King Me!

by Deborah Blake

  Arthur started to look offended and Morgan jumped into the fray. “He just believes in old-fashioned values, that’s all.”

  “Really?” The reporter looked dubious. “So you don’t care about the tree at all, you just happened to be walking by and jumped in to help?”

  “Of course,” Arthur responded. “What man could stand by and see a woman under attack and do nothing?” The construction worker who had tried to cut the chains made a noise of protest, but everyone ignored him to focus on Arthur.

  Morgan had to admit he made a magnificent sight; his red mane and well-muscled physique, added to the nobility of his demeanor, created the picture of man to be reckoned with.

  Arthur continued, “And how could one not care about this splendid tree?” He gestured gracefully up at its towering branches. “It has existed for more years than we can count, sheltered children as they played and stood tall through the changing seasons. It would be a shame and a waste to cut it down only to make space for another marketplace.” He gazed out at the rapidly growing crowd, inadvertently looking directly into the camera. “Surely there must be another place for people to shop, one that does not require the sacrifice of this glorious elm.” His deep voice fell quiet and the people around them broke into raucous cheers and clapping. Bob Wilson looked like he’d won the lottery.

  Two more reporters pushed to the front of the throng, their cameramen following on their heels. A dark-haired woman with more curves than she was born with moved aggressively to thrust her microphone next to the first one.

  “Nancy Talbot, reporting for WCNY. Can you tell us your name, sir?” She inhaled deeply to emphasis all her assets as she turned back to the camera. “I’m sure that the folks at home would like to know.” She tilted her head back and flipped her hair flirtatiously. “I know I would.”

  Morgan cleared her throat but Arthur just smiled at her and patted her arm reassuringly. “My name is Arthur King,” he said resonantly, “but who I am is unimportant. What is important is what will happen to this tree and to the brave woman who champions its cause.” He turned and bowed again to Toni, who blushed. The newswoman, on the other hand, didn’t look too happy about being ignored.

  Before she could respond however, a loud voice from behind her said pompously, “The tree comes down and is turned into firewood, that’s what happens to it. And Ms. Fairfax can go to jail for obstructing a work zone.”

  Arthur turned slowly to look at the speaker and all the reporters turned with him. With a sinking heart, Morgan recognized Senator Algernon Carlton—old money, lots of influence, just reelected for another term, and well known for his fondness for making long-winded speeches at the drop of a hat.

  The Senator was popular with a certain segment of the population and had been in office long enough to become even sleeker and smugger than he’d been in the first place. Blonde hair turning dingy yellow with age was styled to curve boyishly over one eye in a semi-successful attempt to make him seem young and vibrant. But there was no doubting that he was loud.

  “My friends,” he with authority, “return to your homes. This matter is settled. A judge has ruled in favor of the construction company, and this misguided woman will shortly be hauled off to a cell downtown. There is nothing more to see here. Justice has prevailed.” He postured for the camera confidently.

  But Arthur had other ideas. He crossed his arms in front of his sizeable chest and took on a stance suggestive of the proverbial immovable object. Morgan sighed to herself. Oh, yeah, they were screwed all right.

  “It is hardly justice to throw an innocent woman in jail simply for following her conscience,” Arthur suggested mildly. “Perhaps your judge will reconsider when he sees how many of these good people object to your plan.”

  Senator Carlton’s face puckered up as if he had bitten down on a lemon. “My dear man,” he said, “it is not my plan. I am only here to try and ease this difficult situation so that a respected company can get back to building a new business that will bring jobs and money into this terrific neighborhood.”

  Arthur looked doubtful. “Are you saying that these fine people would rather have a market than this beautiful park? I find that very hard to believe.” He looked out over the crowd, which had somehow swelled to over a hundred. “Is this truly what you wish?”

  The people roared, “NO!”

  The Senator actually took a step backwards. “Look, my friends, this has all been settled—“ he started to say, before a voice from the crowd interrupted.

