The Writers' Circle

"Just who are you?" Tim asked.

The man in the hunter green coat turned suddenly to face him. Again his smile betrayed a slight hint of devilishness. He bowed deeply at the waist, maintaining eye contact, then extending his hand to the young man.

"Magnificent John Prestor, Timothy. That is my name."

Timothy rubbed his head for a moment. "What?"

"Magnificent John Prestor. Son of Belicose John Prestor. Son of Magnanimous John Prestor."

"I don't get it. So you're like John Prestor the Fourth right?"

"No. That is an English custom passed down and Americanized, I'm afraid. Think of Prestor as a position -John the Prestor. Were I to speak it properly, it would be Magnificent John, the Presbyter, Sovereign Lord High Priest of Ind and Keeper of the Magi."

Timothy glared puzzlingly at John. "I don't get it. You're royalty?"

"Something like that. Something very much like that, indeed."

"If you're royalty, then why the hell are you hanging out in this place? There's nothing here that's remotely worth a King's attention." Timothy tried his very best to sound sarcastic, but he wasn't very good at making jokes.

The harsh lights of the street made John's features more clear. He was perhaps six feet four, and maybe two hundred fifty pounds or so. He was very solidly built, but that wasn't the most striking thing about him. To Timothy, the most interesting thing about him was how he carried himself. Even when in danger, he assumed a leisurely posture -as if he had nothing to fear. In walking behind him, he noticed the big man seemed to stroll, rather than walk. It was as if he had nowhere in particular to be, so he walked in a way that one might walk if you were strolling through a zoo or a museum.

He eyes seemed vaguely almond shaped, as though he was part asian as well as black. His skin was deep brown and slightly reddish. His dark brown hair was loosely curled, unlike the tighter curls of his own hair. He stood casually, assessing Timothy even as he was assessing him.

"Do you like oriental food?"

"Scuse me?"

"Timothy, I don't like repeating myself. Please do your best to pay attention. If you are going to be my squire, then you're going to have to be alert."

"Waitaminute! I didn't say anything about being your servant!"

"I didn't say servant, Timothy. I said squire. They're entirely different. Now back to my original question. Do you like oriental food?"

"I guess. Why?"

"Excellent! Kimura is an excellent cook! It's rare that we have visitors, so make sure that you mind your manners. First impressions are so very important!"

"I never said I was going to eat with you! I'm just carrying this bag for you because of what you did with Tre! I feel like I owe you. for getting me out of a tight spot."

John's features darkened as he took a more serious tone. "What is it about your life that you don't like, Timothy? What is it that makes you constantly overlook the opportunities God sets in your path. Will you always choose to excel at ruining your life?"

He looked more disappointed than angry, and Timothy felt a flush of embarrassment. John was right. If tonight had gone as planned, he'd be a criminal right now. He bit his lip and cast his eyes downward. Why was he so interested in him? What could he have to offer that was so special?

"Timothy. You have no idea of what I see reflected in your eyes. I found you tonight on the verge of a precipice that would lead you down the road to ultimate failure. There was a light in your eyes that pleaded with me for help, and so I helped you. Tre will most likely never again ask you to do anything like tonight. But that wasn't the only reason that I helped you. I see the potential for a man much greater than the boy I see before me now. It's a man's duty - even a King --to do what he can to make the world better. Sometimes it means changing the course of mighty rivers. Sometimes it means just cultivating the light of a single flame.

What have you to lose? Is there something important that's keeping you?"

He thought hard for a moment. His mother worked the late evening shift, so it wasn't like there was anyone home. Just what was he clinging to?

"All right." He was surprised to find himself speaking the words. "Just dinner. But I'm not agreeing to be your squire."

"As you wish. Dinner it is then." He smiled again, and returned to his leisurely stroll down the lamp lit street, with Timothy walking closely behind.