One Perfect Knight

  "Well." She shrugged. "This is so deeply personal. I'm not sure if I can articulate it."

  "Try."

  Julie glanced up, and Peg snuffed out the length of her cigarette. "Please try to tell me. Because, Julie, you may be my last chance."

  "Last chance?"

  "Yes. My last chance to believe in anything. I mean, really believe, without clinical trials and placebos. I… it's something I've missed. Desperately. And for years, I've been looking for a way to get it back, the pure faith, the belief. Please. For my sake, please try to tell me."

  Julie dosed her eyes and tucked her feet beneath her. "It happened so swiftly. There was no transition. Not really. One moment, I was in the corridor of the restaurant. The next, there was this overwhelming fragrance."

  "A fragrance?" Peg was surprised, and Julie looked at her.

  She nodded, a smile curving her lips as she recalled the sensation. "It was a perfume, really, of fresh flowers and dean air. The only way I can really describe it, I think, is to say it was green. It was a fragrance of the light, pale green of springtime before everything blooms, when the buds are soft and delicate on the branch, almost white. That's what I smelled it first."

  "And then?"

  "I touched metal, the metal of his armor, and it was hot and vibrating. And then the scent of leather that had been seasoned with wear and the salt of perspiration. I opened my eyes and saw his helmet, and then his face. He spoke first, and he lifted his helmet, And there he was. His eyes this incredible shade of blue, his features, well, so strong, so full of life. And that was only the beginning."

  Peg leaned forward and rested her chin on her palms. "Go on."

  "Then there was Camelot."

  "What was… what is it like?"

  "It's a fairy-tale world. I don't know if I can explain it." She bit her lip for a moment, searching for the words. "It was a little like looking into a kaleidoscope. Bright colors twirling at every moment, never knowing what to expect next, shapes and colors and things you could never imagine in a million years."

  "Do you think that was the place itself or the magic of being with Lancelot?"

  Julie paused. Peg had just acknowledged Lancelot by his name. It was a relief and unsettling at the same time.

  "Both, I think," Julie admitted. "I was overwhelmed by everything. I never knew what would be around the next corner or who would approach next."

  "But what was your overall view of the experience? I mean, was it a good place or a bad place?"

  "It was wonderful," she breathed. "Beautiful. It was the way I always hoped the world could be when I was a child. There was this incredibly strong sense of right-everything was right. And then there was King Arthur."

  "You met King Arthur?"

  "Yes. And Peg, you've never met anyone like him. It's as if a sense of justice shines from him like a beacon. And there was Guinevere and, of course, Malvern."

  "Malvern! Oh, he was always my favorite! I used to have such a massive crush on him when I was a kid. Was he wonderful?"

  "Wonderful? No. Not at all. He was absolutely horrible." She was about to tell her that he, too, was there, and that it had been Malvern who robbed her apartment, but she didn't.

  "How can you say that? He was Arthur's most trusted knight. Just because, well, never mind."

  "Just because what?"

  "I was about to bring up the fact that Malvern discovered Lancelot had betrayed Arthur. So it makes sense that you would defend Lancelot. I see it all the time, women who fall in love with bad boys."

  Julie shook her head and realized that Peg didn't understand, not in the least, in spite of her longing to do so. Perhaps she was asking too much of Peg, of anyone, to comprehend the whole story without actually experiencing Camelot.

  "Well," Julie said at last, "I'm really beat."

  "Oh, sure. Sorry." Peg looked at her watch. "Wow. It's past eight. I'd better head out." She stood up. "Do you have Nathan's book? I have to get it back to him as soon as possible."

  "I don't believe this. Peg, I left it under my sofa at work."

  "No problem. Nathan will literally kill me, but other than that…"

  "Wait. How about if I send it by messenger first thing in the morning?"

  "First thing? You promise?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Okay. Thanks. And Julie, thanks for telling me everything. It really helps."

  Julie hugged her. "Oh, Peg, I know this is hard for you to understand, but maybe one day it will all make sense."

  Peg returned the hug and was about to leave when she stopped. "One thing I don't quite get." She swung her backpack over her shoulder. "Why you? Why did you get to go there, to experience everything? I mean, there are so many people who would have given anything, anything, for that chance. I've loved the legend all my life, studied it. My thesis was on how Camelot has altered psychological perspectives through the centuries. But you, of all people. You. .:' She shook her head in confusion.

  "I don't know, Peg. I honestly have no idea."

  After Peg had left, Julie crossed her legs, hugged a pillow, and asked herself the same question.

  By the next morning, Lancelot was running a fever.

  It wasn't terribly high, and after Julie gave him aspirin, he seemed to feel much better. Still, it was just another indication that all was not well. He was not made for the late twentieth century.

  "There is one comforting thought." He smiled. "Perhaps Malvern is faring as poorly as I am in this climate."

  She returned the smile, aware that today he was looking even more worn, exhausted, and just plain ill. Yet he insisted on helping Bill at the shelter even as he continued his search for Malvern.

  As she slipped on her jacket, thinking about Avalon and Lancelot working there, an idea came to her. "Lancelot, where does your friend Bill get the money to run the shelter?"