  “Settled by you and your cronies!” A man yelled. Tall and gangly, he raced out of the mass of people to stand by Toni in front of the tree. “You’re in league with the oil company that owns the Stop N’ Shops, you low life.” He waved a handful of papers under the Senator’s patrician nose. “I have proof that you took bribes from the company to push the environmental permits through and that you covered up the study that showed that the Black-spotted Titmouse population in this area needs this tree to survive!”

  The Senator blanched. “Now, now, Mr. Fairfax, there’s no need to make accusations. I’m sure that the company will be happy to drop all charges against your wife. You just take her on home where she belongs and let us get on with our business here.”

  Toni’s husband looked like he was about to hit the politician with the paperwork he was holding, but Arthur put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “I do not believe the lady will be going anywhere she does not choose to go,” he said to the Senator. “You, on the other hand, are clearly not wanted here.” The crowd yelled their agreement with enthusiasm. One man threw a piece of fruit.

  Arthur turned and looked at the fruit-tosser sternly. “It may be true that this man connived to achieve his aims. The law will prove this in time if it is true. But in the meanwhile, let us act with dignity and humanity. It is as important to be gracious in victory as it is to be right.”

  Nancy Talbot smiled a three-hundred-watt smile and turned back to the camera. “You heard it here first, folks. Long-time Senator Algernon Carlton has been accused of taking bribes and colluding with the oil company to tear out this wonderful park against the wishes of those who live here. And he might have succeeded if not for the efforts of Toni and Max Fairfax and the knight in shining armor who came riding to their rescue.”

  She turned back to a stunned Arthur. “Maybe our mystery man should run for office himself.” She winked at him slyly. “I know he’d get my vote.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Arthur sat in Morgan’s living room the next morning, sipping tea and watching the morning news run footage of yesterday’s events in the park yet again. He had watched it for the first time early last evening, then again at eleven. Now here it was once more: his own face, on this strange magic box. He would never admit it to Morgan, but he was quite enjoying the experience.

  It was not that he needed the attention, no matter what the witch might say in her teasing manner. In truth, it was heartening to be treated with respect and admiration, simply for doing the right thing. It was almost like being home in Camelot again. If Camelot had television and reporters and large earth-moving machines.

  Arthur snuck a glance at Morgan, sitting tensely on the chair by the window. Her jaw was clenched shut and her fingers gripped her coffee cup as though it might jump up and run away at any moment. Clearly, she was not as amused by Arthur’s newfound fame as he was. He fought the impulse to walk over to the witch and smooth the wrinkles from her brow, mostly because he was fairly certain she would kick him if he tried it.

  He sighed. Nothing he did made her happy. It was not as if he had purposely attempted to attract attention. Surely by now she should understand that he lived by a certain code, one that bound him tighter than Toni Fairfax’s chains.

  Arthur grumbled under his breath, sloshing his hot tea as he lost himself in thought. Absently, he brushed at the wet spot on his pants. Why did he care what the wench thought? Or did? He was a king, after all, and she just a common wo
man—and a witch at that. It was not as though he was going to stay in this benighted time. And if he did, he would certainly not be staying with her.

  He felt a bit melancholy at the thought. He had grown…accustomed to her presence, that’s all. The way the sun coming through the window picked up the reddish tint in her hair, so subtle compared to his own bright hues. The fire that shone in her eyes when she was angry. The brazen manner with which she addressed him, as though she was his equal. There had been that one moment in which it has seemed they might kiss. He sighed again and she looked across the room at him, a question in her eyes.

  “Getting tired of admiring yourself, Arthur?” she asked, one corner of her mouth turned up in a sly smile.

  “Huh,” he growled. “Not at all. I was merely wishing that I could do something worthwhile, rather than just sitting here while others searched for my wizard for me.”

  A cackle startled him, and probably Morgan as well, as Granny bounced spryly into the room, followed closely by Young Angus. “Don’t worry, Your Highness, you’ll have more than enough to do, soon enough.” She settled down on the sofa in a puff of cologne and dog fur, white hair wild around her gleeful face.

