Fall of Knight (27 page)

“It’s a mess, I know,” said Paracelsus sadly. “But…what can you do? You fought. I had superior weaponry. That’s all there is to it.”

“You…monster…” At least, that’s what Ruehl tried to say. But his voice was a hoarse whisper, and a sharp stabbing pain lanced through his throat. He moaned in pain.

“I wouldn’t suggest talking. Your entire breathing apparatus is going to take a little while to mend. But it will mend. I brought you back.” And he held up the Grail. “It’s ready. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Ruehl’s eyes widened in confusion.

The Grail looked completely different than it had moments before. Earlier, the wood of the cup had been dark brown. Now it was ebony, as if carved from some sort of solid black wood. The gold lamination that had lined the edges had turned blood red.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Paracelsus, and he sounded as if he was going to cry with joy. “You have no idea of the lengths I’ve had to go to in my studies…the places I’ve traveled…the people I’ve sacrificed, the demons I’ve summoned…to learn what had to be done. It was just rumors…faint rumors…but I learned the facts of it. I learned how to accomplish my goal.”

“What…what’s your goal? What are you going to do?”

Paracelsus stared at him pityingly. “Do I
look
like a comic opera villain to you? What, I’m going to tell you everything while chortling, ‘I wanted you to know everything that will happen so you can die feeling helpless?’ And then have it come back to bite me on the ass? To hell with that. I much prefer that you die without knowing a damned thing. You’ve spent your life living in ignorance. Die the same way.”

He drew back the Spear, prepared to plunge it into Ruehl’s chest.

An abrupt scream drew his attention.

G
WENDOLYNE PENN HAD
walked into the chapel, so lost in thought that she noticed nothing until she was already a few feet in. Then she stopped, frozen in place, as she saw the bodies on the floor, a couple of shattered shields nearby them, the guy from the Vatican sprawled not far from her, and “Barry Seltzer” astride him, about to drive the Spear of Destiny into the Cardinal’s chest.

Understandably, she let out a startled scream.

Paracelsus looked up, and he grinned. “My, my. Mrs. Penn. You look a bit more singed than last I saw you.”

“G-get away from him!” Gwen managed to say.

“As you wish,” said Paracelsus. “Is your husband still with us?”

“Yes,” and her voice grew cold, regaining her nerve, “and he’s going to kill you for what you did.”

“Really. Then allow me to send him a message through you.”

Without hesitation, Paracelsus stepped around Ruehl, gripped the Spear with one hand while clutching the Grail in the other, and shoved the Spear forward right at Gwen’s chest.

Reflexively, Gwen stepped back, choking on sudden terror, her eyes fixed on the spearhead driving toward her chest. The only thing that saved her was blood. A pool of it had formed behind her, still seeping from the fallen body of one of the monks, and her foot hit it. She slipped, her foot going out from under her, and she fell flat. As it happened it was what she needed to do to save her life, for the Spear went right past where she’d been standing a second before. Paracelsus staggered, thrown off-balance, and this time Gwen didn’t hesitate. She drove both her feet up and forward, and Paracelsus let out a shout as Gwen made solid contact with his crotch.

Paracelsus staggered back, the wind knocked out, pain exploding behind his eyes. He managed to hold on to the Spear, but then he tripped over the fallen form of Cardinal Ruehl.

Instantly, Ruehl was atop him. Acting entirely on instinct, Ruehl grabbed Paracelsus by the throat, squeezing as hard as he could. Paracelsus spear arm was blocked by the weight of Ruehl’s arm, but he brought the Grail up and around as hard as he could. It was solid, ancient wood, and it struck Ruehl in the side of the head with the impact of a brick. Ruehl moaned but didn’t let go, and Paracelsus struck him a second time. This time Ruehl couldn’t hold on, rolling off to the side, and Paracelsus yanked the Spear of Destiny clear.

Gwen had clambered to her feet and was in a crouch, grabbing at a fallen truncheon from one of the monks. She brought it up just as Paracelsus—not moving especially fast since there was still pain lancing through him from where she’d kicked him—stabbed at her with the Spear. She batted it aside with the truncheon and whipped her fist around fast enough to slam Paracelsus square in the face. She felt the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking under the impact, and suddenly she let out a shriek as the spearhead slashed across her right thigh. Her leg bent, and it was just enough for Paracelsus to bring the Spear around again. She almost got out of the way, but not quite, as the point slashed across the upper part of her right breast. Gwen fell back, sprawling into a pew, blood welling from the two places where the Spear had sliced her.

