Fall of Knight

by Peter David

  She hesitated, then said, “Okay, but…I was asking about your drink order.”

  “Ah. Scotch, neat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  HE HAD TO admire the efficiency of the British. When the private plane touched down in Washington, he had half expected the press would be all over the place. But the plane landed at a small, private airfield, and there were no journalists within miles. A car from the British embassy was waiting for him, the driver instructed to put himself at Arthur’s disposal for however long he required.

  Arthur directed him to take him straight to the hospital where, to the best of his knowledge, Nellie was still lying in a coma. He couldn’t begin to imagine what he was going to tell Ron. On the entire ride over, he kept going over possibilities in his head, different things he could say. None of them seemed especially promising, and all of them ended exactly the same way: with Arthur admitting that he didn’t know what to do. The Grail was gone, and with it, Nellie’s best chance of recovery.

  When he arrived, he was relieved to see that the various police cars and their ilk had departed the area. Still, he couldn’t be entirely sure of what it was he was going to find. He stepped out of the car, asked the driver to wait for him, and entered the hospital. The hospital personnel, upon seeing him, looked at him with mixtures of reverence and awe. Patients were coming up to him and thanking him. It was at that point that Arthur first began to understand that everyone in the world knew, deep in their souls—even if they didn’t know all the details—that Arthur had fought to save humanity. And since the world was still turning on its axis, obviously he had won.

  “It appears you’re their savior. Nice feeling, isn’t it.”

  He turned and saw, to his surprise, that Cook the Secret Service agent was standing behind him.

  His instinct was to shake his hand, to be happy to see him, but then Arthur held back, cautious. Cook, sensing a difficulty, said, “Problem, sir?”

  “Yes, well…you were the one who put me together with the fellow that turned out to be the villain of the piece.”

  Cook shrugged. “Never claimed to be infallible. Besides, it all wound up turning out for the best, didn’t it? One might think there was a divine plan at work.”

  “Perhaps,” Arthur said, bitterness in his voice, “but I don’t exactly think much of a plan that ground Nellie Cordoba in its cogs.”

  “Go see her,” said Cook.

  There was something in his voice that caught Arthur’s attention. He tilted his head slightly, and said, “What do you mean…?”

  “I mean, go see her. Then come back and we’ll talk some more.”

  Cook turned and walked away as Arthur, uncomprehending, went to the ward that Nellie was in. Reaching her room, he found the door closed, and so he gently knocked on it. Ron’s voice called for him to come in.

  He entered, and his spirits leapt at what he saw.

  Nellie was sitting upright in the bed, and she was cradling an infant in her arms. It had a tuft of black hair on its head, and its face was round and pink and scrunched up in a very serious manner, as if it was giving a great deal of thought to matters of vast importance. Ron was standing near her, and he grinned as he said, “Well, well…the man of the hour. Or maybe the millennium.”

  “She’s…she’s all right,” Arthur said, his heart soaring with relief. “And…she had the baby…”

  “See, that’s why he’s king,” Ron told Nellie. “He notices the small details.”

  Arthur crossed the room and embraced Ron fervently. Then he turned toward Nellie and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “He’s beautiful,” Arthur said.

  “How did you know he was a he?”

  “He radiates manliness.”

  She smiled down at the baby and ran a finger along his cheek. “Ron and I have been discussing it, and we want to name him Percival…on one condition.”

  “Condition?”

  “Yeah,” said Ron. “See, we’re concerned with a name like Percival, he’s going to wind up getting into a lot of fights as a kid. So we’ll need you to teach him self-defense.”

  “I would be honored,” Arthur told them gravely. “But…I still don’t understand. This is miraculous. Did you just…come out of it…? Or…?”

  “It was the damnedest thing,” Ron said, still looking bewildered over it. “I was sitting here, just being depressed over the situation, and suddenly I look up and Cook is looking down at me.”

  “Cook?” echoed Arthur.

  “Yeah. And he says that the hospital administrators need to see me. So I go, except they don’t. So now I’m wondering what the hell is going on, and I head back here…and when I come in, Cook’s gone, but Nellie is looking up at me with her baby blues, and telling me she’s having contractions, no less. I’m figuring that’s what brought her out of it.”

