Never! Never, little magician. You're mine, do you hear? Mine, body and soul, forever.' She continued in a singsong voice as she went to turn on the television. 'Forever and ever and ever and ever...'
Merlin closed his eyes. Encased, helpless, immobile in crystal. Unable to send for help. Astral projection not even possible. Unable to help his king cope with a world that could be confusing and terrifying.
It could be worse, he mused. They could be making him watch Uncle Floyd again.
The floor director, earphones solidly in place, was calling, 'Five minutes, everyone.' He turned to the audience and said, 'People, please. On air in five minutes. Please refrain from talking from this point on. If cameras are blocking your way, feel free to watch the proceedings in the overhead monitors. I appreciate your cooperation. Thank you.'
Gwen sat in the front row, looking demure in a simple white blouse and denim skirt. Her purse was on her lap. The dagger she had purchased several days ago was still in it.
Arthur, stepping up to his station, looked out at the audience, and his gaze locked with Gwen's. She smiled encouragingly at him. He did not smile back. She bit her lower lip, but that was all, and then she looked up at the monitor, not being able to bear looking directly at him.
'Mr.Penn.'
Arthur turned and saw the blond-haired, corpulent man standing next to him. There was a smile on his lips that went nowhere near his eyes. Nevertheless he stuck out a hand and said, 'Bernard Bittberg. Your worthy opponent. I've heard a great deal about you, sir. It's a pleasure to meet at last.'
Arthur nodded graciously, taking Bernie's hand and shaking it once firmly. 'I've watched your campaign with great interest.'
'Same here, Mr. Penn. Same here.' He studied Arthur's handsome face carefully, trying to see some evidence of self-delusion there. What was he looking for? He wasn't altogether sure.
'Is something wrong, Mr. Bittberg?'
'What?'
'The way you're staring at me ...'
'Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.'
Arthur's podium was at the far right when facing the audience. Bernie was dead center.
Arthur glanced down at the end. 'There's another candidate, isn't there?'
'Yes, certainly. The Republican candidate.'
'And what's his name?'
Bernie opened his mouth and then closed it again. 'You know, I don't recall.'
The three reporters came over and introduced themselves, greeting the candidates and wishing them luck. Arthur smiled wanly and cast his gaze toward the audience once more.
He was able to pick out Percy and Ronnie, who both raised clenched fists in encouragement. Arthur blinked, at first thinking they were signaling that he should punch his opponent. But their expressions didn't seem to jibe with that intent. So he chanced it and raised a clenched fist back. They seemed pleased, so Arthur presumed he had given the right response.
He did not see Gwen. He did not look for her.
There was an expectant hush as the reporters went to their side of the room and as the floor director counted down. 'And five... four ... three... two... one...'
An announcer intoned, 'Mayoral debate, live, from the Reeves Teletape Studio.' Arthur glanced up at the monitor and blinked in surprise as the words Mayoral Debate appeared on the screen, superimposed over the image of the candidates. He looked around, trying to figure out where the words had come from, for they certainly weren't visible to him. He shook his head. And he had thought the things that Merlin had done were magic.
Merlin...
Arthur looked down toward the end of the row and saw that the Republican candidate had arrived. He was a sturdy-looking fellow, with thinning hair, thick glasses, and a determined, albeit slightly confused, air-confused because he didn't quite know where he was supposed to look.
'Good evening,' said the moderator. 'Thank you for tuning in. I'm your moderator, Edward Shukin. Debates are not always possible in every campaign, so I feel we should be appreciative that the three major candidates have seen fit to engage in this evening's forum.
I'd like to introduce them to you now. On the far right, running as an Independent, Mr. Arthur Penn. In the center, the Democratic candidate and City Council head, Mr. Bernard Bittberg.
And on the extreme left, the Republican candidate ...' Shukin hesitated a moment, then glanced down at his notes. 'Former Staten Island Borough President, Mr. Archibald Goodwin.'
Goodwin bobbed his head slightly.
Shukin then turned to face the three journalists. 'At the far left I have the first of the three journalists who will be posing questions to the candidates tonight. From the Amsterdam News, Mr. James Owsley-'
Owsley, black and proud of it, raised a fist midway in the air. Arthur immediately returned the gesture. Percy, in the audience, covered his eyes.
Shukin rolled merrily on, oblivious. 'Next, from WNBC News, Ms. Sandra Schechter. . . .'
Schechter, a no-nonsense redhead, allowed a quick smile. 'And, from the Village Voice, Mr.
Fred Baumann.' Baumann tossed a wave at the audience and smiled lopsidedly.
'The rules for this debate have been agreed upon as follows,'* Shukin continued. 'Our panelists will pose a question to a candidate on a rotating basis. The candidate will be given three minutes to answer. The reporter will be permitted one follow-up question, to which the candidate will have one minute to reply. The other two candidates will then each be permitted two minutes to respond to or rebut the candidate's response. With that understood, Mr. Owsley, I believe you won the coin toss backstage.'
'Damned straight. Used my coin,' muttered Owsley, provoking mild laughter. 'Mr. Bittberg,'
he said, glancing down at his notes, 'incidents of police violence, particularly in the course of arrests, seem to be on the rise. These incidents occur particularly in the apprehension of blacks, I have noticed. Yet in the overwhelming number of instances, subsequent investigations by the police have exonerated the officers who have committed the violence.
Are you satisfied with the manner in which these internal investigations are being performed, or do you intend to try and have stricter procedures implemented?'
Bernie paused a moment. His eye caught Moe in the corner, who gave him a thumbs-up and a slow nod. Taking a deep breath, Bernie turned slowly to face Arthur and said, 'Before we go any further, I'd like to clear up something, Mr. Penn.'
Quick off the mark, Shukin jumped in and said, 'Mr. Bittberg, you are supposed to be addressing the questioners, not the other candidates.'
'Oh, this is just something very minor. Mr. Penn, who are you, really?'
There was a confused silence as the three reporters looked at each other. Shukin cleared his throat loudly. 'Mr. Bittberg, I don't understand. Are you claiming this is not Arthur Penn?'
'No no no,' said Bernie quickly. 'I am asking him to answer a simple question ... is your name Arthur Penn?'
Arthur smiled ingratiatingly. 'Don't you like my name, Mr.Bittberg?'
But Bernie would not be dissuaded. 'No, that's not the question. Is your name really Arthur Penn?'
Percy and Gwen were sitting riveted in their seats, Gwen chewing on her fist. Percy felt a cold sweat breaking on his forehead.
And Arthur did not flinch. 'Is that really of interest?'
And now Shukin, an anchor for WNYW for twelve years, sensed that there was something brewing. 'Mr. Penn,' he said carefully, 'you're not required to answer that. You're certainly not on any sort of trial here. But if it will,' he chuckled pleasantly, 'keep peace in the family...'
'Oh, very well. If you must uncover my deep, dark secret,' said Arthur, 'No. That is not my real name. It's shortened. My full name is Arthur Pendragon.'
There was a mild laugh from the audience as Arthur said easily, 'There, Mr. Bittburg. Are you quite satisfied?'
Baumann from the Voice, who had majored in English Literature, said, 'Whoa! Great name!
Any relation to the Arthur Pendragon?' When he received blank stares from all around, he said helpfully, 'You