Snarling in fury, Paracelsus gasped out, “I’m going to carve out your liver.”

“Go ahead,” said Gwen. “I hate liver.”

“Murderer!”

It was Arthur. He was standing in the door of the chapel, and there was fury in his eyes and death in his heart. “Now…now you will die…”

“Oh, to hell with it,” said Paracelsus. He shoved the Grail into his belt and, just as Arthur started to reach for Excalibur, Paracelsus pulled a gun out of a holster under his jacket. He aimed and fired in one smooth motion.

It was that exact moment that a young orderly, attracted by all the ruckus, came practically out of nowhere and stepped directly in front of Arthur. He said angrily, “What’s going on here? This is a hospital! What’s all the shouting about?”

At least, that’s what he started to say. He didn’t actually get much past “What’s—” before the bullets slammed into his body. One of them went completely through, continued through, and glanced off Arthur’s rib cage. The rest were stopped by his muscular form, and the orderly—without ever knowing what he had wandered into or what was going on—sank to the floor with a vague whimper and a confusing desire to call his mother. He was dead before his head struck the ground.

With an outraged cry of grief and fury, Arthur yanked Excalibur clear of its scabbard and came right at Paracelsus, shouting, “You’ll die slowly, Paracelsus!” Gwen realized that, seized with a warrior’s fury and desire for blood and punishing his enemy, Arthur didn’t care if she was there to see it or not. In fact, she wasn’t even sure he knew or remembered that she was there at all.

And what frightened her even more…was that Paracelsus didn’t look the least bit concerned.

He pulled the Holy Grail out of his belt, held it up, and suddenly the Grail was no longer a cup. Gwen’s eyes widened as she saw it had transformed into a sword. A solid black, glowing sword. She had known that Gilgamesh had wielded it as such; Arthur had told her, although she’d been unconscious at the time. But he’d said nothing about it looking dark and menacing and slightly evil. Even Arthur looked taken aback by what he was now witnessing.

“I hope this works,” she heard Paracelsus mutter as he brought the Spear of Destiny around and crossed it with the Grail sword in front of him, holding it up as if he were warding off Dracula.

The response was instantaneous.

A wave of force ripped out of the intersection point of the two ancient weapons. Arthur tried to deflect it with Excalibur, and almost managed to do so. But he wasn’t properly braced for it, and the force lifted him up and off his feet, slamming him back into the far wall of the hallway.

The only thing that saved Gwen was that Paracelsus wasn’t completely prepared for what he was unleashing either. In the same way that Arthur was flung in one direction, Paracelsus was hurled in another. He smashed into the large figure of Jesus, which was sent crashing off its fixture in the wall. Paracelsus sat there for a moment, stunned by the impact.

Gwen clambered to her feet, started for him, and Paracelsus saw her coming and brought the relics together once more. Yet again a powerful force erupted, and this time it struck Gwen directly. It was like being bitch-slapped by God as Gwen tumbled through the air ass over teakettle.

But it was more than just the force that hammered through her. When it struck her, there were images slamming through her mind. Images and sounds that she didn’t understand. Flames licking at the walls of a castle, and people screaming, and a loud whinnying sound like an agonized horse that sounded like more than a horse…that sounded almost human. She didn’t know where it was coming from; it wasn’t her memories at all. She knew though, instinctively, that she was bearing witness to something terrible, some ungodly, horrific sin that had been committed at some distant point in the past; a sin that mankind was still paying for.

All this went through her mind while she was still airborne, and then she thudded to the floor barely a foot away from Arthur. Arthur was still trying to shake off the effects of the impact.

There was a crash from within the chapel, the sound of glass breaking. Gwen tried to haul herself to her feet, but Arthur put out a hand firmly, and said, “No. Stay here,” and pushed her back down. Excalibur gripped firmly in his hand, he staggered back into the chapel. Gwen braced herself, waiting to hear screaming or another blast of force, or the general sounds of battle, or something. But there was nothing, and a moment later, Arthur reappeared, hauling Cardinal Ruehl out with him. Ruehl looked ashen and weakened, but at least he was still alive.

