"I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I seem to have damaged your establishment."
Sidney Krellman found it odd that despite the fact that this man was fully armored, the thing he found to be far more impressive was his voice. It was low and carefully modulated. It seemed to have an age and wisdom to it that contradicted the relative youthfulness of the face. It was a compelling voice, that of a great orator, or perhaps commander of men. The lines of the face that peered out from the helmet were clean and straight. The forehead sloped slightly, and eyebrows that were a bit thick projected over eyes, which were almost black. His lips were thin and what Sidney could see of his beard was very dark, but with a few strands of conspicuous gray.
Sidney Krellman shook off the daze that had come over him and gave a small bow. "Quite all right," he replied in a voice pitched two octaves above his usual tone. He quickly corrected his pitch and continued, "It could happen to anyone."
The front of the armor rose slightly. The knight had laughed. "Anyone who was clad in such foolish armor. Do you mind if I come inside?"
"Not at all. Not at all." Sidney backed up slowly, his eyes glancing at the scabbard that hung at the knight's side. It had not yet registered on him that there was no sword in it.
The knight stepped through the bashed-in door, walking across the spotless green carpet of the men's clothing store. Glass crunched under each armored foot.
"I suppose you're wondering," said the knight, "why I'm wearing this ridiculous armor."
Sidney tried to come up with an answer that seemed safe, since he was still convinced that at any moment this armored maniac might pull out a sword and send his toupeed head sailing across the store. Sensing his boss's hesitation, Quigley brightly stepped in with the first thing that came to mind. "Armor?" he said cheerfully. "What armor?"
Sidney Krellman moaned softly and waited for the whir of sharp metal winging toward his neck.
Arthur Rex laughed softly. "Italian, I'd say from the look of it," he replied, inspecting one armored hand. "Wouldn't you say?"
"Oh absolutely," said Quigley. "You can always tell Italian armor. It has, uh ... very narrow, pointy shoes."
"Really?" said Arthur, apparently with genuine interest.
*I'd place this armor at about, oh, fourteenth century." He tapped the chestplate and smiled at the sound. "I daresay none of your suits would wear for quite so long. Nevertheless I still find it clumsy. In my day we wore leathers. That's when men fought men, not metal shells fought metal shells. Tell me, young man, what's your name, please?"
"Quigley," said Quigley, and chucking a thumb at his supervisor he said, "And this is-"
"The manager," said Sidney quickly.
"Ah. Well, Quigley"-Arthur leaned against the counter, draping one arm against the cash register-"you seem to be an expert. Tell me, what think you of chain mail?"
"I tried that once," said Quigley. "Sent five dollars to five friends. I should have gotten $10,037 back, but I never saw a dime."
Arthur cocked an eyebrow, said nothing for a moment, then said, "As I was saying, this whole armor thing is something of a practical joke, played by someone who I thought a bit too old for this sort of thing. I really wasn't anticipating wandering about New York City dressed for the Crusades. I had more imagined, well, something along those lines." He inclined his head toward a three-piece suit that stood handsomely displayed on a mannequin. "Might I try that on?"
"Um ... I don't think," said Sidney cautiously, "that it will, um, quite fit over your, um, current vestments."
"I quite agree. If you would be so kind as to help me off with these..."
Sidney Krellman glanced at Quigley and inclined his head. Quigley shrugged, walked over to the knight, and began to pull at the thick leather straps that held the armor on.
"Do you have experience in this sort of thing?" asked Arthur as he pulled his helmet off.
"Well, I took shop once," offered Quigley.
"Metal shop?"
"No. But I made a baseball bat with a lathe."
"You'll do."
Passersby were glancing in the windows of the store as they went about their business.
Some looked at the destroyed door while others focused their interest on the man in armor who stood in the middle of the store, arms raised as high overhead as he could make them go, while the young assistant manager worked busily on removing the heavy plating.
Quigley's glasses kept sliding to the end of his nose and his longish hair kept falling into his eyes, but piece by piece he got the job done. He staggered and grunted under the weight of each component of the armor, and muttered at one point, "How do you wear all this stuff?"
"With as much dignity as I can muster," replied Arthur patiently. "I can readily assure you of that."
By this point Sidney Krellman had long since dispensed with the notion of contacting the police. The last thing he wanted to do was draw the attention of the store owners to this bizarre turn of events. The shattered door he would be able to chalk up to vandals. Quigley he would be able to swear to secrecy. Then Sidney looked up and saw the pedestrians looking in through the window, and with a frown he walked over to the windows and pulled closed the folding shutters that ran along the inside of the windows. This was enough to discourage most of the idly curious.
Sidney turned and was astounded to see the knight now clad in a simple tunic and a long-sleeved and legged white undergarment, the assorted pieces of armor scattered about the store. In the armor he'd seemed immense, even threatening. Here he was under five-and-a-half feet tall.
For a moment Sidney entertained the thought of throwing the unarmed and largely unclothed man out of the store. As if Arthur sensed what was on Sidney's mind, he turned his gaze on the clothing-store manager, who promptly wilted under the pure power of Arthur's presence.
He dropped his gaze to the floor, the brief fire of rebellion easily extinguished, and said, "So why don't we try that suit you had your eye on?"
Some minutes later one would never have suspected that Arthur had not always worn three-piece suits. The dark blue pinstripe fit him as if it had been tailored for him, except for being slightly tight in his broad shoulders. His hair, which was a shade lighter than his beard, hung in the back to just below the jacket collar. He had picked a cream-colored shirt and a dark red tie to complete the outfit. Although the store did not carry shoes, the mannequin had been sporting black loafers, and fortunately these, too, fit Arthur just fine.
He admired himself in the mirror, turning first right and then left, and decided finally, "They are cut quite nicely. Not at all what I'm accustomed to wearing, but-"
*'Clothes make the man," burbled Quigley, "although in this case I'd say it's more the man making the clothes, Mister ... geez, what's your name anyway?"
"I am King Arthur," said Arthur pleasantly, but then he frowned. "Oh, but perhaps I shouldn't have told you that."
"King Arthur? You mean like in Camelot and Monty Python and all that stuff?"
"Yes, friend Quigley, although I request that you do not allow my indiscretion to slip past this room."
"Hey, count on me, your highness," said Quigley.
Arthur glanced at Krellman, who nodded his assent so quickly it appeared that his head might topple from his shoulders. Krellman then tried to speak, but once again nothing particularly verbal escaped his lips. Arthur viewed the abortive efforts for a time and then said, with just a trace of impatience, "Come now, sir. If you have something to say, say it.
Screw your courage to the sticking point."
"Nothing," said Sidney quickly. "I had nothing to say. Except that it is late Mister . .. Mister King Arthur. King Arthur. Your Kingness," he said, searching for the right term to assuage this madman. "If we could just close up the store and go home."