  “Yes, well…that certainly makes sense.” But Arthur’s mind was racing…things that Cook had said, other things about him. “Excuse me a moment, would you?” He ran quickly out of the room, leaving a puzzled Ron and Nellie looking at each other and sensing that something had just occurred that they weren’t quite getting.

  He started down the corridor, and stopped.

  Gwen had been coming in the other direction, and she looked stunned to see him. For a moment, neither said anything, all the harsh words and anger a barrier between them.

  And then the barrier shattered as Gwen, with a choked sob, ran to him and threw her arms around him. She kissed him fiercely, and he returned it, both of them speaking words of love and apologies that tumbled over one another in their determination to be heard.

  “Gwen,” he finally managed to say, “this…this isn’t going to sound good, but I have to go.”

  “Go? Go where? Oh God, what’s trying to kill us now…?”

  “Nothing, it’s nothing like that,” he said. “I just have to talk to someone. It will only take a few minutes, then I swear to you, I swear to the heavens above, I will be back, and I will never leave you again. I promise.”

  “All right. All right, go.” She smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Arthur emerged from the hospital, looking around for the Secret Service man, and didn’t have far to look. Cook was standing across the street, and Arthur jogged across to meet him. He stood there for a moment, arms folded. “Divine plan?” he asked.

  Cook smiled slightly. “Something like that.”

  “You cured her. You brought Nellie out of it.”

  “Yes,” said Cook.

  “You drank of the Grail.”

  “Yes.”

  “A long time ago.”

  “A very long time.” Cook sighed.

  Arthur chuckled softly to himself. “Your skin is darker than I would have thought.”

  “Indeed. But the dark skin isn’t what a lot of people want to see. Unfortunate but true. And the painters tended to…oh, how to put it…?”

  “Clean things up?” suggested Arthur. “I know exactly what you mean. Still…I don’t claim to understand everything that’s transpiring here. I mean…why a Secret Service agent, of all things?”

  “Why not?” asked Cook reasonably. “A way to continue to serve the cause of humanity in my own small way. Protect the president, and those with him, including various world leaders. Plus, you know, the dental’s great.”

  He said it so seriously that it took Arthur a moment to realize he was joking. He chuckled, then said, “I’m sorry the Grail didn’t survive.”

  Cook shrugged. “It wasn’t unexpected.”

  “So the magic it possessed…it and the Spear of Destiny…both stemmed from a dying unicorn?”

  “That’s correct. Merlin had them both in his possession for a time. He built Stonehenge as a way of both memorializing the site of the great sin against magic…and trying to contain the potential powers therein. But eventually he decided that keeping the both of them together was far too dangerous. If nothing else, it served as a temptation to him. So he separated the two of them. Gave th
e chalice to one group of holy men, and the Spear to another, each at opposite ends of the Earth. He kept the unicorn horn…until he encountered the Lady of the Lake and, besotted with her, gave it to her as a gift. She was the one who fashioned Excalibur from it. Unfortunately”—Cook sighed—“the two sects ran into their own troubles. They lost possession of the two mystical artifacts, which remained drawn to each other…”

  “And eventually both wound up in Jerusalem?”

  “Two thousand years ago, yes,” said Cook. “Where there were certain…difficulties…and then eventually they became separated again as the waves of events carried them in two different directions.”

  “Impressive how much you know about all this.”

  Cook shrugged. “Merlin and I met once, centuries ago. Before the fall of Camelot. We had a long discussion about many things.”

  “He never told me.”

  “And this surprises you?”

  Arthur considered it and then smiled. “No. I suppose not. So…what happens next?”

  “I suppose, my son,” Cook said, “we’ll find out together.”

  Cook started to walk away, and Arthur called after him. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  Turning and regarding him oddly, Cook said, “Doesn’t what bother me?”

  “That it’s all a sham. The entire concept of divinity and all…when, really, it all came from the magic contained in a unicorn.”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Who do you think put the magic in the unicorn in the first place?”

