked his eyes, he wondered where he was. When he remembered, he groaned and slipped back into unconsciousness.
"Ouch!" said George Albert was he was brought rudley back by a very large man holding a spear. It was one of King Locksley's men. "Get up, you bumbling idiot!" he shouted.
George Albert got up.
,P. The man marched in back of George Albert, showing the way by holding the spear dangerously close to George Albert's back.King Locksely greeted them both with a look George Albert did not like.
"Well, George, was it? Well, George my boy, you've gotten us all into a fine mess, now! Suppose you tell me just where I am, and how I am supposed to get out of her!" the King said, his eyes flaring angrily.
George Albert didn't know what to do. He had no idea where they were. All he knew was that it certainly wans't home. George Albert started to cry.
"Stop blubbering, you idiot!" screamed the King, "And tell me where I am!"
Before George Albert could stop blubbering, and thankfully before the King could start screaming again, the whole group found themselves surrounded by a group of armed men. These men immediatley deduced who the leader was. They took George Albert away from the others and put several extra guards on him.
The King was about to voice his objections to George Albert being taken as the leader, and more important, his own superiority, but he was nudged sharply by Harold, the second captain of the guard, before he could, and given an unmistakable sign to shut up.
What appeared to be the leader of this band of outlaws (Who coudl tell, thought the King), approached him.
"Speak, sir, for your life," he said.
King Locksely was not used to being spoken to this way. He took it, correctly, as an insult, and burst into speech. "Look here, you idiotic fool!" he barked. "I'm King Robert Locksely the eighteenth, I probably own all of you. You'd better let me go and return me to my palace, or you'll be in a lot of trouble."
"Do you hear that?" scoffed the man. "This 'here chap says 'e's the King. I guess he dunnt know Prince John would take that as tresaon to 'is royal personage. What do you say we take 'im to our good friend the Sherriff of Notting'am?"
"Aye, Aye," shouted the men heartily.
Something clicked in George Albert's mind. The Sherriff of Nottingham--that was familiar. Nottingham, Prince John--wait a minute-- this was Robin Hood's time. Robin Hood was George Albert's hero! This was Sherwood Forest! It all fell into place. Almost all--who was this outlaw band? It certainly wasn't Robin Hood. Robin Hood was blonde and wore green. Wait a moment, thought George albert, Robert Locksely--that was Robin Hood's real name. This tyrannical King Locksely was Robin Hood? Something was wrong here. There was no Robin Hood. He had to get King Locksely to be Robin Hood. Oh, no, sighed George Albert. That is impossible.
George Albert's thinking was interrupted by the approaching leader of the band. He looked familiar. Tall, dark, and massive, thought George Albert. George put an obstinate look on his face and asked his name. The leader laughed and told him, "John Little is me name, and it's proud I am of it!"
Another "Aye! aye!" arose form the band.John Little, thought George Albert. Everything was so new, it ook a while for him to figure out who John Little was really supposed to be. By that time, John Little and the outlaw band had marched George Albert, King Locksely, the captain, second captin, and the rest of the guard to their hideout.
Chapter 6: The Outlaws
It was dusk, time to hunt deer for dinner. Ale was brought out, fires were built, and smoked venison was set out on picnic cloths.
When the smell of the venison reached George Albert, he forgote everything but his hunger and ate for an hour or more. For once, George Alert's mindclock stopped. Even King Locksely gave up his sullen look to gorge his growling stomach.
After two hours of straight eating, everyone sat back for some entertainment. John Little clapped his hands and a small group of men stood up, got out some strange-looking instruments, grouped in front of Little and the guests, and began to play.
They sounded awful, thought George Albert, just like rock groups at home. George Albert screwed up his face and clapped his hands over his ears. When John Little saw him, he got very upset. John LIttle was proud of "Sherwood and the Trees." He had hand-picked each of them, and now this insolent dwarf of a man was insulting them and HIM! Well, he'd soon be taught a lesson in manners.
John Little stood up and grabbed George Albert by the ear. "What's wrong? Don't like Sherwood and the Trees?" he growled.
George Albert was tired of being treated like a prisoner. He did not appreciate being pulled into a standing position by the ear. He detested this cow mooing music and he liked their leader not in the least. Besides which, he wanted his mommy!
"Oh, so you think you could do better, do you?" scoffed John Little.
"Yes, anybody could," shouted George Albert and King Locksely in unison.
"OK," shouted John Little, "Try!"
George Albert walked arily and King Locksely stalked onto the make-shift stage. George Albert picked up an ancient rattle, King Locksely picked up a lyre, and by first starting a rhythm, they began a rather catchy tune. Little's men got up and began to scream to show their appreciation, until Little himself let out an agiated roar.
"Stop!" he scramed.
Instantly everyone stopped.
Little got up and stalked over to the new musicians. He glared at George Albert and then at Locksely. Suddenly he burst out laughing and thumped the King and George Albert on their backs.
"What are you stopping for? Play on! I think I've a name for you? How about Robin and his hood?"
