Knight Life

by Peter David

  “It’s a little late to start worrying about that,” Basil said, making no attempt to hide her irritation.

  “Don’t concern yourself about it,” said Arthur, “or about Miss Basil here. Why don’t we talk in my inner office? Miss Basil, do try to get in touch with Gwen for me, would you?” Basil scowled, and Arthur had a feeling that the chances were fifty-fifty at most that he would be picking up the phone and finding Gwen on the other end anytime soon.

  He led Kent Taylor to the back office and left the door open. He went around the desk to his chair and sat, tilting back in a relaxed fashion and gesturing for Taylor to sit. Taylor remained standing, hands folded behind his back, looking around the office at pictures and objects of art—the wall-mounted swords and armored helmet. “So,” said Taylor after a few moments of silence, “you’ve seen me on City Hall, I take it.”

  Arthur gave him a politely blank look. “Should I have?”

  Kent Taylor laughed and pointed an approving finger at Arthur. “Good for you. Television’s a useless waste of mental processes. And our show was no great shakes. But, to be honest, I couldn’t be where I am without it.”

  “You couldn’t be in my office?”

  Taylor laughed uproariously this time, as if Arthur had said the funniest thing in the world. “I like the way you play dumb, Arthur!”

  “Thank you. The effect does not come without practice,” replied Arthur, wondering whether or not he’d made a serious blunder letting this man into his office.

  Taylor leaned forward, resting his hands on Arthur’s desk. “Art, let’s be honest, shall we?”

  “That is the only way I can be.”

  “Well, that’s going to make you unique in politics. But then, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, huh? The news coverage on you so far makes you come across as a little, well ... hey, you got money?”

  “Some. Why?” asked Arthur, momentarily nonplussed.

  “Well, then the word’s ‘eccentric.’ If you got money, you’re eccentric. Otherwise, you’re just plain crazy.” Taylor laughed and Arthur joined in uncomfortably. When his self-induced humor had subsided, Taylor continued, “I think what you’re doing here is great. The whole thing with an independent party, a little guy trying to go up against the big guys. I think that’s all great, really great.”

  “Yes, so you’ve said. Great.”

  Taylor gave no indication that he heard the sarcasm in Arthur’s voice. “I’ve just about got the Democratic nomination for mayor all sewn up. It’s a done deal and, frankly, it’s time we got this city back into Democratic hands. You with me so far?”

  “I believe even one such as I, with my limited cranial capacity, could be following you, yes.”

  “Now I’m in a pretty good situation here.” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and it rapidly became evident to Arthur that he was stating, not his own opinions, but those of others. “Thanks to City Hall, my demographics, my Q rating, all of it is sky high.”

  “And ... that’s good?” For Arthur it was clearly a question, but Taylor apparently didn’t hear the curious upturn in his voice at the end of the sentence.

  “That’s exactly right that it’s good,” Taylor said forcefully. “You know what they call me already? ‘The Acting Mayor.’ You can’t buy that kind of publicity. However, my people assure me that if it comes down to Bernie Keating and me, it’s going to be a tight race, nevertheless. He’s very, very popular, and you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “But you just said it.”

  Taylor smiled thinly. “Forget that I did.”

  “I doubt that I can,” said Arthur in his most reasonable tone. “And let us say, by some miracle, I was able to do so ... why, then, that begs the question of why you told me in the first place.”

  Taylor looked at him very oddly. “Is English a second language to you there, Art?”

  “No,” said Arthur pointedly, “but oftentimes I get the feeling that it’s a second language for Americans.”

  Taylor blinked a few times, clearly not getting it, and Arthur could almost see the mental process at work that prompted him instead to shift gears. “Here’s the point,” he said, apparently deciding that not getting to it was proving counterproductive. “The news media seems to like you. You’re getting news coverage; small, but in hip venues.”

  “That’s nice to hear.”

  “And in my experience, this kind of thing can snowball if it’s not monitored. You can’t possibly get enough votes to win, Arthur. You must know that.”

