Fall of Knight (21 page)

Ron looked over his shoulder at the president, who was staring at him with an unwavering gaze. “I said,” Stockwell repeated, “do I make myself clear?”

“Abundantly, sir.”

“This remains between us, then. You’re not even to tell your wife the specifics of what’s gone on here. If you do, we’ll find out.”

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Ron asked, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, “Are you saying that you have my house
bugged
?”

“No,” said Stockwell coolly. “But I know women. She won’t be able to keep it to herself. She’ll tell Arthur or Gwen, and we’ll run into the same problem.”

“You threatening to throw her in prison as well?”

President Stockwell gave the slightest shrug. “I certainly hope not. I will say, however, that I’ve certainly made far more difficult decisions in my time as president.” Then he gave a cold smile. “Good night, Ron.”

“Good night, Mr. President.”

Ron exited the Oval Office for the last time, pulling the door closed behind him.

Stockwell sat there for a time, staring at it, wondering if Ron wasn’t going to throw it open, and say “Surprise!” or “Gotcha!” or beg forgiveness. But none of that happened. Ron did not return nor, Stockwell suspected, would he ever.

He reached over and tapped his intercom. “You can come in now,” he said.

A door on the far side opened into a waiting area and a man in elaborate robes entered. “Well?” he asked quietly.

“He reacted in exactly the way you said he would, your Eminence,” Stockwell admitted.

“It was to be expected,” Cardinal Ruehl said.

“In a way…I’m jealous.”

Ruehl looked confused. “Jealous, Mr. President?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever commanded that level of loyalty from anyone.” It was clearly not something that he was comfortable or happy admitting, but he did so nevertheless.

“You are a good man, Mr. President,” Ruehl assured him. “People recognize that. His Holiness recognizes that. And he knows that you will trust me now to do what must be done. Unless, of course, you wish to send troops in…”

Stockwell shook his head. “That, your Eminence, is the last thing we want to do. I can’t even begin to imagine how that would play on CNN. No, actually, I can imagine it. They’ll be howling for my head and my approval ratings will be subzero.”

“Then do not worry about it,” said Cardinal Ruehl, and he patted Stockwell’s back in an avuncular manner. “As I’ve told you…my people will attend to this matter.”

“And who, precisely, are your people?” asked Stockwell suspiciously.

Ruehl smiled thinly. “Mr. President…”

Stockwell put up a hand before he could continue. “Plausible deniability?”

“Just so.”

“All right. I’m trusting in you, then.”

“You don’t have to,” the Cardinal assured him, and he pointed heavenward. “Place your trust in Him…and all good things will flow from that trust and benefit you and humanity.”

“And the Grail?”

“We’re on it,” Ruehl said.

A
RTHUR IS CASTING
about, surrounded by water. He is drowning. No…stranger than that. He is submerged, but doesn’t need to breathe. He is somehow drawing oxygen from the water itself, as if he were a fish. Still, he feels a sense of utter disorientation, unsure of which way is up or down. He reaches out all around himself and discovers that he is hemmed in on all sides. The prison that is holding him is round, cylindrical. He wonders how this can possibly be. He brings his fist through the water in slow motion and thumps against the clear container, but he can’t get any velocity with his fist. He is trapped, feeling frustrated and impotent.

Then, drifting a bit, he suddenly realizes where he is: He is trapped inside a gigantic bottle of Grail Ale. He has no clear idea how high it goes, although from where he’s situated, it seems to go on forever.

He doesn’t know how he got in there, and isn’t at all confident that he’s going to be able to continue breathing or surviving or doing whatever the hell it is he’s doing there. He reaches for Excalibur at his side, but it’s not there. Desperately Arthur is grabbing at his hip and his belt, but there’s no sign of the sword. He is alone. Alone and helpless. He calls for Gwen, he calls for Merlin, for Percival, for anyone who can possibly help him. He cannot see beyond the perimeter of the bottle. For all he knows, he’s surrounded by people peering in at him, pointing and shouting in derision as if he were a zoo animal.

He brings his foot up and slams it against the bottle, but it simply propels him to the other side, and he bounces back and forth between them like a pinball. He shouts again for aid. None is forthcoming.

And then a voice sounds angrily in his head. It’s a voice he knows all too well.

Is this what you’re reduced to?

Merlin?

Of course Merlin,
says Merlin’s voice.
Who else would it be?

Where are you? Can you help me?

Merlin’s tone is derisive.
How typical. You hear from me for the first time in months, and the first thing you do is beg for help.

I wasn’t begging! I was simply asking for help!

You got yourself into this. Get yourself out of it.

Merlin!
Merlin!

He thrusts about, tossing and turning so violently that he swings his arm around, only to be rewarded with a loud shriek of pain as Gwen sat up in bed, clutching the side of her head.

Arthur, still feeling disoriented and confused, blinked in the darkness of the room, his eyes stinging with pain from being forced open without sufficient rest. “What…?”