George Albert stuck up another catchy rhythm from a John Denver song, and King Locksely complement him with his lyre, and all began to scream again. All but John Little, who sat down, staring at Locksely with a troubled look.
Chapter 7:King Richard?
It must have been past midnight before the revelries ended. George Albert sank fast asleep in a bed of soft fir needles. King Locksley tried to sleep also, but he was too used to sleeping on a feather bed to do anymore than have fitful nightmares.
The hair on the back of George Albert's neck stood on its end, and he broke out in a cold sweat. He knew someone was watching him, but he didn't dare to turn around. Then whatever was watching him was gone, as silently as it had come and George Albert turned to look at the spot where it had been. He was sure it hadn't been any of the outlaws! But he couldn't go to sleep now, so he got up and tried to find where it had gone. Then he heard voices nearby. It was John Little and King Locksely. They seemed to be having a heated argument.
"Oh, well," George Albert thought. "I'd better go see what I can do."
He followed the sound of the voices to a clearing not far away. Under the light of the moon and stars he could see King Locksely's and John Little's faces clearly. He crouched under a tree to listen, afraid they would object to his intrusion.
"What do you mean by waking me up in the middle of this blasted night? Who do you think you are?" whispered King Locksely.
"Sire," whispered Little, and George Albert saw a satisfied smile come over King Locksely's face. "I only meant ot ask why you have come under such a veil of mystery. If you wished my assistane in seizing your throne from that vile wretch Prince John, you need only have asked."
George Albert saw the puzzled expression on King Locksely's face and decided that now was a good time for him to step in.
"You see, King Locksely," came George Albert's voice from the trees. "We're here on Earth, my planet, in a different time, and now, here, you aren't King Locksely at all. You're King Richard, the Lion-hearted."
Now it was time for LIttle John to look bewildered, by all the talk of planets and times and different names.
King Locksely looked stunned, but only for a moment.
He looked at George Albert and whispered, rising into a shrill shriek. "Do you mean tha tyou dragged me here, to your planet, to be your King?"
"Well, not exactly," George Albert answered. "You see . . ."
King Locksely interrupted him. A slow smile began to fix on his face.
"So," he said. "I'm King here, too." He turned to John Little and asked, "Just what do you people think of your King here?"
John Little woke out of his bewilderment to stand at attention, and answer, "Well, me Lord. The peasant of the land love our good King, but I'm afraid the lords and ladies and dukes and duchesses and Prince John don't like you much. You see, King Richard, sire, when you were last here, you were kind to the people. Now that Prince John has taken over, the nobility steal from the poor to make the rich richer, and frankly, sire, we'd ruther have you back." This was the longest speech John Little had ever given, and he was trying to use a few longer words. Unfortunately, "nobility" came out as no-bee-litt-ee, but George Albert and King Locksely understood him well enough.
George Albert noticed a strange gleam come into King Locksely's eyes and quickly analyzed it as greed.
"If I'm your King, what are you doing standing up? Kneel before me, knave, before I send for my guards." Locksley became more and more authoratative as he spoke.
Locksley gave orders for everyone in camp to be awakened and as he listened to details concerning "his" kingdom, a plan began to form in his mind. By morning, he had his whole attack scheme worked out, and by the next day, it was in effect.
George Albert was very confused. He knew nothing like this had ever happened in the history books.
h2>Chapter 8:The AttackLocksley got all 300 of Little's men into camoflaged clothing. The women of the village gladly made matching suits for everyone and Locksley had them dyed the green of oak tree leaves. When everyone was in their ranks for inspection, Locksley noted that everyone looked the same. Now that would not do! A King must have some means of identification.
George Albert had a bright idea. He told King Locksley to wear a hood. That way, no one would recognize him but his own men. Locksely consented and George Albert was relieved. At least something was going according to the history books!
Two by two--as Harold, second captain of the guard arranged--King Lockslye's troops filed neatly out of the forest and into Nottingham. Within minutes, the sherriff was on his knees begging for his life. Locksley wanted to torture him, but George Albert convinced him it would not be a good idea. He was not sure how he convinced Locksley, but George Albert was just glad he did.
However, torture was unnecessary. The Sherriff gave them all the information they needed, and on trooped the outlaw band.
Locksley's forces marched into London at 4:27 sharp, by John Little's time, and proceeded toward the palace. There were no guards on duty (The Union of the Guards had insisted on tea time several yeas ago), so Locksley himself marched into the castle and found Prince John in his bathing chamber, as the SHerriff of Nottingham had so cooperatively informed them.
Prince John was not exactly in a position to defend himself, so Locksley ordered him to the dungeon. Word passed quickly around town, so that by 6:00 (when the guards were back, working for a new King), all the nobility had come to tell him how glad they were he was back and how awful Prince John had been. He promptly cast them into the dungeon with Prince John, yes, all 308 of them, and threw away the key.
Chapter 9: King Again
Several weeks passed and George Albert was beginning to wonder whether or not falling down those steps was a good idea, when he was summoned to the royal chamber.
