Fall of Knight (13 page)

“Thank you,” said Castor. “Unfortunately, we’re in a state of lockdown at the moment. Under normal circumstances we could escort you there, but these are far from normal circumstances.”

“Then again,” Pollux suggested, “you could no doubt transport yourself there through…what?” He turned to the first Secret Service man. “A simple self-relocation spell?”

“That would do it, I’d think.”

Merlin’s incredulity was growing. “How did you become so familiar with sorcery?”

“Sir,” Castor said stiffly, “you don’t seriously think you’re the first guest, or even resident, of this building who is conversant in the mystical arts, do you? Our experience with the occult is hardly limited to the occasional first lady’s ouija board. We have to be ready for anything in our line of work.”

“Gentlemen,” Merlin said with complete sincerity, “I don’t often say this but…I’m impressed.”

“We’re Secret Service, sir,” said Pollux. “We’re trained to be impressive.”

W
HAT I DON’T
understand,” said Percival, pouring a glass of wine for himself in the Lincoln Bedroom, “is that Merlin and I spoke about the Grail ages ago…and he claimed to know almost nothing about it. Now he purports to know all about it. Which is true?”

“Probably all of it…and none of it,” said Gwen. “That’s how wizards, or at least this wizard, acts most of the—”

“Brady.” Arthur interrupted Gwen, which was unusual for him since generally his conduct when it came to his wife was the height of courtesy. At this point he simply wasn’t listening to what she had been saying, since his attention had been focused elsewhere. Brady had been involved in setting out the food that he’d brought in, doing so briskly and efficiently as was his wont. But Arthur, even though he was seated across the room, had perceived that something was out of kilter in the man’s demeanor, and now he was on his feet and crossing the room. His actions naturally captured Percival’s and Gwen’s complete attention. “Brady…is something wrong?”

Brady, normally the most convivial of gentlemen, clearly could not bring himself to look directly at Arthur. “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. President…”

“With all respect, Brady…I think you’re not being entirely candid with me.”

“I just…” With an effort, he turned and looked at Arthur. “I…don’t think it would be appropriate for me to—”

“Devil take propriety. You’re a good man, Brady. You’ve done nothing except live an exemplary life of service to this nation’s leaders.” He squared his shoulders. “If you’re upset with me about something, or want to tell me that you think I’m mad as a hatter, you should not feel any reticence to—”

“Upset?” Brady looked at him in confusion, and then flashed a small smile at the notion. “Mr. President, I have…as you say…served quite a number of our leaders. And I’m not trying to blow smoke up your skirt when I say that, of all of them, you are the single most decent man I’ve ever encountered. The most scrupulously honest, the most…”

Abruptly emotion overwhelmed him. It was as if the strength went out of his legs, and Brady was suddenly sitting before he even realized that he was going to be doing so. It was only through Arthur’s quick movement to slide a chair under him that prevented him from sinking to the floor. “Brady,” he said softly, “what’s really happening here?”

“It’s not appropriate for me to discuss it with—”

“Brady, I’m ordering you to tell me. Not that I’m entirely sure my orders carry any weight, but still…”

Brady shook his head, and now Gwen came forward and crouched so that she was at his eye level. “Brady,” she said, one hand resting upon his shoulder, “Arthur’s just trying to help. And he wouldn’t be asking you if he didn’t want to know.”

“It’s just…ma’am, in all the years I’ve been doing this job, I have never—ever—asked anyone for a single favor. And I’ve been in the presence of a lot of powerful men who could have granted a lot of powerful favors. So I don’t see that it’s right for me to start now…”

“The Grail,” Percival spoke up tonelessly. “This has to do with the Grail.”

Brady nodded without responding.

“Brady…” Arthur prompted him.

At first, Brady didn’t reply. But then, before Arthur could speak again, Brady said with an unmistakable tone of bitterness, “I’m a religious man, sir. Go to church every Sunday. Pray to our Lord. Ask for nothing except His love. Tried the best I could to conduct myself in His teachings, as He would want. Can’t say that I lived a totally blameless life. What man has? I’ve tripped up here and there, but still, I think the scales tip more in my favor than against when it’s all tallied up. I’ve tried to obey all the commandments.” His voice trailed off, but no one in the room urged him to speak, certain that he would continue on his own. They were right. “My wife is dying, Mr. President. Stomach cancer, eating her from the inside out. My Linda is the sweetest woman in the world…”

“I remember her. I met her once.”