  "Donations, mostly. And the city itself gives some amount of funding. But according to Bill, it's a week-by-week thing. This is the third church they've been in this year, simply because other needs arise. Why?"

  "Well, this charity thing we're doing at work with the Shine-All people. One of the groups scheduled to perform has been forced to drop out. And didn't you mention there's a shelter choir?"

  "Yes. And they are quite good."

  "Maybe, just maybe, we can get the shelter in on this thing. All of the charities are going to split the proceeds evenly. It's sort of last-minute, but should I talk to Mr. Swenson about it?"

  "Bill would appreciate it," he said, reaching for her hand. "And so would I."

  Their fingers touched for just a moment, and then they pulled away from each other. Only later did Julie realize that he was every bit as apprehensive as she was, and every bit as uncertain about what the day would bring.

  He watched as they left the tall building.

  It had been surprisingly simple to follow their movements. And they had been foolish from the beginning, underestimating his resourcefulness.

  Of course, he had been confused at first. Everything was so very different here, so loud and fast and hard-edged. But perhaps being alone honed his adapting skills, for in the matter of one short day, he had begun to understand the truth that had made the rest of the journey almost laughably simple.

  Malvern had discovered that, unlike Camelot, this place was propelled by greed and desire. Compared to the people he saw on the streets or watched on the television box in the shelters he had slept in, he was a rank amateur. His modest aspiration, to return to Camelot and rule the kingdom, was admired here. They had names for what he wanted to do. Something he thought it was called a takeover, but then he heard the word politics. Although he was not sure precisely how his own particular quest would best be labeled, he was certain he would be applauded for his success.

  In a way, he wished he could stay here, in this time with these people. But the competition was too great. There were too many other Malverns, more accomplished-than he could ever hope to be.

  Besi
des, he was not feeling well. It had come on gradually, and he attributed the aches and the chills to the strange foods and climate. Luckily, he found the home of Julia almost immediately. A kind lady at the place where he had landed -a sort of banquet hall had offered him a ride into the city and had generously told him about something called a telephone book. It had been such a simple matter of finding her home in the tall building and taking her jewelry.

  What he had really wanted was Excalibur. For then, he would be celebrated upon his return, praised as the new king. And without Lancelot, Camelot would be ripe for his grasp. It could all be his. Everything. Even the queen.

  That thought alone had made him smile, even while sleeping in strange places among strange people.

  The two, Lancelot and his Lady Julia, were talking on the street. Now he did have a dilemma. Which one should he follow? Who would be more likely to lead him to Excalibur?

  He looked over at Lancelot. He was not looking well, his old friend. Indeed, he was looking rather, how should he phrase it? Fragile. Yes. The mighty Lancelot appeared to be frail.

  Not Lady Julia, however. She was looking quite enticing in her short dress. That was an improvement over Camelot. Legs. Everywhere he turned, there were women's legs. Especially her legs. For some reason, they were particularly nice. And if truth be known, it was far more enjoyable to follow her to her place of work than to trail Lancelot to his Avalon.

  A sharp pang touched Malvern at the thought of Avalon. All that was good, all that was noble. Avalon and Camelot and Arthur.

  But they would not have him! They didn't understand that all he had wanted was to be one of them, to be a part, to belong. That was all he had asked. And they denied it, all of them. They had robbed him of his right to be noble and good, so now he would have to go in another direction.

  And with just a little luck, he could take all of Camelot with him… forever.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was as if Julie's office had become thc Grand Central Station of the advertising world.

  From the moment she arrived, the telephones had all but melted down from use, fax machines were spewing out page after page, messengers were coming and going with packages, and frantic assistants were waving the latest urgent note from whatever client or campaign needed the most attention at that precise moment.

  Everyone, everything, seemed to need Julie. Right then. At that exact second. Or entire campaigns would collapse, and Stickley & Brush as they knew it, perhaps the universe itself, would cease to exist.

  She had not even had a chance to sit down, literally. And even if there had been that spare instant, her chair and sofa were all piled high with unread faxes and promotional folders and boxes of the newest athletic equipment.

  On top of everything else, the Shine-All people had involved Julie in their big charity event so she could help them properly coordinate the new campaign with the went itself. It was now just days away. Along with her usual job run amok, she was suddenly fielding calls from newspapers and television reporters about the celebrities attending, names that were being added by the dozen, each jostling for extra attention and publicity.

  As crazy as the day was, she managed to handle it all. The details she could not attend to herself she delegated to the assistants, young women dashing about the office, still in their sneakers from the walk to the office, and young men with pencils stuck behind their ears and wild-eyed stares.

  When there was a brief lull, she added the Avalon ahelter to the list of charities and had them included in the official list. That gesture alone gave her great satisfaction, as if both she and Lancelot were sharing one goal.

  And then the phones began their buzzing, and more messengers and assistants waited for their orders, and she was once again consumed with the hectic pace of success.

  Peg tried once again to reach Julie, and once again she was put on hold listening to bad "lite" rock, only to be informed eventually by yet another breathless person that Julie was engaged in another vital meeting.

