by Peter David
“Let me guess,” said Ruehl. “You don’t want to make confession.”
“No, but you do: right now. Tell me what the hell is going on, or I’ll give these guys more than enough reasonable cause to keep you here until Judgment Day.”
He glanced once at the door, perhaps to make certain there was no one there, then said softly, “I suppose you deserve to know. God knows we’re all in the same boat.”
THE LADY OF the Lake moves toward Merlin, and she appears annoyed. What is it, she asks, about you people and my ass? You called it flabby. Arthur demanded I produce my aquatic ass…
He always did have a weakness for alliteration.
Honestly, Merlin, he sounded so much like you just then.
Well, Merlin says with indifference, I am the teacher and he the student. So some influence isn’t totally out of line. Then his tone becomes serious. Help him, Nimue. You see he’s in dire straits. The police are closing in; the end of the world is nigh. You owe no allegiance to Paracelsus.
He did slay my lovely Percival, she recalls with a hint of sadness. On the other hand, he shares my frustration with humans for their polluting, careless ways. Why must it be this way, Merlin? Why must there be something wrong with everyone? Why can no one and nothing be exactly what I want it to be?
Merlin is silent for a moment. He knows the correct answer to give. He knows he is running out of time to provide it. Finally, with a heavy heart and frustrated sigh, he tells her, It is possible for it to be that way. For someone to be that way.
She regards him with intrigue. Speak, fair demonspawn. Tell me your heart…and I will know if you speak truly or not.
GWEN LEANED BACK in the plastic chair, shaking her head in disbelief. “So you’re telling me that this whole…this whole ‘society’ of yours…was on Arthur’s side?”
“We are on the side of humanity,” Ruehl said. “We have been for centuries. And we knew the difficulties Arthur was in for, the forces that were converging upon him. One of our members is a mystic, a very powerful one. His necromantic globe saw the young Merlin Demonspawn being stabbed by the Spear of Destiny. With Merlin taken out of the equation, we knew we had to attend to Arthur’s safety ourselves. Arthur’s…and the Grail’s.”
“And you did it by poisoning Nellie Cordoba, you bastards,” she said angrily.
“We intended to use the power of the Grail to revive her. We did not…” He paused, then, sounding full of regret, admitted, “We did not know the full difficulties of the Grail. The full threat it posed. We had some inkling, but…not everything.”
“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”
“That’s pretty much right.” He frowned. “You don’t have to look at me with such anger. We’re not the villains of the piece.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because you had Paracelsus to displace you for that title. The only reason you’re not the villain is by reason of comparison. And what the hell are we supposed to do now, huh?” she demanded. “Arthur’s gone, the Grail’s gone, the bad guy’s gone…do you have anything to offer now? Any suggestions? Any thoughts?”
He lowered his gaze. “None, I’m afraid.”
With an angry snort, Gwen headed for the door, and just before she got there, Ruehl said, “Thank you…by the way.”
“For what?”
“For saving my life.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment, then remembered. “Oh. Right. I did do that, I guess.”
“Paracelsus was about to kill me. He would have, if you hadn’t stopped him. Perhaps God put you at that place, at that time, for a reason.”
“Yeah. Well…did you ever consider that maybe he put me there to watch you die for your sins, and I screwed up his divine plan?”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Really. Well…next time you speak to him, ask him. Who knows? His answer may surprise you.”
She opened the door. The Secret Service man was very much in evidence, clearly having not gone very far. Just before she stepped out, Cardinal Ruehl called, “Go and sin no more, my daughter.”
Gwen forced a lopsided smile, and said, “You too, Eminence. You too.” And she walked out of the room.
SHE HAS A sense of what Merlin is about to say, and Merlin knows that she knows as well. Nevertheless, there is a moment of crackling anticipation, like the instant at the beach just before a wave strikes you and lifts you off your feet, propelling you toward the shore.
You cannot hold me forever, Nimue, he tells her. You know this to be true. I’ve lived too long, learned too much. Sooner or later I will devise a means of escape, whether it takes days or years. However…
However…Nimue prompts.
However…should you provide aid to Arthur, then I will make myself yours in all things. I will never try to depart. I will love you and none other, and if you wish to work magik to make me more…adult…then you have my full permission and cooperation. I will be yours, Nimue…
Body and soul?
He considers that. I am not entirely sure that I still possess a soul. I may have lost it a long time ago. Thousands of years of experience and memory…a few minor things slip away. But whatever I have that passes for a soul is certainly yours, if you desire it. I will be the love of your endless life, Nimue, and never try to escape. I promise this to you, on my honor, on my life, on everything that I hold dear. I pledge myself to you, forsaking all others.
She swirls around him, thoughtful, considering.
You love me that much? she asks.
No.
Ah. You love the world that much.
No. I love Arthur that much, Merlin gently corrects her, and I would be most obliged if you didn’t mention that to him. After all, I have an image to protect. So…what say you, milady. Have we an agreement?
Let me…consider it.
Milady, he says nervously, we are running out of time.