“…and she’s never done anything to deserve anything like this. She keeps saying that God tosses you only as much as he thinks you’re capable of dealing with. She says there’s some sort of grand plan to all this. But I’m thinking that if this is a plan, then it’s a damned bad one. You know the commandment about worshipping no other gods…?”

“Of course,” said Arthur.

Brady looked up at him with quiet passion reflected in his face. “I would be willing to throw aside that commandment. I would be willing to worship you, Mr. President, and throw all my prayers and supplications to you, and sing you hosannas and praise you in the highest. Because in the past six months I’ve been doing that with the God I’ve been worshipping all my life…and I’m tired of his answer to my prayers being ‘no.’ I need to worship someone who gives a damn, and I think that’s you, not Him.”

“I’m not looking for worship, Brady.”

“That may be, Mr. President. But I’m looking for a miracle. And I wasn’t going to ask you, and swore to myself over and over again that I wouldn’t. Guess I don’t have the world’s best poker face,” he added ruefully.

There was silence for a moment, then Arthur said, “Percival.”

“Yes, Highness?”

“Do you have the Grail?”

“Of course, Highness.” Percival produced the Holy Grail seemingly out of thin air. Arthur wasn’t sure just how Percival managed to do that, and he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know.

Brady’s eyes widened when he saw it. “Is…is that…?”

“It is. Where is your wife?”

“She’s at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore…”

“Then that is where we’re going.”

“Arthur,” Gwen said nervously, “the White House is locked down. They may not be willing to just let us head off to Maryland.”

“Then we’ll find a way,” Arthur told her. “Come.” With the utter confidence that stemmed from being a warrior king, Arthur headed toward the door. But before he made it halfway across the room, the door opened abruptly to reveal Ron Cordoba and several Federal agents.

“Ah! Ron! Excellent timing,” said Arthur briskly. “We have a situation—”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

“We need to get to Johns Hopkins…”

He was astounded when Ron shook his head and realized that there had never been an occasion when Ron Cordoba refused him anything. “That’s not going to happen, sir. We have to get you out of the White House, and we have to do it in a highly visible manner.”

“I know that. I’m not blind, Ron. Circumstances outside have become untenable, and if I don’t get out of the capital soon, things are going to go very badly. But first thing’s first. Brady’s wife—”

“I know the condition of his wife, sir…Brady, again, my condolences,” said Ron, and Brady nodded in acknowledgment. “But right now, the only thing that matters is getting you to a secure location.”

“Where?” demanded Percival.

“The only place that’s not connected with the US government, but that we can be certain no one will be able to find you.”

Gwen looked blank, but Arthur understood immediately. “Of course,” he said, and when Gwen turned to him in bewilderment, he simply said, “The castle.”

“Of course,” she echoed him.

Percival was still confused. “Castle…?”

“Later, Percival. Trust me: Later. Ron…there will be plenty of time for that. But first…”

“Sir,” Ron said sharply, “you don’t understand. There is no ‘first.’ There’s no bargaining. There are no side trips to anywhere except to your destination. That’s all there is to it.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and a sense of danger crackled in the air. “You…are dictating terms…to
me
?”

“Sir…”

“
To me?
How dare you…!”

“Arthur! What do you think you’re going to do, huh? Draw Excalibur and cut your way out of here? Kill them? Kill me?”

No one moved. Arthur glared at Ron with such fury that Gwen wasn’t sure whether her husband might indeed yank out his invincible sword and bisect his former chief of staff.

Ron spoke first, visibly fighting to restrain himself. “Arthur…there’s no choice here. None. This order is coming straight from President Stockwell. He wants you out immediately.”

“If it came straight from him, then I will go straight to him and convince him otherwise.”

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Unfortunately, the feeling is not mutual. Take me to him immediately, or I’ll find him myself.”

“How do you plan to do that? Hack your way into the Oval Office? Do you want to be the first US president who was shot down by his own Secret Service agents?”

Arthur was about to respond when a gentle hand rested upon his forearm. He turned and saw tragedy in Brady’s eyes. “Mr. President,” Brady said, and his voice was quavering, but there was firmness in it yet. “Mr. President…I…I can’t let this happen. Because there’s people out there”—and he pointed in the general direction of the crowds outside the White House—“who are just as deserving as Linda. Maybe…I don’t know…maybe even more so. It’s not right for me to play upon your sympathy…”

“You played upon nothing, Brady.”

