Mr. Needlemier gave me his card and said he’d be in touch in a couple of weeks. He told me he was sorry for my loss. I didn’t know if he knew about my father being the head of a secret order of knights charged with protecting Excalibur, the Sword of King Arthur, so I decided not to mention it to him. I didn’t have the chance, though, even if I wanted to, because Horace was hovering right next to him from the time he stood up till the good-byes at the front door.
After Mr. Needlemier left, Horace barked at Betty to stop sweeping and vacuuming and running a wet cloth over the floor where the glass broke, and get started on dinner.
“We’re making your favorite, Al,” he told me. “Steak and potatoes!”
“That’s not my favorite,” I said.
“What do you mean that’s not your favorite?” he snapped, then caught himself and said, “Then you name it, Al, whatever you want!”
“I’m not hungry,” I said, and I went to my room and closed the door.
Kenny was lying on the top bunk in semidarkness; the blinds were drawn. He muttered softly above me as I stretched out on the bottom bunk, trying to wrap my Kropp brain around the fact that I was now a billionaire.
Kenny whispered, “What are you doing, Kropp?”
“Trying to figure out how I’m going to avoid becoming Horace Tuttle’s son. What are you doing, Kenny?”
“Nothing, Alfred Kropp.”
I rolled onto my stomach and glanced under the bed. I flopped back over and said, “All right, Kenny, give it back.”
“Give what back?”
“You know what.”
After a second I could see the faint light gleaming off the black metal of the blade as he lowered my sword from the top bunk. I knew it was very sharp, so I took it from Kenny carefully. “I told you not to touch it,” I said as I held it against my chest.
“I’m sorry, Alfred Kropp. Please don’t be mad at me.”
I was running my fingertips along the flat smooth part of the black sword. “Don’t bother it anymore, okay?” I said.
“Okay, Alfred Kropp.”
I slid the sword beneath the bed. When I first got back from London, I took Bennacio’s sword from its hiding place under my bed every day. But as the months went by I took it out less and less. Looking at it created this hollow feeling in my chest. The last time Bennacio wielded this sword it was in defense of the whole world, and now it was just a keepsake. I imagined myself as an old man showing it to the neighborhood kids and croaking, “Look at this, boys! You know what this is? This is the sword of the last knight who ever walked the earth, the bravest man I ever knew.” And they would probably laugh and run away from crazy ol’ Kropp with his tall tales of magic swords and doomed knights and the singing of angels.
“What are you thinking about, Kropp?” Kenny whispered above me.
“What would you do, Kenny, if you just found out you’re going to inherit a billion dollars and Horace Tuttle has plans to adopt you so he can get his hands on it?”
Kenny was silent for a while, thinking about it, I guess.
“I would run away, Alfred Kropp.”
“Exactly,” I said.