One Perfect Knight

  "We aren't lying." Sam reached out to pat her shoulder, then stopped himself. "This is a business. Mel and myself, we're pragmatic guys. When I was a kid in college, I almost believed in some of this stuff. But that had more to do with the times, the 'sixties, Woodstock, and all that. I grew up, and once we opened this place, we saw what a crock most of it is."

  Mel nodded. "Yeah. I was always interested in the historical aspect of the items, of the antique books and all that. Fascinating, really. An insight into the psyche of man. But just because I study the stuff doesn't mean I believe it. It's like going to the movies-you watch Jackie Chan, you know he's not really being chased by the bad guys in the helicopter, but you stick with it because it's fun and it's entertaining and you never know what the heck's around the next corner. This shop is the same thing. It's entertainment, pure and simple."

  "Why are you telling us this?" Lancelot asked.

  "Because, like I said, you seem like nice people," Sam replied. "We've had other nice people in here who take this stuff too seriously. If we play along, enabling their superstitions to seem real, no good can really come of it."

  Julie looked down at her feet, trying not to let her disappointment show. "But we belong there, in Camelot. We really do."

  "A lot of us feel the same way," Sam said. His brother cocked his head at the gentle tone in Sam's voice. It was unfamiliar, certainly a tone he had never heard Sam employ with customers. "A lot of us wish this could all be real. God knows how many times I've prayed that the good things in tarot cards would come true, that a love potion would really work, that somewhere, if we believe enough, Camelot exists. But all that comes from that kind of thought is frustration and bitterness. You stop living in the real world so long that your chances, the genuine ones, are gone. The woman you could have loved, the opportunities you let slip through your fingers…"

  He stopped, a flush rising in his face. Mel cleared his throat. "I'm in it for the antiquities, Sam's in it because it's more fun than the pickle business. End of story. But Sam's right, you're nice people. And I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Um, I'm going back." He pointed his thumb at the door to the back room. "Good luck. Sam will ring up anything you want to purchase. And Sam, let's give them a tenpercent discount, okay?" With a thin smile, he replaced the jeweler's glass and left.

  Sam sighed. "There's almost an unspoken pact between the customers and us-we don't let on that it's fake. On the other hand, if you're sick and something we sell you makess you feel better, where's the harm? And if you love someone and want that person to love you back in the most desperate way, maybe our love potion will give you the confidence to win that person. When that happens, who's to say what works and what doesn't?"

  Julie nodded. Lancelot wrapped his arm around her. He did not seem surprised at all, as if he had expected this reaction all along.

  Sam looked at the two of them, then glanced over his shoulder at the back room where Mel was. "Listen," he said softly to the couple. "I don't know why I'm saying this, but, things have been slow here, so I have plenty of time to look stuff up. That's the only reason. Let's make that clear from the get-go, all right?"

  Julie frowned, perplexed. "I'm sorry, you've lost me. What exactly are you saying?"

  "I'm saying this." He crooked his finger, and they both leaned closer. "I'll look for you guys. I'll look through those books Mel has in the back. I'll go through his files. I'm the only one who knows how he organizes things, anyway. So give me your phone number, and I'll call you if I find something." He pursed his lips and shrugged.

  Lancelot removed his arm from Julie's shoulder, as if that would help him to concentrate. "Why are you doing this? This seems to go against everything you just said in front of your brother. Why are you willing to help us?"

  Sam stopped, an expression of bafflement on his own face. "I really don't know. It's just that, a part of me hopes this is all real, that maybe there is something genuine in this magical stuff after all. Also"-his eyes met Lancelot's, then Julie's, and he looked away, embarrassed-"I have a feeling you folks are genuine. If there is a Camelot and I'm not saying there is, by the way, just if there is a Camelot you two will make it there. And maybe"-he returned his gaze, unwavering, to them-"I'm hoping maybe you'll take me with you."

  Then he took the books Lancelot had piled aside on the shelf. "You guys want these?"

  They nodded yes.

  "Terrific. Can't go wrong with the Tyson book, by the way." He carried the stack to the cash register and smiled at Julie as if the previous conversation had never taken place. "Cash or charge?"

