Knight Life ma-1

by Peter David

  "You let people walk over you, dear, you'll never get anywhere." She stabbed a finger at Gwen. "I bet your personal relationships have the success rate of buggy-whip manufacturers, right?"

  Gwen drew herself up to her full height. "Now I don't think that's any of your-"

  "You don't think? Hmph. I bet." The portly woman chucked a thumb at a closed office door.

  "Go in. He's expecting you. He's been expecting you for ages. And for pity's sake, don't let yourself be used as a doormat. You've got too pretty a face to let it be filled with shoeprints."

  And with that she stared down at her book again. Silently Gwen walked past her, completely confused. She went right up to the door, then swung about on her heel to face the receptionist.

  There was no one there.

  Gwen's eyebrows knit in confusion. She walked back to the desk, looked around. Nothing.

  Under the desk was nothing. But the receptionist hadn't gone out the door-it had creaked horrendously when Gwen had entered; she would have heard an exit. Out of curiosity she rested a hand on the cushion of the seat behind the desk. It was cool, as if no one had sat there all day.

  Gwen assessed the situation.

  "Ooookaydokay," she said finally, went quickly to the office door that the receptionist had indicated, and swung it open.

  She was a little surprised to see a bearded man deep in discussion with an eight-year-old boy. They were speaking in low, intense tones, and it was quite clear to Gwen that there

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  was none of the typical adult condescension in the man as he argued with the boy. Not the slightest. Apparently this Arthur Penn, if that was who this in fact happened to be, treated everyone as an equal.

  Arthur didn't notice her, and it took the boy's abrupt indication by way of a fierce gesture in her direction before Gwen was even sure that she would ever be noticed at all.

  She was seating herself on a large chesterfield couch as Arthur was saying petulantly,

  "Honestly, Merlin, sometimes you treat me as if I'm a child."

  "Arthur, we have a guest."

  "I am perfectly capable of making decisions and watching out for .. .pardon?"

  "A guest." The boy was skinny, his hands too large for his arms, his feet too large for his legs. His silken brown hair was longish in the back, and his ears virtually stuck out at right angles to his head. He was nattily attired in dark blue slacks, shirt, striped tie, and a blazer with a little sword emblem on the pocket. Bizarrely, the man's clothing was identical, but the boy looked better in it.

  Arthur turned, and the moment he saw Gwen, he smiled. Merlin, on the other hand, frowned deeply.

  Gwen found herself staring deeply into Arthur's eyes. She had never seen such dark eyes, she thought. Dark as a bottomless pit, which she would willingly plunge into....

  She tore her gaze from him and swung over to the boy he'd called Merlin.

  And stifled a gasp.

  It was like looking at two different people in the same body. The lines of the boy's face were youthful enough, but his eyes were like an old man's, smoldering with wisdom of ages and resentment when he looked at her. He frightened her terribly, and she stared down at her shoes.

  Arthur appeared oblivious to her thoughts. "How unforgivably rude of me," he said. "You're the young woman who was sent over by the employment office."

  "That's right," she said quietly.

  Arthur regarded her for a time and then said, "Is there something particularly intriguing about your feet, my dear?"

  She looked up, her cheeks coloring. "I'm sorry. I just-"

  "What is your name, child?"

  The question had been asked by the eight-year-old boy, and 30

  the phrasing was, at the very least, extraordinary. She gaped openly at him. "My what?"

  "Nom de guerre. Moniker. Name."

  "Oh, name!"

  Merlin let out a sigh as she stammered out, "Gwendoiyne."

  "What a lovely name," said Arthur, and Gwen looked up to see that Arthur was staring at her.

  He saw her noticing, but did not look away. His stare was wonderfully open, and unembarrassed. "Forgive me for staring so, but you remind me a great deal of someone I once knew-"

  "Arthur," said the boy warningly, "what were we just discussing?"

  "Merlin, please. My apologies, Gwendoiyne. I am Arthur Pendr- Arthur Penn. My associate"-he chuckled slightly on the word-"is Merlin."

