"Jenkins!" Jacob Stone shouted as he raced down the hallway towards the Annex workroom. Clutched to his chest was a small, lifeless body. "JENKINS!"
The Caretaker and the other Librarians heard the frantic shouting. Alarmed, Jenkins jumped up from his desk and started for the hallway to meet Stone. The younger man burst through the doorway just as Jenkins reached it.
"Jenkins!" he gasped breathlessly as Cassandra and Ezekiel joined the tall immortal. "It's Franklin!" He lowered the bundle in his arms to reveal the limp, motionless form of the little tea dragon. Cassandra gasped behind Jenkins in shock. The old Caretaker's heart suddenly went cold with dread.
"I came around the corner just in time to see him shimmying underneath the door to the Hive of Giant Bees," Jake said breathlessly. "By the time I got into the room to get him out, he'd already been stung."
Cassandra gave a soft cry, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Jenkins remained silent, but his eyes widened with fear. He quickly took the tea dragon from Jake and dropped to his knees, gently laying the unconscious animal on the wooden flooring. The Caretaker's experienced hands quickly examined the tiny body while the three Librarians huddled around him anxiously.
"I don't think the bee got him very good," Jake offered hopefully. "I kicked it off him and pulled out the stinger. Maybe he didn't get all that much venom?"
Jenkins said nothing as he rapidly checked every inch of the dragon. He found one large lump on Franklin's back, just behind his right shoulder, the place where he'd been stung. It was a very large lump; Franklin had been stung badly. Concentrating on what needed to be done, Jenkins swallowed down a different kind of lump that was forming in his throat and ignored the anxiety and fear filling his belly. He looked up at Jake.
"Knife?" he asked shortly. Jake dug into his jeans pockets and found his penknife. He opened the blade and handed it to Jenkins.
The immortal expertly cut an X through the lump. Jake noticed that Jenkins's hand shook slightly as he worked. He dropped the knife and lifted Franklin's body from the floor, bending over at the same time. He placed his mouth over the wound and began to suck the venom from the lump, turning his head every few seconds to spit the yellowish, slimy, foul-smelling stuff onto the floor. He visibly struggled to control his gag reflex as he worked, the bitter poison instantly making him feel nauseous. Ezekiel saw how upset Cassandra was becoming, and quietly moved to stand next to her, slipping his arm around her shoulders as they watched helplessly.
Jake's eyes were fixed on Jenkins as he fought to save the little tea dragon's life. The Caretaker accidentally swallowed a bit of the venom, causing him to retch and cough as he fought to keep himself from vomiting. Jake dropped to his knees next to Jenkins and gently took Franklin from the gasping man.
"Here, J, let me spell ya," he said, then continued to try to draw the poison out himself. He'd done this sort of thing a couple of times before with snake bites, how different could it be? He soon found out how different it was when he nearly puked his breakfast up the second the venom touched his tongue. It was at least a hundred times worse than rattlesnake venom, but he powered through it. Jenkins had already drawn out most of the venom, though, and after a couple of minutes Jake was spitting nothing but blood onto the floor. Jenkins stopped him and took Franklin back.
"That's enough, I think, Mr. Stone, thank you. I need to get him to the infirmary now," he said, his voice tight. As he climbed to his feet, he turned briefly to Cassandra.
"Cassandra, please go to the lab and find my medicine bag, bring it to the infirmary," he instructed. "Mr. Jones, please help her, I need it as quickly as possible!" The two young Librarians nodded and ran for the lab.
"Mr. Stone, if you would be so kind...?" he asked the historian as he passed him on his way to the infirmary. Jake fell in behind the tall man as he rushed down the hallway.
Ezekiel and Cassandra quickly located the bag Jenkins needed and rushed to bring it to him in the infirmary. The bag contained a myriad of bottles, boxes, bundles and packages, all containing various potions, balms, roots or herbs.
"Cassandra, some water, please," he said as he dug frantically through the bag. He pulled out a battered, unlabeled wooden box and a large bottle of what looked like raw honey.
