Fall of Knight (28 page)

He made his way across the darkened Capitol Mall. He saw the Washington Monument standing erect in the near distance, looking not unlike a giant sword itself. The rain was tapering off, thank God for that, but it was still lightly coming down. The surface of the Reflecting Pool was a steady ripple of falling droplets.

Arthur got to the edge of the Reflecting Pool and hesitated for a moment. The impression he got from Merlin was that Merlin had been attempting much the same thing as he was endeavoring to do: summon the Lady of the Lake. And for his troubles, he had been caught unawares as someone—Paracelsus, most likely—had attacked him from behind. Well, Arthur had no intention of being caught by the same maneuver.

Without hesitation, Arthur stepped down into the Reflecting Pool. The fortunate thing about already being soaked to the skin, thanks to the downpour, was that he really didn’t care whether he got wetter. Granted, the shoes were probably going to be a total loss, but he had bigger things to worry about than the condition of his footwear.

He strode out toward the middle of the pool. As he did so, his thoughts turned to the notion that perhaps the rainstorm had been the message he’d been seeking. It had, after all, prompted him to think along the lines of water, and thus come to this current course of action. So perhaps, he further reasoned, God might get some points for steering him toward help after he’d asked for it so intensely. He decided to reserve judgment until he saw how the whole thing worked out.

“Lady of the Lake!” he shouted, and he pulled Excalibur from his scabbard. “You recognize this, I assume! From your own hand did I take this and, with it, my destiny! I was supposed to return at the time of mankind’s greatest need, and now I summon you, at the time of my greatest need! Come and face me!”

Nothing. Not the slightest stirring in the water.

“Milady, I implore you! I, Arthur Pendragon, summon you hence, lest the world itself face its end.”

Nothing.

Annoyed, Arthur shouted, “Right! That’s it! I don’t have time for this, you…you moistened bint! You watery tart! Get your aquatic ass up here, now!”

That was when he heard the warning sound of hammers being cocked, and saw that policemen were ringing the Reflecting Pool.

“Shite,” muttered Arthur.

T
HE HOSPITAL WAS
lousy with cops, Secret Service men, everyone with a badge or a gun that Gwen could possibly imagine within the confines of the District of Columbia. Every one of them that she encountered was solicitous of her, but by the same token, she sensed a collective look of suspicion from all around.

She supposed she couldn’t blame them. There’d been two of them sitting with her when Arthur’s phone call had come in, and she doubted it had been terribly convincing when she’d pretended that her mother had been phoning her up. The agent who had taken the phone from her and put it to his ear had made a curious face, and then had simply handed the phone back to her without comment. She suspected Arthur had figured out what was happening, and she could only guess what he said to confuse the poor devil.

No one was letting her leave the hospital. Because of what had happened there, between the presence of the former president, the former chief of staff, and one of the Pope’s most visible representatives lying in a hospital bed, a lockdown had been put on the entire hospital. She’d been barraged with questions and, after the first round was over, she was pretty sure there was going to be a second, third, and any number of others.

Nevertheless, with all that going on, she managed to get herself over to the Cardinal’s room. An agent was standing there, taking notes, and the Cardinal was being as oblique as possible. No, he had no clear notion of what had gone on. He and several religious compatriots were merely visiting the local hospital chapel. Yes, three in the morning might seem curious, but God’s work knows no time constraints. And so on, and so on.

When she walked in, the agent looked up at her and nodded politely. “If you don’t mind,” Gwen said, “I’d like to have a few minutes with the Cardinal in private.”

“You can speak to him, ma’am,” said the agent, “but I’ll have to remain here.”

“Why? Do you think he’s planning a breakout? For that matter, is he under arrest?”

“No, ma’am. But—”

“Then a little privacy, please,” she said with gentle insistence.

“Ma’am, I don’t…”

“If you must know, I want to make confession. Do you have to be here for that, or are we stomping on church and state separations completely now?”

The agent rolled his eyes. “No, ma’am. We certainly are not.”

