Knights of the Kitchen Table by Jon Scieszka Page B

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