  “Oh, no, Granny,” Morgan moaned, “did you have another vision? What is it now?” She gave the old woman a suspicious look from under creased brows. “And why are you so happy about it?”

  Granny pasted an innocent look on her face, convincing no one. “Who me? I’m just glad to be here, instead of back in Scotland, missin’ all the fun.” She chuckled under her breath and patted Young Angus on what Arthur assumed was his head, although it was mighty hard to tell one end of that dog from another.

  Arthur acknowledged a moment of un-kingly alarm. What had the strange old Witch seen now? He squared his shoulders, wishing again for his sword and faithful knights. This new land was no place to be walking around unarmed, damn and blast it.

  He was jarred out of his unquiet thoughts by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Morgan looked out the window, frowning.

  “Who the hell is that?” she said, sounding very annoyed. “It had better not be another reporter, or somebody is getting turned into a toad, by golly.” She stood up and stomped toward the door, irritation showing in every heavy footstep. Even Young Angus got out of her way.

  Arthur followed her, staying cautiously out of what he thought was spell-throwing range. After all, he was only mostly certain she’d been joking about the toad. He watched as she threw open the door to reveal a small, dapper-looking middle-aged man, wearing a neat suit and a well-groomed mustache and carrying a leather briefcase.

  “Yes?” she said brusquely. “What do you want?”

  Arthur moved up behind her, in case she needed defending, although the man did not look to be much of a threat. In truth, it was far more likely that their visitor needed to be defended from Morgan than the other way around. She was clearly in what Granny had referred to as a “snit.”

  The man at the door smiled cheerfully at Morgan, completely ignoring her unwelcoming tone. He nodded at Arthur over her shoulder.

  “Ah, just the man I’ve come to see,” he said, somehow sliding past Morgan without touching her. “My name is Charles Snodgrass, and I have a proposition for you. Might I come in and discuss it?”

  Arthur tried not to laugh at the expression on Morgan’s face as she realized she had been outmaneuvered. After all, for all they knew, this man might work for Fay Le Beau. Still, he did not mind listening to whatever the man might have to say—especially if it distracted Morgan from her ire at him.

  Morgan stalked into the living room and sat down facing their uninvited guest, arms crossed and lips pulled into a thin line. She raised one eyebrow at Arthur, as if to say, “Fine, he’s all yours.”

  The man sat down next to Arthur on the couch, barely wincing when Young Angus nipped at him in passing. Granny came back out of the kitchen bearing a pot of tea, three cups, and some cookies on a flowered plate. Arthur nodded gratefully at her, more comfortable now in the role of host.

  “So, Charles, what sort of proposition do you have?” Arthur asked. Morgan gave a laugh at some joke he did not understand.

  “Ah,” said their guest, “straight to the point. How refreshing.” He helped himself to a cup of tea and took a genteel sip. “I saw you on the news last night. Very impressive.”

  From her chair, Morgan let out a small groan. Arthur ignored her.

  “I was only doing what any man would have done under the circumstances,” he replied. “When one sees a wrong being done, one is obliged to right it.”

  Charles Snodgrass peered at him curiously, as if trying to determine his sincerity. Evidently whatever Charles saw satisfied him, and he nodded briskly.

  “Indeed, Mr. King,” he said, “one would hope that any man would act the same way under those circumstances but the reality is that very few would. You stood up for a woman and a cause not your own, simply because you thought it was the right thing to do, with nothing in it for you. That is rarer these days than you might think.”

  Arthur shrugged. He did not understand why so many people thought his actions were remarkable. What kind of cynical place had the world become while he slept on his sheltered island?

  “I thank you for the compliment,” he replied. “You are most gracious. But surely you did not come here just to tell me you found my actions admirable.”

  The smaller man smoothed his already immaculate hair with one hand. “No, indeed. Allow me to explain.” Morgan shifted in her chair and glared in his direction. “Er, I’ll be as brief as I can.”