  Julie and Lancelot returned to her apartment just before midnight, after a leisurely late dinner in an out-of-the-way bistro. Lancelot enjoyed the meal and the wine, until he realized Julie had to pay for it.

  "It's ridiculous," he continued as they entered her lobby, the large bag of books slung over his shoulders like game after a hunt. "Food is a necessity. Therefore, to force people to pay for a necessity is not right. Has it always been this way?"

  Julie laughed, still glowing with the effects of the wine, the superb meal, and, most importantly, the nearness of Lancelot. Reaching into her purse for her keys, she smiled up at him in the bright lights of the lobby.

  In modern-day clothing, he was staggeringly handsome. Yet by his gestures, by his every move, he demonstrated his complete naturalness, his utter ease with himself. And of course, that made him all the more attractive.

  "Yes, food is a necessity, but not food and wine at a fancy pseudo-French…"

  "Oh, Miss Gaffney!" Charles the doorman rose from his place behind the front desk. "Sir." He nodded to Lancelot, who returned the greeting. "I let your friend upstairs. I hope it's all right."

  "Peg?" Julie asked. "That woman you've seen me with sometimes?"

  "Why, no, Miss Gaffney," he said, an uneasy expression forming on his face. "No, it's a friend of your friend here. And he said that he needed a key because he was meeting you someplace and wanted to clean up."

  "A friend of mine?" The smile fell from Lancelot's face.

  "Well, yes. I mean, he was dressed just the way you were last night, only in black. He looked a bit untidy, and I hesitated, but he assured me that ..: "

  You stay here, Julia!" Lancelot shouted as he began to hand the bags to her.

  "No! I'm going with you! Wait a moment." She turned to the doorman. "Do you remember anything else?"

  "Oh, my Lord, Miss Gaffney! Did I make a mistake?"

  "No, no. I did, Charles. You had no way of knowing." Julie tried to keep her voice calm. "Do you remember anything else about him?"

  "Well, wait a minute. He wouldn't take the elevator. He insisted on taking the steps. Oh, my Lord!"

  "It's all right, Charles."

  "Should I call the police, Miss Gaffney?"

  She was about to answer yes, when Lancelot shook his head. "There are things we can't explain," he said softly.

  He was right. They would need information about Lancelot, who Malvern was, where they had all met, what they thought Malvern had been after. Lancelot was right-they could not explain it to the police.

  "No, Charles. Thanks, though."

  The doorman seemed uncomfortable. "Really, Miss Gaffney. For security reasons, I should really notify the police."

  Lancelot smiled warmly at Charles. "You're right, of course. But, well, he's an old friend of mine who has been having some bad luck lately. I'll deal with it."

  Charles shifted his weight to his other leg. "Well," he began.

  "He's right," Julie assured him. "But could you just answer a few questions?"

  He nodded.

  "What time did he come here? Did you happen to see him leave?"

  "Yeah, I think I saw him leave after about ten minutes or so, but I was getting a cab for Mrs. Chestmire. She has a cane, you know, and needs a little help. And he must have come around ten o'clock, because Mr. Bealy on the seventh floor had just come back from walking Mr. Bigglesworth, that little
dog of his. Mr. Bealy always comes back in time for the news at ten."

  "Great. Thanks, Charles." She waved as they walked. "This is really more of a family thing."

  That seemed to relieve him somewhat, and finally he took a deep breath. "Okay. But if I see this guy again, I will call the cops."

  "You do that!" And Julie and Lancelot entered the elevator. "Maybe one of us should take the stairs," Julie began. "Just in case he managed to come back and Charles missed him."

  This was like a strange dream. Malvern had been there. It was an absolute nightmare.

  Lancelot shook his head. "I thought of that, but that might leave you alone. I believe we should stay together even at the risk of missing him."

  Julie was not about to begin an argument for women's rights. Instead, she nodded as they reached her floor. "Lancelot, I'm terrified. Maybe we should call the police."

