Baa, baa, black sheep. Chapter 8

8

He was not a bad guy, this Mr Black. His name was Sir Archibald the Brave. I didn’t understand if the Brave was a surname or a title. I told him we were chasing a black magician called Sir Exit Out. He escaped from us, and took prisoner a beautiful maiden called Sweet Freedom. We must find this black magician and save Sweet Freedom. He said he would help us. Then we could go and live in his castle as long as we wanted to.
So, the three of us went on. Sir Archibald was a good speaker. He told us many stories about dangerous dragons and beautiful maidens. All the stories were different, because there were more and more dragons in them. I would say Sir Archibald had digital imagination. The bigger the number of dragons, the more interesting the story.
I was listening to Sir Archibald, and at the same time I was thinking about that black sheep. My intuition told me the sheep was dangerous. But we didn’t know how dangerous, because Andrew wasn’t able to break its code. I was sure he was working on it, but there was no word from him.
It started to rain. Digital rain is as cold as real one. And when you are thinking about black sheep, it gets even colder. The only hot thing around was Sir Archibald with his stories. He was very excited and didn’t see the rain. Now he was in a story with one thousand dragons and three thousand maidens, for a change.
Then we saw it. The checkpoint looked like a castle. Sir Archibald stopped right in the middle of his five thousand dragon tale. Now he had something else to do. He was a fighter, after all.
We could see no one in front of the castle. The rain stopped, the sun decorated the walls of the castle with dancing light. I could smell danger. All my experience told me we were close. The only thing, I didn’t know what we were close to.
I gave one of my laser swords to Sir Archibald and taught him to use it. He learned very quickly. He happily cut two or three big oaks, and laughed like a child. And he was a child, a computer generated child of Artificial Intelligence.
The bridge to the castle was down, as if it was waiting for our arrival. The sound of our horses on the bridge was very loud. Suddenly, it was answered. I knew it wasn’t over. We all heard it. It was a voice of a sheep. I looked at Johnny Lancelot. His face was white with fear, because he knew what it was. It was the voice of the black sheep.