  "Last name?" asked Gwen.

  "Last one / intend to use," snapped Merlin.

  "As you know," continued Arthur, "I am in the market to hire a personal secretary. This may not seem necessary now, but I assure you in the months to come this office will become quite busy. I would like to know all about your background, everything you've done in the past several years. We have several people to see, so I'll tell you right now that it may be a week or two before we can let you and your agency know for certain. Stop glowering, Merlin. You'll get crows' feet. Remember the last time that happened, you couldn't walk properly for days."

  Gwen laughed, but Arthur stared at her with an upraised eyebrow and said, "Was something funny?"

  "No. Not at all. I understand. Find out about me, more people to see, a week or two for response. Got it."

  "Fine then. Let's begin." Arthur pulled around a comfortable chair and seated himself across from Gwen. He leaned back, steepled his long fingers, and said, "So let's start, miss ... I'm sorry, Gwen, I didn't catch your last name."

  "DeVere," she said. "Gwen DeVere."

  "You start on Monday," said Arthur.

  Merlin, seated on the desktop, moaned.

  When Gwen DeVere returned home, the apartment seemed

  3 J

  a little less gloomy, and as she marched in the door she called out, "Lance, Igotit!"

  She stood in the doorway, dripping little puddles at her feet.

  There was no response. She sighed, the wind slightly taken out of her sails. She should have known. It was raining heavily, and Lance only went out when it was a downpour such as this. He got inspiration from foul weather, he said. He had once filled a cup with rainwater, held it in front of her and informed her that an entire allegory of mankind could be found in that glass of precipitation. When she'd said she only saw rainwater, he'd emptied the contents on her head.

  She thought about what the phantom receptionist had said, and went into the bathroom, her feet squishing in her shoes.

  A few minutes later, wrapped in a towel, she went to the window and looked out at the street.

  It was covered with garbage, and derelicts were huddling in doorways for shelter. There was a constant tension in the neighborhood, a tension that she supposed was natural in the city.

  But it wasn't natural to her, and she wasn't going to live with it if she could help it. Perhaps, once she'd been working steadily for a while, they could afford to move out to a nicer area.

  Maybe someplace out in Brooklyn, or maybe even the Island.

  If only Lance would get a job.

  But his writing always came first.

  She glanced over at his work area, for it could hardly be called a desk. The crumpled paper was gaining altitude. She reached over, pulled one wad from the stack, and uncrumpled it. It had one sentence typed across the middle-"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy"-and she cursed the day she'd taken him to see The Shining.

  If only Lance would get a job.

  If only she could leave him.

  But he was all she had.

  She flopped down onto the bed, reached over and snapped on the small, black-and-white TV. She recognized the old movie as soon as it came on-Danny Kaye in The Court Jester.

  Knights and knighthood. Those were the days. Chivalry. Women were demigods back then, she thought, and men their protectors. Now it's everyone for themselves.

  She reached over to the bureau, opened her purse and dug 32

  through it. Eight dollars and change. What the hell. She reached over to phone for a pizza, figur
ing it would arrive two hours later, cold and soggy. But it wasn't really dinnertime for two hours yet, anyway, and she could heat it up.

  And maybe the pizza guy would come riding up on a silver charger, balancing the pie on a gleaming shield___

  Late into the night the offices in the Camelot Building's thirteenth floor blazed with light.

  "You're out of your mind. You know that, don't you? Ten centuries to contemplate, and you're no smarter now, Wart, than you were then."

  Arthur had removed his coat and tie and was sitting in shirtsleeves, watching Merlin stalk the room like a cat tracking down a mouse. From his reclining position on the couch he called,

  "Now Merlin, I think you're exaggerating a bit."

  The lad turned on him. "You think?" he said in a voice ringing with authority despite its boyishness. "Who told you to think!?"

  Arthur's voice was sharp as he said, "I caution you, Merlin. You will not address me in that manner. I am still your-"

  Merlin turned, placing his hands defiantly on his narrow hips. "My what? Finish the sentence.