  “Do I?” said Arthur, his eyebrow raised.

  “You’re trying to build an independent party, and I can totally respect that. But in the final analysis, a vote for you is the same as a vote for your opponent. Because there’s simply no way that you’re going to pull in enough votes with your fringe ideas and amateurish notions—no offense meant—to do anything other than draw votes away from me. You’ll be hurting the best man for the job while having no chance of your own to get in.”

  “Is that a fact?” Arthur said. Behind his desk, he might as well have been made of ice for all the emotion he was showing.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is. On the other hand, another fact is that—if the nice media people want to keep talking to you, and you endorsed the Democratic Party and the ideas of—”

  “I would endorse any idea that overlaps with mine, but otherwise I would only support my own concepts, Mr. Taylor,” Arthur said evenly, rising from behind the desk. “And although you claimed to mean no offense, I nevertheless do take offense at such comments as ‘fringe ideas’ and ‘amateurish notions.’ First and foremost, sir, I treasure honesty. Honesty in those who work under me, honesty in those whom I encounter. I do not suffer fools gladly, and the deceitful I treasure even less. I find you patronizing and annoying, and utterly lacking in respect.”

  It was that last comment that seemed to generate the most amusement for Taylor. “Art ...” He stopped when he saw Arthur’s clouding face and amended, “Mr. Penn ... again, no offense intended, but if what you’re looking for is respect, you’re running for mayor of the wrong town. This isn’t Paducah. This is New York City, the home of cynicism and dissing. If you think for even one moment that you’re going to be accorded the kind of respect you seem to believe is your due, then you’re going to be bitterly disappointed.”

  At that moment the door to Arthur’s office opened and Merlin walked in, side-by-side with a beefy black man, who took one look at the standing Arthur and promptly went to one knee with bowed head. “Highness,” he said.

  Taylor’s jaw dropped as he looked from the black man to Arthur and then back. Then he made a tactical mistake: He laughed. “This is a joke, right?” he demanded of the kneeling man. “Is this a joke? I mean, no African-American I know bends a knee to anyone. The subservient thing went out a hundred years ago—aggghhhh!”

  That last comment came as a result of Taylor suddenly finding himself being grabbed by the right ear and dragged to the ground alongside the kneeling man, who was glaring fiercely into Taylor’s face. “You will show courtesy and respect due to my lord,” he said tightly.

  “Yes, I ... I love God! I go to services every Sunday! The archdeacon endorses me! Not the face, not the face!” Taylor was babbling.

  “Percival, let him up,” Arthur said gently. “And you too, get up. It’s unseemly. As Mr. Taylor pointed out, after all, this is New York. Not ... somewhere else.”

  “Are you certain, highness?” Percival did not look pleased at the order.

  Arthur smiled. “Yes, I’m afraid I am. And I think ‘Mr. Penn’ will do. Now release him.”

  Percival did as he was instructed. Taylor backed up, his gaze darting frantically among them. Then he pointed a trembling finger at Arthur. “You’re ... you’re crazy!”

  “I thought I was eccentric,” Arthur said mildly.

  “I’m ... I’m going to tell everyone that—”

  �
��That a black man abused you?” It was Merlin who had spoken, and he sounded quite amused by the notion. “By all means, do. And by the time we’re finished responding, the entire black community of New York will decide that you’re a racist for accusing Arthur’s ‘African-American’ right-hand man of being some sort of thug. By the way, Mr. Taylor, you have no African-Americans, Latinos, or Asians on your staff. Why is that?”

  Taylor looked like he’d been pole-axed. “Who is this?”

  “My manager,” Arthur said without hesitation. “Was there anything else, Mr. Acting Mayor?”

  Straightening his tie, endeavoring to regain his composure, Taylor said calmly, “No. No, I don’t think so. It’s been a ... unique pleasure, Mr. Penn.”