  "Maybe. But I don't want to lose him if he's come back. And there is so much we can't possibly explain to the police. Julie, even the fellows at Cauldrons & Skulls did not believe us." Then he smiled and pulled her close. "It will be fine," he whispered.

  The elevator stopped, and they looked at each other before stepping into the hallway. The moment they did, they saw her apartment door wide open.

  He held a finger to his lips for her to remain silent, and she nodded.

  The apartment had been ransacked; the entire place was a shambles. They quietly crept through each room, gingerly peeking into closets and looking under her bed.

  "He's gone," Lancelot concluded. "I felt he was gone. But I wanted to make sure."

  "Oh, no," she cried, flicking on the light switch. It was even worse when they could really see the destruction. The sofa cushions were scattered in the middle of the living room, clothing was strewn about, the lamps were knocked over.

  "Anything missing?" Lancelot asked.

  "Nothing seems to be missing. The television's here, the stereo, the VCR-all here."

  "How about your jewels? Malvern could use them, sell them."

  Julie went into her bedroom, noticing her shoe boxes had been pulled from underneath the bed, the tops scattered, her dolls tossed about. If Lancelot had not thought ahead, Malvern would have got hold of Excalibur.

  That thought was the most horrible of all.

  She opened her jewelry box and was surprised to see that it had indeed been cleared out. He had taken everything, the real pearls along with her flea market fakes. He had just scooped out the whole thing.

  "My jewelry," she said as she walked back into the living room, stumbling over a tumbled lamp. "He took my jewelry. Everything."

  Lancelot walked over and encircled her in his arms.

  "I'm okay, really," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his chest. Then she stiffened. "At least no one was hurt. Wait a minute. The Gap stuff I got for you, all the clothes. They're gone."

  "Of course." He reached up and rubbed his forehead. "Now he'll blend in better. He'll be more dangerous, Julia. You know that."

  "Yeah, but thank God he didn't find Excalibur. That's because of you-you were the one who thought ahead."

  He smiled thinly. "Perhaps."

  The telephone rang, and it took her a moment to find it under a throw rug. It was Peg, and Julie promised to call back.

  Lancelot began putting the pillows back on the sofa, while Julie put the phone back on the table and reconnected the answering machine, which had become unplugged.

  When she did, it hummed into action. "Hi, Julie. This is Orrin. I was wondering if…"

  His voice faded out, and another voice came through, a woman's voice, in a tone of heartbreaking anguish.

  "Dear Lord, help us!"

  Then the machine went dead.

  Lancelot stood slowly, a sofa cushion in his hand.

  "Who was that?" Julia asked. "I don't recognize the voice."

  His face tight, he closed his eyes before looking at her. "I would know that voice anywhere," he said quietly. "That voice, Lady Julia, was Guinevere."

  The disheveled man was strangely dapper in new looking clothes.

  Sam looked up from his morning coffee when he heard the bells jingling over the doorway. Immediately, he wished he hadn't opened up a few minutes earlier.

  "Sorry, we're closed," he said from behind the counter.

  "I do not care," the disheveled man replied. "I have need of your services."

  The accent, Sam thought. This guy's accent is the same as Lancelot's. He looked closer at his features, for they were somehow familiar.

  And there was something disturbing about the man's eyes that made him afraid to refuse. "What can I help you with?"

  The man produced a piece of red cloth that turned out to be a woman's scarf Sam's first thought was that it concealed a gun, but instead, it just held some jewelry, a jumble of real stuff and costume. Sam was relieved.

  "Sorry," he said. "This isn't a pawnshop."

  The man's eyes flashed, and in that instant, Sam recognized who it was. Malvern, from the same Myrddin book. Last night, Lancelot and Lady Julia. This morning, Sir Malvern. What the hell was going on? Was there a full moon or something?

  But this guy was different, dirty. More than the outward filth of his face and arms, there was a grime that seemed to reach to his soul, soiling his spirit, if that was possible.

  It was all reversed. Lancelot the Evil had not seemed evil, not in the least. In fact, he had seemed like a nice guy.