Goerge Albert came, knelt in humility, and asked the King what he wanted.
Locksley told him that frankly, he was bored. This kingdom, wherever or whenever it was, had no Super King comic strips, and besides that, it had no cartoonists! King Locksley, or Richard, as we should perhaps call him now, demanded George Albert think up something for him to do.
Now was his chance. George Albert brought the conversation around to John Little's men and how much fun they had when Prince John was still in power. George Albert suggested, in short, that the King go on a camping trup. It was rather crude, but King Richard had to admit that it had been fun.
There was one problem, however. Whow ould run the kingdom while Richard was gone? Guess who? George Albert, of course.
King Richard left the next day, leaving George Albert in charge. This was fine with George Albert, now he could finally get around to straightening England out! Richard certainly hadn't done too good a job.
First, George Albert set up a prison labor program. If the nobility in prison worked one hour a day, he promised to let them out before they were dead. A few conformed.
Then, George Albert set up a retirement benefit program for knights, ladies in distress, and any of the oulaw bands. This proved quite successful.
Lastly, George Albert gave the nobility's land to peasants to farm if they kept up a certain quota.
George Albert thought he was doing rather well, until he realied the King would be back in two days. He might not take kindly to George Albert's programs--especially the one where the King got a salary, a credit card, and the rooms of gold were used to buy factories.
Chapter 10:The Ultimate Vacation
George Albert went into the garden to try to figure out what he was going to do now. In the garden he met an old man, a man with a long beard and what it took George Albert a while to recognize, a Yankee baseball cap, blue jeans, and sneakers.
Wait a second, George Albert thought. No one here wears blue jeans, sneakers, and baseball caps.
As if reading his mind, the old man stepped forward to introduce himself.
"Hello, my boy. You don't know me, but I know you, George Albert Quincy III. My name is Merlin the magician. Ah, I see you know the name. Well, I've come to take you home."
George Albert stood stupefied and stuttered, "But, but, Merlin, Imean you, no, I mean, Merlin died over a thousand years ago. Besides, he didn't wear blue jeans, a New York Yankees baseball cap and sneakers. He wore a long gown and a cap with stars on it!"
Merlin looked sadly at George and shook his head. "You watch too much television. Of course, I didn't use to wear the blue jeans, but I've kept the cap and snakers as a sort of trademark. I always was rather original, you see."
"Well, let's start back, OK?"
"Wait a second," George Albert said. "If you're Merlin, what are you doing here, and more importantly, what am I doing here?"
"Ah, well, my boy, that is a long story, but we've got all the time in the world, don't we? I am a time traveler, George Albert. I go from time to time trying to iron out the winkles of some of my earlier spells. You see, there really was a Robin Hood and a King Richard. They were the same person, true, but well, I'm getting off the track. I needed someone to help this time, and you jsut happened to fall into the right space rip, so I figured you were as good as any."
"I've forgotten what spell it was that sent Richard to grow up on that other planet, but it was time to use him here, so I brought him, and inadvertently you, too. Your only real purpose was to lure him into the space warp this time, but when you came, too, I decided I might be able to use you. I must admit you did rather well with the hood business, and you did encourage him to go camping as you put it. But the fact is, I can handle the rest of it from my end, so goodbye--"
"Wait a second," George Albert demanded. "Do you mean to tell me that now that you've used me, that's it? I have to go home now?"
"That about covers it, yes," Merlin answered.
"Well, you can just forget it. I like it here. It's a heck of a lot better than home, and I intend to stay, and there's not one thing you can do about it."
"You don't this so, eh?" Merlin snapped. "Well, we'll see about that!" Merlin snapped his finer twice, stomped his left foot, and mumbled 1985 backwards, all with his eyes closed. When he opened them, he was very surprised to see George Albert still standing in front of him.
"Look here, George Albert, we can be nice about this. Think of your parents. Your dear mother waiting for you at home, crying her eyes out for you, thinking you may be dead. Now, you want to go home, don't you?" Merlin said in a sneaky tone of voice.
Then George Albert knew Merlin was in his power. Apparently one could only be sent home if one wanted to be. On the other hand, Merlin was right. His mom would be waiting up for him. Perhaps they could compromise!
"Now, listen Merlin, we can be reasonable. I'll go home on one condition."
"What?" Merlin asked eagerly.
"You just let me come back every year or so in the summer to work for you like I did here, maybe to this time, maybe to another, and then I'll go home, OK?"
Merlin agreed just a bit too eagerly for George Albert's tastes.
"Promise on your magician's wand of honor that I get to come every year and help you."
"Oh, all right," Merlin grumbled. He swore on his magician's wand of honor and mumbled 1985 backwards, with his eyes closed. When he opened them, George Albert was gone, and Merlin was stuck with getting him back next year. Merlin sighed and went back into the castle.
Chapter 11:Home
George Albert was in the air, he landed at hte bottom of the stairs, and got up. His mother was still callig him. George Albert got up and walked happily over to the kitchen to fix the stove, thinking about what time he would like to visit this summer.
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