  My king? Well huzzah, Your Majesty," and he genuflected mockingly. "You rule a kingdom of one ... unless you planned to return and lay claim as king of all the Britons. I can just see it!"

  He rubbed his hands together, relishing a good laugh, as Arthur shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "I wonder how they would react, those ineffectual, impotent figureheads who do nothing for the populace except provide them with tidbits to gossip about in taverns at teatime. There you'll be, presenting yourself as the once and future king. What the bloody hell do you think will happen? Do you think the queen is liable to step down and say, 'Good of you to show, old sod. We've spent centuries keeping your place warm. Have the throne.'

  Perhaps they'll revoke Magna Carta for you. That would be a sweet thing. Disband the House of Commons, House of Lords, put you in charge of the entire affair? Eh?" He slammed a small fist on a table, jiggling an ashtray. "What are the imperial thoughts, Arthur?

  Tell me, oh king of nothing!"

  They glared at each other for a long moment. Then, finally, Arthur's eyes softened slightly and he said, "All right. They

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  can keep the House of Commons. How does that strike you?"

  Merlin laughed lightly. "Ah, Arthur, you madman. I should let you go in and try it. Either they'd lock you up, or maybe, by God, maybe they would make you king."

  Arthur stood, smiling, and started to pace the office. His hands were folded behind his back.

  "Oh, Merlin," he sighed, "what are we doing here? Perhaps the time is not right for us."

  "What would you then? A return to the cave?"

  "It has crossed my mind."

  "Well uncross it. Not the right time for you? Don't be absurd. Look around you. Go into a bookstore, what do you see? Dozens of books on you. Fact, fiction, and everything in between. There have been countless movies about you." Now he was ticking off items on his fingers. "There are TV programs. Broadway shows. Buildings and businesses named after you and Camelot. People dress as knights and stage mock jousts and battles. There's a video game with a knight slaying a dragon."

  "So knighthood has become a valuable entertainment tool. So what?"

  "Life reflects in its art, Art. And also remember-the fondest times this country remembers, in its recent political history, is a presidency which has come to be known as Camelot."

  "Camelot," echoed Arthur.

  Merlin nodded. "I know it sounds a bit bizarre. But don't you see, Arthur," and the king stopped his pacing, "the time is ripe for your return. More than ripe-the seeds are bursting forth from their fruits. They need you, Arthur, to show them the way."

  Arthur half smiled. "You're sounding messianic this evening, Merlin."

  "Hardly. Merely stating the facts."

  "But, dammit all, what am I supposed to do? You say they want me. But they don't want a king-----"

  "They want a leader, and you're certainly that."

  "But who would I lead? Shall I start a cult following?"

  Merlin shook his head mournfully. "Arthur, Arthur, you have to learn to think on a larger scale, the way you used to. Realize, then, that if you are to do any good, you must rule again. And you must rule, or lead, in a country that has clout."

  "And I must go about it in a civilized manner," said Arthur sternly. "That means no military junta in a banana republic." He abruptly snapped his fingers. "But now, Merlin, let us say I could master the electoral system of this country and become their... not prime minister-president! That's it."

  Merlin gave an approving nod. "Very good, Wart."

  Arthur sat on the edge of the Chesterfield couch, leaning forward excitedly. "I haven't been idle all this time, you know. The animals in the cave with me, they brought me information from the outside world. I kept abreast of matters, for I knew that when I returned I would do no one any good as a clanking anachronism. And yet, for all my careful preparations, I was never altogether certain what I was preparing for.

  "But I know now." He bounced excitedly to his feet and went to a window, looking out over the city. "Merlin, by all the gods that's it 11 shall become President of the Soviet Union of America."

  Chaptre the Fifth

  The V had burnt out in the Vacancy sign that hung outside the beat-up roadside motel situated just off of the interstate. The signs posted nearby had promised waterbeds and triple-X-rated films in the room. Just the sort of thing the average passing traveler would be looking for.