Are we? I’m not accustomed to such concerns. The water, you see, has all the time in the world. So…let us go over the specifics of this proposed agreement one more time…
RON CORDOBA, SEATED near his unconscious wife, looked up and smiled to see Gwen standing next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder and he put his own hand atop hers, squeezing it affectionately.
There were no agents inside the room, since Ron hadn’t been a witness to anything. Nevertheless, the agents were keeping a cautious eye on matters because of Ron’s rank in government, no matter how recently abandoned it was. Since they were standing outside, Gwen leaned forward so that she and Ron could speak as softly as possible.
“How you holding up?”
“Better if I had a clearer idea of what the hell was going on.”
Gwen resisted the urge to look toward the door as she spoke even quieter. As quickly as she could, she gave Ron the bare bones of what was going on…or at least as much as she understood, since there were still pieces that she felt as if she were missing. Ron took it all in and, since this was not his first time at the rodeo with the adventures of Arthur, he actually took it in reasonable stride.
Still, his eyes narrowed when Gwen got to the part about Cardinal Ruehl and a number of others leaping into the fray with Paracelsus. Ron waited for her to finish her narrative, then he said, “You’ve seen Ruehl? I mean, since the attack? Talked to him?”
She nodded. “He’s well on the mend. Probably the only reason it’s taking a little longer for him is because the damage was inflicted by the Spear of Destiny. They’re probably keeping him here for a day or so for observation. I figure—”
“I don’t care about that,” he said curtly. “I just want to know one thing: Was he involved in doing this,” and he pointed to Nellie, “to my wife?”
She saw a look in his eyes such as she had never seen in him. A look of cold, hard fury. And in seeing it, she saw something else: She saw Ron waiting until there were no agents around, going into Cardinal Ruehl’s room, covering his face with a pillow, and holding it over him as the holy man kicked and
fought and screamed noiselessly into the smothering cushion. When the Cardinal finally stopped thrashing about, the enormity of what Ron had just done would hit him, and he would come unraveled. Either that or he would simply stand up, adjust the knot in his tie, and go about his business. Gwen honestly couldn’t say which would be worse.
“No,” she said.
He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you sure…?”
“Ron,” she told him with utter conviction, “he may be kind of a prick…but Ruehl is one of the good guys, okay? I asked him. I asked him point-blank. And he swore in the name of the savior and everything, and you know how seriously guys like that take that kind of stuff. He wasn’t involved. He…” She paused so she could say it without her voice cracking, “He told me to tell you…that he is praying for Nellie.”
It seemed endless, the amount of time that he was just staring at her, staring, and she felt as if his eyes were boring straight into her brain, excavating the lies with a spoon and tossing them aside so that he could gaze upon the truth, pink and quavering and vulnerable.
Then he lowered his gaze. “Me too,” he said. “Now I just wish that someone could remind me of why.”
CHAPTRE
THE TWENTY-FOURTH
PUT THE SWORD down, Mr. President!”
Arthur stood squarely in the middle of the Reflecting Pool, trying to watch in all directions at the same time. He didn’t think they were going to open fire on him, but at this point he couldn’t be certain of anything. The water was just over his knees, and every police officer had flashlights out and shining in his direction. He didn’t know which one had warned him to lower his sword, and it didn’t matter. This was no time to surrender.
But what was the alternative? Try to slice up several peace officers? Not only would it set him irrevocably on a path that he had no desire to tread, but it was hardly a sure thing considering he wasn’t bulletproof. Parting mystical flame with Excalibur was one thing. There was nothing magical about a bullet, much less a fusillade.
Would be a hell of an ending, wouldn’t it. Facedown, floating in blood red water. Thus ends the future of the once king, with the Earth’s end following him shortly thereafter. Not much of a triumphant quest, eh, Arthur?
“Gentlemen,” Arthur said, “I’m not going to put down this sword. I need you to understand that. I need you to understand—”
“Mr. President, don’t make us—”
“Don’t try to make me, lad. Don’t try to make me surrender, because I won’t. Because if I surrender, then believe it or not, as pretentious as this will sound…the world will not survive. So for me to give up now means that I’ll be giving up on my world. And I’m not about to do that.”
“Mr. President,” said one of the cops. “Mr. President, put the sword down and keep your hands where we can see them.”
“We’ll compromise. Keep your eyes on the hilt of my sword, and you can see my hands all you want.”
“Mr. President, I’m going to come in there, and you’re going to hand me the sword…”
“I appreciate the respect, son,” said Arthur, and he brought the sword around. “But I swear to God, you try to put a hand on Excalibur, and you lose the hand.”
“Sir, threatening a police officer—”
“It was no threat. Nothing happens if you do nothing. Merlin!” That last was a desperate shout to the mage, who he knew was with the Lady of the Lake. “I could use a bit of help here!” This was a vastly different situation from the Sermon on the Mound. These were armed police officers trying to decide whether or not to shoot him, and all the charm in the world wasn’t going to make the slightest difference. He knew that he sounded like a madman to these police officers, but nevertheless he shouted, “Nimue! I call upon you now! You—”
Suddenly he heard something that sounded like a gunshot, but different. Instinctively he pivoted, twisting out of the way of possible bullets, and he saw one of the police officers holding an odd-looking, streamlined black gun. There were wires extended from it that were in the water, attached to leads that had landed just inches shy of Arthur because of his quick movement.