  “Hunh,” said Arthur. “My wife said something along those lines.”

  “Smart lady, your wife.” Cook cocked an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

  “Come to think of it, yes, one other thing. Why ‘Cook’? I mean, Joshua I understand. It’s your name. But ‘Cook’?”

  “Because,” he said with a grin, “I thought ‘Carpenter’ might be too obvious.”

  And with that, Joshua Cook headed off to the White House to begin another miraculous day.

  THE LADY OF the Lake studies Merlin thoughtfully. Here, in her place beneath the waters, she watches him explore his new surroundings. They are much nicer, much more luxurious than the limbo she had been keeping him in. She has asked him if he likes it, and he has said all the right words.

  But she knows. In her heart, she knows.

  And she dwells upon what she has seen, and what has been said to her, and how it has made her feel.

  I believe, she announces, that I am bored with you.

  Merlin turns, confused. Pardon?

  Well, she says carelessly, I have simply come to realize that…that the pursuit of you was far more attractive to me than the having of you. Now that you are here, and all mine, and none can take you and you will never leave…well, the fact is that you are something of a bore, Merlin. I am tired of you.

  A bore? Merlin sounds outraged. How dare you! I am the greatest wizard of—

  Honestly, Merlin, who cares? You are so full of yourself, when you should be full of me. You’re much better suited to be at the side of your beloved Arthur. Away with you, then.

  Before Merlin can offer a frustrated protest, she gestures casually and, just like that, he is gone, hurled through the Clear, up and out.

  Nimue looks at the empty space that Merlin had, until recently, been occupying. And then she sags, and puts her hands to her face, and sobs copiously and in mourning for her sacrificed love, and has never been happier in her existence that—underwater—tears are an impossibility.

  COUGHING AND SPUTTERING, Merlin emerged from the middle of the Reflecting Pool in front of the Washington Monument.

  Passersby gaped in confusion as Merlin slogged his way over to the shore and pulled himself out. Wringing out his shirt, he muttered, “I’m really starting to hate this damned pool.”

  And with that, he stood, tried to determine what the hell had just happened, decided that he would never, ever figure out women, and headed off to find Arthur. He would try not to be too demonstrative in the reunion, and there were several things that he would make sure to let Arthur know he could have handled far better in the Paracelsus business.

  The worst thing he could do would be to let Wart get a swelled head about saving the world.

  YE OLDE EPILOGUE

  ARTHUR LOOKED AROUND the assemblage of the Round Table and nodded with grim satisfaction. “We’ve done some solid work here today, gentlemen,” he said. “You have reason to be proud. By the interaction we have here, I am hoping—praying, really, if one can accept that notion—that we are not only going to put forward ideas that will be embraced by the leaders of our world…but that we will raise the level of discourse in our society. Thank you.”

  There were nods and murmurs of “Thank you, Arthur.” “Thank you, sir.” “The same to you.”

  Then Arthur swiveled in his chair, faced another direction, and said, “Next Sunday…the poor and downtrodden. How best to help them and yet let them maintain their sense of dignity. We will have a new panel of experts, including the return of Cardinal Ruehl…who regularly presents some very spirited controversy…and, as always, we’re anxious to hear your input via our website at double-u, double-u, double-u, Arthurs Round Table Tee Vee dot com.”

  He leaned in toward the camera, keeping his shoulders squared as Merlin had drilled into him, and smiled that smile that had prompted People magazine to dub him “Mr. Charisma.” “These past thirteen weeks have been elevating, energizing…and the response we’ve received from you, our audience, has been nothing short of stellar. And I’m pleased to say that the fine folks here at PBS have renewed our little chat fest for the remainder of the year and well into the next. I couldn’t have done it without my executive producer, Merlin…my beloved director, Gwen…and, of course, viewers like you. And so, until next week, this is Arthur Pendragon and the denizens of Arthur’s Round Table, seeking to raise the quality of life in general and television talk shows in particular, wishing you a just and chivalrous good night.”

  “Aaaaaand we’re out,” called Gwen.