With that, he got up and strode out of the room. Gwen made sure the door was securely closed, then walked over to the Cardinal and sat down near him.

“Let me guess,” said Ruehl. “You don’t want to make confession.”

“No, but you do: right now. Tell me what the hell is going on, or I’ll give these guys more than enough reasonable cause to keep you here until Judgment Day.”

He glanced once at the door, perhaps to make certain there was no one there, then said softly, “I suppose you deserve to know. God knows we’re all in the same boat.”

T
HE LADY OF
the Lake moves toward Merlin, and she appears annoyed.
What is it,
she asks,
about you people and my ass? You called it flabby. Arthur demanded I produce my aquatic ass…

He always did have a weakness for alliteration.

Honestly, Merlin, he sounded so much like you just then.

Well,
Merlin says with indifference,
I am the teacher and he the student. So some influence isn’t totally out of line.
Then his tone becomes serious.
Help him, Nimue. You see he’s in dire straits. The police are closing in; the end of the world is nigh. You owe no allegiance to Paracelsus.

He did slay my lovely Percival,
she recalls with a hint of sadness.
On the other hand, he shares my frustration with humans for their polluting, careless ways. Why must it be this way, Merlin? Why must there be something wrong with everyone? Why can no one and nothing be exactly what I want it to be?

Merlin is silent for a moment. He knows the correct answer to give. He knows he is running out of time to provide it. Finally, with a heavy heart and frustrated sigh, he tells her,
It is possible for it to be that way. For someone to be that way.

She regards him with intrigue.
Speak, fair demonspawn. Tell me your heart…and I will know if you speak truly or not.

G
WEN LEANED BACK
in the plastic chair, shaking her head in disbelief. “So you’re telling me that this whole…this whole ‘society’ of yours…was on Arthur’s side?”

“We are on the side of humanity,” Ruehl said. “We have been for centuries. And we knew the difficulties Arthur was in for, the forces that were converging upon him. One of our members is a mystic, a very powerful one. His necromantic globe saw the young Merlin Demonspawn being stabbed by the Spear of Destiny. With Merlin taken out of the equation, we knew we had to attend to Arthur’s safety ourselves. Arthur’s…and the Grail’s.”

“And you did it by poisoning Nellie Cordoba, you bastards,” she said angrily.

“We intended to use the power of the Grail to revive her. We did not…” He paused, then, sounding full of regret, admitted, “We did not know the full difficulties of the Grail. The full threat it posed. We had some inkling, but…not everything.”

“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

“That’s pretty much right.” He frowned. “You don’t have to look at me with such anger. We’re not the villains of the piece.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because you had Paracelsus to displace you for that title. The only reason you’re not the villain is by reason of comparison. And what the hell are we supposed to do now, huh?” she demanded. “Arthur’s gone, the Grail’s gone, the bad guy’s gone…do you have anything to offer now? Any suggestions? Any thoughts?”

He lowered his gaze. “None, I’m afraid.”

With an angry snort, Gwen headed for the door, and just before she got there, Ruehl said, “Thank you…by the way.”

“For what?”

“For saving my life.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then remembered. “Oh. Right. I did do that, I guess.”

“Paracelsus was about to kill me. He would have, if you hadn’t stopped him. Perhaps God put you at that place, at that time, for a reason.”

“Yeah. Well…did you ever consider that maybe he put me there to watch you die for your sins, and I screwed up his divine plan?”

“I doubt that very much.”

“Really. Well…next time you speak to him, ask him. Who knows? His answer may surprise you.”

She opened the door. The Secret Service man was very much in evidence, clearly having not gone very far. Just before she stepped out, Cardinal Ruehl called, “Go and sin no more, my daughter.”

Gwen forced a lopsided smile, and said, “You too, Eminence. You too.” And she walked out of the room.

S
HE HAS A
sense of what Merlin is about to say, and Merlin knows that she knows as well. Nevertheless, there is a moment of crackling anticipation, like the instant at the beach just before a wave strikes you and lifts you off your feet, propelling you toward the shore.