What the bloody hell is that…?
An instant later, Arthur was staggered as electricity from the taser sizzled through the water and hammered through his nervous system. Excalibur dropped out of his numbed hand as Arthur pitched forward, hitting the water face-first. He could barely see, then he spotted Excalibur lying a foot away from him. But it might as well have been a mile. He tried to move his arms; he sent mental commands to them. They did nothing.
He heard the police officers splashing through the water, coming for him. It doesn’t end like this! I won’t let it!
It should have been impossible for him to get to his sword. There was simply no way that his arm should have done what he was telling it to do. And yet it did as Arthur, with sheer force of will overcoming the determination of his muscles to ignore him, propelled himself sideways and grabbed the hilt of his sword…
…and fell sideways and off the bottom of the Reflecting Pool.
The police converged on where they saw Arthur go down. The fact that he had been shocked insensate didn’t make them act rashly. All of them were perfectly aware that something could have gone wrong. They’d seen guys flying on angel dust who were hit with full-strength taser blasts and kept right on going. For that matter, from the way that he was ranting and waving a sword and shouting about the end of the world, it seemed that the former president was high on something. It made as much sense as anything, and a lot more sense than some things.
And this was not a full-strength blast by any means. The proximity of the leads to Arthur had sent a jolt through him, yes, but not quite comparable to what he would have received if the barbs had struck him directly. Even a full-strength jolt would only paralyze for a limited amount of time, so it was entirely possible that Arthur could come up swinging. Thus, even as they made their way toward where Arthur had fallen, they did so very slowly and carefully with their guns out.
“Guys, we gotta pick up the pace! He’s gonna drown!” said one of the young officers.
“You wanna risk getting your foot chopped off with that pigsticker of his? Fine! You pick up the damned pace!”
The young officer looked in annoyance at the other cop, and then did exactly that. The others continued to shrink their cautious circle a bit at a time, but the young officer went straight to where Arthur had fallen.
He splashed around, looking confused. “He’s not here.”
“What the hell do you mean, he’s not there! He’s gotta be there!” The lead officer looked around. “Did he get past…?”
There were shouts of protests and “Hell no!” The protests seemed valid, because the ring of officers had been too tight and focused in the first place. It would have been difficult enough for Arthur to get past them underwater if he was at full strength. Slowed to a crawl from a taser, probably even having trouble breathing…it was impossible.
Tossing caution aside, the police now started moving quickly and noisily through the water. They had called for backup upon seeing Arthur with the sword, and now more cops were showing up. They looked everywhere, splashed about through every square foot of the Reflecting Pool.
Nothing. No sign of him anywhere.
“I don’t believe this shit!” one of the older cops shouted in frustration. “He can’t have just disappeared! It’s ridiculous! It’s impossible!”
“Yeah?” said the young officer. “Well, I’ll tell you what. His whole thing about the world coming to an end was ridiculous and impossible too. And now he’s gone and we’re here, and maybe what he was saying was true! You think of that, maybe?”
“So what are you suggesting, huh?”
The young police officer splashed to shore and started to walk away. “Where the hell are you going?” demanded the older officer, as every other member of the assembly watched him depart.
The cop turned, and shouted, “I’m going home, and I�
��m praying. And I swear to you, man, right now I’m not sure who I’m praying to. Maybe God. Maybe Arthur. Maybe both. ’Cause I’m thinking that the world might just need all the help it can get.”
He left. The other cops looked at each other, then, slowly, one by one, they each headed off to their respective homes to pray…and to determine who indeed should be the prayers’ recipient.
ARTHUR HAS SEEN tornadoes once or twice in his lifetime. Most vividly recalled is the time in his youth where one of those terrifying wind funnels dropped to the ground barely five hundred feet from where he was standing. He had sprinted madly across a field, the tunnel howling after him as if God himself was screaming for his life. Just when all had seemed lost to him, he had stumbled upon a cave and taken refuge in there. The tornado had passed directly over the cave, and he had even fancied that he could hear it calling Aaaaaaaaarrrrrthuuuuurrrrrr as it passed by, as if it were searching for him and was imploring him to come out and face it…or perhaps simply venting its frustration over having lost him.
Now it seems to Arthur that, after a thousand years’ delay, the tornado has found him once again. This time he is not fleeing from it. This time it has captured him, and he is within the heart of its funnel. But it is not simply keeping him stationary, or even whipping him around in a manic circle. Instead he is being propelled through it, like a cork from a bottle or a bullet through the barrel of a gun. It stretches out before him endlessly, and as he hurtles through, he feels himself brushing against…he doesn’t know at first. He can’t process it. Millions of voices, of passing thoughts, of whispered secrets that he cannot begin to understand or remember. He feels both outside and inside of himself, connected to the whole of humanity…
Of course you are, Highness. That’s how this works. We come from the water, we mostly are water, and the water is the great link between all creatures. You cannot live without it…although your efforts to befoul your own waters would almost indicate that you don’t understand that simple truth.