  “Yes, it has. Oh, and Mr. Taylor,” Arthur said almost as an afterthought as Taylor was about to leave. “Don’t forget: Vote early, vote often.”

  Taylor didn’t deign to reply as he walked out the door. As soon as he was gone, Arthur turned his attention back to Percival. Although inwardly he was amused, he couldn’t let it show. “Percival, that was inappropriate.”

  “I’m sorry, highness,” Percival said, bowing his head slightly. And then, to his surprise as much as anyone’s, he laughed softly. “It caught me off guard a little, I have to admit. After all these years, I didn’t expect that I was going to ... well ... switch into the mode of the dutiful knight. Some habits, it appears, are harder to break than others.”

  “Understood. But it is a different time and place. We should take care to act in accordance with the local mores. I value your good right arm and your dedication, Percival. Plus Merlin tells me you’re a gifted accountant.”

  “A thousand years is enough to pick up a variety of skills, highness,” Percival said modestly.

  Arthur’s voice took on a more serious tone. “And Percival, I can only imagine what it was like for you, all these years. I was in isolation ... but, I suspect, of the two of us, it was harder for you.”

  “Why, highness?” asked Percival, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from his voice. He was standing now, but unmoving, like a storm hovering just off the coast of a town. “Just because any relationship I undertook was doomed from the start? Because after the first couple of times watching a woman I loved age away from me, I swore never to let myself love again? Because I never sired a child ... and even if I had, I would have had to endure the same wretched loneliness of immortality? Because I had to watch mankind, capable of achieving greatness, spend its existence engaging in pointless war and violence, over and over, as if we’re all condemned to repeat a cycle of insane self-destruction? Because there’s no greater loneliness than being alone in a crowd? Because of all that, highness?”

  Arthur found that there was nothing to say to that, and so, very wisely, he said nothing. He simple clapped Percival once on the shoulder and then called, “Miss Basil! I’m waiting for you to get Gwen on the phone!”

  Basil appeared at the door. She didn’t walk over to it and stand in it; she just seemed to appear there. “I tried,” she said tersely. “She said she couldn’t come in. That she didn’t know when she’d be in. And if you wanted to fire her over it, she’d understand.”

  Arthur was now utterly perplexed, but the lines of his face quickly settled into a certainty of his next action. “Get me her address. I’m going over there.”

  “No. You’re not,” said Merlin.

  “Yes, I am, and what business is it of yours?” Arthur turned to face him, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Arthur,” Merlin said with as much patience as he could muster, “Don’t you go after her.”

  “She’s in trouble, Merlin. I can sense it.”

  “This is the 21st century, Arthur. If a woman’s in trouble, she has options other than waiting for a hero to come rescue her.”

  “That’s true, highness,” Percival said.

  “See?” Merlin pointed at Percival, clearly grateful for the backup.

  Continuing to think out loud, Percival said, “Of course ... there are women who are trapped in abusive relationships and are unable to do anything about it, for any number of deep-seated psychological reasons, ranging from a misplaced belief that they can change the man to self-esteem problems that compel them to believe that they deserve—”

  “All right, that’s more than sufficient help, Percival,” Merlin said.

  Arthur had heard enough. “Miss Basil, Gwen’s address. Now. I saw that!”

  “Saw what?” Basil said quickly.

  “You looked to Merlin for confirmation as to whether you should do what I say. Merlin is not in charge here. I am. You will do as I say, and you will do it now. Is that clear?”

  Basil started to reply, then saw the look in Arthur’s face and clearly thought better of it. “I’ll be right back with it,” she said, and turned on her heel.

  “Arthur,” Merlin began.

  “Don’t say it, Merlin.”

  “I will say it, Arthur. If Gwen is having a problem, give her time. She’s going to have to deal with it herself.”

  Arthur looked at him uncertainly. “My every instinct—”

  “Your instincts,” Merlin said, not ungently, “have been known to cross you up every now and again. Arthur, I’ve never known a man of a more decisive, unyielding nature than you—except where it came to women. They are your fatal flaw. Especially this—” Then his eyes widened and he stopped talking.

