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 fai
th 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.
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.
CHAPTRE
THE TWENTY-THIRD
THE 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 m
other 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.