"Mr. Jones, some gauze, please." Ezekiel shot off to find the bandaging. Jacob simply watched as Jenkins quickly cleaned and disinfected the wound. In a small metal bowl he mixed a white powder from the wooden box with the honey, thinning the mixture with just enough water to make it easy to spread. Jake realized that the Caretaker was making a poultice, not too dissimilar to ones his grandmother used to make when he'd been stung as a boy by a bee or a wasp.
"Baking powder and raw honey poultice," he muttered, mostly to himself, but Jenkins heard him and glanced up at him, a look of approval flashing through the distress in his brown eyes.
"Very good, Mr. Stone," he said, turning back to his work. "I can see you've experience with this sort of thing." Jenkins took a gauze pad from Jones and spread the paste in a thick layer over one side of the cloth, then carefully laid it over the wound on Franklin's back, gently pressing the poultice to make sure it made full contact with the affected area. Jake noted that the older man's hands were still trembling slightly.
"Yeah, I've had my share of bee stings," Jake answered. "Grandma Stone always used to make something just like this for me. Surprised you're not usin' somethin' magical, though. Potion, magic wand, artifact of some kind." Jenkins stood up straight with a heavy sigh and wiped his hands with an extra piece of gauze.
"Franklin is a magical animal," he said. "It can be risky using magical cures on magical animals, sometimes fatal. I'm not sure why, perhaps it's a case of too much magic for an animal's system to handle, an overload, if you will. I prefer to start with a non-magical treatment and work my way up to magic as a last resort. Or in this case, a semi-magical treatment." He threw the cloth onto a table and began to repack the medicine bag.
"The honey is from the hive of the giant bees. All types of honey, of course, is a natural disinfectant, but this particular honey also has remarkable healing properties, especially where poisoned bites and stings are concerned." He handed the bag to Cassandra, then carefully picked up Franklin from the table.
"I hope we've gotten to him in time and that a fully-magical treatment won't be necessary. If you would be so kind, Mr. Stone, as to open the door for us?" he asked. "I'm going to take Franklin to our quarters, where he can rest quietly and undisturbed." Jake hurried over and held the heavy door open for the Caretaker and his wife.
As Jenkins and Cassandra turned and disappeared from view, Jake stared after them, his fist lightly thumping against the doorframe. He had seen the look in Jenkins's eyes as he passed Jake; despite his calm demeanor, the Caretaker was afraid. Stone looked over at Ezekiel, who was busy cleaning up after Jenkins.
"Come on, Jones," he called to the Aussie as he was finishing up. "We're gonna go make sure nothin' like this ever happens again."
Jenkins set up a small space in his sitting room for Franklin, and spent the next forty-eight hours in a constant, sleepless vigil at the sick tea dragon's side. He applied fresh poultices every couple of hours and patiently slipped the unconscious little creature a few drops of various potions and concoctions. The Caretaker refused to leave Franklin's side except to quickly fetch a new medicine. As the long hours passed, he eventually began using stronger medicines, then magical cures. All other duties went unattended. He refused to eat, he refused even tea. Jenkins loved Franklin more than he would ever admit, but Cassandra could tell that Jenkins was worried—very worried. There were a couple of times, when Jenkins thought she wasn't looking, that the Librarian had actually seen silent tears fall from his eyes as he tended his patient. The possibility of losing Franklin upset her greatly, too; she could only imagine how much it was hurting her husband, despite his stoic exterior.
Cassandra sat with Jenkins and stayed awake as long as she could to help and comfort him as much as possible, but eventually, being mortal, she succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.
She blinked slowly awake after a few hours of fitful sleep to find herself tucked into bed. Jenkins must have put her there. She could hear the sound of the Caretaker's low, rumbling voice coming from his sitting room; Cassandra slipped out of bed and quietly tip-toed over to the door to peek through the crack.