“He’s gone,” Arthur said. “Out the window. Take him.” And he passed Ruehl over to Gwen, who prevented the Cardinal from slumping to the floor. By that point, hospital personnel were running up from all directions. By the time they got there, Arthur had already gone out the window after Paracelsus.

A
RTHUR RAN SEVERAL
blocks, looking around desperately, trying to pick up some sort of track. But there was none to be had.

He circled the area, desperately wishing he had the forces at his command that he’d once had. Once upon a time, he could have had an entire phalanx of knights fanning out, sweeping around the area. If Paracelsus was anywhere on foot, they’d have had him in no time.

But there was no sign of him. He might simply have vanished into thin air—which, for all Arthur knew, might be within his abilities—or he might have done something as simple as find a cab or even steal a car. Hell, maybe he’d just driven himself there. There were any number of possibilities.

“Dammit,” he muttered, and then louder,
“Dammit!”
He pictured Percival’s corpse, a mute testimony to Arthur’s failures, and he brought Excalibur slamming down onto the sidewalk shouting,
“Dammit!”
one more time, shattering the pavement beneath his blade.

Frustrated, Arthur started back to the hospital, but as soon as he drew close, he stopped.

The place was swarming with TV cameras and police cars. Arthur was still a good distance away. No one had spotted him yet, and he meant to keep it that way. He didn’t need to go wandering into the middle of the situation; there was every likelihood that he would be detained for extensive questioning, perhaps even arrested. And what was he supposed to say under questioning? That a centuries-old alchemist was out to destroy the world and he, Arthur, was the only hope of stopping him? They’d probably want to lock him away…possibly next to the hypothetical fellow who claimed to be Jesus.

Arthur, having sheathed Excalibur, walked quickly away from the hospital. It took him a few minutes but he found a pay phone in the middle of a small park and called Gwen’s cell phone, half-expecting not to be able to get through. Instead she picked up on the first ring.

“Gwen…” he said.

She let out an annoyed sigh. “Mom, for God’s sake, you can’t keep calling me every time you’re having a bout of insomnia.”

He paused, then understood. “You’re not alone.”

“That’s right, Mom.”

“Police? Government agents?”

“All that and more.”

“And my coming back there…?”

“I wouldn’t really suggest it.”

He moaned and sagged against the booth. “How’s Nellie?”

“Same as before. Mom…”

She stopped talking abruptly, and Arthur pressed his ear against the phone. It was a strain to hear, but he was positive that he was hearing different breathing on the other end. It was obvious what had happened: Some agent had grabbed the phone out of her hand and was waiting for Arthur to say another word.

Pitching his voice as high as he could, Arthur—hoping he sounded sufficiently womanish—said, “All right, dear, obviously you’re busy. Bye-bye,” and he hung up. He knew he had to get out of there quickly, though. Her phone had caller ID. It might come up blank, or it might peg the call as having come from a nearby pay phone, which would have the area crawling with agents in no time at all.

He drew his coat tightly around him, the wind whipping it up against him. His mind raced as he went, trying to think of someone, anyone in DC that he could seek out for aid. He couldn’t think of anyone; certainly no one that he trusted.

Only one name came to mind: Cook, the Secret Service agent.

But even as he started to reach for his wallet to pull out Cook’s business card, he hesitated. He realized that he was in a hideous position of not knowing whom to trust anymore. For instance, he had written off Cardinal Ruehl as simply some officious oaf from the Vatican, and yet he had apparently fought valiantly against Paracelsus…and in the company of similarly clad monks, leading Arthur to think that Ruehl was part of some sort of secret society. He had been fighting Paracelsus to…what? Safeguard the Grail? Retrieve the Spear of Destiny?

And Cook had been the one who had put Arthur together with Paracelsus in the first place. It could have been an honest mistake, with Cook being taken in by the alchemist. Certainly Arthur, Gwen, even Percival had been. But what if Cook was actually a compatriot of Paracelsus, working with him to bring about the end of the world? By seeking Cook’s help, Arthur might be delivering himself right back to the forces of his enemy.

