by Peter David
"But Arthur, you don't understand!"
"Odd, that's just what Merlin said."
"Electricity and lights-that's all science. This is. . ." She waved her hands around helplessly.
"This is magic!"
"Now, Gwen, magic is just another science. And if scientists acknowledged that magic existed and put their considerable talents to discovering what made it tick, a great deal more could be accomplished in this world. But scientists have decided that magic does not and cannot exist, so naturally they don't go out of their way to try and find the reasons for it."
He shook his head. "Very shortsighted on their part."
Gwen put her hand to her head and sat down. "Arthur, you don't seem to realize that I'm a rational human being. I don't believe in magic. I don't believe in things just appearing because you need them."
"Oh no?"
"No."
"That chair you're sitting in? It wasn't there a moment ago."
She sprang from the chair as if propelled by springs. Her hands fluttered to her mouth and her voice was a combination of surprise and hysterical laughter. "This is crazy!"
"Why?"
"Because I was always taught to be a very rational person!"
"Faugh! Rationality always gets in the way of common sense. Common sense tells you that no other explanation is possible for what you see. But when you try to rationalize the unexplainable, you run into problems.'*
She was delicately tapping the arms of the chair as Arthur said in a softer voice, "Like us."
She looked over to him and saw the way he was looking at her. She felt her cheeks color and looked down. She couldn't remember the last time she'd blushed.
"Arthur." She looked up at him tentatively. "Arthur . . . are you really him? I mean, the original King Arthur?"
"Yes."
"But... but it's so difficult to believe."
"Ah-ah," and he put up a finger. "You're rationalizing again. Didn't I tell you how that gets in the way?"
"But if I believe what you're saying," and she walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, "then I would also have to accept the part about my being a reincarnation of your Queen Guin ..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened in surprise. "You know, Arthur, my name-Gwen DeVere- that sounds a lot like Guinevere, doesn't it?"
"By Jove, you're right!" He sagged back in the throne. "Fancy that."
They smiled at one another, and then Arthur stepped off his throne and walked slowly toward Gwen. She stood there, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. He came very close to her, then paused and ran his hand gently across her face. She closed her eyes and sighed, and a little tremble rushed through her.
"Arthur ... we were married once, weren't we?"
He shook his head. "No. We were married always."
"But I hardly know you."
"You've always known me," he said softly. "We have always been. We shall always be. Not time, not distance, not lifetimes can do more than momentarily interrupt the coexistence we are meant to share."
He felt the softness of her hair, and she said, "Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"Have you really been locked in a cave for fifteen hundred years*
"Thereabouts, yes."
She whistled. "You must be the horniest bastard on the face of the earth.''
The expression on his face did not change, but he said, "Gwen, would you mind waiting here a moment?"
"Uh...sure."
Arthur stepped back and went into another room. She pricked up her ears and heard the sound of pages turning. She realized abruptly that he was consulting a dictionary, and stifled a desperate urge to giggle. There was a momentary pause in the page turning, and then she heard the book close. She fought to keep a straight face but felt the sides of her mouth turning up involuntarily.
Arthur came back into the room and faced her, looking deadly serious. "Gwen," he said with great solemnity.
"Yes, Arthur?"
"You're right."
They both dissolved into laughter.
Dinner was very quiet, but then, they felt no need to talk. There was the easy comfort in each other's presence that it takes most couples years to achieve, if they ever do.
When dinner was finished and the bones of the bird they had eaten were all that remained (and that would naturally be gone in the morning), there was a long pause. Then Gwen said softly, "Good night, Arthur."
He inclined his head. "Good night, Gwen."
She stood and left the table, leaving Arthur at the table, lost in thought.
Arthur lay in bed that night, alone, as he had been all the previous nights. He slid his hand slowly across the empty side of the bed and sighed deep in his chest, deep in his soul.
He heard a footfall at his door and sat bolt upright, his hand already reaching for Excalibur.
The door swung open and Gwen was there. Candlelight from the hallway illuminated her from the back, showing the silhouette of her body through her white shift.
His breath caught as she said in a low voice, "I don't think you'll be needing a weapon, Arthur. I'm unarmed."
She glided across the floor to him and sat down slowly in the empty part of the bed. Arthur touched her arm and felt an inner trembling. "Gwen, you don't have to. Not if you're not ready."
She laughed lightly. "According to you, I've been waiting for you for centuries . . . lived many past lives, but you were always my Mister Right. When has any girl had to wait as long for her perfect man as me?" She stroked his beard and asked, "Arthur? Am I... do I look as pretty to you as when you first knew me? Back in ... in your days?"
His voice choking with emotion, he said, "You are as I have always loved you."
He took her to him.
Merlin snapped off his TV set. "Well," he murmured, "I don't have to see this part. I know where it's going now." He sighed. "Kings. Can't live with them, can't live without them."
