Perhaps they'll revoke Magna Carta for you. That would be a sweet thing. Disband the House of Commons, House of Lords, put you in charge of the entire affair? Eh?" He slammed a small fist on a table, jiggling an ashtray. "What are the imperial thoughts, Arthur?
Tell me, oh king of nothing!"
They glared at each other for a long moment. Then, finally, Arthur's eyes softened slightly and he said, "All right. They
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can keep the House of Commons. How does that strike you?"
Merlin laughed lightly. "Ah, Arthur, you madman. I should let you go in and try it. Either they'd lock you up, or maybe, by God, maybe they would make you king."
Arthur stood, smiling, and started to pace the office. His hands were folded behind his back.
"Oh, Merlin," he sighed, "what are we doing here? Perhaps the time is not right for us."
"What would you then? A return to the cave?"
"It has crossed my mind."
"Well uncross it. Not the right time for you? Don't be absurd. Look around you. Go into a bookstore, what do you see? Dozens of books on you. Fact, fiction, and everything in between. There have been countless movies about you." Now he was ticking off items on his fingers. "There are TV programs. Broadway shows. Buildings and businesses named after you and Camelot. People dress as knights and stage mock jousts and battles. There's a video game with a knight slaying a dragon."
"So knighthood has become a valuable entertainment tool. So what?"
"Life reflects in its art, Art. And also remember-the fondest times this country remembers, in its recent political history, is a presidency which has come to be known as Camelot."
"Camelot," echoed Arthur.
Merlin nodded. "I know it sounds a bit bizarre. But don't you see, Arthur," and the king stopped his pacing, "the time is ripe for your return. More than ripe-the seeds are bursting forth from their fruits. They need you, Arthur, to show them the way."
Arthur half smiled. "You're sounding messianic this evening, Merlin."
"Hardly. Merely stating the facts."
"But, dammit all, what am I supposed to do? You say they want me. But they don't want a king-----"
"They want a leader, and you're certainly that."
"But who would I lead? Shall I start a cult following?"
Merlin shook his head mournfully. "Arthur, Arthur, you have to learn to think on a larger scale, the way you used to. Realize, then, that if you are to do any good, you must rule again. And you must rule, or lead, in a country that has clout."
"And I must go about it in a civilized manner," said Arthur sternly. "That means no military junta in a banana republic." He abruptly snapped his fingers. "But now, Merlin, let us say I could master the electoral system of this country and become their... not prime minister-president! That's it."
Merlin gave an approving nod. "Very good, Wart."
Arthur sat on the edge of the Chesterfield couch, leaning forward excitedly. "I haven't been idle all this time, you know. The animals in the cave with me, they brought me information from the outside world. I kept abreast of matters, for I knew that when I returned I would do no one any good as a clanking anachronism. And yet, for all my careful preparations, I was never altogether certain what I was preparing for.
"But I know now." He bounced excitedly to his feet and went to a window, looking out over the city. "Merlin, by all the gods that's it 11 shall become President of the Soviet Union of America."
Chaptre the Fifth
The V had burnt out in the Vacancy sign that hung outside the beat-up roadside motel situated just off of the interstate. The signs posted nearby had promised waterbeds and triple-X-rated films in the room. Just the sort of thing the average passing traveler would be looking for.
Morgan was passing, and a traveler, but she was certainly far from average.
When she'd checked in, the desk clerk had gaped at her openly. Part of her was tempted to put him in her place, but another part was flattered by the attention, and it was this aspect of her that saved the clerk's life. The balding, potbellied man was able to go home that evening alive, his brain functioning normally, carrying secret fantasies acted out with the stunning woman who had checked in at the scummy little motel he managed.
He had no idea that weeks earlier Morgan Le Fey would hardly have turned any heads.
Indeed, she might have turned a few stomachs. But the excess weight she'd been carting with her all this time had slid away like melting butter. All the extra chins had vanished into memory, leaving her with the one jutting chin that stuck out so proudly. The raven-black hair was black through and through-no gray at the roots-and her feet, once swollen and cracked, were now slim and strong.
She was nude now, admiring herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall of her room. She admired the contours of her muscular body and was filled with disgust at the lethargic lump she had once been.
But that loathsome creature was long gone. And Morgan Le Fey was back in business.
The naked sorceress rolled back the threadbare rug, bracing it with her foot against the wall.
Then she padded back to the bare area and removed a piece of chalk from the pocket of her long black coat. She knelt down, then, and brushing strands of hair from her face, carefully traced a circle with a five-pointed star enclosed within. She then reached into her beat-up duffel bag and extracted five black candles, fondling the length of them almost sexually. She placed one at each point where the star touched the circle and then lit them.
She stepped back, admired her handiwork, and smiled.
She rolled the television set near to the circle and sat down facing it. Her bare rump was chilled by the floor but she ignored it, busying herself with lighting each of the five candles.
When they were finally lit, she reached over and snapped on the television.
The screen of the color set flickered to life. A couple madly rutted on the screen, panting like twin locomotives. Morgan frowned in a distant, irritated manner, and waved a hand as if brushing a flea away. The picture vanished from the screen, replaced by blankness.
Morgan concentrated, reaching out with her mind and tracing the waves of magic that filled the air around her. She'd been doing this regularly. She had gone from town to town, city to city, trying to discover a mystical trace of Merlin. It had proven to be frustrating. Merlin had covered his tracks too well. If she'd begun the trace from the moment when he'd escaped from his centuries-long confinement, she could have picked up on it in no time. But this was no longer possible. Just as a fox can cover his trail and scent given time, so had Merlin been able to erase any trace of his person.
If Merlin had been practicing magic lately, however, he would most certainly have been tapping into the magic bands of energy that encompassed the earth. An adept was able to detect them, pale ribbonlike trails that filled the air. Had Merlin been using his sorcerous powers, Morgan should have been able to track him down along those mystical bands as if she were tracing a telephone call.
But she had found nothing. Which either meant that he had been using no magic lately, or more disturbing, that he'd discovered a means by which to cover any trace of magic use.
And if it were the latter case, Morgan would certainly have her work cut out for her.
She found a faint whiff of magic along one stream and immediately ran it back to its source.
The TV screen flickered, and then the image of a young girl appeared. She was a teenager, naked as was Morgan, seated in what appeared to be the middle of her high school's athletic field. She was chanting quietly to herself and burning a photograph of a handsome young man. The candle was white.