Benny hit the corridor outside the fight room, breathing so hard he sounded like an old vacuum cleaner about to die.
The first thing he checked wasn't his wallet or if he still had all his teeth. It was if he was still breathing.
"What the heck?" he wheezed, shaking his head. "Why am I panicking over that reckless little shrimp? He's just some outsider loser who needs to sign over the family loot so we can finally grab his money and share!"
Agh, damn it! The kid always made his job way too hard.
But he knew the real problem wasn't the paperwork. The true fear was what had happened to Kyle.
He suddenly remembered that bone-crushing pressure he'd felt—a feeling he only ever got when he was standing too close to his terrifying father.
This was different, though.
He bit his lip, tasting iron. He remembered the voice, crystal clear, booming, and unbelievably rude.
The thing said he was Arthur.
Kyle could have made up the name, sure, but not with that stuck-up, royal jerk arrogance.
Is it true? Is that freaking thing actually King Arthur?
He needed to figure this out, fast. Benny decided to rush back to his own hideout room.
He focused, gathering the last bits of cold energy he had left. The familiar icy feeling started collecting in his hand, pulling every speck of dampness out of the air—the water vapor condensing into a small, sloshing pool in his palm.
He concentrated, whispering a quick, sloppy portal spell.
Shimmer, shimmer, splash! Ripples bounced off the air like reality had suddenly turned into warm soup.
The ripples twisted into a vortex of swirling, glowing blue water.
He glanced quickly back toward the door of the confrontation room, where the King-thing was probably still figuring out how to re-grow an arm. Then, Benny jumped through his water portal.
He landed instantly in one of the building's many creepy corridors, right next to a weird stone well covered in glowing runes.
The runes lit up, the vortex closed with a small pop, and Benny was back in his own turf.
Only to be greeted by a sickly-sweet, heavy voice.
"Well, well. Look who's back. Seems you keep to your schedule every day, Benny-boy."
The voice had weight, like an expensive, gold-plated bully. Benny didn't need to turn around to know it was his older brother, Danny.
Seriously, their father must have been a poet with no imagination to name all his kids with 'nny' at the end.
"So, how did it go? Did the shrimp sign?" Danny asked.
Benny didn't turn. He had learned years ago that turning your back on your brother was a bad idea, but showing weakness by not turning was even worse. He stood his ground.
"Yeah. He was going to," Benny mumbled.
He couldn't tell the truth.
He couldn't say he had just been beaten up by a magical, pretentious corpse wearing Kyle's body.
If they found out Kyle was suddenly a powerful, impossible nightmare, Benny would look pathetic. His father would never trust him with a real job again.
And he refused to drag the family name down. They were a noble family, after all!
A noble family full of jerks, but still.
"So what really happened? You look like you got run over by a swamp donkey," Danny pressed, leaning closer.
Benny fought back the panic, flicking his gaze over his shoulder. He couldn't show weakness. He was a rightful owner of this awful family, too.
"I just left him for my future therapy!" Benny snapped, trying to sound cool.
Danny chuckled and clapped him hard on the shoulder—hard enough to make Benny's tired muscles ache. "That sounds good. I love that spirit, Benny. For our family's sake."
"For the family's sake," Benny echoed flatly.
Then Danny left.
Finally, Benny could breathe again.
He rushed off, straight for his room and a cold shower. He used his water powers to shape the spray, bending the cold liquid into small, silly shapes just to feel his magic working again.
He dried off, grabbed a towel, and headed for his bed.
But before he could pass out, he had to get his facts straight.
He scribbled a note onto a piece of fancy paper:
ATTENTION: INFORMATION RETRIEVAL UNIT
EMERGENCY REQUEST: HIGH PRIORITY
QUERY: FIND EVERY DETAIL ABOUT KING ARTHUR. IS HE A KING NOW? WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED TO HIM?
BONUS: 200 KG GOLD
FROM: BENNY HUNT
He signed it and slipped the paper into a slot on a special shelf. This was their private mailbox for the Information Retrievers—a secret firm of tough mercenaries whose only job was to sell information.
They had eyes and hands everywhere, and for 200 kg of gold, they'd probably tell him what King Arthur ate for breakfast in the sixth century.
Now, Benny thought, let's see who the real maggot is.