“Arthur!” Gwen shouted. “You hit me!”

“I
what
?”

“You were shouting something about Merlin, and thrashing around like a crazy man. I was just starting to wake up when all of a sudden, you clocked me in the face.”

“I was asleep, Gwen. I really don’t think it’s fair to be held responsible for something I did when I was borderline unconscious.”

“I suppose.” She lowered her hand and presented her face. “Is there a bruise?”

“It’s dark in here, and my eyes are half-closed. I’m not the best person to ask. Hold on.” He reached over and turned on the lamp on their nightstand. Then he reached over, took Gwen’s face gently by the chin, and turned her right and left. “Nothing. You look fine.”

“Well…you got off lucky,” she informed him.

“I’ll say. I certainly don’t need people saying I’m smacking my wife around.”

The bedroom they were in was nowhere near the opulence of their digs back in the castle, but it was reasonably hospitable. Gwen and he had become accustomed to it. It had been a necessity, since Percival would not leave the Grail unattended and constantly commuting to and from Central Park simply wasn’t practical. Percival’s relocation to the compound had been a necessity, and Arthur and Gwen weren’t about to leave him alone to his fate. When Arthur had reminded Barry that there was no telling how long they would have to be there, Barry had cheerfully declared, “Stay as long as you want! Stay forever! My home is your home!”

He wasn’t exaggerating: The vast, walled compound where his factory was situated doubled as his residence, with a large and respectively impressive Victorian house situated smack within its confines. Gwen had raised questions about zoning, but Barry had simply grinned, and said, “You’d be amazed how flexible the zoning laws can be when the right people become…convinced.” He had been as good as his word when it came to Arthur, Gwen, and Percival having anything they needed at their disposal.

Best of all, Barry had a private beach, the compound bordering on the Atlantic Ocean. So from time to time, Arthur and Gwen romped in the surf and enjoyed time together, although it was occasionally spoiled by determined paparazzi sweeping by in helicopters.

Percival never joined them.

Percival stayed by the Grail. At all times.

During the ten-hour manufacturing cycle, he was always by the Grail’s side. At the end of the day, the Grail was returned to him, and he kept it with him until the morning. Gwen was even moved to comment to Arthur that Percival was a touch obsessive about the cup, but Arthur had simply said, “He is the Grail Knight. It is his duty. His calling. Who am I to contradict him?”

“His king,” replied Gwen.

But Arthur had done nothing about it, and so the situation had remained, week after week, rolling into month after month.

Now Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I was…dreaming about Merlin,” he said.

Gwen propped herself up on one elbow and regarded him thoughtfully. “It’s certainly not the first time.”

“I know, but it was the most vivid. He was talking to me…scolding me, actually.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him, all right.”

“Don’t joke,” he said.

“Now
you’re
scolding
me.
”

“I apologize. But you should know by now how frustrated and concerned I am about Merlin. It’s a sensitive subject for me.”

“I do,” she said, putting her hand atop his. “Do you think he was trying to…I dunno…communicate with you somehow?”

“It’s possible, I suppose. I’m not exactly schooled in the delicacies of sorcery. The problem is, even if he is trying to get in touch with me…what am I supposed to do about that? If he needs my help, how can I possibly rescue him when all he provides me are vague, enigmatic contacts…and ones where he’s yelling at me for that matter.”

“Maybe he’s still trying to figure that part out.”

“Maybe.” He stood. He was bare-chested, wearing only pajama trousers.

“Where are you going?”

“To the loo. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Go ahead. Skip to the loo, my darling.”

He rolled his eyes. She never tired of that joke. It had been barely funny the first time she’d uttered it, and hadn’t improved with age. But it was simply one of those things that one either got upset over or chose to find charming. He elected the latter for the sake of their union, just as he was certain there were idiosyncrasies of his that she found annoying. Marriage, he had found, was about mutual tolerance.

So he simply nodded and headed for the bathroom. As he did so, Gwen pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. The bed was large and expansive, with wrought-iron headboard and footboard, and she liked it better than the one in the castle. She rolled over and proceeded to drift back to sleep.

Arthur shuffled into the bathroom, making no attempt to stifle a yawn. The bathroom was carpeted, and it felt comforting beneath his feet. He merely had to pass water, and so he opened the toilet and stood over it, preparing to relieve himself.

He looked down in the toilet water and gasped.

Merlin’s image was staring back up at him from the water.

“Put that thing away, Arthur,” he snapped. “There are children present.”

Arthur let out an alarmed yelp and jumped back. From the bedroom, Gwen called, “Arthur? What’s wrong?”

“Merlin’s in the toilet!”

Moments later, Gwen was at Arthur’s side, looking down. She stared right at the grim reflection of the young mage, and said, “I don’t see anything.”

“How can you not? He’s right there!”

“Arthur,” she said gently, “I know you’ve been worried about him, but…”

“He’s right there!”