Chaptre the Twelfth
It had now been close to two months since Arthur had first clung batlike to the statue of Father Duffy and began espousing his views. In that time interest had mounted as word spread throughout the city. Jimmy Breslin picked up on it, the wire services picked up on it from Breslin, and soon it became quite a cachet to have been present at one of Arthurs speeches. However, campaigns cannot be won solely through word of mouth, and so it was that the press was cordially invited one day to the cramped, busy offices of Arthur Penn at the Camelot Building, to officially meet the Independent candidate for mayor of New York City.
Chairs and a podium were set up. Wine and cheese were served, and the reporters milled around, trying to pump the office workers for information. The office workers merely smiled, having been primed not to say a word until after Arthur had had an opportunity to address the press. Eventually the reporters started interviewing each other. One of them bumped into a small boy, nattily dressed in white ducks and a blue blazer with a little anchor on the pocket.
"Hi, kid," he said heartily. "You look a little young to be in politics."
"And you look a little old to be a fool," retorted Merlin, pushing his way past to the cheese balls.
There was a rapping up at the podium. Percy Vale was standing up front, and in a strong, proud voice, he said, "Gentlemen and ladies of the press, I would appreciate it if you could take your seats. I thank you all for coming, and I assure you that it will be well worth your while."
There was shuffling of the chairs while the TV camera crews stood to the sides of the podium, checking the lighting and their range. Percy paused a moment and then said, "As you know, Mr. Arthur Penn has been creating quite a stir throughout the city over the past months. His style has been referred to in the press as guerrilla politics. The truth of the matter, gentlemen, is that Mr. Penn has been so busy meeting the people, it's kind of slipped his mind that he should really be getting to work on the business of being elected mayor of this great city." There was a small ripple of laughter, and Percy continued, "And make no mistake, my friend
s, I guarantee that you will be looking at the next mayor of New York when I say that I would like to introduce you to Mr. Arthur Penn."
Percy stepped back from the podium as the once and future king made his way from the back of the room.
The reporters had met many a politician in their collective lives. They had seen all the types-the charismatic ones, the old-boy ones, the intellectual ones, the forthright, the sneaky, the slick, the snake-oil salesmen, and every permutation of human being in between.
And they had all had one thing in common: They all regarded the press as a necessary evil.
Something that had to be lived with, tolerated, used and maneuvered.
But this Arthur . . . what was the name, Penn? This Arthur Penn, as he walked forward shaking their hands, squeezing their shoulders affectionately, as if they were old buddies, smiling a totally disarming smile . . . this guy actually seemed happy to see them.
He made it up to the podium, slapped Percy affectionately on the shoulder, and faced the press. He blinked repeatedly as the flashbulbs went off, looked around at the crowd facing him, and then saw Gwen standing in the back. He smiled to her and she smiled back, almost schoolgirlishly, as he said, "Thank you for coming, gentlemen and ladies of the press. As you will be able to tell from the kits you should all have, I am Arthur Penn. We've paid outrageous sums for the production of my biography and to have a photographer take a black-and-white photo of me that makes me look as attractive to female voters as possible. So I would greatly appreciate any attention you might pay them.''
There were appreciative laughs, and he continued, "I've taken this opportunity to meet with you because I value your function very highly. I am hoping that you will be able to pass my message on to the wide voting public, since I have researched the matter very carefully. For me to speak personally with all of my potential voters would take at least five years, and I'm afraid that I have not been allotted that much time.,, He paused a moment and smiled. "My friends, quite simply, I wish to be the next mayor of New York City. I will now take questions.''
There was a moment of surprise, and then hands were raised. Arthur picked one at random.
"Mr. Penn-"
"Call me Arthur, please."
The reporter blinked. "All right... will we still call you Arthur if you're elected mayor?"
"I should think 'your highness' would suffice."
In the back Gwen stifled a giggle and turned away.
The reporter smiled and said, "Arthur . . . that was a very short opening statement."
"I was always taught to regard brevity as a virtue."
"Mister . . . Arthur, I'd be very interested in your background."
"So would I. Feel free to read through the papers before you to see what sort of records my staff has fabricated." He pointed to another reporter. "Yes?"
Gwen's face bore an expression of complete awe. Arthur was keeping to what he'd once told her-he would not lie. Every question was being answered, and if it was about a potentially touchy aspect, he deadpanned the absolute truth and usually got an amused reaction from his audience. Remarkable. She glanced over and saw that Merlin was standing over in a corner, arms folded, nodding slowly whenever Arthur spoke.
The next reporter stood. "Arthur, I'd like to know how you stand on certain issues."
"Let's find out together," said Arthur.
"Prayer in school, for example."
Arthur shrugged. "You mean before a difficult examination?"
"No," said the reporter, unsure whether Arthur was joking or not-a state most reporters would find themselves in during the months to come. "I mean organized prayer...."
"Oh, of course! Organized prayer in the morning, that sort of thing. Well, I've never been one to stand in the way of how someone wishes to worship. However, I recall reading something in the Declara-no, the Constitution, isn't it? About separation of church and state. It would seem to me that prayer and church are usually equated, aren't they?" The reporter nodded, and Arthur smiled. "Well, that's it then. No prayer in schools..."
"But it's not that simple," said the reporter.
"Then it should be. What else would you like to know about?"
"Your stand on abortion?"