  Too late.

  “What ... do you mean?” Arthur said slowly. He was walking slowly toward Merlin, regarding him as if truly seeing him for the first time.

  “Nothing. I was going to say, ‘Especially this time.’”

  “No ... no, you weren’t,” Arthur said, looming over Merlin, who was, surprisingly, backing up. “You were going to say, ‘Especially this one,’ weren’t you?”

  “I was simply trying to say—”

  “Merlin, from the moment I laid eyes upon her, I knew, I sensed in my soul, that there was something about her. Perhaps it’s ridiculous to believe in reincarnation, but is it any more unlikely than believing in an ageless wizard, a king kept alive by sorcery, or the powers of the Holy Grail granting immortality?”

  “It’s not her! I swear to you, Arthur, if it was Gwen’s soul, brought back to you in a brand new package, I would know! I would know, and I would tell you!”

  “Would you? Look at me, Merlin,” and his gaze seemed to bore straight into the wizard. “Would you? Or would you try to do exactly what you’ve done? Discourage me from having anything to do with her. Tell me not to hire her, tell me to keep away from her, denigrate her.”

  “She’s a harmless, normal, nonreincarnated woman!” Merlin said desperately.

  “Then she poses no threat, and you won’t care that I’m going over.”

  “No!”

  Suddenly Arthur turned to Percival and said, “Percival, my understanding is that drinking from the cup of Christ, in addition to giving an uninjured person immortality, also gives one substantial protection from magiks ... especially magiks that have base in darkness. True?”

  “So I am told, highn—Mr. Penn,” said Percival.

  “Good. Break Merlin’s neck for me, would you?”

  Both Percival and Merlin gaped at Arthur. “What?”

  “I am your liege, lord,” Arthur said sharply, although he never raised his voice, “your king, to whom you swore undying fealty and obedience. You are alive, as am I. That oath is still in force. Do as I command.”

  Without hesitation, Percival took two quick steps forward, lifted Merlin off his feet and slammed him back against the wall, placing his hands in such a way as to snap the young mage’s neck like a twig.

  And in a voice filled with fury and fear, Merlin screeched, “Yes! Yes, damn you! It’s her! But you don’t need her, Arthur! She’s going to bugger the whole works, just like she did last time! She’s the eternal screwup!”

  “I don’t care if she’s the eternal bloody flame,” Arthur snapped. “We belo
ng together!”

  “You belong in an asylum!” Merlin’s legs pumped furiously. “Tell him to put me down!”

  “Release him, Percival, but not gently.”

  Percival obediently drew back his arm and flung the boy wizard the length of the office. Merlin slammed into the large sofa and rebounded onto the floor. He lay there, moaning.

  Without another word Arthur turned and stormed out of the office, pausing only to snatch the address of Gwen’s apartment off Miss Basil’s desk. Basil, for her part, had come to the door of the office when she heard the commotion and was staring at Merlin, who was staggering to his feet and rubbing his throat. He glared at Percival who returned the look impassively. “I scrape you up off the gutter ... and this is how you repay me?” he croaked.

  “I repaid you by doing what you wanted me to do: serve Arthur Pendragon,” Percival pointed out calmly. “I can’t help it if he gives me orders that run contrary to your interests.”

  “Should I try to stop him, Merlin?” inquired Basil.

  Merlin shook his head and winced at the pain that the gesture inflicted.

  “Uh, Merlin ... I know I’m not your favorite person just now, but if it’s okay, I’d like to offer a piece of advice.”

  Slowly Merlin turned his head to Percival. “And what ... might that be?”

  “If Arthur convinces Gwen to come back with him, I wouldn’t get in his way if I were you.”

  “Point ... taken, Percival.”

  At that moment Buddy and Elvis burst in, stumbling over each other in their excitement. “We got it,” crowed Buddy. “We have got freakin’ it!”