by Peter David
THAT could have gone better, he mutters to no one.
CHAPTRE
THE EIGHTEENTH
NELLIE PORTER CORDOBA, former right-hand woman of Gwendolyne Penn, and carrier of the offspring of herself and husband Ron, stared across the kitchen table at her husband with a face that had gone several shades of pale. Ron couldn’t meet her gaze and instead became very focused on the table’s shining wood surface. Not for the first time did he make note of the fact that their table was round. He found it comforting to know that, despite everything that had happened, he could still appreciate irony.
It had been difficult enough for him when he had come home the previous night and informed Nellie that he had quit his job. On the one hand she’d been upset since, naturally, mere weeks away from giving birth is not the time that a woman wants to discover her husband’s out of work. On the other hand, it hadn’t come as a total shock to her. She knew that Ron was becoming increasingly unhappy with the relationship between himself and the president. She wasn’t stupid. She knew something was going to have to give sooner or later, and she’d been pretty damned sure it wasn’t Stockwell who was going to be doing the giving.
So she had tried to find the bright side, to be a good and supportive wife.
However, she was not a stupid woman by any means and was soon able to figure out that there was more than what Ron was telling her on the surface, namely that he and Stockwell had disagreed over matters of national security. She had pushed and prodded as gently and insistently as she could, and finally an apprehensive Ron had brought her into the kitchen, turned on every appliance from the garbage disposal to the dishwasher to the blender, cranked up the radio besides, and drew her close to him at the table and spoke softly of the specifics of his and Stockwell’s last conversation.
He had watched as her face had gone more and more pale, her vivid blue eyes widening and standing out in stark contrast to the sudden pallor of her skin. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered after Ron finished.
“I wish I wasn’t.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“And again, I am. Did you take your vitamins today?”
She made a face over being reminded of what seemed so trivial a notion, but she resolutely got up, went to the cabinet, retrieved the little vitamin tray that she meticulously maintained with all the proper supplements the doctor wanted her to take during the pregnancy. Popping the appropriate medication into her mouth, she swallowed it with a glass of water and returned to the table. “Happy?” she whispered.
“Ecstatic.”
“We have to—”
“No,” he said, anticipating what she was going to say.
“—warn them…”
“We can’t.”
“Ron!”
He drew even closer to her until his lips were practically against her ear. “If they find out…they will put me in jail. Do you understand that? Stockwell wasn’t kidding. Hell, they might charge me with treason, and I can’t say for sure that it won’t stick!”
“But what about Gwen! And Arthur!”
“Arthur’s been taking care of himself for a thousand years. He doesn’t need me to put my neck on the chopping block for him.”
“Oh really,” she said sarcastically. “Taking care of himself. Let’s check the record, shall we?”
“Nellie…”
She started ticking off instances on her fingers. “Mortally wounded by his bastard son a thousand years ago. Almost died. Needed ten centuries to recuperate. Came back, ran for mayor, attacked and killed and barely brought back through medical science. Became president and his wife was nearly killed, and embarked on a quest to save her that almost killed him yet again and some other people as well…who were they again…?”
“Look, I know you’re concerned about—”
“Oh! I remember! You and me!” She slammed her open palms hard on the table, causing the cups to tremble. “Based on his track record, I’d say he needs all the help he can get.”
“Well, he can’t get it from us!” whispered Ron. “Not this time!”
“Arthur would do anything he could to help you if you needed him. And you won’t do whatever you can to help him? Warn him?”
“That’s right. And you know why? Because in the end, he’s a legendary king, and I’m just some guy.”
“He was just some guy too, Ron, at one point. He made himself a legend. And if you—”
Then she stopped, blinked, and put her hand on her stomach. “Wow.”
“Wow what?” asked Ron, concerned.
“What a really hard kick,” she said.
And then her eyes rolled up into her head, and she slumped sideways. Before Ron could catch her, she slipped out of her chair and crashed heavily to the floor. She lay there with her eyes still open, spittle trickling from between her lips, and he crouched over her, screaming her name, his shouts unheard over the cacophony of noise emanating from the kitchen.
CHAPTRE
THE NINETEENTH
PERCIVAL SAT IN front of the Grail, as he had every day since they had come to the factory, and would continue to every day for as long as they were there.
He had to admit that the device Barry Seltzer had developed for siphoning water through the Grail was nothing short of ingenious. Nothing had been done to the cup itself: no holes drilled in, no intrusion on the surface. Percival would have fought to the death to prevent such a thing, and he doubted that Arthur would have requested it of him.
Instead Barry had developed a system of elaborate tubes that filled the Grail—which sat in the middle of a massive rig that occupied an entire large room—with water and withdrew it in a constant, steady stream. The water then moved to another section where it was blended with standard bottled water to create the appropriate mix. That was then pumped to another room where bottle after bottle with the label GRAIL ALE on it slid through on massive high-speed conveyor belts. Workers kept a careful eye on the entire process, steadily making adjustments so that everything moved along smoothly and in an uninterrupted manner.
