There was a moment of surprise, and then hands were raised. Arthur picked one at random.
"Mr. Penn-"
"Call me Arthur, please."
The reporter blinked. "All right... will we still call you Arthur if you're elected mayor?"
"I should think 'your highness' would suffice."
In the back Gwen stifled a giggle and turned away.
The reporter smiled and said, "Arthur . . . that was a very short opening statement."
"I was always taught to regard brevity as a virtue."
"Mister . . . Arthur, I'd be very interested in your background."
"So would I. Feel free to read through the papers before you to see what sort of records my staff has fabricated." He pointed to another reporter. "Yes?"
Gwen's face bore an expression of complete awe. Arthur was keeping to what he'd once told her-he would not lie. Every question was being answered, and if it was about a potentially touchy aspect, he deadpanned the absolute truth and usually got an amused reaction from his audience. Remarkable. She glanced over and saw that Merlin was standing over in a corner, arms folded, nodding slowly whenever Arthur spoke.
The next reporter stood. "Arthur, I'd like to know how you stand on certain issues."
"Let's find out together," said Arthur.
"Prayer in school, for example."
Arthur shrugged. "You mean before a difficult examination?"
"No," said the reporter, unsure whether Arthur was joking or not-a state most reporters would find themselves in during the months to come. "I mean organized prayer...."
"Oh, of course! Organized prayer in the morning, that sort of thing. Well, I've never been one to stand in the way of how someone wishes to worship. However, I recall reading something in the Declara-no, the Constitution, isn't it? About separation of church and state. It would seem to me that prayer and church are usually equated, aren't they?" The reporter nodded, and Arthur smiled. "Well, that's it then. No prayer in schools..."
"But it's not that simple," said the reporter.
"Then it should be. What else would you like to know about?"
"Your stand on abortion?"
Arthur shuddered. "Terrible mess. None of my bloody business, though, what a woman does with her body."
"Are you in favor, then, of state money and government money going to fund abortions?"
"I imagine it's better than feeding the poor little buggers, isn't it, once they're born into unwanted and miserable situations?"
The reporters looked around at each other. One of them whistled silently.
"Are you concerned, sir, that some pro-lifers may find your attitude, well . . . callous? That you're sentencing unborn children to death?"
Arthur regarded him oddly. "I have seen more death, son, than you could possibly imagine.
Not to become maudlin, but I value life no less than anyone else. But life is difficult enough when you come into it wrapped in the arms of a mother who wants you. Coming into it unwanted is more than any helpless infant should have to bear." His eyes misted over. "I remember a time . . . unwanted children left exposed upon a hillside. Or women bleeding from their bellies, thanks to the tender mercies of charlatans pretending to be doctors. At a time such as that we prayed for the knowledge to prevent such monstrosities and outrages.
Now we have it, and it would be equally as monstrous not to use it. Yes, money to help those unfortunate women. And money also to educate them so as not to let themselves become with child in the first place. And men, too, for God's sake. We don't have thousands of madonnas being impregnated immaculately out there, you know."
"You are aware," said one reporter with a half-smile, "that some of your attitudes may be regarded as controversial."
"Yes. I suppose so. Common sense usually is." He pointed to another reporter. "Yes?"
"Your stand on Westway, sir?"
Arthur looked at him blankly. "What way?"
"Westway."
"I haven't the foggiest. What the deviPs that?"
"I'm surprised, sir," said the reporter insouciantly, "that you're not familiar with some of the more controversial aspects of New York politics."
"Don't be," said Arthur, ignoring his tone. "Why don't you apprise me?"
"Well, sir, the debate in a nutshell is whether to use certain monies for construction of a major traffic artery called West-way or whether to use that same money to improve the subways and mass transit. It was supposed to have all been settled a couple of years ago, but somehow the issue keeps coming up."
"Oh, anything that will improve the subways sounds smashing to me."
"Then you're against Westway?"
Arthur sighed. "Good God, you lot are slow, aren't you? Yes, I suppose I am."
"Are you aware of the other aspects-"
"Of course I'm not," said Arthur with no trace of impatience. "Is your basic summation of the situation accurate?"
The reporter looked around at his colleagues, in a total quandary. The others half shrugged or nodded.
"Um, yes, I believe it is."
"Well, that's it then. First thing you'll have to learn about me," said Arthur reasonably, leaning over the podium. "I never want to get bogged down with facts. Facts get in the way of decisions. Give me a basic summary of the situation and I will generally decide," and he tapped his chest, "based on what I feel here. I would wager that others will bog themselves down with umpteen reports and countless charts and the like, and it will all still boil down to the basic feeling of what's right and what's wrong." He smiled. "After all, it beats trial by combat."
Arthur, Gwen, Merlin, Percy, Chico, and Groucho sat draped around various parts of the office. Merlin sat upright and cross-legged while the others were fairly at ease. Chico was stirring a Bloody Mary with his finger. The others were drinking soda or iced tea.
The reporters had left some time ago to file their stories, and everyone in the room seemed concerned about what would be said ... everyone except Merlin and Arthur.
"I did my best," said Arthur reasonably. "If they don't like what I had to say, what am I supposed to do? Be sorry that I said it?" He shook his head. "No, they're going to have to warm to me or not, based on who I am."
Gwen smiled. "If they knew who you were, they'd vote for you in an instant."
"Would they?" asked Arthur. "Do you think so? My earlier endeavors hardly ended in glowing triumph, now did they?"
"Oh, people remember what they want to remember," said Gwen. She stood and walked over to Arthur's side, sitting on the arm of his chair. "After all is said and done, most people remember Camelot as a time of achievement and pride. I mean, the happiest times this country remembers were with Kennedy's whole Camelot thing."
"Ah!" declared Arthur. "Merlin said that to me once. Didn't you, Merlin? You see-the two of you do see eye to eye every now and again."
Merlin made a face. Then he said, "Arthur, I think it best that you spend the night-the next few nights, in fact-in that apartment you've got rented over in the Village."
"Oh, Merlin, is that really necessary?" said Arthur unhappily. "It's so bloody small. The castle is really so much better."
"Arthur, try to be reasonable. It wouldn't be good form for the press to discover that the Independent mayoral candidate makes his home in a pile of transdimensional rocks in Central Park."
Groucho perked up slightly and said, "Sounds okeedokee tome."
"Proof enough," said Merlin tartly. "Arthur, it's been set up for you, and I suggest that you try to make use of it. If all goes well, the press is going to become intensely interested in such minutiae as how you like to have your English muffins for breakfast. And if you have mysterious comings and goings, it could prompt digging in areas we'd much rather leave undug."