You cannot hold me forever, Nimue,
he tells her.
You know this to be true. I’ve lived too long, learned too much. Sooner or later I will devise a means of escape, whether it takes days or years. However…

However…
Nimue prompts.

However…should you provide aid to Arthur, then I will make myself yours in all things. I will never try to depart. I will love you and none other, and if you wish to work magik to make me more…adult…then you have my full permission and cooperation. I will be yours, Nimue…

Body and soul?

He considers that.
I am not entirely sure that I still possess a soul. I may have lost it a long time ago. Thousands of years of experience and memory…a few minor things slip away. But whatever I have that passes for a soul is certainly yours, if you desire it. I will be the love of your endless life, Nimue, and never try to escape. I promise this to you, on my honor, on my life, on everything that I hold dear. I pledge myself to you, forsaking all others.

She swirls around him, thoughtful, considering.

You love me that much?
she asks.

No.

Ah. You love the world that much.

No. I love Arthur that much,
Merlin gently corrects her,
and I would be most obliged if you didn’t mention that to him. After all, I have an image to protect. So…what say you, milady. Have we an agreement?

Let me…consider it.

Milady,
he says nervously,
we are running out of time.

Are we? I’m not accustomed to such concerns. The water, you see, has all the time in the world. So…let us go over the specifics of this proposed agreement one more time…

R
ON CORDOBA, SEATED
near his unconscious wife, looked up and smiled to see Gwen standing next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder and he put his own hand atop hers, squeezing it affectionately.

There were no agents inside the room, since Ron hadn’t been a witness to anything. Nevertheless, the agents were keeping a cautious eye on matters because of Ron’s rank in government, no matter how recently abandoned it was. Since they were standing outside, Gwen leaned forward so that she and Ron could speak as softly as possible.

“How you holding up?”

“Better if I had a clearer idea of what the hell was going on.”

Gwen resisted the urge to look toward the door as she spoke even quieter. As quickly as she could, she gave Ron the bare bones of what was going on…or at least as much as she understood, since there were still pieces that she felt as if she were missing. Ron took it all in and, since this was not his first time at the rodeo with the adventures of Arthur, he actually took it in reasonable stride.

Still, his eyes narrowed when Gwen got to the part about Cardinal Ruehl and a number of others leaping into the fray with Paracelsus. Ron waited for her to finish her narrative, then he said, “You’ve seen Ruehl? I mean, since the attack? Talked to him?”

She nodded. “He’s well on the mend. Probably the only reason it’s taking a little longer for him is because the damage was inflicted by the Spear of Destiny. They’re probably keeping him here for a day or so for observation. I figure—”

“I don’t care about that,” he said curtly. “I just want to know one thing: Was he involved in doing this,” and he pointed to Nellie, “to my wife?”

She saw a look in his eyes such as she had never seen in him. A look of cold, hard fury. And in seeing it, she saw something else: She saw Ron waiting until there were no agents around, going into Cardinal Ruehl’s room, covering his face with a pillow, and holding it over him as the holy man kicked and fought and screamed noiselessly into the smothering cushion. When the Cardinal finally stopped thrashing about, the enormity of what Ron had just done would hit him, and he would come unraveled. Either that or he would simply stand up, adjust the knot in his tie, and go about his business. Gwen honestly couldn’t say which would be worse.

“No,” she said.

He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you sure…?”

“Ron,” she told him with utter conviction, “he may be kind of a prick…but Ruehl is one of the good guys, okay? I asked him. I asked him point-blank. And he swore in the name of the savior and everything, and you know how seriously guys like that take that kind of stuff. He wasn’t involved. He…” She paused so she could say it without her voice cracking, “He told me to tell you…that he is praying for Nellie.”

It seemed endless, the amount of time that he was just staring at her, staring, and she felt as if his eyes were boring straight into her brain, excavating the lies with a spoon and tossing them aside so that he could gaze upon the truth, pink and quavering and vulnerable.

Then he lowered his gaze. “Me too,” he said. “Now I just wish that someone could remind me of why.”