“Yes, I did, Mr. President, even if you’re too much of a gentleman to admit it. I should never have said anything. I shouldn’t have put you in this…this impossible position. The bottom line, sir, is…I’m an American. And my commander-in-chief has given an order that Mr. Cordoba and these agents are trying to carry out. If I’m responsible in any way for them not doing that…I just…I can’t allow that to happen.”

“Not even to save your wife? You don’t think she’d want that?”

“With the greatest of respect, sir…was your wife happy that you resigned your office because of her?”

Arthur and Gwen exchanged a long look. They both knew the answer, recalling when she had faced him after coming out of her coma and chewed him out for making such sacrifices on her behalf.

“Arthur,” Ron began imploringly.

But Arthur put up a hand, and simply said, “Ron…would you give us a minute, please.”

Cordoba hesitated, but then said, “Of course, sir.” He gestured to the Federal agents, and they backed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Gwen wasn’t sure what she was expecting…some kind words from Arthur to Brady, perhaps. Some comments of encouragement.

Instead, Arthur moved as if galvanized into action. “Percival, the Grail. Now.”

Without question, Percival handed it to him, but there was clearly concern on his face. Gwen knew exactly what was going through his mind: He was wondering if Arthur was planning to hand the Grail over to Brady. Percival was far too dedicated a knight to offer protest if that was Arthur’s decision, but it was obvious to Gwen that such a move on Arthur’s part would be crushing to Percival’s spirit. He had vested far too much of himself into the Grail. If it left his possession once more after he had finally reacquired it, Gwen didn’t doubt that—despite his immortality—he might well fade away and die.

Arthur apparently knew what Percival was thinking as well. “Trust me, Percival,” he said with a brief smile.

“As ever, Highness.”

Arthur crossed quickly to the table that Brady had rolled in. He took the bottle of wine, headed over to the sink, and upended it, draining the contents. Then, setting the bottle down, he picked up the decanter of water with his left hand and held it over the goblet. “I have absolutely no idea if this is going to work,” he said. “But I figure a slight chance is better than no chance at all.” Slowly he poured the water into the Holy Grail, filling it nearly to the brim. Then he looked at Gwen and tilted his head in the direction of the wine bottle.

She understood and started to move toward it, but Brady was faster. He picked up the Grail and, ever so carefully, reverently, he expertly transferred the contents from the Grail into the wine bottle. For good measure, Arthur repeated the procedure twice more, and Brady twice more poured it over until the wine bottle was nearly full. Then Arthur put the water decanter down, picked up the cork to the wine bottle, and handed it over to Brady. Brady shoved the cork back into the bottle as best he could.

“I wish I could do more for you, Brady…give you more…”

“You’ve given me hope, Mr. President. That’s all I can ask.”

“All right, then. Guard that with your life. And you have to swear to me that you will not drink from it yourself. At least not while you’re in good health.”

“I swear, sir.”

“Because we’re dealing with strange powers. Powers that are far beyond our understanding. They are not to be meddled with lightly.”

“Yes, sir. I won’t drink from it, I swear. I would never in any event. Because if drinking a portion of this somehow cures my Linda…I’ll want to make sure to keep some of it around in case there’s some sort of relapse.”

“I believe you, Brady.” He gripped him firmly by the shoulder. “Don’t be too much in a hurry to leave. Don’t act as if you have some sort of contraband in the wine bottle. Remember, you are doing nothing dishonest. Godspeed to you, then.”

Then he turned and handed the Grail back to Percival. Gwen noticed that Percival made a little, relieved sigh as he took it from his king and tucked it back into his coat. Arthur straightened his jacket and said, “Percival…Gwen…I believe it’s time to go.”

“What about Merlin?” asked Gwen.

“We’ll pick him up from his room before we leave. Whatever meditating he’s doing will simply have to wait.”

But Merlin was not in his room, nor any of the rooms nearby. This caused a certain degree of consternation among the Secret Service, who were obviously not sanguine about the notion of the strange young boy with the mysterious relationship to Arthur just casually wandering around the White House somewhere. But with minutes ticking by, it was finally decided that Merlin could always be removed at a later date. Right now the main thing was to get Arthur out of there, and as conspicuously as possible.

So it was that the thousands of people gathered outside the White House, waiting for their shot at a miracle…waiting for an appearance by their latest savior…were surprised to see a large helicopter, a Sikorsky VH 3D, lifting off from within the White House grounds. It stayed relatively low as it glided forward, and as it hovered above the crowd, the powerful beating of its propellers caused all manner of shouting and confusion below. Hats blew away, people struggled to keep their coats wrapped around themselves against the brisk night air, and errant newspapers and discarded trash swirled about.