Arthur shuddered. "Terrible mess. None of my bloody business, though, what a woman does with her body."
"Are you in favor, then, of state money and government money going to fund abortions?"
"I imagine it's better than feeding the poor little buggers, isn't it, once they're born into unwanted and miserable situations?"
The reporters looked around at each other. One of them whistled silently.
"Are you concerned, sir, that some pro-lifers may find your attitude, well . . . callous? That you're sentencing unborn children to death?"
Arthur regarded him oddly. "I have seen more death, son, than you could possibly imagine.
Not to become maudlin, but I value life no less than anyone else. But life is difficult enough when you come into it wrapped in the arms of a mother who wants you. Coming into it unwanted is more than any helpless infant should have to bear." His eyes misted over. "I remember a time . . . unwanted children left exposed upon a hillside. Or women bleeding from their bellies, thanks to the tender mercies of charlatans pretending to be doctors. At a time such as that we prayed for the knowledge to prevent such monstrosities and outrages.
Now we have it, and it would be equally as monstrous not to use it. Yes, money to help those unfortunate women. And money also to educate them so as not to let themselves become with child in the first place. And men, too, for God's sake. We don't have thousands of madonnas being impregnated immaculately out there, you know."
"You are aware," said one reporter with a half-smile, "that some of your attitudes may be regarded as controversial."
"Yes. I suppose so. Common sense usually is." He pointed to another reporter. "Yes?"
"Your stand on Westway, sir?"
Arthur looked at him blankly. "What way?"
"Westway."
"I haven't the foggiest. What the deviPs that?"
"I'm surprised, sir," said the reporter insouciantly, "that you're not familiar with some of the more controversial aspects of New York politics."
"Don't be," said Arthur, ignoring his tone. "Why don't you apprise me?"
"Well, sir, the debate in a nutshell is whether to use certain monies for construction of a major traffic artery called West-way or whether to use that same money to improve the subways and mass transit. It was supposed to have all been settled a couple of years ago, but somehow the issue keeps coming up."
"Oh, anything that will improve the subways sounds smashing to me."
"Then you're against Westway?"
Arthur sighed. "Good God, you lot are slow, aren't you? Yes, I suppose I am."
"Are you aware of the other aspects-"
"Of course I'm not," said Arthur with no trace of impatience. "Is your basic summation of the situation accurate?"
The reporter looked around at his colleagues, in a total quandary. The others half shrugged or nodded.
"Um, yes, I believe it is."
"Well, that's it then. First thing you'll have to learn about me," said Arthur reasonably, leaning over the podium. "I never want to get bogged down with facts. Facts get in the way of decisions. Give me a basic summary of the situation and I will generally decide," and he tapped his chest, "based on what I feel here. I would wager that others will bog themselves down with umpteen reports and countless charts and the like, and it will all still boil down to the basic feeling of what's right and what's wrong." He smiled. "After all, it beats trial by combat."
Arthur, Gwen, Merlin, Percy, Chico, and Groucho sat draped around various parts of the office. Merlin sat upright and cross-legged while the others were fairly at ease. Chico was stirring a Bloody Mary with his finger. The others were drinking soda or iced tea.
The reporters had left some time ago to file their stories, and everyone in the room seemed concerne
d about what would be said ... everyone except Merlin and Arthur.
"I did my best," said Arthur reasonably. "If they don't like what I had to say, what am I supposed to do? Be sorry that I said it?" He shook his head. "No, they're going to have to warm to me or not, based on who I am."
Gwen smiled. "If they knew who you were, they'd vote for you in an instant."
"Would they?" asked Arthur. "Do you think so? My earlier endeavors hardly ended in glowing triumph, now did they?"
"Oh, people remember what they want to remember," said Gwen. She stood and walked over to Arthur's side, sitting on the arm of his chair. "After all is said and done, most people remember Camelot as a time of achievement and pride. I mean, the happiest times this country remembers were with Kennedy's whole Camelot thing."
"Ah!" declared Arthur. "Merlin said that to me once. Didn't you, Merlin? You see-the two of you do see eye to eye every now and again."
Merlin made a face. Then he said, "Arthur, I think it best that you spend the night-the next few nights, in fact-in that apartment you've got rented over in the Village."
"Oh, Merlin, is that really necessary?" said Arthur unhappily. "It's so bloody small. The castle is really so much better."
"Arthur, try to be reasonable. It wouldn't be good form for the press to discover that the Independent mayoral candidate makes his home in a pile of transdimensional rocks in Central Park."
Groucho perked up slightly and said, "Sounds okeedokee tome."
"Proof enough," said Merlin tartly. "Arthur, it's been set up for you, and I suggest that you try to make use of it. If all goes well, the press is going to become intensely interested in such minutiae as how you like to have your English muffins for breakfast. And if you have mysterious comings and goings, it could prompt digging in areas we'd much rather leave undug."
"All right, all right," sighed Arthur. "Gwen, let's go."
"He's going to have a roommate!" yelled Merlin. "That's just ruddy wonderful!"
Arthur's tone was warning. "Merlin..."