At the end of the manufacturing day, the Grail would be returned to Percival, who then took it to his room and kept it safe. During the day, he sat and watched in a reasonably comfortable chair that Barry had provided him.
Most of the day, no one disturbed him. His Highness would stop by at least once a day, checking in with him, asking him the same sorts of questions every time. “Are you all right?” “Is there anything I can get you?” “Do you need to take a break?” Arthur never seemed to tire of asking those questions, and although it was frankly becoming a bit tiresome to Percival, he knew that the king was merely being solicitous. So he always remained respectful in addressing his liege, but firm in his certainty that he needed no special attention.
This day, though, he was mildly surprised when Barry showed up at his side. He said nothing to Barry, nor did Seltzer speak to him. They simply watched together the smooth processing of the machine.
“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” Barry asked.
Percival looked up at him curiously. “Of what?”
“Of sitting here, day after day.”
“I’m the protector of the Grail. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do.”
“I guess,” Barry said with a shrug. He didn’t seem to understand, even remotely, Percival’s dedication. Clearly he was just making conversation. “I guess we all do what we’re supposed to do.”
“Some of us. Some of us do what we have to do. And some of us do nothing at all, even though we should.”
“Where do you think I fall into that?”
Percival frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“I dunno,” said Barry. “I guess…well…I guess I just kind of envy you, that’s why.”
“Envy me.”
“Yeah.” Barry forced a smile, but there was pain in it. “I been around a bit, y’know? Had my hand in a lot of things. But I never had anything…not a woman, not a product, not anything…that I car
ed about a tenth as much as you care about that cup. I mean, part of me thinks you’re kinda nuts because, hey, it’s a cup for Christ’s sake…no joke intended. You got this, y’know, obsession for it, and obsession for anything ain’t healthy. But, I mean, honest to God, to care as much as you do…to have that kind of passion for something…for anything…that’s where the envy comes in. I wish I could find something that I care that much about, the way that you do.”
“Well,” Percival showed his white teeth, “if you get to spend a thousand years or so thinking about something that slipped through your fingers…you’d probably care about whatever that is as much as I do about the Grail.”
“I don’t think I’ll have that kind of time to devote to it,” Barry laughed, “but in the meantime, I’m doing the best I can. And what we’re doing here”—and he gestured to the machinery—“is good work.”
“What we’re doing here is playing God.”
Barry looked taken aback at the tone of Percival’s voice. “You got a problem with all this, Percival?”
Percival stared fixedly at the cup. “This is the Holy Grail, Mr. Seltzer. This is ancient magic. The miracles this cup can perform may well have given rise to one of the dominant religions in the world. A religion that may well break apart as the result of what we’re doing here.”
“Don’t you think people are entitled to the truth?”
“I think people are entitled to whatever will get them through the day,” said Percival.
“I had the impression you were no great fan of the Church.”
“My feelings on the Church are mixed. But I’m a believer in faith. It almost doesn’t matter, all the bodies that we are helping and healing with this…product. Think of all the instances of faith we may well have shattered with the revelations we’ve made.”
“People bounce back, Percival. They’re more resilient than you’re giving them credit for.”
“We’re trivializing the miraculous, Mr. Seltzer.” There was disappointment on Percival’s face. “We’re bringing the mystical down to Earth. We’re taking the fantastic and making it mundane. Faith works because of so much that is unknown, and the mind fills in the gaps. The faithful make their belief work for them, and that gives it its potency. We’ve turned the Holy Grail into a health tonic. No different than sports drinks packed with electrolytes. We’ve bottled it and stuck a label on it, and we’re sending it out to retail outlets throughout the world. How is that remotely honoring the greatness of the Grail’s legacy?”
“I don’t see that it’s any different,” Barry said, “from taking an ancient device of execution on which thousands of people died suffering, agonizing deaths, shrinking it down to this big”—he brought his thumb and forefinger close together—“and people wearing it around their necks to make themselves feel good. You tell me? How is it different?”
“Perhaps it’s not,” allowed Percival. “But is that, in the final analysis, the excuse to which we resort? That we do it because it’s just the same as somebody else is doing? What’s wrong with aspiring to be better?”
“You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought,” said Barry.
“Maybe too much.”
There were footsteps behind them, and both turned to see Arthur approaching. “Barry,” he said briskly, “we need to talk.”
“When the king wants to talk, I obey,” Barry said, bowing slightly. Gesturing in an “after you” fashion, he said, “In my office?”
“That would be perfectly acceptable.”
THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!”
Barry looked as if his world was spinning around him. He was seated behind his desk, clutching his heart as if trying to prevent it from bursting out his chest. “Unacceptable,” Barry repeated. “Mr. President, how can you do this to me?”
“It’s not a decision I’m making lightly,” said Arthur. “You have to believe me in that regard.”
“I do, but…Jesus!”
“Arthur. A common confusion.”