“She can’t see me, Wart,” Merlin informed him. “I’m in your mind, not hers.”

Arthur was about to respond, but then he saw the way that Gwen was looking at him. “It’s okay, Gwen,” he said, trying to sound soothing and instead just coming across as sounding weird. “Everything’s going to be fine. I was just…I was dreaming.”

“Dreaming,” she echoed, sounding unconvinced. “Dreaming about Merlin in the toilet. You look awake to me.”

“I was starting to doze while I was relieving myself.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Oooookay,” she said finally. Then, after another pause, she added, “Arthur…do you need to go back to the castle for a while? Have some space to yourself…?”

“I’m fine. I’m just…I’m fine. It’d probably be best if you left now…”

“Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing,” she said, then cautiously backed out of the room while continuing to keep a wary eye on him. Finally, she closed the door, and Arthur turned his attention back to the toilet.

Merlin was still scowling up at him.

“Merlin…how…?”

“The Lady of the Lake has me imprisoned,” he said sourly.

“Nimue?
Again?
How many times are you going to fall for being seduced by that—?”

“She didn’t
seduce
me,” Merlin snapped at him.

“You always had a blind spot with her, and she with you,” said Arthur. “I’ve never understood two beings so mutually dedicated to being wrong for each other. What sweet nothings do you say to her, what names of endearment do you speak, that make her love you so much that she draws you to herself in some sort of eternally selfish dance…”

“It wasn’t like that, you great pillock! I was damned near fatally wounded and sort of…fell into her realm.”

“Wounded! Merlin, what—?”

“Stop asking questions, Wart, and listen carefully, for truthfully I don’t know how much time I’ve got here. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes…”

“I’m in a sort of…of fluid nexus that touches all aspects of water on earth. Nimue can manipulate it with more facility than I, and can come and go as she pleases. I’m not as fortunate. But mankind had its origins in the miasma of the world’s oceans, and every one of us is mostly fluid for that matter. Which means that I’m connected to humanity through that aqueous commonality, at least to some limited degree.”

“That dream I had of you…”

“That was me, yes, manifesting in your mind. It’s taken me a while to insinuate myself sufficiently into your very being to be able to make my presence directly known to you in this manner. Thus far you’ve merely been benefiting from the side effects of my presence within you.”

“Side effects?”

“I thought I told you not to ask questions,” Merlin said in annoyance.

But Arthur ignored him. “What benefits? What sort of side effects?”

Merlin blew air in irritation through his lips. The toilet water bubbled slightly. “Arthur…no one’s denying you’re a great speaker. A leader of men. Charismatic and all that. But did you really think that, single-handedly, you could turn that entire crowd in Central Park around with merely the power of your personality? This isn’t a Mel Gibson movie.”

“Are you saying that you added…what? Some sort of charm or charisma spell to me that…?”

“I’m saying I pitched in. It was ninety-eight percent you, two percent me.”

Arthur, who had been singularly proud of the way he’d handled that day in the park, said in annoyance, “Two percent? How significant can two percent be?”

“The DNA of chimpanzees differs from human DNA by two percent, so you tell me.”

Arthur didn’t have a ready reply to that, so Merlin resumed speaking. “I’m going to continue to try and work my way out of here…but in the meantime, at least I’ve managed to find my way to a place where I can give you a heads-up.”

“You spoke of being wounded…”

“Yes,” Merlin said grimly. “By the Spear of Destiny.”

Arthur was taken aback. “The Spear? I thought that was myth…”

“As many thought you to be, which shows yet again the danger of assumptions. Someone came in behind me while I was distracted by Nimue, and he damned near gutted me. It took every bit of puissance I had to keep me alive, which was how Nimue was able to work her watery magiks to bottle me up. I can help you in small ways, Arthur. Introduce aspects of myself, the smallest bits of arcane knowledge or influence to aid you. But until I break out of here, that’s all I can do, and I have to warn you of what you’re facing. There’s a necromancer or alchemist out there, he’s wielding the Spear, and I’m reasonably sure he wants the Grail as well.”

“Why? For its healing properties?”

“No. For its destructive properties.” He shook his head. “You think you know the damage it can cause? You think your sword-to-sword battle enables you to imagine it? You have no clue, Arthur. Not the slightest hint. For all the good that the Grail can do, its capacity for destruction is phenomenal. You know the saying about the Lord giving and taking.”

“It’s from the book of Job,” said Arthur. “‘Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither; the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

“Very philosophical. The problem is that it’s more than just an acknowledgment that we come into this world with nothing and leave whatever we acquire behind. It’s a commentary on yin and yang, pushing coming to shoving. For every action…”

“An equal and opposite reaction. Merlin, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, Wart, that for all the good that the Grail does, then the Lord, or Karma, or the laws of physics, or however you want to define it, builds up an account going in the other direction. For every positive, there’s a negative, and sooner or later, the negative is going to be released.”