His enemy, who could at that moment be anywhere, doing anything.

Arthur sensed that the world was running out of time, and he didn’t know what to do or who to turn to.

For a man of action and determination to feel that indecisive…it was agonizing. Frustrating. Humbling.

And then slowly…reluctantly…Arthur looked up.

Clouds had moved in, blocking the moon, with the streetlamps of downtown DC as the only illumination. Arthur stared up at the clouds for what seemed an eternity, although it might just have been minutes, or even seconds.

“Hello,” Arthur said, continuing to look up. “It’s, uhm…it’s me. Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther, King of the Britons. You can, uh…tell I’m a king because I haven’t got shit all over me.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “That was sort of a joke. People love to say it in regards to me. It’s related to a film. It’s also, well…it’s not all that far off from truth, when you get down to it…except in this case, I really am waist deep in shit, and perhaps it’s rising or perhaps I’m sinking, but either way, it’s going to be over my head in short order and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, so I thought perhaps I’d give you a go.

“We haven’t chatted in a while. A good long while. Not at length. I admit, I offered up some fast and frantic prayers to you when Gwen was shot, but somehow I knew there wasn’t really all that much you were going to do. I mean, someone put bullets in her, and you weren’t about to make them vanish. So I set out to find my own way, and I found the Grail, except according to both Merlin and Gilgamesh it had nothing to do with a messiah or a savior, but instead some sort of ancient magic that predates any link to…well, to anyone claiming to be your son. So I hate to say it, but that sort of diminished you somewhat in my eyes.

“And there’s so much evil in the world, and I saw so much of it in the old days, and there’s more and more nowadays, and I know there’s free will involved, but for crying out loud! If you see a sheep about to wander into a pond and drown itself, you don’t just stand there, and say, ‘Free will.’ You make personal intervention and you stop the stupid creature. And perhaps mankind is smarter than sheep, but a good number of us aren’t, especially in our group efforts, and how are we supposed to keep saying ‘The Lord is our shepherd, I shall not want’ when so many are in want and there’s no bloody sign of you while we keep wandering into ponds and drowning! And whose free will ever summons earthquakes or tidal waves! They don’t call them acts of God for nothing! You’re like a shepherd who picks off the flock with a bazooka when he’s bored. It…”

His voice trailed off, and he put his face in his hands. Then he laughed ruefully. “Piss poor prayer, isn’t it. I mean, honestly. Lack of practice is showing, I suppose.

“All right, then. It comes down to this.” He put his hands palm to palm, fingers to fingers, and interlaced the fingers and closed his eyes tightly. Then, speaking as fervently as he could, he said, “I need help, God. There’s a man down here who wants to put an end to your creation. I’d like to make sure he doesn’t do that. So if you like me or despise me, either way, it certainly seems that at this particular juncture, our interests are intertwined. And I’m telling you right now…I need some help. That’s not an easy thing for me to admit. I’m a proud man, sir. Very proud. Almost too proud. And perhaps I…I don’t deserve your aid. I’ve done things in my life that I’m not proud of. Terrible, barbaric things. And I’d like to say that I’m sorry for doing them, and I am for some of them. But for others, no. Definitely not. They were bloody bastards who had it coming, and I’d do it again if I had the chance. But I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you’re not going to descend from on high with trumpets blowing and the firmament shaking beneath the wheels of your golden chariot being drawn by great golden horses. I’m suspecting that you’re going to be up in your heaven, but all is not going to be right with the world.

“I mean…all right, yes. My faith has been taking a beating lately. But that’s going to happen when people start worshipping me the way they used to worship you, isn’t it? It’s difficult to keep one’s perspective. I mean, as a king, I was used to people bowing down to me, but this was something…more. I had to become a recluse for a time. I literally couldn’t go anywhere without people asking me to produce miracles to help them or improve their lives. Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “that’s why you stay up in heaven. If you walked about down here, you wouldn’t get two meters without being accosted by people wanting things from you. It’d be inevitable, what with you being God and all…”

He stopped talking for a time, then continued, even more introspectively, “I know that you place a great store on worship. On people worshipping you, I mean, and having faith in you. I don’t know…maybe with people turning away from you and worshipping me…and my causing all this controversy…perhaps it hurt your feelings. I figure your feelings
can
be hurt. After all, it’s said you made us in your image, and we can get our feelings bruised up rather handily. So why not you? And if that’s the case…if you’re angry because some people turned away from you, or sought a quick way to improve their quality of life…I suppose that’s understandable.