"I'm so very sorry, Franklin," he was saying, gently stroking the sick dragon's side. "This is all my fault, isn't it? I should've blocked that crack beneath the door so you couldn't get inside. Besides Cassandra, you're the best thing that's happened to me in my entire, misbegotten life, and look at how I've neglected you! Please, don't die, little one, I'm so sorry…" He voice cracked and Cassandra saw him wipe tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.
She quickly turned away from the door and hurried back to bed, burying her face in her pillow so that she could cry without Jenkins hearing her.
Two days later, late in the afternoon, the Librarians and their Guardian, including Cassandra, were gathered in the workroom, trying to distract themselves with work. The younger ones had informed Eve Baird and Flynn Carsen as soon as they returned from the mission they had been on when the accident occurred, and both were heartbroken. The pair had gone to try and cheer Jenkins, but when they saw his tired, careworn face, saw that he was still wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing the day they left on their mission days earlier, and saw the small, uncharacteristically lifeless body of Franklin, they simply had no words. Eve managed to give Jenkins a tight hug, barely able to keep herself from bursting into tears.
Now they were all quiet and somber; Jenkins was still shut up with Franklin, and though none would dare to say so out loud, they were all thinking the same thing, that they were all now on a death watch, that Franklin wasn't going to make it.
The group huddled around a parchment map of ancient Timbuktu and quietly discussing it as a possible location for a new artifact that had appeared in the clippings book, but none of them was really interested in artifacts right now.
All of them jumped as if they'd been shot at the sound of an exhausted-looking, thoroughly disheveled Jenkins as he burst into the room, bellowing like bull.
"CASSANDRA! CASSANDRA, LOOK!" Her husband's face was wet with tears; Cassandra jumped up from her chair and rushed to his side, her heart pounding. Jenkins was tenderly clutching the little green dragon to his chest.
This is it, she thought, feeling ill. Franklin's dead.
As she fought back tears, Jenkins carefully lowered his arms so that she could see Franklin's body. He lay in the immortal's hands limply, unmoving. The others gathered behind her; Eve and Flynn were already sniffling. Cassandra slowly reached out to touch the little body. Poor Franklin!
The moment her fingers touched his dull, iridescent skin, Franklin's large black eyes popped open. Cassandra screamed and flinched, reflexively snatching her hand back. The people clustered behind her all screamed and flinched as well. The tip of the little dragon's tail twitched weakly as he greeted them with a thin, happy whine, stretching a tiny paw out toward them.
"Oh! Jenkins!" Cassandra gasped, looking up hopefully into the tall man's weary eyes. They were glowing with happiness, a huge, boyish grin across his face. "Is he…is he going to be all right?"
"He's going to be just fine!" he said, his voice rough with emotion. "He woke up only a few minutes ago." At the sound of the immortal's voice, Franklin weakly turned his head to look up at him, his tail twitching a little more strongly now. He began to purr softly and lick Jenkin's hand.
"He's going to be fine," he said again, quietly this time, as Cassandra came to slip her arms around him, tears of joy spilling down her cheeks.
Jenkins found Jacob sitting by the Fountain of Youth, a freshly-opened bottle of beer in his hand. The Caretaker approached the historian and stood before the younger man, an air of formality surrounding the immortal.
"Here you are, Mr. Stone," he greeted. "I've been looking for you everywhere today. I have something that I would like to discuss with you."
"Yeah? What's that?" Jake asked, taking a swig of his beer. He held up the bottle. "Want one?"
Jenkins shook his head. "No, thank you. Not my cup of tea anymore," he said, causing Jacob to smirk in amusement.
"So how's Franklin doin'? Cassie says he's up and running around your rooms like crazy now." The immortal nodded, smiling.
"Yes, yes, he's well on his way to making a full recovery, I'm happy to say," he responded. "That's why I'm here right now, in fact."
"So what can I do you for, J?" he asked. To his surprise, Jenkins's face brightened.