  Morgan was passing, and a traveler, but she was certainly far from average.

  When she'd checked in, the desk clerk had gaped at her openly. Part of her was tempted to put him in her place, but another part was flattered by the attention, and it was this aspect of her that saved the clerk's life. The balding, potbellied man was able to go home that evening alive, his brain functioning normally, carrying secret fantasies acted out with the stunning woman who had checked in at the scummy little motel he managed.

  He had no idea that weeks earlier Morgan Le Fey would hardly have turned any heads.

  Indeed, she might have turned a few stomachs. But the excess weight she'd been carting with her all this time had slid away like melting butter. All the extra chins had vanished into memory, leaving her with the one jutting chin that stuck out so proudly. The raven-black hair was black through and through-no gray at the roots-and her feet, once swollen and cracked, were now slim and strong.

  She was nude now, admiring herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall of her room. She admired the contours of her muscular body and was filled with disgust at the lethargic lump she had once been.

  But that loathsome creature was long gone. And Morgan Le Fey was back in business.

  The naked sorceress rolled back the threadbare rug, bracing it with her foot against the wall.

  Then she padded back to the bare area and removed a piece of chalk from the pocket of her long black coat. She knelt down, then, and brushing strands of hair from her face, carefully traced a circle with a five-pointed star enclosed within. She then reached into her beat-up duffel bag and extracted five black candles, fondling the length of them almost sexually. She placed one at each point where the star touched the circle and then lit them.

  She stepped back, admired her handiwork, and smiled.

  She rolled the television set near to the circle and sat down facing it. Her bare rump was chilled by the floor but she ignored it, busying herself with lighting each of the five candles.

  When they were finally lit, she reached over and snapped on the television.

  The screen of the color set flickered to life. A couple madly rutted on the screen, panting like twin locomotives. Morgan frowned in a distant, irritated manner, and waved a hand as if brushing a flea away. The picture vanished from the screen, replaced by blankness.

  Morgan concentrated, reaching out with her mind and tracing the waves of magic that filled the air around her. She'd been doing this regularly.
She had gone from town to town, city to city, trying to discover a mystical trace of Merlin. It had proven to be frustrating. Merlin had covered his tracks too well. If she'd begun the trace from the moment when he'd escaped from his centuries-long confinement, she could have picked up on it in no time. But this was no longer possible. Just as a fox can cover his trail and scent given time, so had Merlin been able to erase any trace of his person.

  If Merlin had been practicing magic lately, however, he would most certainly have been tapping into the magic bands of energy that encompassed the earth. An adept was able to detect them, pale ribbonlike trails that filled the air. Had Merlin been using his sorcerous powers, Morgan should have been able to track him down along those mystical bands as if she were tracing a telephone call.

  But she had found nothing. Which either meant that he had been using no magic lately, or more disturbing, that he'd discovered a means by which to cover any trace of magic use.

  And if it were the latter case, Morgan would certainly have her work cut out for her.

  She found a faint whiff of magic along one stream and immediately ran it back to its source.

  The TV screen flickered, and then the image of a young girl appeared. She was a teenager, naked as was Morgan, seated in what appeared to be the middle of her high school's athletic field. She was chanting quietly to herself and burning a photograph of a handsome young man. The candle was white.

  Morgan pursed her lips. Amateurs dabbling in love spells. This was the sort of tripe she'd been unearthing in her searches these past weeks. Where the devil was Merlin? Where-The screen suddenly went black, and Morgan jumped slightly, startled. At the same time she knew instinctively what had caused it. And so she waited.

  And eventually it came.

  The screen became a picture of an office with antique furniture. And there, seated in a large easy chair, was a boy looking for all the world like a pint-sized Alistair Cooke. His feet dangled several inches above the ground; his hands were interlaced behind his head. He had a smile on his lips which was not mirrored in his eyes.

  He was looking straight at her as he said, "Hello, Morgan. You're looking well-preserved these days."