Crown Quest: A Beatles Adventure

Chapter Three

    While walking through the forest in silence, George was enjoying coming up with different words to describe his travel companion. Egocentric. Arrogant. Ooh, how about, self-absorbed? Sounds like a sponge, George thought with amusement.

    "Can I call you 'Sponge'?" he blurted.

    Paul looked over at him slowly. "Sponge? Why?"

    "I don't know," George said with a shrug. "I just thought it suited you."

    "How?"

    "No reason."

    Paul shook his head, obviously unamused. Meanwhile, Martha was zigzagging from tree to tree, smelling the bark for a whiff of something that intrigued her. She kept barking and wagging her tail, glancing back at Paul with an enthused look.

    "Why Martha?" George asked.

    "What do you mean?"

    "Why did you name her that? Usually dogs are named things like 'Fido,' 'T-Bone,' and 'Lucky.'"

    "I just liked the name," Paul said, looking sideways at George. "Why do you ask so many questions?"

    "Maybe because I just met you and we're going to take bad dude down together? Maybe I want to get to know you a little bit?"

    "I just want to be a knight," Paul said dismissively. "That doesn't mean I have to know you, Greg."

    George stopped walking, regarding him in shock. "My name is George, not Greg!" After a pause he added, "Pablo!"

    Paul gasped. "My name is Paul, Greg!"

    "Whatever, Pablo."

    "Screw you, Greg." After getting his two cents in, Paul continued striding, completely ignoring George now. Before it had just been silence from the other man, but now it was as if George was invisible.

    Greg, his thoughts scoffed. Greg! Can you believe that?

    After fifteen minutes of following dried up grass, Paul stopped, eyeing the trees around him suspiciously. George halted beside him, silent, refusing to ask him what the problem was.

    "The trail's gone," Paul said finally, shoulders slumping with defeat.

    "Gone? How can it be gone?" George exclaimed. "Anything the guy touches is dead! What — did he start flying so we couldn't follow him anymore?"

    "Maybe he's a dragon too," Paul said quietly.

    "Pfft," George said, dismissively waving a hand. "I don't know about you, but I think we should just keep going. Maybe he's covering it up somehow."

    "Or he took a sharp turn and we lost it."

    George scanned the woods, looking for something that indicate where Mark had lost them. After a few moments of searching, he caught sight of some log cabins up ahead. "Hey, it's a village. Maybe we can ask them if they saw some creep skulking through the woods sometime."

    "This is a bad idea," Paul groaned. "The villagers are probably crazy axe murderers who'll go postal on sight."

    "Just come on," George said, grabbing Paul's forearm and dragging him toward the houses.

    They arrived in the village and found that no one was out milling around. It was completely dead, like a ghost town. The hair on the back of George's neck stood on end and he started to take a few steps back, pulling Paul with him. It felt . . . wrong.