"I wish to thank you for all of your help in saving Franklin's life," he said crisply. "If you hadn't gone in after him and pulled him out of the hive, if you hadn't rushed him to the workroom as quickly as you did, if you hadn't helped to draw out the poison…" Jacob waved the beer bottle at the tall man in dismissal.
"It was nothin'," he said. "Just happened to be in the right place at the right time, that's all."
"No," countered Jenkins. "It was not 'nothin'; you saved his life, Mr. Stone. And, I understand from Mr. Jones that the two of you went around and blocked up the cracks to all of the rooms that might be hazardous to curious tea dragons while I was busy with Franklin. That was not 'nothin'." A look of shyness came over Jenkins's face.
"Franklin means…a great deal to me, almost as much as Cassandra. I am indebted to you." He raised his white head, a tiny smile coming to his lips.
"And I would like to express my gratitude in a particular way, Mr. Stone, that I think will very much appeal to the historian in you, if you'll allow me," he said. Stone lifted his head and looked at Jenkins, intrigued.
"How so?" he asked.
"I'd rather it be a surprise; if you'll accompany me…?" Jenkins turned and held out a long arm in invitation. Jacob scrambled to his feet, leaving his beer on the edge of the Fountain, and followed the old Caretaker back to his suite.
Jenkins led him to his sitting room, and Jacob's eyes immediately fell on a very large, ancient trunk sitting in the middle of the room. The trunk was made of oak, blackened with age and banded with hand-forged iron. Jacob estimated that it was well over a thousand years old, and his curiosity was ratcheted up considerably. He looked over at Jenkins expectantly.
"What is this, J?"
Jenkins silently fished a large iron key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. He lifted the creaking lid, and Jake eagerly stepped forward to see what was inside. There were several bundles, all wrapped in cloths that were also hundreds of years old. The anticipation was killing the historian. Jenkins rarely spoke of his past to anyone but Cassandra, but Jake suspected that was about to change. He was bursting with questions, but he held his tongue lest Jenkins became annoyed and changed his mind.
Jenkins removed two very long, flat bundles from the trunk and laid them on a table he had cleared off earlier. He removed the cloth wrappings to reveal two oaken cases. With a proud glance at Stone, the Caretaker removed the lids and stood back to allow the younger man an unobstructed view of the contents.
As Jacob peered into the boxes, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped: In the longer of the two boxes lay a Celtic longsword and its plain scabbard, two thousand years old if it was a day, yet looking as though it had been made yesterday. It had a simple hilt and grip made of solid gold and carnelian of a deep reddish-orange color, the long, narrow blade shaped like the leaf of a willow tree.
The other box was a shorter sword and its scabbard, the plain blade a little over two feet in length, and far simpler in design, like a long thin triangle. Stone could tell that it was easily thousands of years older than the longsword and of ancient Middle Eastern origin, but it had been refurbished at some point in its history. Unlike the longer sword, this one and its scabbard were richly decorated. Its hilt and grip were made of ivory and gold, studded with precious gems. Accompanying this sword its scabbard was a long, thin belt made of some strange material that Jake couldn't identify at first. When he looked closer, he realized that it was made of intricately-woven human hair, deep chestnut in color and decorated with gold and precious stones as well.
Jacob stared at the magnificent treasures, barely remembering to breathe. He looked up into Jenkins's expressionless face.
"These are your swords," Jake murmured, almost reverently. "The ones described in Malory." He pointed at the longer weapon.
"The Sword of the Red Hilt, the one Arthur had you pull from a block of marble that was floating in a river, just after you won the Siege Perilous." He then pointed to the shorter sword.
"And the Sword of Strange Hangings—the retooled sword of King David that you were given by Percival's sister in Solomon's Ship just before she died. That belt is woven from her hair." He looked back at Jenkins.
"I can't believe you still have them," he breathed, awestruck. "I can't believe you're letting me even see them..."