  Sam had been up all night, thinking about those lxople, unable to get them from his mind. He wouldn't dare tell Mel this, but he really thought there was something special, magical about them.

  Couldn't Mel see it?

  And now the gallant Malvern was here, corrupt and vile, making Sam wish to withdraw his hand immediately so it would not meet the other's on the counter.

  "I understand you have information on Camelot."

  "No," he replied, again relieved. "Sorry. We sold all of our Camelot books just recently."

  "When? When did you sell them? And was it to a man and a woman?"

  Sam swallowed. "I don't remember. We have so many people coming in here all the time, I really don't remember…"

  The man was peering over Sam's shoulder.

  "See that empty space on the shelf behind me?" Sam did not want to remove his eyes from the stranger. "Right above the crystal balls? That's wherc the Camelot books used to be."

  Sam's mind was working. What should he do?

  That number. He had the woman's phone number. He should call her, them, tell them Malvern had come into the shop, looking for information on Camelot.

  "But we'll have more in stock in a few days," Sam heard himself say. What was he doing? He didn't want to see this man again. Not ever. But he continued, knowing somehow that Lancelot would need to see this guy. "Come on back in a day or so."

  Malvern walked straight over to the shelf: "Here is one," he shouted. "I found one!"

  Sam smiled as if vastly pleased for his customer, and he was, for the volume Malvern had was a next to-useless picture book on the sites that might have been Camelot. It was a pleasant book, with lovely photographs of Scotland and Wales.

  "You're right, sir. And that will be twelve ninety-nine."

  Malvern's eyes shifted as he thought. "Take this," he said, handing Sam a pearl necklace that was probably worth a couple of thousand dollars.

  He hesitated, then took it. The man grabbed the book, bundled up the rest of the jewelry in the scarf, and left.

  Before the jingling of the bells over the front door ceased, Sam was on the phone dialing Julie's number.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Julie did her best to hide the shock and genuine fear that coursed through her when she saw Lancelot in the morning light. The day before, his hair had been sprinkled with gray, difficult to detect under dim illumination. Now, his temples were almost white, and the rest was a slate gray.

  His face, too, was altered. The once-vibrant skin was
now a bit paler; the lines that had appeared earlier were deeper, more pronounced. But it was his eyes that truly revealed the change, for they lacked the spectacular luster she had first seen when he lifted leis visor.

  "Good morning." She forced a smile.

  "Good morning." He ran a hand through his hair.

  She wondered if he had any idea of the changes that were overtaking him. And then she wondered something worse: how much longer could he hold on here in this time? When would it simply become too late for him? For the two of them?

  The telephone rang, and Julie reached for the re ceiver, glancing at the answering machine and award that after hearing Guinevere's voice, anything way possible.

  "Hello?"

  "Hello, Miss Gaffney? This is Sam from Cauldrons & Skulls."

  "Oh, hi. I can barely hear you."

  "Yeah, well, I don't want my brother to overhear this. He's already worried that I may not have both oars in the water, if you know what I mean. But a guy came in here just a few minutes ago asking for information on Camelot."

  "What did he look like?" She could barely breathe, and Lancelot was staring at her quizzically.

  "He didn't look like anybody. He was Malvern."

  "My God." She looked over at Lancelot. "Malvern was in the store this morning."

  "Is he still there?" Lancelot asked.

  Julie returned to the phone. "Sam, is he still there?"

  "No. He took off toward Houston Street. He had no money but was dressed in khakis and a denim shirt and paid with a pearl necklace. I had a feeling I should tell you."

  "My necklace. Yes. It was stolen, along with the rest of my jewelry and some clothes I'd gotten for Lancelot. Did he threaten you in any way?"

  "No. But there is something very wrong with that guy. I told him I would be getting more books in and that he should come back in a day or two."

  "Sam." Julie smiled. "You're wonderful."

  "Well." He cleared his throat. "I also looked up p few things in some of Mel's books. Listen, I can't be sure about this, but there was an old Italian manurcript from the sixteenth century-Mel translated it and stuck the English translation in the back. According to this book, those who leave Camelot are forever banished."