"Yes. I see." His brow clouded. "And I also see that I'm going to have to call the police unless you-"
Groucho leaned forward. "Now listen," he said intensely. "We're not, what you said before, constituents. We're knights. We're the first ones. Arthur said so. Arthur wouldn't bullshit us, the way you are. Now either you ring his room and tell him we're here"-and his voice lowered as he delivered the most horrendous threat he could pull to mind-"or we're gonna go into the middle of your lobby and take our clothes off."
The desk clerk picked up the phone immediately, his eyes never leaving the two unsavory characters. The phone up in Arthur's suite was picked up on the second ring, and the desk clerk said, "Sir, I hate to bother you, but two rather disreputable looking characters have-"
He stopped talking as he heard something on the other end that he clearly had trouble believing. Then he nodded slowly and put the phone down. "Room three twelve," he said without looking at them.
"Thanks, man," said Chico. He headed over toward the elevator, but Groucho remained there, glowering at the desk clerk. Chico took him by the elbow and dragged him over to the elevator. One showed up almost immediately. They stepped in, and as the doors started to close, the desk clerk shouted, "I'm glad I didn't vote for him!"
Groucho lunged as the doors closed on him. The desk clerk grinned and went back to his work.
Minutes later Groucho and Chico were in the Royal Suite, helping themselves to the bar. The television was already on in the corner. Ronnie was saying, "Now in presidential elections, the polls were closing three hours earlier on the east coast than on the west coast. Then the networks started doing their predicting thing, saying that one candidate had won before thousands of people in the west had gone to the polls. So they didn't bother voting. Quite a brouhaha."
"I've had enough of this," said Arthur abruptly, heading for the door. "A true leader doesn't hide from his men when the final campaign begins. He's at their side. Why am I hiding up here?"
"Drama, Arthur!" said Percy. He sipped his seltzer. "The people expect it. They want it. They need to look forward to your appearance if the evening's going to build to any sort of climax for them. That's your one problem, Arthur." He finished his seltzer and poured another glass.
"No sense of drama."
Ronnie suddenly said, "Arthur. First returns are in. Only one percent of the vote in-----"
Arthur looked at Ronnie, hunched in front of the set, and turned away. He stared at the drink in his hands. "Have they predicted a winner?"
"No. Not yet. Too early."
Arthur sensed the unspoken but hanging in the air, and voiced it. "But...?"
"But at the moment-only at the moment, mind you-"
"Out with it, Ronnie."
"Bittberg'sinthelead."
It's going to be close," said Morgan. "Make no mistake, little queen. It will be close. But Arthur shall lose."
Gwen's eyes never left Morgan. The sorceress had not moved from the spot where Gwen had first seen her. But Lance, dressed like something out of the Road Warrior, was already starting to creep in her direction. "You're wrong, Morgan. You're going to lose. Everything."
"My, oh my." Morgan looked down her nose at Gwen. "The little queen has become quite the bold one. I haven't forgiven you, you know, for that attack in the park." Her fingers drifted to her cheek.
"I figured you wouldn't. I banked on that being my eventual ticket here." Her gaze and the point of her knife momentarily flicked in the direction of Lance, who froze. "Don't try it, Lance.
I swear Til kill you."
"Why, Gwen," said Morgan. "You're positively a woman warrior, aren't you?"
"Not a wimp?" Gwen replied. "You don't understand, do you, Morgan. All my life I felt like a nothing. Like everyone always stepped on me. Then along came Arthur, and he made me feel like someone. And now I've lost him. Lost him thanks to you. Without Arthur I don't care what happens to mt. I don't care if I live or die. And when you stop caring, it means you can become reckless. That, and I've been using my brains a bit. I've watched what happens. I'm figuring out the limits of your power."
"Are you now?"
Lance was creeping up on Gwen's right. Taking small, careful steps, Gwen sidled to her left, keeping a large table between herself and Lance. Still she continued to watch Morgan, Morgan the unmoving. "Yes. For example, I've figured out that when you are attacked mystically, you defend and counterattack mystically. But when you're attacked physically, the only way to ward it off is by physical means. That's why they burned witches, isn't it?"
"Hanging was also popular," said Morgan dryly.
"That's why that demon could take Merlin with his bare hands. That is why I could take you in the park. And that is why," and her voice rose suddenly, "I'm going to take you now!"
She drew her hand back, the skull-shaped dagger in her hand now held by the point, and she hurled the dagger straight at Morgan's chest. The dagger flew unerringly and plunged deep into Morgan's breast, piercing her evil heart and putting an end to her forever.
At least that's what Gwen had hoped would happen.
Actually she missed by a country mile. The dagger, weighted completely improperly for throwing, spun erratically in its flight and hit the wall behind Morgan a good three feet to her right. It thudded to the ground, way out of Gwen's reach.
"Uh-oh," muttered Gwen.
Morgan raised her hand. "Oh, little queen," she said, "you who are not afraid to die. Who are reckless. I'm going to show you that there are worse things than death. Now ..."
Back at the Roosevelt Hotel Arthur was watching the set intensely now. A mask of gloom had spread over his face. "I don't understand," he murmured. "Don't they know what's best for them? Look at that."
At that moment, with two percent of the voting in, Bittberg was at forty-six percent and Arthur was at forty-two percent with Archibald Goodwin and all the others left far behind. The newscasters were already intimating that Bernard Bittberg was the new mayor of New York City.
The phone rang. Arthur leaned over and picked it up while the others in the suite looked on.
"Yes?" said Arthur.
"Bernie Bittberg here, Art!" said Bittberg on the other end. Audible over the phone were noisemakers, party music, and the like. Bittberg was shouting to be heard. "Ready to concede yet?"
"Concede?"
"Yeah. You know, quit. There's no need to be a sore loser, Art."
"I wouldn't know," said Arthur evenly. "I don't make a habit of losing."
He dropped the phone back into the cradle.
But he was not happy. Not happy at all.
It happened with incredible swiftness.
Gwen pivoted and leaped in the direction of Lance Benson.
Lance, thinking she was trying to escape, shouted, "Don't worry, Morgan! I got her!" And so saying, he grabbed for Gwen. He got a grip on her shoulders and made as if to hold her in place. It looked to all intents and purposes that he had a really solid grasp on her.
Morgan's hands were glowing. The power of the spell was already in existence, and once called into the world, the power had to be unleashed lest it backlash against the wielder.
Morgan passed her hands through the air, the gestures shaping the nature of the spelt, and the power was aimed right at Gwen.
At the last second Gwen suddenly twisted away from Lance, breaking his grip easily, fear pumping adrenaline through her body. She dropped to the ground, shielding her eyes.
Lance only had the chance to open his mouth and start to frame a question before he was bathed in the light of the spell. There was a sudden sound, like a vacuum being sucked into a bottle instead of being allowed out. One instant Lance was there, the next he wasn't.
Actually, that was not quite true. There was a large, gray rodent skittering around on the floor, squeaking angrily.