“They made mistakes. I made mistakes. We’re human. We do that. But now there’s a human who’s planning to make the biggest mistake in the history of humanity…by trying to annihilate the world through means I can’t even guess at.

“And if you care about that…if you’d rather I put a stop to it, rather than every man, woman, and child dying…then I could use some help. I’m not saying I need some divine weaponry. I have my right arm and Excalibur at my side, and that’s all I require on that score. But I could use some guidance. Point the way. A…” He sighed deeply. “A sign, as clichéd as that sounds. I need—”

There was a crack of thunder from overhead, and lightning lanced across the sky. Arthur was startled by the sound, and squinted as the lightning yet again violently illuminated the night.

If this is for my benefit, it’s damned impressive,
Arthur admitted to himself.

Then several large raindrops hit him in the face, and more, the quantity increasing rapidly with each passing second.

“Oh, you right bastard,” said Arthur.

Within moments, a downpour was hammering down upon Arthur, who now wished that he had a hat to go with his coat.

Arthur sprinted across the street, splashing through quickly forming puddles, and ducked under the overhang of a closed office building. He stayed there, huddled, cursing himself for his stupidity in thinking that if anyone on high was listening to him, they were going to give him help of any sort whatsoever.

“Great. Just brilliant,” he snarled, wringing out his hair to get the water out. He stared up at the skies, watching the rain continue to pour down, and couldn’t help but think what a fool he’d been. He’d been humbling himself, pouring his guts out, and this was the response he was getting.

The rain continued, and he watched it collecting, pooling at the curbside and in cracks in the sidewalk right in front of him, all the time grousing to himself over this latest development. If he knew where to go, if he’d gotten some guidance, then he’d run through the water and simply deal with the inconvenience. But there had been no sign, no nothing, and now he was just…

…just…

He stared at his reflection in the dirty water of a puddle.

“Bugger me,” he said, using coarser language than he normally would employ. “Water…of course…how could I not have been thinking about…how could I…there was so much on my mind…
damnation
!”

Things that Merlin had said to him, quickly, hurriedly, that Arthur’s mind had not fully processed because he was too busy trying to deal with the new reality of Merlin speaking to him from within a loo. But now it all came back to him with crystal clarity.
“Water!”
he shouted, and sprinted through the rain.

He splashed through the puddles and one time even slipped and sprawled hard upon the rain-slicked asphalt. His hair was soaked through, plastered onto his head, but he paid it no mind. He was totally focused upon his destination, cursing himself that he had not thought of it earlier. Who knew how much time he had wasted while being oblivious to the most obvious place he could go, and person to whom he could turn, for help. Not that he was certain he would receive that help; there was every possibility that he wouldn’t. But that wasn’t going to deter him.

Running through the darkness, he sprinted across a deserted street and started running out onto the Capitol Mall. Suddenly he skidded to a halt, literally, as a light flared up directly in front of him. “Hold it, sir!” came a voice, and Arthur immediately realized that there was no mystical attack here but rather a flashlight being shined in his direction. And from the tone of voice and the general outline he was able to make out in the dark, he was reasonably certain he was face-to-face with one of DC’s finest. “Little late at night to be wandering out…”

“I have to get to the Reflecting Pool,” Arthur said.

The cop was obviously about to give a canned reply, but then he stopped and Arthur knew without having to be told that the cop had recognized his voice. The flashlight now shone straight into his face, and the cop gasped. “Mr. President…”

“Yes, right, now that you know, step aside like a good lad. I have places to go, things to do. Busy time of the year.” He was babbling. He must have sounded like he was Santa Claus on a hurry to get on with his errands.

“Sir,” the young police officer said, “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“Tragically, I’m going to have to refuse.” Arthur started forward, angling so that he would go around the officer. The cop tried to head him off, stepping directly into his path. Arthur had neither time nor patience to deal with the situation any further. His fist lashed out and clocked the officer squarely in the middle of the head. The cop collapsed like a bag of rocks, and Arthur kept going.