  He looked Arthur in the eye. “You see, Mr. King, I am, ironically enough, what they sometimes call a “kingmaker.”

  Morgan made a choking noise and dropped her teacup on the floor. It rolled across the floor and came to rest gently against Arthur’s foot, leaving a wet trail in its wake.

  “Excuse me?” she gasped. “A what?”

  Charles looked puzzled at her obvious alarm. “A kingmaker. In politics, that’s a term that is sometimes applied to the person who is, you might say, the power behind the throne.” He took another sip of tea. “I find men and women whom I believe would make good leaders and groom them for positions in government. I have no desire to run for office myself, you understand, but I am very, very good at assisting those who do.

  Morgan looked, if anything, more anxious, but Arthur was intrigued despite his initial misgivings. He picked up the teacup lying in front of his toes and absently handed it back to Morgan.

  “What does that have to do with me?” he asked. “I merely assisted a woman in need.”

  “And a rare bird,” Charles reminded them. “Never underestimate the appeal of a rare bird.” He cleared his throat. “My point is this, Mr. King. I think you have that something special; an indefinable aura of leadership, coupled with an honesty and nobility that is hard to find these days.”

  He continued. “Our current incumbent, Senator Carlton, was arrested this morning due to his, shall we say, less than appropriate behavior in the matter of the park.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “The man took bribes in meetings and had his secretary take notes, if you can believe it.” He seemed more amazed at the soon-to-be-former senator’s stupidity than dismayed by his actions.

  “Regardless, the party has demanded that he resign his seat. As the evidence against him seems indisputable, it seems likely that he will do so. This leaves us in need of someone to fill out the remainder of his term.” He gave Arthur a pointed look.

  Morgan’s mouth dropped open in an unattractive and unseemly way and their guest finished his little speech. Arthur did not know whether to be flattered or appalled or both when Charles said, “I think you’re just the man for the job. You can enter the special election for his seat, and with my help, I believe you can win.”

  Morgan gritted her teeth so she wouldn’t scream. Screaming was rude. And undignified. And it would scare the cat. She would absolutely, positively not screa
m. Of course, that didn’t preclude throwing something.

  She glared at the so-called kingmaker sitting on her damned couch drinking her damned tea and waited for Arthur to tell him that the entire concept was ridiculous and out of the question. And waited. She shifted her glare to Arthur, in case he hadn’t gotten the point, and was surprised to see that he had gone completely white—with shock, she assumed.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Snodgrass,” she said into the resounding silence, “but Arthur can’t possibly run for Senator. He’s not even a US citizen.” There, she thought to herself, that’s taken care of. Phew.

  “Not a problem,” Charles replied. “I’m sure we can come up with some way to deal with the issue before the election. Just a matter of knowing which strings to pull.”

  Morgan gaped at him. Granny snickered from the corner where she’d been sitting, knitting with studied lack of concern.

  “Give it up, Morgan,” she said gleefully. “It’s written in the stars, this is.”

  Morgan shook her head, certain that frustration was sketching lines on her face like for all the world to see. “Granny, stay out of this, please. You know perfectly well that it’s impossible.”

  Their guest looked at her curiously. “Are you saying you don’t think that Mr. King would make a good Senator, Ms. Fairfax?”

  “Not at all,” she replied grimly. “I’m sure that Arthur would do a wonderful job.” She rubbed her hands over her face with frustrated angst. “But there are circumstances here that you aren’t aware of…good reasons for Arthur to stay out of the limelight.”

  “Really?” he questioned. “Has Mr. King done something illegal I should know about?”

  Arthur looked indignant. “Certainly not! I would never break the law.”

  Granny laughed again and Young Angus did a spontaneous dance up on his hind legs. Morgan was not amused. She had to make this man understand somehow that Arthur couldn’t possibly run for office. Hell, if they managed to find Merlin, Arthur wouldn’t even be here by the time the election came around. Wow, there was a depressing thought.