"There's one more," Jenkins rumbled, going to the trunk and removing another bundle, this one a huge, flat square. He quickly removed the cloth covering the wooden box, this one made of walnut. Jenkins removed the lid to reveal a large, round wooden shield approximately three feet in diameter, banded by iron. The shield was painted a solid, blinding white. In the middle was a simple cross of deep red that looked as though it had been painted on with someone's fingers. Jacob slowly looked up in disbelief at Jenkins, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Your shield," he whispered. "The shield given to you by Joseph of Arimathea—He painted that cross on there with his own hand, with blood from the Grail itself…" Jenkins merely nodded silently, his face unreadable.
"It's all true, then? All the stories about Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table?" Stone asked.
"No, not all," the old knight answered. "But that is also part of your reward. Choose a time, and I will sit down with you and answer any and all questions you may have regarding Arthur and Camelot. No restrictions." Stone gaped at him in astonishment.
"Wait...You mean...you'll answer any question I ask you, flat out, in plain language? No hints or riddles or double-talk—you'll just answer any question I ask about Camelot or Arthur or Merlin or...yourself?"
"Any and all, Mr. Stone," Jenkins confirmed. "I know how curious you have been about that topic ever since you learned my true identity. I've been reluctant to speak about those days because...well…it was a painful time in my life. It wasn't all tournaments and roses, after all. I lost so much, lost so many loved ones..." He shook his head sadly as his memory raced to those days, but he then forced himself back to the present.
"It was easier to simply push it all from my mind and try to bury it in the past. But, thanks to Cassandra, I've learned recently that it's better to speak of painful things, rather than to bury them; to get them out into the light where they can heal, rather than let them fester in the darkness." Jenkins reached into the box and removed the Sword of the Red Hilt. He stepped back and performed several graceful practice swings, the fine, razor-sharp blade whispering softly through the air like the voice of a lover. Jacob felt like he was dreaming.
The knight stopped and walked over to the enthralled young man, and with a smooth, practiced movement laid the sword over the crook of his left arm, the hilt pointing toward Jacob.
"Perhaps you would like to try it?" he invited. Stone's eyes bugged out of his head as he realized what Jenkins was offering.
"I...you mean I can...hold it?" he asked, almost timidly. "Really?" The tall man gave a slight bow.
"Of course," he said, amused by the historian's reaction. Jacob carefully took hold of the legendary sword and held it out from his body as if he was holding an angry cobra. As he admired the weapon and gingerly tested its weight in his hand, Jenkins removed the other sword from its case. He faced Jake and held his weapon up in a salute.
"En garde, Mr. Stone," he challenged soberly.
"What?!" Jacob squawked, his tousled head whipping around to stare at the tall man.
"I'm going to give you a very simple lesson in beginning swordsmanship," announced the knight. "Though I must be honest and tell you that I'm somewhat rusty in using these particular weapons. It's the first time I've touched them in centuries, actually." He turned his body and took a fighter's stance, swordarm up.
"Raise your sword, Mr. Stone, and when I strike, try to block my attack with your blade." A huge grin suddenly split Jacob's face, and he quickly positioned himself in front of the knight. He was actually going to sword fight! With Sir-freakin'-Galahad himself! With two of the most legendary swords in all of history! The others were never gonna believe this!
As he stood there daydreaming, Jenkins suddenly lunged forward and brought his sword's blade down. Instinctively, Jacob raised his sword high over his head and forward, yelping and flinching as the old knight's blade slammed hard against his own, nearly knocking the sword from his hand.
"Hmmm." Jenkins knit his brows together as he lowered his sword and assessed Jacob's performance.
"An absolutely abysmal effort, Mr. Stone," he said sourly, but Jacob noticed that the immortal's eyes were twinkling. "You need to tighten your grip on the hilt. And you need to keep your eyes open, otherwise you might as well simply use the sword on yourself, save your enemy the work of having to run you through himself." He stepped back and raised his sword again.
"Shall we try it again, then?" he asked. Jacob jerked his sword back into position, his eyes glowing with pride, his grin so wide it was beginning to hurt.
"Bring it on, J!" he crowed, the happiest he'd felt in very long time.
