"You belong in an asylum!" Merlin's legs pumped furiously. "Put me down!"
Arthur drew back his arm and flung the boy wizard the length of the office. Merlin slammed into the large sofa and rebounded onto the floor. He lay there, moaning.
Without another word Arthur turned and stormed out of the office.
Percy moved toward Merlin, but the prone magician waved him off.
"Uh, Merlin ... I know I just got here and everything, but if it's okay, I'd like to offer a piece of advice."
Slowly Merlin turned his head to Percy. "And what . . . might that be?"
"If Arthur convinces Gwen to come back with him, I wouldn't get in his way. If I'm not out of line here."
"Point... taken, Percy."
Gladys bounded to her feet. Her wig bobbed on her head. "You can't mean that! I can't stand her! Everything about her is 'just so.' Her hair is just so, her dress is just so, her makeup is-"
Merlin staggered to his feet. "I get the picture, Gladys."
"No you don't! If she comes back, I'm leaving." Her voice rose in indignation. "I don't have to put up with this! I have rights! I-"
With pure fury in his eyes Merlin said, "Gladys, you don't have to quit." He clenched his right fist and then extended his thumb, index finger, and little finger, and pointed at Gladys. He spoke quickly, in a tongue that humanity had not heard in 73
fifteen centuries. Eldritch energy sparkled from his hand, bathing Gladys in its light, catching her in mid sentence. Within less than the blink of an eye, Gladys was gone.
Percy could not believe what he'd seen. And in the next second he couldn't believe what he heard-with an angry squeal a small, gray furry creature with a long nose darted from behind the desk, scampered across the floor and ran under the couch.
"You're fired," Merlin said to the rodent cowering under the couch. "I'm going down to the pet store right now and arranging for your replacement. You're going to love her."
Merlin smoothed out his brown hair and straightened his T-shirt. "Percy," he said, "mind things until I get back."
"O-okay, Merlin."
"I don't want any more bizarreness today."
At that moment Chico and Groucho burst in, stumbling over each other in their excitement.
"We got it," crowed Chico. "We have got freakin' if!"
"What?" asked Merlin impatiently.
"Signatures, kiddo!" They waved sheaves of paper in their filthy hands. "We got enough! All you need and lots more. Arthur, the guy with the Day-Glo sword, is now officially a candidate for mayor of New York!"
They stood there, arms spread wide, as if accepting thunderous applause. There was dead silence.
"Well," grumbled Groucho, "don't thank us all at once, y'know."
She had managed to stop crying, but her face was still tear-streaked as Gwen fumbled for her apartment keys in her purse. She breathed silent invocations, thinking, Please, please, please don't let him be at home.
She fished out her keys, unlocked the door, and stepped inside the dimly lit apartment. She glanced around at the empty living room and sighed relief. She didn't know where he was and she didn't care. At least he wasn't at home.
Lance stepped out of the bedroom, his hands on his hips. "So. You came back, did you?"
Gwen moaned and moved away from the door. She pulled the sunglasses off and tossed them carelessly on the floor as she staggered over to a chair and sagged into it. Lance walked over to her, laughing loudly, and took her chin in his hand, turning her head this way and that.
"Quite a shiner you got."
"I know. It's the birthday present you forgot to give me last month, right?"
"Now, now," he said, and swaggered away. "There's no need to get bitter. After all, you brought it on yourself."
"Me!" She lurched to her feet, feeling the familiar sting oi tears at her eyes and fighting them off. "You're the one who came home drunk last night. Boozing and . . . and sleeping with whores. God knows what germs you picked up."
"Whores!" His voice went up an octave. "How can you say that? How can you say I was getting laid by strange women?"
"You reeked of cheap perfume."
He snorted. "I can't help it if women cling all over me."
"Lance, your pants were on backward! Why did you come home to me with your pants on backward?"
"It was a joke, for chrissakes."
"No, Lance." She shook her head furiously. "This whole relationship is a joke. And I'm the punch line. Especially when you came home the way you did last night, and you wanted to make love to me all reeking and disgusting. And when I refused you did this to me." She pointed at her eye. "You did this. Not me. You!"
"Yeah?" He got louder, angrier, and he advanced on her, his fist clenching and unclenching.
"And I can do it again. And again. I'm tired of your superiority attitude. I thought you understood me. But you're just ignorant, like all the rest. Ignorant! But I'm gonna teach you!"
He swung his fist back. Gwen shrieked, throwing up her hands to defend herself.
A hand closed around Lance's wrist from behind.
Lance moaned in surprise as he felt a bone bend under the sudden stress. Then he was spun around, and Arthur, shorter than Lance, glared up at him. "You've made your last mistake," said Arthur in a deadly calm voice.
Arthur pulled him forward quickly and rammed his knee up into the pit of Lance's stomach.
Lance gasped as the side of Arthur's hand slammed into his temple. Stars exploded before his eyes as he dropped to the ground, arms wrapped around his gut.
Arthur's lip curled in a snarl. "You piece of dirt. You don't deserve to live."
Gwen's eyes widened in shock as Arthur, still nattily attired in a royal-blue, three-piece suit, reached to his left hip under lais coat. For a moment she thought he was about to draw a gun. Instead there was the smooth sound of metal on metal as Excalibur was drawn from its sheath. In the dimness of the apartment the sword glowed with a life all its own.
Lance scuttled back, crablike, toward the wall, never taking his terrified eyes from the darkly furious face of the warrior king. Arthur knocked a lamp out of the way with a sweep of the sword, advancing on Lance until the frightened man could back up no farther. He pulled his knees up to his chin like a frightened fetus and tried to stammer something, but failed.
Arthur poised with Excalibur over his head and brought the sword whizzing down.
Gwen screamed.
The sword came to a halt with the cutting edge barely touching the top of Lance's head.
Arthur grinned wolfishly. "What's the matter, fellow? Can't you take a joke?"
He took two steps back and sheathed the sword. But there was no amusement in his voice as he said, "Consider yourself fortunate that you did not have a weapon. For although I would not slay an unarmed man, I would cheerfully have gutted you from sternum to crotch, given the slightest opportunity. If you ever come near this woman again, nothing will stop me from taking your life. Is that understood?"
Lance's mouth moved in the formation of the words "Yes, sir," but nothing came out.
"I'll take that as an acknowledgment of our understanding."
He turned and walked over to Gwen with a relaxed, easy step. "I-" she stammered.
"It's all right, Gwen."
"I thought you were going to kill Lance just then."
"Lance?" He turned slowly, with narrowed eyes. "Lance. Lance what? It wouldn't be Lance Lake, would it?"
"W-what?" said Lance from his place on the floor.
"Lake. Or something to that effect?"
"No. It's Lance Benson."
"Good. Lancelot du Lac deserved better than you. I'm glad you are not he."
He looked down at Gwen, who was sprawled on the couch. With infinite tenderness he leaned over and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. "Why?"
She couldn't look at him, but she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Why what?" she whispered.