“I’m not making jokes here, Mr. President! The number of accommodations I’ve made in order to…”
Arthur put up a hand, stilling the protests. “No one is saying you haven’t done your job or lived up to your end of things, Barry. But it’s come to my attention that what we’re doing here has a vast potential backlash…”
“See, I knew this was going to happen. I knew that once you heard about the lawsuits, you’d want to pull the product.”
“That’s not it at all, and you just have to trust…” Arthur stopped and stared at him. “Lawsuits? What lawsuits?”
“You didn’t know?” Barry blinked owlishly.
“No, I didn’t know. What are you talking about?”
Barry sighed as if he bore the weight of the world. “There are some people who are having adverse reactions—or at least claim to be doing so—to Grail Ale.”
“What sort of ‘adverse reaction’? Stomach cramps, rash…?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“What, then?”
“Dreams of eternal damnation, burning in hellfire, swimming in streams of molten lava, that kind of thing…”
“They’re having bad dreams?”
“Yeah. See, my people are telling me these suits are completely without foundation…”
Arthur was appalled at the notion. “But…if it were true…why would water from the Grail be giving them bad dreams?”
“Ah. Well, see, that I have an explanation for,” Barry said confidently. “See, my researchers checked into the ones who are suing us? Turns out each and every one of them is evil.”
“Evil?”
“Yeah. Unrepentant sinners. Corrupt businessmen. People who committed violent crimes and walked away ’cause they had connections. Slimeballs, scumwads. Societal parasites, the lot of them. This is nothing that you should get your armor in a knot about. My people will manage to convince any jury we draw that not only are these claims without foundation, but if they did happen to be true, these bastards had it coming.”
Arthur sank back in his chair, stunned over this latest development. “My God,” he whispered. “Just imagine if they’d drunk of undiluted Grail water.”
“They’d probably have spontaneously combusted. What can I say?” Barry shrugged. “God’s a funny guy. Me, my guess is that if they cease drinking the water—which they have—then sooner or later it’s going to work its way out of their systems. Like you said, it’s not the same as drinking straight from the cup. So anyway…if that’s what was bothering you, like I said…”
“It wasn’t what was bothering me, but I can assure you it’s going to be bothering me now. Barry…you have to trust me. It’s over.”
“Arthur,” Barry said, and he looked so frustrated that Arthur felt sympathy for him. “We’re doing incredible work here! Monumental work! We’re helping humanity on a global scale, and you want to see it in the toilet! What would make you want to do that?”
“Something I saw in the toilet.”
Barry stared at him uncomprehendingly. “What?”
“I told you, I can’t explain it to you. You have to trust me when I say that we need to pull the plug. Not just on your operation. As much as I’ve entertained the notion of traveling the world with cup in hand, helping the poor and suffering, I can’t do that either. There’s simply too much danger involved. The water you’re bottling right now must never leave the compound and has to be disposed of safely. The water that’s out in the marketplace…If there’s any left on the shelves…should be recalled. And the Holy Grail will never, ever be used to cure another person. You have my word on that.”
“Arthur!”
Arthur turned in his chair and saw Gwen standing in the doorway. She looked upset, and her chest was heaving. Wherever she’d been before that moment, she’d run all the way to the office. Immediately Arthur was on his feet. “What’s wrong, Gwen?”
“I just got off the phone with Cook, from Washington. It’s Nellie.”
“W
hat’s Nellie? Nellie Porter? Nellie, Ron’s wife?”
She nodded. “She needs us,” she said. “She’s in some sort of coma. She needs the power of the Grail, or both she and the baby could die.”
The King of the Britons felt a distant headache beginning to thud in his temples as, from behind his desk, Barry said quietly, “Well, well, your Highness…I guess we get to see what your word is worth, don’t we.”
RON CORDOBA SAT in an uncomfortable plastic chair in Nellie’s room at Washington Hospital Center. He didn’t notice that it wasn’t especially comfortable, though, as all his attention was upon Nellie, lying unmoving in the bed. The way her eyes were closed, it seemed as if she might awaken at any time. Were this a fairy tale, a simple kiss from her true love would do the job. Unfortunately, for all Ron’s interactions with people straight out of myth and magic, a fairy tale this was most definitely not…if for no other reason than that “happily ever after” did not seem writ for their future.
The monitoring devices beeped steadily. He felt as if he were in one of those medical television shows and kept hoping that someone would yell, “Cut!” and Nellie would sit up and smile, stretch, and ask what was for lunch. But there was nothing. The doctors had no clue what had happened. They were running tests on her, but the results could take days, even weeks to return. They were monitoring the baby as well, and although life signs of both mother and child seemed steady, there was no telling when or if she was going to come out of this…whatever “this” was.
Except Ron was sure he did know what it was. Not specifically. Nothing that could help anyone. But he knew just the same.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned, expecting to see yet another doctor or nurse who was going to introduce himself to Ron and give him more of that attitude that made it seem as if they were on top of everything when in fact they were clueless.