  She slammed down the telephone, frustrated and annoyed. She had managed to sleep only a few hours the night before, haunted by what had happened, the strange light she had seen Lancelot and Julie evoke.

  Now she couldn't even reach Julie, while her whole life had been turned upside-down by all of the inexplicable events. Her friend Julie had not only visited Camelot but had brought back Lancelot as a souvenir.

  Then, in the middle of the night, she remembered the sword. Lancelot had called it Excalibur. Had it really been Excalibur? That was all Peg wanted to know, but she couldn't reach Julie to ask that one simple question. Or to see if Nathan's comic book had been sent as promised.

  Meanwhile, Peg herself was such a wreck that she canceled all of the day's appointments. There was no way she could listen to Mrs. Gibbons complain about her daughter-in-law's housekeeping, or hear about Mr. Murdoch's dilemma with his imaginary companion, Binky. Not only would she be unable to focus, but she knew if any of her patients had the slightest notion of what their therapist was going through, they would undoubtedly urge her to seek help.

  And there was something else, something of which she was not proud. Deep down, she was jealous of Julie. Jealous because her friend had experienced something so incredible that it defied all reason and logic. Jealous because she could not figure out why Julie had been offered this opportunity and Peg had not. In short, Peg was envious because her closest friend had been handed a chance that she could only dream about.

  Plus, she had come out of the whole wondrous trip with Sir Lancelot. Granted, Lancelot was not exactly the most romantic of choices. Still, she had to admit he was charming, far more so than any of the stories had ever indicated. In fact, he did not seem the least bit dastardly. Above all, Julie seemed blissfully happy with him, although there was clearly something bothering them both.

  Still, Julie had made the most of an amazing twist of fate. So that left a simple question. What was Peg's destiny? Was she to spend the rest of her life listening to other people's problems and glories, never to have anything of her own? Was she destined to experience life second-hand, adventures retold?

  Peg had to get out of her apartment, to take a walk. She needed to seek the anwers to the one question she had always asked herself "Is this all there is?"

  The homeless trickled into Avalon in a steady stream, not so very impressive until it hadn't stopped and Bill realized there was no more room. It was time to start turning people away-the one thing he dreaded most. And this was only lunch.

  At least, Lancelot had been there to help. And that idea of the Shine-All City charity event was nothing short of spectacular, if they could really pull it off.

  He'd been reading about it in the papers but had no idea there was any way to get involved. That guy had already been more help than all of the other volunteers combined. He had left just moments ago but would return later.

  More people arrived, and he realized he would have to use some of the food stored for tomorrow. Well, that was another day. He'd deal with it then.

  "Over there, Frank. There's an extra dozen cans in the box by the corner. Yeah, you've got it. And you know where the can opener is."

  It was getting so that he could give the orders in his sleep. And while that was helpful and made life easier, he was beginning to wonder if he was on the verge of accepting the idea of homelessness. He no longer felt the urge to fight the condition. Instead, he just dealt with it.

  "Hello, Wilma. Nice to see you."

  There had to be something else, someplace where he would make a difference and be able to see it. At times, he even wondered if it was really a help to these people to have a warm, dry place to sleep. It was a short-term cure, not a genuine solution. What if the very existence of this shelter prevented them from seeking a better life? What if it kept them from having permanent homes?

  And when his thoughts turned in that direction, he always scolded himself: Most of these people had multiple
problems and were in this situation through no fault of their own. It was like blaming a patient for contracting a disease.

  "We'll have a short practice tonight, guys," he announced. "And I may have some exciting news."

  Who was he kidding? They didn't care about the choir, about singing the stupid arrangements he had created with his Juilliard-trained ego.

  It must be torture for the people, literally to have to sing for their supper. It did nothing to raise their self-esteem or create a sense of community. He was simply putting them through a trial before they were allowed to eat.

  He glanced around the room, his gaze resting on that new guy, Vern, who had just arrived. There was something unsettling about the man. It wasn't his clothing, since he was better dressed than most of the others, including Bill himself. There was something else about him that was disturbing.

  It was probably a case of running the shelter for too long. Probably just a case of reality. He no longer saw people as individuals but as open hands begging for help.

  When did he start having these thoughts?

  He glanced away from Vern. And when he did, a strange thought came to him; he only felt true despair when he was there. At all other times, no matter how tired he was, no matter how short-handed, he felt a sense of joy when he knew he was helping people. His personal life was nonexistent, he lived in a single room in the Bowery across from a man who collected live chickens, and yet he had considered himself happy. That is, until recently.

  In fact, the one place he felt sure of himself was there, at Avalon. Only recently, with the arrival of Vern, the guy with the beard and the unpleasant eyes, did he begin to doubt himself and the way he had lived his life for the past decade.

  He wanted Lancelot to meet Vern, to see if hc had any vibes. But they never seemed to be there ac the same time. Vern arrived just as Lancelot left, or vanished as Lancelot arrived. Bill watched as others reacted to him, scooting over so they would not be close, averting their eyes when he looked in their direction.