“Boo!”
Before Gart could open his mouth to speak, the phantom darted off and hid. It wasn’t so much a phantom now that he had a closer look – it was a child, completely white from head to toe. Gart watched the child disappear into a darkened room, a solar that was directly off the entry to the right. His brow furrowed and he shook his head, undecided as to whether he was irritated or amused. He settled for amused until two more wraiths jumped out at him with sticks.
Gart was in armor so he didn’t feel the blows, but his amusement quickly turned to irritation when one of the sticks landed a blow a little too close to his groin. He reached down to grab one of the children but his hand came away completely white. They were covered in something white and powdery.
Gart grabbed a stick that came flying at his groin again, yanking it out of the child’s hand and tossing it out the door. He locked gazes with a boy no more than seven years of age and he would never forget the look of fury on the boy’s face.
With a yell, the child charged him and tried to bite him, but all he came away with was mail to the mouth. Gart grabbed the child by the hair and the boy screamed.
“Let me go!” he howled. “I will have you arrested if you do not let me go!”
Gart’s hand was bigger than the child’s head as he gazed down at him. “Is that so?”
“It is!” the lad tried to kick him, struggling to dislodge the iron grip. “If you do not let me go, I… I will have you boiled! I will have you flogged! I will have you…!”
Gart put up a hand, cutting him off. “I understand your meaning,” he said, noticing that the two other white-covered children were beating at his armored legs. He shoved one away by the head and kneed the other one across the floor. It wasn’t a kick as much as it was a good push with his kneecap. Then he let go of the child in his grip.
“Let me pass and you can assault the next fool who walks in the door,” he told him.
The three boys were not so easily dissuaded. They rushed back at him with their fists and sticks and Gart shoved them all away again, only to have them rush him once more as he tried to mount the stairs to the third level.
Irritation growing, he managed to grab all three of them, carry them over to the dark and empty solar, and shove them inside. Slamming the door closed, he noticed there was no exterior bolt as the boys beat at the door and yelled from the other side. Gart stood there as long as he could, holding the door shut as delicious smells taunted him from the hall above. He didn’t have time for this foolishness. Daring to let go of the latch, he made a break for the stairs.
The solar door flew open and the three boys charged out, catching Gart as he was half-way up the spiral stone stairs. They grabbed at his feet and he kicked back, attempting to dislodge them. He didn’t want to outright hurt them but they were annoying and beastly, so he finally kicked out and sent one boy crashing into the other two.
The whole lot of them slid down the stairs, leaving a trail of white powder as they went. They hit hard in a group, the older ones falling on the smaller one. The little lad at the bottom of the pile began to wail loudly and rub his head where he had smacked it.
Gart smirked at the screams, thinking now they would finally leave him alone. He hadn’t taken two steps before he started to feel some remorse. They were just children, after all. He had been a child once, thirty years ago during times he could hardly remember. These children were just playing games. At least, he hoped so. Maybe they were really murderers in disguise. Taking another step, the cries prevented him from continuing.
With a heavy sigh he turned on the stairwell, peering down at the pile of boys at the bottom. The two older ones were attempting to pick the younger one up and convince him that he wasn’t injured. Gart took a couple of steps down, watching the boys who seemed much less aggressive than they had been moments earlier.
“What are you three doing?” he demanded softly.
Three pairs of big blue eyes looked up at him as if startled by the question. He could see the hostility seep back into their expressions but, so far, not one of them had made a move against him. They seemed to be posturing an awful lot.
“Brendt hurt his head,” the tallest child said angrily. “You did….”
Gart waved the boy off. “That is not what I meant,” he took another step down. “What are you three doing attacking men who enter the keep?”
The tallest boy’s brow furrowed. “Robbing them!”
Gart couldn’t help it as his features screwed up in confusion. “Robbing them?”
“Aye,” the boy insisted. “This is our castle. Whoever comes in this door belongs to us.”
Gart stared at the lad a moment before finally shaking his head. Truth be told, he was fighting off a grin. The lad was deadly serious.
“Who are you?” he finally asked.
The boy stood tall. “Romney de Moyon,” he announced. “These are my brothers, Orin and Brendt. Our father is Julian de Moyon, Baron Buckland, and this is our castle. Who are you?”
Gart came down the rest of the stairs and stood in front of them, massive fists resting on his hips. He avoided the question. “Why do you have white powder all over you?”
Romney looked at his brothers before returning his attention to Gart. “Because we are ghosts. You cannot see ghosts and it makes it easier to rob people.”
Gart rubbed his hand over his chin and mouth so the boy would not see his grin. It was really quite dastardly and very humorous, he thought.
“I see you quite clearly,” he ran a finger across Romney’s chest, peering at the white powder. “What is this?”
“Dust from the stone,” Romney told him. “Father is building house for the soldiers and this is the dust from the white stone.”
Gart inspected it a moment longer before wiping it on his tunic. His gaze moved to the youngest, who was no longer crying but still rubbing his head.
“Had you not attacked me, you would not have hurt your head,” he was looking at the smallest boy but lecturing all three. “Does your father know what you are doing?”
Romney lifted his shoulders, for the first time losing some of his confidence. “He does not care,” he said. “Will you give me your money or will I have to fight you to the death?”
Gart bit his lip to keep his smile from breaking loose. “Are you sure you want to fight me to the death?”
“I am sure.”
“I do not have any money on me.”
Romney’s fair brow furrowed and he looked to his brothers with uncertainty. “Well,” he said reluctantly. “We will wait until you return for it. Come back with your money.”
“I will not,” Gart said flatly. “Why do you want my money, anyway?”
“Because,” Romney said. “We want to buy nice things for my mother and sister.”
Gart scratched his head. “Your mother and sister?” he repeated. “Surely they have enough nice things.”