dear?'
She looked up, her cheeks coloring. 'I'm sorry. I just-'
'What is your name, child?'
The question had been asked by the eight-year-old boy, and 30
the phrasing was, at the very least, extraordinary. She gaped openly at him. 'My what?'
'Nom de guerre. Moniker. Name.'
'Oh, name!'
Merlin let out a sigh as she stammered out, 'Gwendoiyne.'
'What a lovely name,' said Arthur, and Gwen looked up to see that Arthur was staring at her.
He saw her noticing, but did not look away. His stare was wonderfully open, and unembarrassed. 'Forgive me for staring so, but you remind me a great deal of someone I once knew-'
'Arthur,' said the boy warningly, 'what were we just discussing?'
'Merlin, please. My apologies, Gwendoiyne. I am Arthur Pendr- Arthur Penn. My associate'-he chuckled slightly on the word-'is Merlin.'
'Last name?' asked Gwen.
'Last one / intend to use,' snapped Merlin.
'As you know,' continued Arthur, 'I am in the market to hire a personal secretary. This may not seem necessary now, but I assure you in the months to come this office will become quite busy. I would like to know all about your background, everything you've done in the past several years. We have several people to see, so I'll tell you right now that it may be a week or two before we can let you and your agency know for certain. Stop glowering, Merlin. You'll get crows' feet. Remember the last time that happened, you couldn't walk properly for days.'
Gwen laughed, but Arthur stared at her with an upraised eyebrow and said, 'Was something funny?'
'No. Not at all. I understand. Find out about me, more people to see, a week or two for response. Got it.'
'Fine then. Let's begin.' Arthur pulled around a comfortable chair and seated himself across from Gwen. He leaned back, steepled his long fingers, and said, 'So let's start, miss ... I'm sorry, Gwen, I didn't catch your last name.'
'DeVere,' she said. 'Gwen DeVere.'
'You start on Monday,' said Arthur.
Merlin, seated on the desktop, moaned.
When Gwen DeVere returned home, the apartment seemed
3 J
a little less gloomy, and as she marched in the door she called out, 'Lance, Igotit!'
She stood in the doorway, dripping little puddles at her feet.
There was no response. She sighed, the wind slightly taken out of her sails. She should have known. It was raining heavily, and Lance only went out when it was a downpour such as this. He got inspiration from foul weather, he said. He had once filled a cup with rainwater, held it in front of her and informed her that an entire allegory of mankind could be found in that glass of precipitation. When she'd said she only saw rainwater, he'd emptied the contents on her head.
She thought about what the phantom receptionist had said, and went into the bathroom, her feet squishing in her shoes.
A few minutes later, wrapped in a towel, she went to the window and looked out at the street.
It was covered with garbage, and derelicts were huddling in doorways for shelter. There was a constant tension in the neighborhood, a tension that she supposed was natural in the city.
But it wasn't natural to her, and she wasn't going to live with it if she could help it. Perhaps, once she'd been working steadily for a while, they could afford to move out to a nicer area.
Maybe someplace out in Brooklyn, or maybe even the Island.
If only Lance would get a job.
But his writing always came first.
She glanced over at his work area, for it could hardly be called a desk. The crumpled paper was gaining altitude. She reached over, pulled one wad from the stack, and uncrumpled it. It had one sentence typed across the middle-'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy'-and she cursed the day she'd taken him to see The Shining.
If only Lance would get a job.
If only she could leave him.
But he was all she had.
She flopped down onto the bed, reached over and snapped on the small, black-and-white TV. She recognized the old movie as soon as it came on-Danny Kaye in The Court Jester.
Knights and knighthood. Those were the days. Chivalry. Women were demigods back then, she thought, and men their protectors. Now it's everyone for themselves.
She reached over to the bureau, opened her purse and dug 32
through it. Eight dollars and change. What the hell. She reached over to phone for a pizza, figuring it would arrive two hours later, cold and soggy. But it wasn't really dinnertime for two hours yet, anyway, and she could heat it up.
And maybe the pizza guy would come riding up on a silver charger, balancing the pie on a gleaming shield___
Late into the night the offices in the Camelot Building's thirteenth floor blazed with light.
'You're out of your mind. You know that, don't you? Ten centuries to contemplate, and you're no smarter now, Wart, than you were then.'
Arthur had removed his coat and tie and was sitting in shirtsleeves, watching Merlin stalk the room like a cat tracking down a mouse. From his reclining position on the couch he called,
'Now Merlin, I think you're exaggerating a bit.'
The lad turned on him. 'You think?' he said in a voice ringing with authority despite its boyishness. 'Who told you to think!?'
Arthur's voice was sharp as he said, 'I caution you, Merlin. You will not address me in that manner. I am still your-'
Merlin turned, placing his hands defiantly on his narrow hips. 'My what? Finish the sentence.
My king? Well huzzah, Your Majesty,' and he genuflected mockingly. 'You rule a kingdom of one ... unless you planned to return and lay claim as king of all the Britons. I can just see it!'
He rubbed his hands together, relishing a good laugh, as Arthur shifted uncomfortably on the couch. 'I wonder how they would react, those ineffectual, impotent figureheads who do nothing for the populace except provide them with tidbits to gossip about in taverns at teatime. There you'll be, presenting yourself as the once and future king. What the bloody hell do you think will happen? Do you think the queen is liable to step down and say, 'Good of you to show, old sod. We've spent centuries keeping your place warm. Have the throne.'
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
33
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?'
